Mist upon the Marsh: The Story of Nessa and Cassie (22 page)

“And yet you did it,” said Cassie.

“And yet I did it,” said Nessa, shaking her head.

“Why?”

“Because you asked me to.”

She looked to Cassie, and saw that the silver discs had disappeared, and were replaced with dark orbs – dark as the sky overhead. Their shadows spilt down onto her face, and made it so Nessa could not read the line of her thoughts. But she felt, again, the pressing of her hand; and the very warmth of her, as she slid nearer, and smiled. Nessa clutched the blanket to her, grasped her Turin, and squeezed her eyes shut tight; but when they opened, Cassie’s face was near to hers, and the blanket had fallen away. She pressed the Turin once more, but finally released it, and took Cassie in her arms.

Chapter XXIV:

The Hidden R
oad

T
he sun broke over the edge of the earth, and spread its light slowly Westward, creeping steadily along till it washed finally upon the shore. Like a slithering thing it made its way up the wall of the lighthouse, where it splashed into the Keeper’s Room, and dispelled the last of the shadows of night.

Even as Nessa woke, and twisted her head to avoid the brunt of the sun’s impact, Cassie slept on. Nessa looked down at her face, utterly motionless in its repose. She thought of Mindren, and a month of nights lying beside Orin; thought of the likeness his own face had seemed to hold for her, to that of an angel; and knew that, after this singular moment in time, she could never come anywhere near so close to thinking such a thing, ever again. What could his face hold for her, now – after having seen Cassie’s this way, made to glow in the morning light? Her hair spread like a living vine, the sort which makes one think of growth, and permanency; so brown it was almost black, in fact
appeared
black, in the murk of night, but shone in the sunlight with bright streaks of auburn. It lay there across the lightness of the mattress, reminiscent of a river between pale banks; and then fell down over the darker landscape of the blanket, to lose its sheen, and reclaim again its blackness. Her skin held the whiteness of sleep, the rose of the cheeks lying dormant, for now, beneath the milk of dreams.

Nessa laid a hand on her forehead, and leant down to kiss her cheek. Before opening her eyes, she stretched out her arms, and yawned widely.

“Is it morning already?” she asked, glancing about in surprise.

“So it would seem,” said Nessa. Inwardly, she voiced a silent protest against the light; for it meant nothing, to her, but an obligation to depart. She wished again for the night, and the shadows; and for a few hours more, of naught but this.

Cassie raised a hand, and touched a finger to Nessa’s Turin. “Are you sorry you told me?” she asked.

“I should be,” said Nessa. “But I’m not.”

She looked a little longer into Cassie’s face. “We have to go,” she said.

“Now?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do you have some sort of job I’m not aware of?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

Cassie frowned. “You know, that brings the question to mind – if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t have a job. You don’t go to school – so far as I know.”

“I don’t.”

Cassie peered inquisitively up into her face, and asked, “What is it that you do?”

“This and that,” said Nessa quickly. Again, she could find no easy way to relate the matter of the Ziruk – so long and complicated a matter as it was.

“This and that?” asked Cassie.

“Yes. This and that.”

“And what does all of your family do?”

“Varying amounts of the same.”

“That’s just an awful answer, you know.”

“I will only say for now,” said Nessa, putting a pinching hand to her head, in hopes that it should prove conducive to thought, “that my house, and all of our other houses, possess a considerable estate – and that our daily activities are meant to protect that estate.”

“Estate?”

“Yes.”

“Is that supposed to mean that you’re rich?”

Nessa felt her eyebrows knit together; for, although that was not the idea she had been attempting to convey, it was a true one nonetheless – alluded to already during the great and huffing speech of Morachi, in the Hall of Modendo. 

“I suppose you could say that,” she said slowly.

Cassie smirked; and Nessa was nearly certain that she could perceive a kind of bitterness there. She knew that Cassie was thinking of herself, and of her own inescapable duties at the diner.

“Does that bother you?” Nessa asked.

“Well . . .”

Cassie averted her eyes. She seemed unwilling to lie.

“I’ve said this before, Cassie. You can tell me whatever you like. Whenever you like.”

Cassie turned her face again to Nessa; and that strange and disconcerting look it had given, all of a sudden vanished entirely.

“No,” she said. Her voice was clear, and free of strain. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Nessa slipped her arms around Cassie, and lowered her face, so they lay cheek-to-cheek. She inhaled deeply, and was entirely certain, that she had never smelt a sweeter scent in all her life.

“There is more I need to tell you,” she said. “There is much, much more. I may not be able to leave home for some days – but I promise you, Cassie, I will tell you everything. Everything you must know.”

“I’m not sure that I like the sound of that,” said Cassie. “Your face went a little strange, when you said it.”

“Don’t worry,” said Nessa. She put her lips to Cassie’s, and squeezed her eyes shut fast, with the flood that broke into her heart. “You don’t need to worry about anything.”

Cassie put her hands to either side of Nessa’s face, and looked directly into her eyes. “I trust you,” she said.

Her voice was firm; and it was meant to remind Nessa, of all that could not now be undone. Nessa had taken from her, all that there was to take – and it would not do to fail her now. So they rose, and dressed. Silently they bid the Keeper’s Room, and the lighthouse, farewell – and descended into the cove.

~

By the time Nessa returned Cassie home, the truck to the barn, and her thoughts to such business as did not relate to the night in the cove (the last of which was perhaps most difficult to accomplish), it was early afternoon. She made her way slowly into the house, fearful of what her father would have to say, concerning her lateness.

Quite surely enough, he was sitting in the parlour, awaiting her arrival. He reprimanded her mildly for her failure to obey him, but afterwards simply kissed her, and made his way off to bed. It seemed he had convinced Ceir of her well-being, and her doubtless imminent return; for after he departed, Nessa became the room’s sole occupant. She sank down into a chair, thankful for the ease with which she had escaped what punishment she had anticipated. But of course, she should have known – that such a terribly out-of-the-way sort of thing, could only have been followed by something much less savoury.

She had let her head fall back, and had only just begun to doze, when she was roused by the sound of quick footsteps. She recognised them, even before opening her eyes.

She looked up and saw, quite as she had expected, Leyra standing over her. She started at her close proximity; and no less at the very cruel, very calculating, expression upon her face.

“What is the matter with you?” asked Nessa.

Leyra looked for a moment more down into her face, but then retreated a bit, and took herself a seat. She crossed her legs, and began to tap her hand against the armrest, staring coolly at Nessa.

“Need I ask you again?”

“Quiet,” said Leyra. “I shall be the one talking; and you shall be the one listening.”

Nessa did not understand. She thought of her relations with Leyra, so much mended, so much improved, at Mindren; and she could not comprehend.

“Your very first opportunity for freedom,” said Leyra, “after so many weeks in what was almost captivity – and you break the curfew assigned you by Dahro himself, risking the chance of becoming bound again?”

“My father would not do that.”

“Quiet!”

Leyra sat silent for what seemed whole minutes, gazing at Nessa with a countenance indecipherable, licking her lips from time to time, as if thirsty. Her eyes were remarkably wide.

“Is her name – Cassie?”

Nessa shot forward in her seat. She gripped tightly the arms of the chair, as if attempting to restrain herself from flying towards Leyra.

“How do you know her name?” she whispered.

“I watched you sleep, several times while we were at Mindren – after Orin had gone to join the sires. I heard you, speaking her name while you dreamt.” Her right eye began to twitch. “But, even before that, I knew. I smelt her – smelt her on you, more than once. No one else noticed. But I did.”

Nessa’s hands clenched tighter. She felt several of her fingernails crack.

“No, no,” said Leyra. “No one but me. But did I say anything? Of course I didn’t! What a terrible thing that would have been – for, after all, Nessa, don’t you know how I care for you?” She paused, and shook her head. “But this has gone on too long. You are taking too many risks, don’t you see? Don’t you see how harmful it is – what you’re doing?”

“It is none of your concern,” said Nessa. The certainty of her words did not betray her mounting apprehension; but she became quickly covered in a slick sweat, and felt two more of her fingernails split; a piece of one falling completely away, down to the floor. She looked for a moment, bemusedly, down upon it; but then returned her eyes to Leyra.

“Oh – is it not?” Leyra breathed. “Is it not my concern, Nessa? Then whose is it? Should you continue this silly affair much longer, it shall be everyone’s concern!”

“You would not dare, Leyra.”

“I wouldn’t? I would not dare? Oh, would I . . .!”

Her eyes grew from round, to a state of intense bulging. She clawed wildly at the arms of her chair.

“I swear to you, Nessa,” she said. “I swear to you, I will tell your mother and your father. I will tell Orin. I will tell them all – if you do not keep from her.”

Nessa felt an instant deflation of spirit; a momentary loss of all things good within her heart, at the sound of Leyra’s words. It felt as if it had all been coming, all been working ever towards this very point. It was the moment of division, wherein all things which she had taken for granted to be indisputably hers, could be all snatched away. On the one hand, she could lose those things; but on the other, she would lose Cassie, unquestionably and irrevocably. Could there be a way, any way at all, to maintain a hold on both? Or must she choose?

She let her head fall into her hands. This was what she had feared; what she had begun to understand to be the inevitable end, that night all those nights ago, when she returned with Cassie from the Red Pavilion – and knew without doubt that her heart was lost. But now that the moment had come, the moment she had hoped to stave off, for quite as long as possible, she knew not at all how to think. She knew not whether she should begin making her decision; or begin searching, more voraciously than ever before, for that hidden road: obscured in darkness till now, but perhaps exposing itself slowly to the light. Her feet could tread safely there; and though the road might be long, sometimes cold and sometimes twisting, she would come to its end with minimal loss. She closed her eyes, and racked her brain, searching every clouded place for the possible presence of this road. But the moment was not right; her fear was too great; her heart beat too hard, too fast, and she could not exercise what organisation of thought would prove mandatory, in deciding the best and truest path to tread.

“I will give you three days to decide,” said Leyra. “After all – I would not want you to make the wrong choice.”

By the time Nessa raised her head, there was naught to be seen but the ghostly shine of Leyra’s hair, gleaming at the blue end of silver. Nessa tried to call her back; but her mind was set firm, and she was not to be got.

The stillness of the house was absolute. It was very difficult to imagine, in that moment, that there were so many heads, so many hearts asleep, just above either of Nessa’s own. The silence was unflinching.

Chapter XXV:

Arol’s V
engeance

T
hree days passed, though Nessa tried so fiercely to hold to them, as nothing but water through her clenched and hopeless fists. She avoided Leyra quite as much as she was able; but she could not even hope to accomplish such a thing, when night came down, and she needed report downstairs to join the others.

She knew not how to manage, either mentally or physically, Leyra’s perfidy. She was forced constantly to turn her mind from the subject, on account of the strong fear of striking Leyra dead. On the first and second nights, she hung at the rear of the pack, ruminating angrily. The forest was quiet, and she could hear nothing at all save for the panting breath of her companions. Sixteen loping shapes, with furs glinting brightly in the moonlight; but she could not remove her eyes from that single grey form, which ran at the very centre of the pack. It was not till the third night, however, that she mustered the courage to approach Leyra, and run beside her. She obtained her attention successfully, and they exchanged many glances; although Nessa could not for the life of her tell what these glanced may have signified. She wished with all her might that they may have demonstrated the softening of Leyra’s heart – but she would by no means have been willing to swear that it was true.

That night, though, was an ill-fated one; and soon it would prove, that such rankling thoughts as were Nessa’s must dissipate in the face of greater peril. She had fallen away from Leyra, and was running again in the rear guard, with Dechtire at her left and Orin at her right. Caramon moved at the front of the pack.

The air was heavy, and it pressed down against their backs, as if weighing some massive quantity. The shadows shifted slowly, moving with the canopy high above, which swayed gently in a breeze that still tasted of summer.

But the cold moved in far too soon. The winter arrived before the autumn; and the halt was instantaneous. It was as if the front guard had collided with a wall of brick. And indeed, that was how quickly the Ziruk had been moving; so that there was no sight of them, before the pack fell into their waiting arms. The wind was blowing due North, and their speed was so very impressive, that there could have been no warning scent. And truly there was not.

The shadows continued to move, as the pack fell into a fray. They twisted across the beautiful coats of the Endai, and the dirty ones of the Ziruk, mingling with the dark patches of blood which came quickly to show under the moonlight. The attack was sudden; and there was no time for thought. The runners simply threw themselves upon the Ziruk, and fought with all of the strength that they possessed. Faevin disentangled himself from the chaos, to make for the hill. Probably he could not have done much, anyway, to stave off the fury of the Ziruk. For furious they were, indeed. They had been berated, and abused by Arol, till their fear of the house of Dahro grew numb in their breasts, and they could think of nothing, save to kill them. And besides – how fearful could they be, with their leader fighting alongside them?

Arol was come.

~

Nessa flew forth to join with Caramon, who was battling Arol alone. The others were occupied with the staving off of his monsters, seemingly innumerable in the blackness of night.

True winter, it seemed, had come to the South. Hopelessness is linked inextricably with that season; and step after step, the snow crunched underfoot. Nessa could feel the cold of it, the terrible cold of it, seeping through the pads of her paws. She risked a glance upwards, and caught sight of the swaying tree limbs, clad in leaves of green. Yet she looked down; and the ground was white.

Caramon’s lips were covered in a thick white foam. His growl was vicious, and bespoke of death waiting to be dealt. Nessa knew that they could not vanquish Arol. They could only fend him away;
needed
only fend him away. But Caramon’s rage was quickly increasing, and he seemed unable to keep his place beside Nessa. He shot forward, rose onto his hind legs, and snapped his teeth near to Arol’s throat. Nessa hurried towards him, in an effort to pull him back; but Arol’s heavy paw had come down too quickly. It struck home against the side of Caramon’s head, and he fell senseless to the ground. Arol bent to strike at him again.

As if capable of taking the form of a spirit, Caramon’s ire flew out of his open mouth, and settled quickly onto Nessa. She turned with immeasurable rapaciousness on Arol.

The great wolf threw back his head, and howled with laughter. It was a sound that bubbled in his throat, and issued from his mouth as boiling matter, never quite clear, but ever able to convey its immense pride.

“Will you kill me now, daughter of Dahro?” he rasped. “Will you avenge your brother? Come! Come to me!”

The fighting paused. Endalin and Ziruk alike turned to watch; and silence fell down once more.

“No, Nessa!” cried Orin.

Nessa looked briefly to Orin; but sprang forward anyway.

Arol raised his paw, to take her down as he had done Caramon; but she dodged his blow; ducked beneath his arm; and jumped up, up, to tear the throat that Caramon had made his objective.

A thick piece of flesh, covered in foul-smelling fur, came between her teeth, and was shorn from the neck. It was a great chunk, Nessa saw, as she spit it down to the ground.

Arol fell back, and clapped his paws to his throat, howling wildly. The Ziruk turned to Nessa, and began to growl; but already Arol was fleeing, and he called to them. Begrudgingly they put their backs to the Endai, and raced away.

In their rage, some of the runners tried to give chase; but Dor, son of Kael, rounded on them, and forced them back. Dechtire and Orin were running towards the spot where Caramon lay. But Nessa forced her head beneath his body, and had him on her back before they could gain pace with her. Then she turned, and began to run.

~

She crossed paths with Faevin’s party, at the entrance to the forest. She made no sign to any but her mother. When Ceir spotted Caramon upon her back, she came forth to run beside her, and kept admirable pace with her across the fields.

Only mother, brother and sister, Dechtire and Orin came together at the hill. The rest had gone into the forest, to retrieve the injured. Nessa led her party on into the house; placed Caramon as gently as she could onto the sofa; and then stepped back. All changed their shapes. None took the time to fetch clothes.

Ceir fell down on her knees, and began to examine the extent of Caramon’s wounds. His blackness made it difficult to judge the amount of blood; but what seemed every inch of his fur was soaked and matted. Ceir swiped her finger along his coat; and it came away red.

Caramon’s eyes were closed, and his side moved almost imperceptibly with the weakness of his breath. Ceir leant her head down near to his, and whispered, “Can you change your shape, darling?”

His eyes fluttered open slowly. He put his head forward, to press against his mother’s. He bared his teeth. His shape changed; and the room became filled with the sound of his screaming.

Nessa stood with Dechtire, clutching her hand tightly, and staring down at Caramon. Orin was motionless, just behind them, and looking upon the scene with disbelief.

Ceir sprinted from the room. She returned what seemed only seconds later, with a robe tied round her, and her white box in hand. Again she knelt down beside the sofa; placed the box on a side table; and popped it open, revealing an array of shining metal instruments.

“Hot water!” she cried. “Hot water and towels!”

All three onlookers dashed from the room.

~

Ceir’s hands, Nessa knew, were more capable than any surgeon’s. Her fingers moved deftly; and her face was pinched with concentration. Caramon’s abdomen was nearly ripped apart, from waist to chest. Visible were several different bloody and slippery things, pulsing behind the flesh, and forcing large quantities of crimson stuff up through the separation of skin. He had ceased his screaming, and was now lying unconscious, as his mother worked upon him.

Nessa kept watch for as long as she was able; but became quickly filled with fear and nausea, and needed hurry from the room. Orin was on her heels.

Dechtire kept her place beside Caramon.

~

It was much like the night of Dechtire’s injury – but on that night, Nessa had not been filled with a cold panic so disabling, she could not move or speak. On that night, the sofa and carpet were not changed to red. There had been no screams so piercing, so chilling to the spirit, that listeners could not help but cry out themselves.

Caramon seemed to slip to and fro betwixt sleep and waking – and each time he woke, he shouted with such pain and fear, that Nessa could not stop her weeping. She sat in the dining room with Orin, with her head on his shoulder, and her hand in his. Each time one of her brother’s screams took to the air, she turned her face into his chest, so that she could not see what terrible trail it left in its wake. It moved through the house like a snail, never departing completely, but leaving in its wake a glistening line of shining material; shining as the spectral stuff of ghosts, as if foreshadowing a horrible end.

Nessa could not bear to look.