FamiliarShadowsThe wan scent of spring flowers barely disguised the room’s scent of night sweats and must. Upon opening the locked door, Gillian realized Death lived here, or at least a pale facsimile thereof. An oil lamp provided some relief from the gloomy interior, the thick curtains blocking out most of the midday sun. Other than a wheelchair, a single bed and nightstand were the only furniture; the walls and floor bare. A lone figure sat in the darkness - glassy eyes vacant, jaw slack. Jonathan. Or what the Shadows had left of him. Lord Feldane coughed behind her. He’d escorted her to Jonathans’ room; her family was too busy attending to their other ‘obligation.’ “We do the best we can for him,” Lord Feldane explained, but lacked conviction. "I'm sure you do," Gillian replied politely as she held Jonathan's limp hand, though her tone lacked conviction as well. She searched her brother's eyes for any glimmer, any spark of recognition...but there was nothing, as she knew there wouldn't be. "How...how fare my parents?" Feldane leaned on his cane, as it had become an extension of his body. He could not meet her eyes when he spoke. “I hardly see your mother. Elizabeth buries herself in her work and books. More so than before. And, I regret to say, that her visits with Jonathan are rare. Her eyes. . . I have seen men after great battles with that haunted look. It will take some time for her to return to us.” His grip tightened on the cane. “Your father. . . His rages.” The man shook his head with a heavy sigh. “I would not suggest speaking with him, Gillian.” She sighed deeply. Her relationship with her father--which had never been close--had deteriorated greatly since Jonathan's accident. The frown softened with a glimmer of hope. “Your younger brother, however, fares well. I have made arrangements for him to squire for Lord Chantris’ son. He seems very excited about learning more about horses - for the Chantris are consummate breeders.” "Eustace. He so did enjoy helping Father in the stables. I'm glad to hear he's happy. What is Lord Chantris's son's name, if I may ask?" “Andrew,” Feldane replied. “I believe he intends to enter Prince Julian’s Rangers and has the martial skill to do so. An Arden posting - should it be given - will be good for Eustace as well, I think. Better an eternal forest than a dreary castle, eh?” Gillian gave him a small smile. "I think Eustace would do well in the Rangers." He smiled, “Your studies are progressing well?” She nodded. "Yes, sir. I believe so. Though it's still early in the term. Professor Hobbs seems pleased with my work in the library. I...I won't disappoint you, sir." “I know you won’t, Gillian,” he said with fatherly confidence. He smiled, aged skin crinkling around his eyes. “Shall I leave you with your brother for a moment, then?” She nodded. "Thank you." Once Lord Feldane had left, she turned her attention back to her brother. Jonathan had not moved an inch during the conversation, his stare vacant as smoky glass. <Cybele, I know Jonathan's mind--his essence--is lost in the Dark Hour. I wonder if there's a connection from his body to it, like the cord I share with Ginger. Do you know any way that I can perceive this, to see if it exists?> In seeing the boy before her, Cybele’s normal glibness vanished entirely. <We will try, youngling. We will try.> Gillian could feel her squirming about, trying to rest herself from her day-enforced torpor. A surge of power ignited within them – albeit a mere spark compared to the normal inferno. <You’d need some of his blood. And some of your own. Mix it together in your palm, and then paint your eyelids with it. A mere brush will do. Then recite the fourth Incantation of Thamar. That will open your eyes to the Wake.> Fourth Incantation of Thamar? Gillian spent a moment delving through the card catalog in her mind before she found the book she was looking for. She remembered it now: dark green binding with gold letters, cream-colored pages inside covered with brown ink, and better-than-usual illustrations. Although part of the University library, the book was definitely not part of her school curriculum. She fixed the page with the Fourth Incantation in her memory and turned to her brother. Gillian pricked Jonathan's thumb and her own—she was becoming quite deft at this—and mixed the few drops together in her palm. She drew her bloody finger across both her eyelids as Cybele instructed and recited the Incantation under her breath. Already tired from her morning’s use of High Magick, Gillian felt the added strain to her will as the spell began to take shape. Her eyes tingled unpleasantly, as if she just cut into an onion, clouding her vision. When it cleared, she could see that the room had darkened; its colors leached and sallow. Jonathan had taken on a transparent appearance, his features muddied by shadow. By contrast, Gillian’s body shone and sparkled with arcane energy. A strand of silver, gold, and bronze stretched into the distance from the center of her chest – the Cords of Binding. She looked at herself closer for anything visible that would tie her to Cybele or the Dark Hour. Upon closer examination, Gillian noticed something odd about her exposed skin. She could see faint lines – threads – of silver and gold and bronze weaving in and out of her body. In many ways, she resembled a patchwork doll, held together by these bindings. Part of the binding with Ginger? Gillian wondered, due to the presence of the same colors: silver, gold and bronze. The three bright cords extending from her chest she understood, but not faint ones weaving in and out all over her body. But it was a puzzle for another time. She turned her attention to her brother. Upon her initial examination [of Jonathan], she could see nothing resembling these cords on Jonathan. If anything, he appeared to be separated from the Wake – a ghost in a ghost world. But as she looked deeper, she could see thin silvery threads of power near his heart. Almost invisible and frayed, they hovered in the ‘air,’ but led nowhere. <It’s worse than we thought> Cybele sighed. <The boy’s essence has been stripped bare.> <What do you know has the power to do such an atrocious thing? And how is it accomplished? If I can understand it, perhaps I can reverse it...> Cybele considered this for a moment, searching through her ancient memory. <There are many creatures that can consume one’s essence. But what confuses me is that he still lives. Without the psyche, the body cannot function. And yet, he remains bound here – trapped in some form of limbo. I wonder. . .> She fell quiet, reflective. When she spoke again, it was in a frustrated tone. <No. I’m not strong enough right now, and you’d die from the effort. We’ll need to wait until tonight. We need to know if your brother is connected to the Pattern.> Gillian had seen what she wanted to see and felt an urgency to release the spell before Lord Feldane reappeared. She wet a finger in her mouth and wiped the blood from her eyelids. <How and why would he be connected to the Pattern?> she asked Cybele. <He's not of your family, and he's certainly never walked it himself.> <Unicorn’s hairy sack, girl. Didn’t you learn anything from our little lesson on the fundamentals of Creation? What do you think the Pattern truly is, hrm? When my Grandfather created it, he drew the foundation upon which all things would be based. Everything is connected to the Pattern, Guppy. Everything.> She paused, coughing slightly. <Well, everything except what’s been shaped by the Logrus. But that’s an entirely different story. <The Family is just more connected to the Pattern. That’s why we can walk through Shadow. And create our own.> Gillian felt a mental fingertip poke the squishiness of her brain. She flinched. "Ewww." <Get it?> Gillian frowned. <It makes sense, I suppose...I just never thought about people like my brother as having a connection to the Pattern--he's just a commoner, like me. It's the royal family who have the connection, strong enough to actually do stuff with it. It's just...well, society teaches us from a tender age that we're nothing. Expendable. <On another topic, the Unicorn is female. Prince Corwin refers to it as "she" in his journals. Why do you insist it's male?> <Trust me. I know.> A flush of heat passed through Gillian, Cybele sighing wistfully. Gillian rolled her eyes. It was just like having two Gingers in her head. <Anyway. Yeah, your teacher was right. You’re little more than a dust mote swirling in the Family’s wake. Not even. Easiest way to look at it is this: the Family created the Pattern and the Pattern created you. You’re connected to it, because on some infinitesimal level you and your brother are reflections of our Will. <So, if your brother is disconnected from the Pattern. . .> her voiced trailed off, as if waiting for an answer. Gillian scrunched up her nose. <Well...then all we have to do is reestablish the connection, right? His essence exists somewhere in the Dark Hour. We just have to find it and reconnect him to the Pattern. The Pattern knows where his body is, where his essence fits and belongs, doesn't it? Like a singular place for a singular peg on an infinite pegboard.> <In a manner of speaking, yes. Reconnecting Johnny Boy may not be as easy as that, but at the very least we will be working on the same level of Existence. But if this is Abyssal in nature, then we may have a serious problem. More so than just your brother will be at risk.> Before Gillian could ask more questions, a light knock came at the door. “Gillian?” It was her mother. Her mother was here? Gillian drew in a quick breath and held it. It had been about a year since she'd last seen her, right after Jonathan... But that was too painful a memory, so Gillian buried it again. Would her mother notice any change in her? Ginger assured her Seabhac's illusion spell was working, but... Gillian's hands flew to pull back any stray wisps of hair and adjust her unnecessary glasses. She was relieved she'd remembered to wear them this morning. Could someone tell just by looking that someone else was no longer a virgin? Could a mother? Would she know Gillian had conceived, been pregnant, given birth? Dark Hour, Seabhac, Cybele, Prince Caine, High Sorcery, Bob, Trumps, explosions, Ginger, a dark little journal covered with human skin... She let out her breath, smoothed her skirts, and tried to fix what she hoped was a guileless expression on her face. "Come in." Only a year may have passed, but as Beth entered the shadow-thick room, Gillian could see a lifetime etched into her mother’s features. In many ways, she now resembled one of her aged embroideries – immaculate, but frayed and dulled at the edges. She offered a rueful smile as she crossed the room, “Lord Feldane told me you were here. I didn’t mean to intrude. I just. . . it is hard to visit him.” She smoothed Jonathan’s stray locks of hair, chewing her bottom lip.. Beth turned, eyes like polished buttons. “How have you been keeping, Gillian? You don’t write or visit anymore.” Gillian stood in a rush and threw her arms around her mother. "I'm sorry. School and...other things...keep me very busy. It's good to see you." Her mother hugged her fiercely, wetting Gillian’s neck with her tears. She sniffled and smiled, “I’m so proud of you, my Dearest.” She brushed Gillian’s cheek and smiled even wider, slowly regaining her composure. “Someday, you must tell me what they are teaching you. Their library must have poems from every Shadow,” said with a hint of envy. She sat down beside Jonathan and began to stroke his hand. He did not notice. Tears welled up in Gillian's eyes. It was her fault, really, that Jonathan was gone. If she hadn't taken all that time and been so insistent about purchasing just the right school supplies, then they wouldn't have been together when the clock struck midnight. He would've been in a coffin, safe... Scenes from that night came back to her in minute detail, the curse of her eidetic memory: hiding under the table with Jonathan next to the squat stone wall; that horrible sucking noise; Jonathan's face turning slack, her name the last thing he said... The gift he purchased for her: a writing case of polished ebony with four styluses, each one representing an Element, costing in all probability a few months' salary. She used the styluses every day. A voice. Cybele's. <All it takes is a single drop of blood, girl. One drop and you’ll have your brother back.> She'd forgotten about that. Even though her recall was faultless, Gillian had forgotten that in the rush of everything. How could she? <Cybele...?> Cybele remained silent, but Gillian could feel her shifting around uncomfortably. <I’m sorry, kiddo. It’s too late for that,> she finally admitted. <That night, I meant to consume you. You just can’t understand what it’s like being trapped like this. And that night. Well, I would have said and done anything to just get a little foothold in that soul of yours.> Gillian wondered briefly about the semantics of "consume" versus "join." A wave of regret passed through Gillian. <Jonathan was gone the moment those Shadows had their hooks in him. But we’ll get him back. I know we will.> <I believe you.> Gillian's eyes lost focus. But what will I have to give up to do it? Beth noticed the changing expression on Gillian’s face and hugged her daughter closer. With the empathy only mothers know, she said, “No, darling. It wasn’t your fault.“ Yes, it was. Accidental, yes, but still my fault. "I'm sorry, Momma. I'm so very, very sorry." She burst into tears, long held at bay. "Please don't give up on him. He'll come back to us, I promise." Beth leaned back and smiled softly. She brushed away Gillian’s tears with the back of her hand, “Oh darling, I know this. I am more worried that you won’t come back to us. You work so hard. You always have. But I don’t want you to lose yourself, Gillian. There is more beyond Magick. And guilt. Don’t let them steal who you are. Promise me this.” "I won't," Gillian replied soggily. She didn't really understand what her mother meant—more important things beyond Magic?—but she knew it was what her mother wanted her to say. The distance between her family and herself, which had always been present as a rocky ravine, now seemed more like a bottomless abyss. Gillian wiped at her face and looked longingly at the door. "I should go now. Professor Hobbs will be wanting me in the library soon." Her mother stroked Gillian’s cheek once again, “Of course. Always my dutiful daughter. Safe trip. If you see Lord Feldane on the way out, please tell him I will return shortly.” "I will." Reluctantly, she let Gillian go. She pulled a small book of poetry from apron and sat beside Jonathan to read. Gillian left, softly pulling the door closed behind her. (continued in Washing Away the Sins) |
