His ears were as I expected. They poked through the dark tundra of his tresses and rose upward into jagged points. I stepped closer, my hand extended forward against my will to finger the sharp edges. I stopped and pulled my hand back before I touched him.
A timid smile slowly splintered his faultless face. His lips parted, and I could feel the warmth of his breath cross the few paces between us.
“And so you have made your choice at last, Olivière.”
The fire in his eyes burst into red flames. And then he was gone.
Elgar must have proven essential to getting back to that place. Or it was all a dream after all, despite what I knew in my heart to be true. I tried jumping in again to no avail. Every time I came to the surface, I came back here.
Home and not home. But not at all that place I’d once been, that place with Avery and Ailill, with the darker lord and Goncalo.
So I’d given up. I lived among those who were lost among the living. I carved and I whittled, I sat and I stood, I walked and I lay. The few men who populated the commune did not disturb me, so lost were they in their own torment. We watched together daily as the farmers—men, women, girls, and boys alike—marched past from the village and into the fields beyond our heap of dilapidated shacks. They marched past again what felt like years later as the sun set, the women and the girls with their heads held high despite the fact they faced the east. They didn’t look our way, and we didn’t stir. And that was the most we could hope for of peace.
After the lord vanished, the earth trembled. My memory turned black, and then I woke up in a large field of dirt.
A field where the castle should have been.
I dragged my feet forward numbly, cradling my arms to my chest in the chill of the moonlight down the dirt path back to the village. I paused at the edge of the trees where I usually broke off the path to visit the secret cavern. I’d try jumping into the violet sphere beneath the waters during the days that followed. But that day, I just wanted to be sure everyone was well.
I arrived at my home, recognizing the windows on the house on the horizon lit brightly by the flame of the fireplace.
When I opened the door, I was greeted first with surprise and then with warmth by Arrow, Elfriede, and Jurij. His face was untouched, not a scar or injury to be seen.
“Where’s Father?” I croaked. “Was Mother brought home to him?”
The light fell from Elfriede’s jovial face. “Mother and Father are dead, Noll.”
She brushed her palm across my forehead. Jurij peered over her shoulder, his face full of concern.
“Were you out in that cavern again?” he asked. He touched my shoulder, and I shivered perceptibly. Still, Jurij didn’t notice. “Did you swim? You don’t appear to be wet from the pool.”
Elfriede tugged gently on my elbow. The force was not one I couldn’t fight against should I have wished to, but I had no such desires then.
She led me to the bed we shared and tucked me in.
“Rest now,” she said.
She’s forgiven me. I closed my eyes but didn’t fall asleep.
Hushed voices held counsel over my questions.
“Why did she come back here?”
I should have known she was still angry.
“I don’t know. She’s acting delirious.”
“Why did she ask for Mother and Father? How could she forget Mother died from her illness almost a year ago now?”
Impossible.
“Or that Gideon followed her shortly thereafter? I don’t know. She doesn’t seem … right.” The way he spoke the last word made me wonder what the “right” me would be.
I flitted in and out of consciousness. A long time later, I heard the soft moans and rustles from behind me in my parents’ bed, and I shuddered, pulling my quilt tightly over my head. In the morning, I glanced at the coupling intertwined in one another’s arms, Arrow resting at their feet, breathing easily in their slumber. My gaze fell upon the delicate valley of lilies carved into the unfamiliar headboard. I left without a word, dragging my feet back down the dirt path and through the village.
I stopped in front of the Tailors’, wondering if I might find shelter there. But I thought of Luuk and Nissa—the little Jurij and Elfriede in training. What room would there be for me? What place was there for me, among the sewing and the clothes? I walked westward.
I paused at Alvilda’s door. No. No, that wasn’t home, either.
The commune was just a few paces away. When the pool brought me nowhere, I had nowhere else to go.
And there it was that I sat now, carving life into a block of wood. At first, I left the commune only to speak with Alvilda, to borrow tools and to get supplies. She was as concerned for me as Elfriede and Jurij had been—perhaps more so because she wasn’t lost in the bliss of Returned love as were those two. But she didn’t pry.
I had but one question for her. “What became of the castle and the lord of the village?”
She ran her sawdust-covered palm over my forehead. I let the dust settle in my eyebrows. “What are you running your mouth on about now? What castle? What lord?”