“Is that why the train doesn’t travel by day around here?” Iris asked. “We noticed that it stopped and delayed its course until nightfall at a certain point in the journey.”
“Yes, that’s exactly why,” Marisol said. “The train has a better chance of outrunning the hounds at night than stopping in time if an eithral is spotted. And if the railway is bombed, it would be catastrophic for us. Which leads me to the third and last siren you may hear—the one that wails intermittently at any time. Day or night. We have yet to hear this one in Avalon Bluff, but with each day that passes, it becomes more and more of a possibility that we must prepare for.
“If you hear this siren, you need to evacuate to the east, immediately. It means that our soldiers on the western front lines are retreating and have given up ground and cannot defend us here. It means that the enemy is coming and will most likely take the town. I’ll prepare dash-packs for you both, which I’ll hang in the pantry for you to grab and run with. There’ll be a matchbook, a flask of water, tins of beans, and other nonperishable items packed inside. Enough to hopefully last you to the next town.
“Now, I know this is more than you signed up for, and your heads must be swimming, but do you have any questions for me?”
Attie and Iris were silent for a full ten seconds. But then Attie cleared her throat and asked, “The sirens … where do they come from?”
“A town a few kilometers west of here, called Clover Hill. They have a great vantage point and a siren that once rang for foul weather and they agreed to alert us the moment they perceived any hounds or eithrals or enemy soldiers.” Marisol began to gather up their empty plates. Iris noticed a slim golden band was on her left ring finger. She was married, then, although she had made no mention of a spouse. It seemed as if she lived alone here. “And it’s late. Nearly midnight. Let me take you both upstairs. You can choose your rooms and then get a good night’s sleep.”
As long as a siren doesn’t sound, Iris thought, and a spark of dread arced through her. She hoped it wouldn’t happen, and then that it would, so she could go ahead and get the fright of experiencing one out of the way.
“Can we help you clean, Marisol?” Attie asked, rising from her chair.
“Not tonight,” she replied. “I have a policy. Guests on their first night aren’t expected to do anything but enjoy themselves. But tomorrow will be different. Breakfast will be at eight sharp, and then you both can help me prepare a meal to take to the infirmary, to feed the wounded soldiers. I thought it would be a good way for you to begin your research. Some of the soldiers won’t want to talk about what they’ve seen and experienced, but others will.”
“We’ll be ready,” Attie said, gathering her bags.
Iris reached for her leather bag, thoughts of Dacre running wild in her mind as she followed Marisol and Attie down the hall and up the stairs. Marisol carried a rushlight with her, the flame burning across multiple mirrors on the wall. She explained how most residents in Avalon Bluff had decided to forgo electricity—which was unapologetically bright and could be spotted from a distance—in the night and appoint themselves with candles that could be easily blown out in case of a hound or intermittent siren.
“Now,” Marisol said when they reached the second floor, “this is the door to my room. There are four others, all empty and very charming. Choose whichever one speaks to you.”
Attie stepped into one, Iris another. It felt like a crime to flip on the light switch after learning about the sirens.
The room Iris chose was decorated in shades of green. It had two windows that overlooked the back of the house, with a bed in one corner, a wardrobe carved into the wall that was similar to Iris’s closet back home, and a desk, perfect for writing at.
“This room is one of my favorites,” Marisol said from the threshold. “And you can use electricity, if you want. Or the candle.”
“The candle will be fine,” Iris said, just as Attie appeared.
“I want the room across from this one,” she said. “It’s red and suits me.”
“Wonderful!” Marisol said, beaming. “I’ll see you both in the morning. Spare blankets and towels are in the wardrobe there, if you need them. Oh, and the lavatory is down the hall.”
“Thank you, Marisol,” Iris whispered.
“Of course. Sleep well, my friend,” Marisol said gently, just before she shut the door.
{18}
A Bloody Long Shot
Iris tried to fall asleep that night, in the cool darkness of her new room. But eventually, she became restless. The sorrow and guilt of her mother’s death was climbing up her bones again, and she had no choice but to light her candle with a gasp.
She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, her shoulders hunched. She was so exhausted; why couldn’t she sleep?
When she opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on the narrow wardrobe door on the other side of her room. She wondered if this threshold would work just like the one in her bedroom. If she typed on Nan’s typewriter, would her letters still reach the nameless boy she had been writing?
Iris wanted to find out how strong this magical bond was. If six hundred kilometers would break it. She slipped off her mattress and sat on the floor, opening her typewriter case.
This was familiar to her, even in a different place, surrounded by strangers who were becoming friends. This motion, her fingers striking words onto a blank page, cross-legged on a rug. It grounded her.
I know this is impossible.
I know this is a bloody long shot.
And yet here I am, writing to you again, sitting on the floor with a candle burning. Here I am reaching out to you and hoping you’ll answer, even as I’m in a different house and nearly six hundred kilometers away from Oath. And yet I can’t help but wonder if my words will still be able to reach you.
If so, I have a request.
I’m sure you remember the first true letter you wrote me. The one that detailed the myth of Dacre and Enva. It was only half complete, but do you think you could find the corresponding piece? I would like to know how it ends.
I should go. The last thing I want is for my typing to wake someone up, because this place is so quiet, so silent that I can hear my own heart, beating in my ears.
And I shouldn’t hope. I shouldn’t try to send this. I don’t even know your name.
But I think there is a magical link between you and me. A bond that not even distance can break.
Iris gently removed the paper and folded it. She rose with a pop in her knees and approached the wardrobe door.
This will be wild if it works, she thought, proceeding to slip the letter beneath the door. She counted three breaths, and then opened the closet.
To her shock, the paper was gone.
It was wonderful and terrible, because now she had to wait. Perhaps he wouldn’t write her back.
Iris paced her room, wrapping tendrils of hair around her fingers.
It took him two minutes to reply, the paper whispering over her floor.
She caught it up and read:
SIX HUNDRED KILOMETERS FROM OATH?!!! Answer me, and I’ll do my best to find the other half of the myth: