ICO: Castle in the Mist (31 page)

He went on to ask her what sort of thing she would like to write about, and swallowing the sudden quick beating of her heart, she ventured a smile and said, “I thought I would write about my father. My memories of him, that is.”

“Oh. Oh dear Creator!” The scholar’s hands covered his face like withered branches, and he raised his head toward the ceiling, eyes closed. “I have failed you!” he said, his voice shuddering.

Startled by the scholar’s reaction, Yorda sat silently, waiting to see what he would say next.

“Princess,” he said in a voice like one who speaks to a grieving child. He took a step around the desk, closer to her. “How sorrowful you must be, and how rightfully angry that I have not provided you any books telling of your late father’s reign.”

“Angry?” Yorda blinked. “No, Master Suhal, I’m not upset at all, I only—”

The scholar waved his hand. “As your instructor, I believe I recommended to you only two volumes on the subject of our kingdom’s history:
The
Chronicle of Kings
and
The Golden Gift of God—
is that not correct?”

The Chronicle of Kings
he spoke of was a giant tome that told the story of every ruler in the kingdom since the royal house had been established.
The
Golden Gift of God
was a more general work, though no less voluminous, that dealt with the geography and customs of the land.

“As I recall,” Master Suhal went on,
“The Chronicle of Kings
begins with our first king—the one they call the Conqueror—and continues to the fifth king, the one who constructed this castle which is our home. Perhaps you did not know, but the
Chronicle
is still a work in progress. At the end of this year, the volume treating the achievements of the sixth king will finally be completed. As your father was the seventh king, I’m afraid his story has not yet been put to parchment. Our dedication is to illustrating the achievements of all of our kings with the greatest of historical accuracy and detail, which is to say that our work proceeds at a snail’s pace. I must beg you in your generosity to watch over us as we work with grace and patience.”

“I know, and I am patient,” Yorda said. She rested her hand on the old scholar’s sleeve. “Master Suhal, what I want to write is nothing more than the memories of my father I carry in my own heart. I do not think I could do him justice were I to attempt to write about his achievements on the throne.”

Master Suhal frowned and stroked his long beard.

“The Chronicle of Kings
is a wonderful history book,” Yorda said, “but it only details its subjects as rulers, correct? What I want to write about is not my father as the seventh king, but about my father as a person. How we played together, what sort of things he liked, the songs he taught me—”

As she listed what she would write, she felt the tears rise in her throat, and she had to stop.

Father.
She recalled his sad, pale face from the night before. His lamentations of his cursed fate to wander the darkness beyond the boundaries of the living—

She had to figure out how it had happened. She had to learn how she might save his soul.

Master Suhal rubbed Yorda’s shoulder in a kind gesture. “Princess, you are right to grieve. Your father’s soul has gone to join the Creator. He has ascended to heaven, led aloft by a golden light.”

She wanted to shout,
You’re wrong! He hasn’t gone to heaven. He’s a ghost, a shade, bound in suffering to the earth.
She wanted to grab the old man by his shoulders and shake him, screaming.
It’s all my mother’s fault! The queen has done this!

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being foolish.” Wiping away a tear with her hand, Yorda ventured a smile. “Whenever I think of my father, it fills my heart with light. Yet, I’m afraid, it also brings tears. I love my father, Master Suhal. And before the cruel thief that is time steals away my memories of him, I want to put them down in words that they might last an eternity.”

Master Suhal nodded slowly. “I see, yes, of course. Princess, you merely need tell me how I may assist you, and I am at your disposal.”

Yorda clasped her hands together and then took the scholar’s hands into her own. “Thank you, Master Suhal. Your help will be invaluable to me. For I realized when I started considering this project that there is much I do not know about my father. I know nothing of how he spent his youth, for example. I never heard of his wedding to my mother, nor how the two of them met. And that is just the beginning—”

This next bit was the most important part. Yorda opened her eyes wide and emptied her heart of the truth so it would not show when she looked into the scholar’s eyes.

“I don’t even know how he died. I was only six at the time. I remember them telling me that Father had fallen ill, that I could not see him or stand by his side. Then, no more than ten days later, I heard that he had passed away. The next time I saw his face was when his body was laid in the coffin, just before they carried him to his resting place at the temple where the funeral was to be held—and then only for the briefest of moments.”

The old scholar’s face was clouded.

“Now that I think about it,” Yorda pressed on, “I am not even sure what disease he died of. No one’s told me anything about his final days. You must understand how lonely this makes me feel as his only child. I would like to know all of these things, but who can I ask? Do you know anything, Master?”

In Yorda’s slender hands, the master’s dry, withered fingers grew cold. Where the wrinkles in his face usually told a tale as detailed as any storybook, now they were blank and lifeless. His eyes had lost their sparkle. The passing years had robbed him of his youth, yet now he even lacked that grounded stoicism that came with age. He might have been a piece of sun-bleached wood, adrift at sea.

“Princess,” he said in the stern voice he usually reserved for lectures. Gone was the spring of enthusiasm he had when he spoke of books. “Members of the royal house must at all times strive to keep themselves free of the stain of death—even when it strikes within their own family. It would not be proper for you, as princess, to know the details of your father’s passing.”

“Do you mean to say, Master, that I may not know and may not ask about it?”

“You may not.” The words hit Yorda like a slap. “You should not even think of such things. Lady Yorda, consider your position. Remember that one day you will sit upon the throne. If your rule is to be benevolent, your heart must be pure.”

Yorda pleaded, explained—even commanded—but Master Suhal would not budge. Exhausted by the effort, Yorda finally gave up.
It’s no use.
She would not have the truth from Master Suhal’s lips.
I’ll have to think of another way.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “Please forgive my imprudence.”

Yorda stood, bowed curtly to the scholar, and then left, stepping lightly between the stacks of books. Master Suhal made no attempt to stop her. He seemed to have aged a century over the course of their conversation. When he stood to see her off, he leaned heavily on the back of his chair and nearly staggered several times.

Yorda walked back through the middle of the library, setting off another commotion among the scholars and students in her wake. Yorda smiled to each of them as she passed.

A senior scholar stepped forward to lead her toward the exit. “Will you be retiring, Princess? The shelves here form a bit of a labyrinth, I’m afraid. Please allow me.”

The scholar led her down a valley of densely packed bookshelves, their path twisting to the right and left as they walked. They entered a spot where Yorda saw that the books on the shelves had been replaced by boxes for storage. The boxes looked sturdy, with padlocks, but their fronts were fashioned of thick glass so that their contents could be readily identified.

She saw nautical charts and old globes and other intricate devices fashioned of metal whose uses she could not begin to guess at. Then she spotted something like a long, slender tube. Its length was about the same as that from Yorda’s elbow to the tips of her fingers, and it widened toward one end in sections.
A spyglass,
she thought, recalling an illustration she had seen in a book many years before.

“Excuse me,” she called out to her guide. “This tube—is it not used for looking across great distances?”

The scholar nodded, smiling. “I’m impressed you know of such things, Lady Yorda. Master Suhal has not been negligent in his duties!”

“I was wondering,” she asked him, “why is it here? Wouldn’t it be useful for keeping watch in the castle?”

As soon as she asked the question, it occurred to her that she had never seen anyone in the castle, be it the guards or even the court astronomers, using a spyglass. The reason was obvious.
My mother’s enchantment.

They weren’t allowed to look out upon the world outside.

It wouldn’t even occur to them to try.

Fingers intertwined, the scholar smiled at her cheerfully. “Such contrivances are unnecessary. By Her Majesty’s glory, our land has been ensured of eternal prosperity. Its rivers, mountains, and even the seas surrounding us are always at peace. Why, that spyglass there broke some time ago, and no one has even thought to repair it.”

“It doesn’t work at all?”

“I’m afraid not. Look through it, you will see nothing. Yet, as its design and features may yet be useful as a subject of study, we keep it here. Just in case.”

Yorda’s heart stirred.
It’s
not
broken. My mother’s enchantments made it dark. She thought of everything.

But then Yorda wondered what would happen if she were to look through it now that her true eye had opened. The words of her father came back to her.
“Look at the world outside,”
he had told her. See it with your eyes. The Creator will light your path.

The beating of her heart grew faster. She tensed her stomach so that she would not begin to tremble. Then, with the most innocent smile she could muster, she said, “It is a beautiful instrument, even though it’s broken. I’ve never touched such a device before. Would it be all right if I picked it up?”

“By all means,” the scholar said. “Allow me to—” his hand went to his pocket. “Now where is that key for the storage boxes? A moment, please, Princess.”

The scholar dashed off between the bookcases and promptly returned bearing a small copper key in his hand.

He opened the door to the storage box and gingerly pulled out the spyglass, proffering it to her. Yorda took it in both hands. It was heavier than it looked.

“It’s beautiful!” Yorda held the telescope to her chest. “Might you lend this to me, just for a little while? I would love to examine it at my leisure.”

“Of course, Princess, but I’m afraid it won’t be of much use.”

“That’s all right. I don’t intend to look through it. I intend to look at it. The craftsmanship is simply masterful.”

Yorda lifted a single finger to her lips and leaned closer to the scholar. “Don’t tell Master Suhal that I’ve borrowed this. I want to surprise him later with my intimate knowledge of it!”

The scholar’s face blushed bright red with approval. He looked like he might melt on the spot. Yorda slipped the spyglass between the soft pleats of her dress and, walking even more quietly than before, left the library with her heart pounding in her ears.

Back in her own chambers, she quickly transferred the spyglass to a hiding spot beneath her pillow and ran back to the door. She didn’t want her handmaiden walking in and seeing her using it. If she was going to do this with any degree of privacy, she had to take precautions.

There was no way to lock her chamber door from the inside. Looking around, she spotted a poker by her fireplace and propped it against the door at a precarious angle. When it fell, she would know someone was at the door.

Yorda shook her head, thinking ruefully how feeble her attempts at subterfuge were.

Retrieving the spyglass, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Her terrace would be the best spot for viewing, but if she wasn’t careful, one of the guards might spot her. She would have to settle for her next best option: a window.

Fortunately, Yorda’s chambers had windows on three sides, looking out to the south, north, and east. To the south was the central courtyard of the castle, which she deemed too dangerous. She would start with the east. There were no towers to block her view in that direction.

Yorda lifted the spyglass in both hands, as though praying, and then, holding her breath, she quickly brought the small end up to her right eye.

She could see the blue ocean, but the light was so bright it made her eye water. She quickly lowered the telescope, realizing that she must have caught the sun reflecting off the waves.

Even still, Yorda’s heart leapt for joy.
It works!

She began experimenting. Adjusting the dial she found on its neck, she tried different angles for holding it. When Yorda finally had it working, she looked through and saw the white feathers of a seabird skimming the surface of the water. It appeared so close it seemed to fly right by her nose, and she gave a little yelp of excitement.

Whitecaps crested the blue water. She saw small rocks amongst the waves, sending up white spray where the water collided with them.

She was used to looking out at the sea, even though she had never touched it in her life. Now, looking at it through the telescope, it seemed near enough for her to reach from her own chambers. After a while, her initial excitement faded, and disappointment reared its head.

This is the world outside.

It wasn’t as exciting as she had hoped. She wasn’t even sure if the spyglass was powerful enough to see what lay beyond the castle. Perhaps she would be able to see nothing more than what she already could from the walls.

Still, it was better than doing nothing. The spyglass, cast off as junk by the others in the castle, was useful to her. That must mean something.

She focused the spyglass to its maximum distance, trying to see as far away from the castle as possible. It was then she noticed a strangely shaped rock jutting from the waves near the shore. When she lowered the spyglass, she found it was too far away to discern with the naked eye.