Mirror Sight (82 page)

M
ara tore after Karigan, who ran like a berserker through the mending wing corridors. The poor menders did not understand what was happening fast enough to stop her. She ran out of the mending wing into the throngs of cheery revelers who laughed and pointed at her as someone who had been celebrating too much. She shoved aside anyone who got in her way, causing some angry words.

Down stairs, across corridors, along side halls Karigan flew. When Mara realized where she was going, she put on a new burst of speed, but could not catch up. When Karigan reached the doors to the throne room, the guards were too astonished and slow to react. The Weapons, in contrast, merely watched as Karigan bolted through the entryway.

Curious.

The guards blocked Mara, however. “That is Rider G’ladheon,” she gasped. “Needs help.”

“Clearly,” one of the guards said acerbically, and let her through.

The throne room was occupied by the king and his advisors, meeting with the lord-governors gathered for the holiday—except for Timas Mirwell who was, she’d heard, sequestered in his rooms recovering from scalding burns.

Everyone glanced up as Karigan burst in among them. Thankfully, the captain was present. The lord-governors exclaimed at the interruption of the obviously mad woman running amok in the throne room. Karigan dropped to her knees before the daïs, and King Zachary rose, his mouth open, but was unable to speak.

Mara skidded to a halt behind Karigan, panting hard. For someone who had been through who-knew-what and had just run pretty much the length of the castle, Karigan did not seem to be out of breath.

“What is this?” demanded Castellan Javian. He was a severe man with steel gray hair, and his manner was as sharp as his voice, a deep contrast to his predecessor, Sperren.

“Karigan? Rider G’ladheon?” the king asked, still incredulous. He stepped down the daïs to help her rise. “Last I heard you were resting.”

“I must tell you, before I forget.”

“Karigan—” the captain began, concern clear on her face. “Maybe you should rest some more. You can talk to us later.”

“
No!
Now, before I forget.”

Before Javian could register a protest, the king stayed him with a look. “Castellan, please adjourn the meeting for me.”

“Yes, sire.”

The lord-governors were ushered out, while Mara explained to the captain what had transpired. A robe was sent for, to cloak Karigan, who still did not appear to be cognizant of the irregularity of her appearance, especially in front of her king and other important personages.

When the lord-governors were gone, Karigan looked at Javian and Colin Dovekey’s replacement, Tallman.

“I don’t know these men,” she said. “I don’t want them here.”

“Of all the impudent—” Javian began.

“Easy, Castellan,” Tallman said. “Sir Karigan’s reputation precedes her.”

“Gentlemen?” the king said. “If you would?”

Tallman bowed. “As you wish, Majesty.”

He started down the runner, gesturing for the sputtering Javian to follow. It was an indication of how much the king valued Karigan that he did as she wished. Mara had been around long enough to suspect there was more going on between king and Rider. Nothing illicit—that sort of thing never remained a secret—but something deeper. Karigan had never opened up to her about it, and Mara respected that silence.

Mara was not asked to leave, so she stood some paces behind Karigan to listen, and to help if needed. The Weapons, as usual, stood along the length of the throne room. Their presence did not appear to perturb Karigan.

A chair was brought for her, but she disregarded it, instead pacing in circles as Mara had seen before.

“Cade, Cade, Cade . . .”

The king glanced at Captain Mapstone, and she back at him, both clearly unsettled. When the robe arrived, Karigan allowed it to be placed over her shoulders. She had to be freezing with all the bitter drafts from the storm that still howled outside and the cold stone beneath her bare feet, but she didn’t show it.

“Karigan,” the captain said, “you wished to speak with us?”

Karigan halted and looked up. “Yes, before it all becomes a forgotten dream.” Without waiting for further prompting, she began with Blackveil, describing events that paralleled what Lynx had described of the expedition. She spoke of smashing the looking mask. The rest was new to them, how she was transported to a future version of their world. “I ended up in a circus,” she said. “That is, stuck in a sarcophagus in the circus.”

The king and captain exchanged incredulous looks, as they would often do over the next couple of hours. Karigan told a halting, but astonishing, tale. She paused to recollect missing memories. She pounded her forehead with the heel of her palm as if to shake them loose. She consulted the scrawlings on her arm and nightgown, and muttered she should have brought her papers with her.

Despite the disjointed unfolding of the tale, it depicted a chilling picture of their future. Mara shuddered when Karigan described the ruins of Sacor City and the castle. She went on, trying to explain the machines and weapons of that time, but when she did so, nonsense came out of her mouth, like some other language, like the unreadable scrawlings on the wall Mara had seen.

When the king and captain merely looked on in confusion with eyebrows raised, Karigan said, “You think I’m insane, don’t you? That I’ve turned mad after what I’ve been through.”

“No, Karigan,” the king said quietly. “We do not think that. We are just having trouble understanding what you describe. Try again. It may be that knowing about these weapons, if we can replicate them, will give us an advantage over our enemies.”

She tried again and again. The nonsense flowed like a fluent foreign language, sometimes interspersed with words of the common tongue like “horrible,” “loud,” and “smoke.” She grew frustrated when they did not understand.

“You told us,” the king said, maintaining his reasonable, calm tone, as if Karigan did not look and sound mad, “that the god Westrion intervened to take you forward in time. Is it not possible the gods are intervening again, preventing us from knowing certain details of the future? A future in which they were discarded?”

Karigan exhaled a long breath. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s it. I was prevented from handling—”

And whatever it was that she hadn’t been allowed to handle came out as another garbled word. Now relieved, she dropped into the chair.

“What will be, will be,” she said passing her hand over her eyes.

The points she obviously wished to convey were that the king’s cousin, Lord Amberhill, would use some powerful weapon to betray his king and country, to become emperor, and that there was possibly an artifact in the tombs called the “dragonfly device” that might help stave off Amberhill’s weapon. Karigan, apparently, never saw Amberhill’s weapon, only its cataclysmic aftermath. Nor did she know what the dragonfly device was, except that it might be found in the tombs.

At one point, she turned to Captain Mapstone. “You gave me riddles.”

The captain nodded slowly. “Yes, but the riddles came from Prince Jametari. Somial brought them and instructed me to leave them for you in the tombs.” Her face fell. “I never thought . . . I never thought they’d lead to your return.”

“I had help.” Karigan spoke of Lhean, a dream of Laurelyn, of Fastion who had somehow survived all those years into the future, and of Cade Harlowe. But she was circumspect when she spoke of Cade, hiding details, while still making him an important part of the tale.

When she came to the end, her head rested in her hands as though it hurt. “He was torn from me,” she murmured. “Torn from me.”

He had been more than just an ally in Karigan’s quest to escape the horrific future. Much more. Mara could tell the captain saw it, too, and although it was often difficult to read the king, Mara was pretty sure he saw it as well. How could he not?

Oh, Karigan.
She attracted trouble enough for ten Riders, and after all the things she had seen and done, she did not, Mara believed, deserve heartbreak, too.

The king knelt before Karigan’s chair. “You came back to us. To me. I never doubted.”

Karigan said nothing. Mara could not see her expression from behind.

The king called on a couple of his Weapons to escort Karigan back to the mending wing. At the captain’s nod, Mara followed. She would stay with her friend, and explain to the master mender why her patient had written all over the walls.

As she made her way toward the doors, she overheard the king tell the captain, “She has done enough. More than enough for this realm. I will not have her ride into danger like that again. I won’t have it.”

As Mara left the throne room, she wondered if King Zachary ever argued so forcefully on behalf of any of his other Riders. She did not think so. Karigan wasn’t just another Rider to him.

K
arigan was moved to a new room in the mending wing with a whole stack of paper, should she feel inclined to use ink again. In the meantime, clerks were dispatched by the king to transcribe her notes off the walls, bed sheets, and nightgown in her old room. She even let them copy the writing on her arm before she washed it off.

Despite the stack of paper, she still wrote one word on her arm:
Cade,
and wore it beneath the sleeve of the new uniform Mara had brought her, her old uniform pieces having been redistributed to new Riders upon her presumed death.

The captain checked on her in the evening. “We’ll send word of your return to your father once the weather clears,” she said, then asked questions to clarify aspects of Karigan’s experiences. Already, Karigan had forgotten much.

“Dr. Silk?” She pondered the name and felt a sense of unease about it, but she lacked even the basic knowledge of who he had been. It frustrated her unto tears, but Captain Mapstone promised her a transcript of her notes. What made it worse was that the memories were so dreamlike that Karigan questioned ever having been in the future at all.

It was the Eletians who helped.

The next morning, Somial arrived with his companions. “Do you remember me, youngling?”

“Somial! I could never forget!” Then she realized she could.
Cade, Cade, Cade . . .

Somial smiled and introduced his companions, Idris and Enver.

“How do you do?” Enver asked, offering his hand.

She took it, bemused. “Er, fine. And yourself?”

“Very well, thank you.”

She might have pondered his very un-Eletianlike greeting, and the fact he did not look entirely Eletian, but she nearly leaped on what he carried with him.

“My staff!”

Enver presented it to her with a bow. She took it eagerly. “Where was it?” She wasn’t really sure she had known it was missing in the first place, at least not like her saber, which she’d lost in Castle Argenthyne in Blackveil.

“It came back with Lhean,” Somial replied, “when he returned from the future time.”

That’s right,
Karigan thought, forcing herself to remember. Lhean had been there with her. Somial had just now confirmed that she had gone forward in time and that it wasn’t a dream.
I’ve not gone mad.

“Lhean—is he well?”

“Yes. He arrived ahead of you, at the end of summer.”

She scratched her head, wondering how he had arrived so much sooner, then remembered Westrion. Westrion snatching her from Lhean’s side, flinging her through the heavens. “I would not have made it home without Lhean,” she said. Though she could not quite remember how it had all transpired, she was certain it was true.

“Nor he, you,” Somial replied. He leaned toward her more closely, peering at her. “I can sense the distance traveled upon you, youngling. Laurelyn and her moons have faded from the world, but stars shine upon your brow. Such travel is difficult enough for an eternally-lived one such as Lhean and can only be more disorienting for a mortal. And yet . . .”

Mesmerized by his voice and intensity, Karigan had to shake herself as if waking from a dream. “I—I
am
disoriented. Or, at least, I’m forgetting everything.”

“That is because, by returning, you have changed the threads proceeding forward. What you experienced will never happen. Therefore, your memories of events that never happened are fading and will cease to exist.”

She thought this might be so, had prayed it was the reason for her loss of memory. “But those things did happen.”

“Yes,” Somial replied. “They did. Your captain is ensuring that what you have managed to remember is recorded.”

He spoke of the other Eletian members of the Blackveil expedition. Ealdaen and Telagioth were also well, but all of Eletia still mourned Hana, Solan, and Graelalea.

“I lost the feather Graelalea gave me,” Karigan said sadly. “If I still had it, I might remember everything.”

“Even a feather of the winter owl has its limitations,” Somial replied, “but Graelalea’s gift was well given. That you no longer have it means it was not meant to be.”

Karigan rubbed at her bandaged eye. It itched and prickled. Even Ben, using his ability of true healing, had been unable to relieve it.

“Does your eye pain you?” Somial asked.

“It feels irritated most of the time.”

“May I see?”

“I don’t know . . .” Even the menders who tended it did not care to look too closely. She did not know what they were keeping from her, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. In any case, the new master mender had firmly told her to keep the bandage in place, and insinuated Karigan would find herself in considerable trouble otherwise.

“You may recall I am something of a mender among my people,” Somial said.

Karigan smiled, remembering his care for her in a forest glade, in what felt like a whole different lifetime. “All right.”

She sat upon her bed and let him remove the bandage. As before, everything seen from that eye was a watery blur. She could not focus. This time, however, it was darker. She did not consider this a positive development.

“Mirare.”
Somial’s voice was soft, but sounded surprised. He murmured more in Eletian, his words soothing, so she did not require translation. But
Mirare?
She wondered if it was an Eletian expression of some sort.

Somial gently shifted her head this way and that so he could peer into her eye. Just his touch diminished the irritation, but did not improve her sight. He eased the bandage back over her eye.

“I am afraid I can do no more than has been done already,” he said. His expression was unreadable. Then he added in what sounded like prophecy: “What sight you lose, others may gain.”

He would explain no further, and she was not reassured. Not one bit.

“We must take leave of you now,” Somial said. “Lhean and the others will be most pleased to hear of your return.”

Enver stuck his hand out again. She clasped it, and he shook with enthusiasm. “It was an honor to meet you.”

Karigan raised an eyebrow, never having encountered an Eletian who would ever admit as much. As far as she could tell, they mostly considered mortals inferior. As if to prove the point, Idris gave her only a cool, enigmatic smile in farewell.

She watched after them as they glided their way from her room and down the corridor. She noted that Enver was huskier than any other Eletian she had met, his stride just slightly less graceful than that of his companions. He was different, more earthly, not entirely Eletian.

She watched until they were out of sight. Watching with only one eye took some getting used to, more effort. She often misjudged the distance of objects, like when she reached for a glass of water and missed. She’d bruised her shoulder on door frames more than once. The loss of peripheral vision on her right side caused her to be startled by people approaching her from certain angles. Vanlynn assured her that, for the most part, she would quickly adjust, her good eye compensating for the bad. If her bad eye did not heal, and her vision did not return, she would have to learn new fighting techniques. Arms Master Drent would be overjoyed and merciless, but she knew that enduring his training would turn her blind eye into an asset.

 • • • 

As time went on, Karigan gathered details from Mara and Captain Mapstone about what had passed while she’d been away. Because the king and Estora had been betrothed well before she’d gone into Blackveil, the marriage between the two was not a surprise, and she’d long considered it inevitable. It still pinched her on the inside, and yet, not as hard as it might because of Cade. She couldn’t quite remember what had been between her and Cade, but intuition, a certain sense of longing, the creeping grief that caught her unawares and made her tear up without warning, told her it had been significant.

As for the wedding of the king and Estora, the captain had been judicious about what details she gave Karigan. Mara had not been as careful, and it sounded to Karigan like a deathbed wedding. That certain of the king’s advisors were gone due to their complicity in arranging it, only enhanced the impression. That the king had almost died shook her. She still loved him no matter who he had married. Couldn’t help it. She would’ve taken that arrow for him if she could, and not just out of duty.

She also heard about the stepped up aggression by Second Empire. But not all the news was grim. Ben, for instance, was actually learning to ride. It turned out that Robin, the horse who had tormented him so, had actually been choosing Ben as his Rider. The two had finally come to an accord, and Ben’s confidence around horses had risen substantially, though he was unlikely to ever be sent out on message errands. He was too important an asset as a true healer to leave castle grounds, especially with Estora expecting.

Karigan’s thoughts returned to Cade. She walked in circles in her room, gazing at his name inked on her arm.
Dark hair. He had dark hair.
Winter light pouring through the small window scoured the flesh of her arm of color. “Dark hair,” she muttered. “But brown or black?”

She became aware of Mara then, standing in the doorway. Her friend had that worried look on her face, which she quickly concealed with a smile. Karigan had seen this with the captain, and Ben, too, trying to hide their concern from her. She pulled her sleeve down.

“Just for a moment there,” Mara said, “the way the light was coming in, you were all silvery green.”

Karigan glanced out the snowy window in surprise. It was better than hearing,
The way you pace in circles and mutter to yourself looks insane.

“Anyway,” Mara continued, dissipating the odd moment, “I come with good news. Garth has proclaimed your new room in the Rider wing ready, and Master Vanlynn has given you leave to, well, leave. The mending wing, that is.”

“Finally!”

The only possessions Karigan had to take with her were the clothes she wore and the bonewood. Mara, noticing, spoke about going shopping down in the city for any extras Karigan might require. If she hadn’t needed even the most basic things, because she’d been declared dead and her possessions had been returned to her father, it would have been an ordinary conversation. Even so, Mara still managed to get her excited about the prospect of a shopping trip, and they discussed which stores to visit in very much the same manner as they would have before Karigan had ever gone off to Blackveil.

As they approached the Rider wing, Mara said, “Most everyone is at lessons or doing chores.”

It was more likely Captain Mapstone did not wish Karigan to be overwhelmed by curious Riders. She was under the impression she was considered a bit fragile.

MEOW!

Karigan glanced down, and there was Ghost Kitty rubbing against her legs, leaving a trail of white and gray fur on her trousers. She picked him up, and he butted his head against her chin. She laughed.

“The menders had to keep shooing him from the mending wing,” Mara explained. “He knew you were back. Condor has been just as ridiculous, jumping the pasture fence and trying to run into the castle.”

Karigan froze with Ghost Kitty purring in her arms.
Condor!
But what she saw in her mind was a bay stallion rearing in the palace. Palace? There had been a palace. And a horse. But she could not recall the horse’s name or why she thought of him.

Mara, mistaking her reaction, said, “Don’t worry, we’ll go see Condor next. And all the others.”

“All the others?”

“The horses Damian Frost brought while you were in Blackveil.”

“Oh!” She couldn’t wait to go see them all, especially Condor.

Ghost Kitty leaped out of her arms and trotted ahead of them into the Rider wing. Karigan passed familiar doors, including the one to her old room. She peered into the common room with its big table, which looked just the same as she remembered. That not everything had changed was very comforting.

Mara took her all the way down the corridor and around a corner. This was an ancient section of castle they were re-inhabiting, the ceilings lower and stonework cruder, the air currents smelling of must, and the dark corners full of secrets.

“Sorry to say,” Mara said, “but we ran out of rooms on the main corridor, which is a good thing if you think about it.”

It was. It meant more Riders had answered the call. Riders she had yet to meet. For all that it was good, the old corridors made Karigan uneasy. They were restless with whispers and creaking and shifting shadows.

Mara stopped at the first door. Lamps were lit on either side of it and across the hall to fight off the gloom. Beyond the pool of light lay a wall of dark.

“Anyway,” Mara said, “you are the first to have a room down this way, so the whole corridor is yours until we get more green Greenies.”

“All mine,” Karigan said with trepidation. It was going to be a little too quiet, or perhaps un-quiet?

Ghost Kitty scratched the thick-timbered door.

“Go on in,” Mara said.

Karigan did and found a large chamber—large, anyway, compared to the other rooms of the Rider wing. There were support pillars of carved wood, four arrow slit windows with drapes pulled aside, and an actual hearth.