-22-
Roselyn's Ashes
The afternoon was ripe for a ceremony. A gentle wind flowed through the city, carrying the scent of roasted fowl, freshly baked bread, and cinnamon. The sky was clear, but for the looming crack in the heavens. Charlotte Tate would be able to witness Marg's ceremony without the threat of rain.
She grabbed Whik's hand and led him through the mass of city folk in the courtyard. She knew few in Eckrondale, and the thought of her cabin sitting empty in the hills of Tannuchi made her wistful. She wanted to leave now, Geoffrey Marg with her, have a pint in Margarie's tavern like it used to be. But when people aren't trying to survive, politics are born, and politics gave Geoffrey Marg a castle.
The city seemed pregnant with joyfulness. Even in the bustle of the cooks carrying the feast to the dining halls and the merchants humming merrily, she felt like an outcast. A gathering of women held their song books in hand, bellowing a song Charlotte had never heard before. Men pushed barrows full of flour through the streets. I can sing better than that damn choir. And the instruments, the damned instruments.
They should have held the ceremony months ago. Everyone knew Geoffrey Marg was fit for the job and most everyone accepted it. Few wanted to lead when one wrong decision meant an uproar. Even fewer wanted to consider the possibility of thousands upon thousands of Larks just an ocean away. This was supposed to be a new start. Sebolt was supposed to be better than Eckrondale, safer, friendlier, void of greed. But bad people bring bad tidings, and there was no doubting that Eckrondale could house both.
Charlotte led Whik to the western wall. The boy ran up to the bastion ledge and jumped onto an overturned box of moldy peaches. The fruit was smashed beneath the wooden panels. There's always a bad box. There's always a rotten peach.
Horns sounded through the courtyard. Commotion followed. Foolish men held foolish fruit and juggled the edibles while children watched. It was as if they'd never endured a savage invasion. This is good, Charlotte tried to tell herself. This is distraction. But distraction would only lead to destruction if it lasted forever. They needed to wake up.
Silence fell across the crowd. Geoffrey walked out of the keep and up the stairs to the platform. The foolish men caught their apples and realized their audience had abandoned them.
Whik tugged at Charlotte's woolen trousers. "What is so important about today?"
"Hush," Charlotte said. "It's a ceremony for Geoffrey Marg. We're declaring him our leader."
Charlotte scanned the crowd, watching some women rocking their babes back and forth in their bosoms in an attempt to ensure silence. Children laughed near the Thornbristle Inn and swung from the aged rope that hung from the sign.She had attempted to coax Whik into playing with the other children, but he still showed little interest. It seemed he would rather make up his own friends or talk to Carter.
"People of Sebolt," Marg said, splitting the stillness. "Today is a monumental day. We have cleared the last remnants of death and rot from Sebolt's shores. Today we declare this city open for all who choose to move north."
The crowd released a lackluster round of applause. Charlotte grimaced.Addressing the public was not one of Marg's strengths. She would tell him how inspiring he was, how articulate, but he would just laugh in her face and pour himself a pint.
Marg walked along the platform, peering down at each face in the crowd. He looked kingly in his gold tunic lined with white trim, his black surcoat fastened at the waist. "I am not one for thrones and royal courts. Today is a day for all of us, as equals; we must enjoy the second chance we have been given. We must take the ways of the past, the ways of the life we established in Hemonstalia, and resurrect it here."
Charlotte chuckled, but straightened her face when Geoffrey glared at her. When she spotted the hint of a smile creep across his face, she knew they shared the same thought. Forget the speeches and give me the wine.
"I accept, on this beautiful day, the honor of being your steward. No one can replace King Sol of Sebolt and it is not my place to try. Instead, we will honor those who have been lost, both the ones we loved in Hemonstalia and the ones we never knew here."
Marg was in unfamiliar territory, but he was as impressive as Charlotte had ever seen him. She knew there was little he could do about his hate for speeches. Jasper chuckled in the back of the crowd, lifting one hand in the air. The rest of Marg's old crew stood by Jasper's side, Henderson Callow among them.
Geoffrey was probably a stranger to them now. Where they would once find sails and sea-faring curses, they now found courts and thrones and colorful flags. Frankford Millstone stood in the distance, leaning against a stone temple. He spent most of his days locked in there, reading books, playing with magic. He'd stay in Eckrondale for weeks on end. Only the gods knew what else he was up to.
Charlotte felt a tug on her tunic. "What is it?"
Whik frowned. "I don't want you to die, Charlotte."
Charlotte jerked her head back, her brows squeezing together. "Whik, I'm not going anywhere. What makes you say that?"
"I saw your body in the valley."
"You had a bad dream, Whik."
Marg's voice boomed through the courtyard. He said things about their struggles, about their right to live. Nonsense. No one has a right to live. They have to fight for it.
Whik shook his head. "It wasn't a dream, I don't think. I was in Frankford's temple..." He slapped a hand to his mouth.
How could he? Frankford's obsession with Whik's episodes had gone too far. "Did Frankford talk to you again? About your friend?" Charlotte ran a hand through her hair. "That's it. Stay here."
"Are you angry?" Whik said, running to keep pace with her.
"Not at you, Whik. Go find Jasper. Don't leave his side. Now."
Charlotte stomped through the crowd as Marg's voice bellowed through the square. "We have always stood for right and just values. Honesty. Compassion. Unity. We are nothing without each other. We must continue to work together. We must continue to foster a place where free thoughts can reign, no matter how exploratory or... absurd they appear on first glance." Charlotte neared the old man. "Through debate and the power of thought, we can arrive at fair conclusions, and we will all be better for it."
"Frankford Millstone!" Some of the men turned when Charlotte shouted, but they stepped aside to let her through.
"Charlotte," Frankford said, pushing himself off the temple's wall. "Is that any way to greet a friend? During our Steward's speech nonetheless?"
"Don't you think the boy has been through enough?"
"Whik?"
"He told me he didn't want me to die. Now where would he get an outlandish idea such as that?"
Frankford looked around at the crowd. Some of the peasants were staring at them now, backs turned to the Steward. Frankford grabbed Charlotte's shoulder. "Not here. Let us talk inside."
Charlotte shrugged off his hand. "No, we talk here."
"The boy has a wild imagination," Frankford said.
"It seems funny how just after he said that, he brought up this stupid temple. He loses his entire family and now you instill the fear of losing me in the poor child?"
"Charlotte, I am trying to listen to the Steward's speech."
"And what would the Steward think if he heard about this?"
Frankford looked through the crowd, past Charlotte, as if she wasn't even there. Marg continued. "Who knows how long the youngsters will be able to run free throughout Sebolt's prairies? We must continue to train, to confront the worst possibilities as we continue to enjoy the best."
"What did you do to him?" Charlotte asked.
Frankford grumbled. "I performed a little experiment with Whik, that's all. I asked him to explain his last vision. And you were in it."
"And bringing back these dreams will help him? Frankford, they're dreams."
"No! They are not dreams!"
A woman turned from the crowd. She cradled her infant in her arms, staring at Frankford and Charlotte as if they'd interrupted an Elder's prayer.
"No," Frankford said, quieter this time. "That boy is seeing things, visions, on a daily basis. Has he told you about his new friend? You only live with the boy, so one would assume he has."
"If we don't have each other," Marg bellowed, "a mutual security in knowing that we each would sacrifice life and limb for one another, then we have nothing. I vow to serve and protect every last one of you so long as your hearts put Sebolt and what we stand for first."
Charlotte wanted to grab the moldy peaches and toss them at Marg, telling him it was all a show, all a sad attempt at a new start. But the crowd erupted in applause. Some people raised their mugs to one another, wood clanking against wood before they took long sips of their frothy brews.
"Everyone has imaginary friends at his age," Charlotte said.
"Not imaginary friends of themselves. He says his friend looks exactly like him. He only sees the boy in Tannuchi, but he sees him nonetheless. Something is special about Whik, something I need to help him with."
"Frankford, no. The experiments, the lessons, the hypnostasis or whatever you call it, all of that ends today. This is not Hemonstalia. You don't have a room full of trinkets where you can play around with your crazy theories, and you don't have permission to scare Whik like this. He has a chance here, a chance for a new beginning."
Frankford rolled his eyes. "You're overreacting. The session was harmless."
"No more sessions. No more dream interpretations. We're not staying in Eckrondale with you, Frankford. You can keep your temple, but leave Whik alone. We're going back to Tannuchi in the morning."
Charlotte turned sharply and left the old man. She wanted to look back. She wanted to see if he looked defeated, alone. She wanted to shrug off the odd feeling of sympathy she felt towards Frankford Millstone. She knew he was trying to help, but Whik scared her today for the first time in a long time, and losing him would mean losing everything. Hours later, she still couldn't shake the frustration that plagued her mind. Thinking is my flaw. The boy is fine.
∞
"You seem tense," Geoffrey Marg told Charlotte. "Nothing a little wine with the new steward can't fix. Whik is tucked into bed, no?"
Charlotte nodded and lifted her arm to rest it on the oak bench in the common room. Her rosy curls fell into her face as she extended her mug towards him. He stood, walked over, and filled her wooden goblet with wine.
"I want you and Whik to move here, to Eckrondale," Geoffrey said. "There are plenty of vacant houses. There's more than enough for the two of you."
Charlotte leaned back and took a sip. The flames shot out from the fireplace and danced across the floor. The only sound to fill the room, besides the crackling and popping of the fire, was the distant patter of footsteps from those cleaning up the feast.
"I appreciate the offer, and perhaps someday we will. But I like our home; it's away from the commotion, from the politics. We've grown accustomed to Tannuchi. It's our home now. And you know we'll visit often. Besides, we'll have to keep an eye on you with all these parties you'll be throwing since the discovery of mead and whatever else you war heroes drink."
The silence was deafening. Geoffrey stared at the fire.
He took another sip. "I knew things would change."
"They've changed for the better. We can live the lives we've always wanted now."
"Is this the life you wanted?"
Charlotte thought about the question for some time. She remembered the harsh words of her husband after a night of drinking. She remembered wishing she could do anything to please him. She remembered Peter and Maya, two rotten corpses an ocean away. She pushed the thought aside. "Yes. This is the life I wanted."
The crackling of flames and splashes of wine filled the awkward silence before Geoffrey Marg spoke again. "What did they make you leave behind?"
"Depends, I suppose, who they are."
"The Larks, of course. I mean what did they take from you in Hemonstalia? What was your life like? And how much did they mess it up?"
It was but a year ago, but it felt like a lifetime. She recounted the days she lived on the mainland. She wasn't sure why the particular memory flooded into her mind, but it stuck like sap on skin.
Dear Charlotte, remember this when you're in pain, her mother had said to her when she was young, running slender fingers through the girl's hair. If we didn't feel the prick of a splinter, we would never know it was lodged in our foot. So too do we need to feel the pain of heartbreak to realize we have room to grow. It all takes time. "They didn't take anything that wasn't already lost."
Geoffrey tilted his head back and let out a low rumble of a laugh. "You're making the Steward work here. You know I don't do well with riddles."
"You really want to know?"
He nodded. Charlotte looked to the floor, searching for words that wouldn't scare him off. It was the first time he was attempting an open conversation about more than just plans for the island.
"The day the Larks attacked, my husband was leaving me for another woman. We'd been trying to have a child for years. It wasn't meant to be. It was probably for the better. His father owned every mill in the city and I never even knew mine. We were too different. We never truly understood one another."
Geoffrey choked on his wine. "Perhaps I should be the one bowing down to you."
"We were well off, yes, but he wanted to pass the mills to his own children and I could give him none. I suppose I couldn't blame him. I suppose it was as good a time as any for an invasion. My world had already been torn apart. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into with this conversation! And what about you? How does a ship captain end up saving hundreds from certain death?"
"My past is buried, a coffin not worth prying open. There's only death inside."
"Where is the fairness in that? I opened mine."
The flames' flicker lit Goeffrey's face. "I was a slave trader. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"If that is your past, then it's not about what I want. It's about what it was."
Marg smiled, but Charlotte suspected it was only to hide the pain. "I was captaining a large shipment of slaves. Bought them from the merchants in the southern isles. I was going to take them here, secure a huge payment, enough to last us a few years. I was going to hide myself away in Hemonstalia's hills with my wife and daughter, leave the captaining to greener souls. But it was a frigid winter. The seas were rough." Geoffrey paused, took a sip, continued. "Jasper was one of my slaves, a stubborn thing, but he had a good heart. Still does. My wife was onboard too. Sometimes I thought she was more bloodthirsty for kerns than I was, but kerns only buy you things, not happiness. I tried to tell her that."
"What happened to her?"
"She didn't make it when we crashed. I'm still not sure what island it was. One of the uninhabited ones, between Kolos and here. A storm hit in the dead of night. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. The mast cracked in two, the waves slammed so hard against the hull that I thought the boards would fly loose. They did. I woke up on the beach. Felt like I swallowed so much seawater that it replaced the blood. Almost all of my crew died, a few dozen slaves. But the ones that lived took care of us. Jasper fed me, clothed me, saved me from the ocean, something I never thought I'd need saving from. Henderson was there too, but he didn't see things like I did. They're still inferior in his eyes, nothing but five hundred kerns for the slaves, a couple for the iron shackles."
"Henderson doesn't see a lot of things like he should."
Marg smiled, then drank until his mug was empty.
"But you had a daughter, no?" Charlotte asked.
"I did."
She felt as though she was walking on a fine line. She yearned to know the intricacies of Geoffrey's life. She wanted to know what made him tick. She wanted to know what made him weep. The flames played with the deepening shadows of his face, swinging past his eyes to the round tip of his nose.
"My daughter's name was Roselyn. She was beautiful, just like her mother. She had the biggest blue eyes you'd ever seen."
"I'm sure she had boys falling over for her," Charlotte said.
"That she did. I told her if she ever brought one home and I didn't approve, I'd kill 'em."
Charlotte laughed. "You were one of the stern fathers, no?"
"Was there any other kind in Hemonstalia?"
"I suppose not. What became of her? If it's not inappropriate to ask."
Geoffrey cleared his throat, picked up the vessel of wine, and refilled his mug. "A lot of things became of her. She loved to watch the stars. She was unbelievable at mathematics. I don't even know the names for the things she could figure out. Before she moved out of my house, she would sit for hours and move her fingers through the night sky on our roof, writing things in the stars I suppose. Sometimes I'd sit out there and just watch her. I'm a man of swords and sails, but don't get me wrong, the way she looked as she figured out these impossible questions in her mind was beautiful."
Charlotte pressed further. "And then?"
"And then someone took her life. Tortured her, even. That was more than a year before the invasion. When I got word of her death, I couldn't sleep for days. I was empty. I took any mission I could, land or sea. I sought out death. Every night now, before I sleep, I curse the man who took her from me. I stopped eating. I stopped dreaming."
"I'm sorry," Charlotte said. She knew exactly who he was talking about. Everyone in Hemonstalia did. Malachi. Charlotte remembered walking past the court during the trial, watching some people weeping outside of the buildings and others throwing things at the man in shackles. She would have consoled Geoffrey if he was closer, but the gap of the floor between them allowed her to do nothing but share a mourning gaze.
He took a sip of his wine. "Funny how events like that can turn us back into cowering infants crying in a corner. Malachi destroyed my creation."
"He'll pay for what he did." He'll pay for every life he took. For Peter, for Maya.
"Will he? I don't know, to be honest. Most think he went to the Larks, but there's no way to tell. Why a thousand beasts would take in a man like him, I'd never know. I swore on my wife and daughter's grave, that if I ever saw the man, I'd cut the bastard's head off. During the trial all I could do was stare at his face. It's burnt into my mind. Every night, his name runs through my mind. A stupid name. Something we all have, something we take so personally, cherish so much. But more than a name murdered Roselyn."
Geoffrey Marg closed his eyes. He breathed in and out methodically. The shadows passed over the highest points of his face as a fluctuation in the breeze disrupted the steady flames. "If I ever see that man, in this life or the next, I'll kill him a thousand times over. It's the least he deserves."