Little Sway

Llan strolled around the back lawn with the strange girl. She had a confident little sway in her walk, as though she knew how to do things. She watched the garden through half-closed eyes, smiling at things he couldn't see. She seemed at once to be incredibly bored by everything, almost asleep, but at the same time completely, vibrantly awake, taking note of everything in a way that made it seem as though she were noticing nothing at all. She paused by an old oak and stared at the base of it for a full minute, transfixed, an odd expression passing over her face, half fear, half fascination.

There was an old grasshopper sitting on a seedhead. She lifted it, oh so gently, cupping it in her hands, then gripped it between her thumb and forefinger while the green legs worked underneath it. She took something from her pocket and sprinkled it over the creature. Carefully, she plucked off one of the long waving antennae, then knelt at the base of the trunk. Her hands moved deliberately, delicately. When she stood again, the grasshopper was gone.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Right antenna missing," she said, as though taking a mental note. "Tell me if you see that one again."

"What did you do with the grasshopper?" he asked.

"He's gone now."

"Did you just eat that bug?"

She turned to face him, one hand on her hip, one eyebrow arched, expression icy. He felt a strange urge to apologise to her. Was she Dorin of Erinthrain now? But then there was the little curve of the mouth, the little quirk at the corner.

Her jaw moved, and her cheek poked out a little as though something were moving inside.

"Have you got that bug in your mouth right now?"

She stared right at him, expression perfectly neutral. Then, all of a sudden, she laughed. "No, I'm sorry, I was teasing you. I was just doing it with my tongue, see? I don't eat bugs."

She was terrifying and strangely wonderful. He had absolutely no idea who she was or what she was doing. He watched as she stalked off again to inspect a patch of grass next to a rock.

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There were mouseholes everywhere. The land inside the ring was like a smashed plate, glued back together by an idiot with the pieces all the wrong way round. Some of the mouseholes were leaking light, so she could almost see through them into some other place underneath. Some of them were sort of hollow and sick-looking. The plants wilted around the edges. Parts of the garden were full summer, parts were autumn, parts were chill, though there was no snow. She could see why time worked differently here, every part of the garden was it's own little piece of world. She felt like she was skating over a cracked ice pond. The pieces levered up as she stepped on the edges and she had to watch her feet constantly to avoid falling in.

"Tell him you love him, you idiot," whispered her heart. "Tell him he's a shining tower, and you're a tiny little turtle dove, roosting in his rafters."

"I am not telling him that," she said out loud.

"Tell him he's a great strong tree and you're a fragile blossom sheltering in his mighty limbs. Tell him now, before he goes away."

"That's just nasty," she said.

There was a good mousehole here, nice and flat. Looked like it went somewhere interesting. She started hunting around for an animal to customise.

"You know you speak to yourself sometimes?" Llan said.

"Can you see a bug or a mouse or something around here?" she called back, ignoring the question.

There were a couple of butterflies chasing each other through the grass. He stretched out his hand and pulled one into himself, as though it were on a string. It was a good trick. She'd have to ask him about it one day. He handed it to her with the wings pressed together, the little legs wiggling furiously.

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She took a bag of pigment from her pocket and carefully dusted one of the wings until the little thing was half red, half white, then she pressed it into the mousehole and watched it sink away.

"You did it again," he said. "How do you make things disappear like that?"

She did the thing with her tongue in her cheek, touched her fingers to her lips, made a yum yum smacking sound.

"I saw it disappear this time," he said. "like it had never been there."

"I sent it somewhere else," she said. "I want to find out if it went to a good place or a trapped forever place. Maybe a really, really scary place. If I see it again later, I’ll know it went to a good place. Can you catch that second butterfly for me? I've got another thing I want to try."

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Deeper in the garden, where the trees grew wide and shaggy with pale lichen and long-legged spiders clambered over mushrooms, she noticed a dark-coloured building. It was tall, with a curved front. The stones were black, and the roof too. There were intricate carvings around the door. Fantastic beasts, twisting dragons with too many teeth, wolves with human hands and faces.

She walked over to the arch and ran her fingers over the carvings. "Hello," she said.

"It's left over from before," said Llan. We call it the Rook, because, well you can see why. It's Esten's place mostly."

"Esten?"

"My younger brother. He can be a little, um, strange at times, but he's nice really."

Llan hammered on the door. The hinges rattled. A little shutter above the door swung open, and a round head popped out like a small moon.

"Who's that?"

"It’s me, Esten. It’s your brother."

The boy's head cocked in her direction. There was something about the eyes, as though he wasn’t looking at her. As though he were seeing past her to something else. His face was like a mousehole. Hard to see. What’s happened to you, I wonder?

"Who’s she?" said the boy.

"This is Taliette," said Llan. "Fen brought her in from the forest."

"She's hollow," said Esten. "She's got a piece missing."

"Don’t be rude," said Llandred. "Are you coming to the fire tonight? We’ve got some honey wine."

The boy said nothing for a minute, he seemed to be listening to something, or perhaps watching for a sign. "Very well," he barked out at last. "I will see you there." Then the shutter slammed, and they were alone once again.

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Around the back of the tower, there was a round fence cordoning off an area. There was a ship here. It might have once been painted gold, but now the leaf had peeled away, and only scattered patches of it remained. Under the gold, the material was pitchy black, an absent black.

"You have a ship," she said.

"It belongs to Father," said the Aden. "He brought it to the ring and set it up. We used to play on it, but it's pretty old now."

She ran her finger along the side. The crispy gold leaf flaked off and coated her fingertip in specks of glitter. There was writing on the side.

"It says Ariannre," said Llan. "Father named her. Do you want to come up?"

"No, what’s over this way?"

The mouseholes were much thicker here, and they stretched in cracks and lines, like an impact point, the center of a platter struck with a hammer, cracks radiating outward and there in the middle... something. It was a hole in the ground and in the world. It consumed the world. She felt as she had when Hewitt had stared at her in the clearing, like someone was trying to eat her. Like something could just come up and eat her without her even seeing it coming, and there would be nothing she could do but submit and wait for every bit of her to be gone, processed, excreted, dried to dust and blown away.

There was a fence and she climbed it, sitting on top, then dropping down on the other side. Without meaning to, she drew an arrow and fitted it to her bow.

"Are you alright?" he asked. His voice was small, just a speck in the corner of a massive canvas. She didn't reply. The hole whispered to her. The air caught in her cloak and pulled her on. The birds became quiet. Her breath was loud in her ears. He put his hand on her shoulder and she felt the blood pulsing in his arteries, the little pieces of blood squishing through the tight little veins.

"Careful," he said, but she didn't want to be careful. She wanted to run forward and leap, joyful, into the chasm. She wanted to spin forever until her body was gone, and only her mind was there, soaring forever amongst the threads. She would be a god. She would be inside of everything, falling and falling into everything and always.

"Come away now," he said. He took her arm, and he was strong. He pulled her back away from the precipice, back over the fence, back into the normal world where she was just Taliette.

She heard once again the whisper of her heart. "Not yet," it said. "Not yet. There will be a time to fly."

"You scared me then," he was saying. She let him put his arm around her, let him guide her away from the edge back around to the hidden door.

"You may not leap," Llan said, "I need you," and she felt her soul's binding, not as strong as it had been with Gintas, but a binding nonetheless, and she felt her soul's price calling to her from his pocket.

"Please give me my coin," she said quietly.

"I will give you your coin when my kingdom is restored," he said.

For a moment, she felt the chill touch of despair, but only for a moment.