Blindsighted Wanderer was born from my childhood fascination with the Asrai: a type of water nymph from Cheshire folklore. These creatures formed the basis of the Asrae of the novel, and during the creative process, I developed a backstory for them which didn't make the final cut. I restored it as the following short prequel in the 2nd edition, and now it's available here for you to enjoy too.
This story takes place roughly 6,000 years prior to the events of Blindsighted Wanderer, and features Dylana: a secondary character from the novel as a young woman.
This story takes place roughly 6,000 years prior to the events of Blindsighted Wanderer, and features Dylana: a secondary character from the novel as a young woman.
Origins © January 2007 E. C. Hibbs
Once upon a time, long before the Peregrin people began their wanderings, a tiny Kingdom lay nestled within the peaks of the Ironbelt Range. Locked in an area rarely frequented by others, and with homes built into the mountains themselves, it lived its own existence, separate from the rest of the world. Rocky paths followed the rugged shape of the land, through the carpets of purple heather and hardy pine trees which stretched their spindly branches towards the sky. A mosaic of tiny lakes lay captured in the bottoms of the corries, each so still, the water caught the reflection of every star above. It was after this striking nature the Kingdom was named: Delamere – the Forest of the Lakes.
Dylana sat on her yard wall and gazed at the faraway summits. The dusk had turned the sky a beautiful pink, streaked here and there with golden-edged cloud. The air smelled crisp, and far below in the distant valleys, clouds of mist were settling down for the night. In the soft twilight, there was no boundary between earth and sky, and if she squinted, she could almost imagine herself flying, or perhaps swimming in a bottomless pool; a sanctuary with no need to breathe or speak.
Sunset was her favourite time of day. No matter the season, she always made sure to be out of bed early enough to watch the last light disappear. Darkness was the time when the Asrians lived; the light was too bright for their sensitive eyes and the heat prickled their pale skin. So they existed with the moon, not the sun. They would close their windows against the day, and when the stars emerged, so too did they.
As she sat there, Delamere slowly became alive. Doors opened and their occupants flooded out, ready to begin the night's work. A group of women came walking along the path, wooden tubs clutched in their arms to be filled at the lakeshore. They would ask permission from the water to take some of its bounty, then haul the tubs back up to the scree so they could launder at a respectable distance.
One of the women, an elderly lady named Fenella, noticed Dylana and nodded in greeting.
“Good eve to ye, dear,” she said. “Wilt thou come today?”
Dylana smiled, but shook her head. “Nay, I have no need.”
“Thou is always welcome, know that,” said Fenella. She withdrew a bag from her belt and handed it over. “I kept it back from yesterday. I shall bring more later.”
“Thank you,” said Dylana.
“Fare thee well, sweet girl.”
The women headed down the steps to the lake. Dylana watched them in silence. They knew she never went to the lake; she’d never stepped foot in the water in her entire life. But, driven by politeness and custom, they never stopped inviting her along. She might have grown irksome about the whole thing if the lakes were not such an integral part of being Asrian.
Her people were even named Asrians after the largest lake in the region – Dylana could see it from her door: a near-perfect circle of water which had turned almost black in the growing darkness. It looked like a massive hole which no light could penetrate, and she couldn’t even imagine how far it might stretch into the earth. Nobody knew that; nobody dared swim deep enough. Not for fear of drowning, but of what lived there.
There, in the darkest part just before the corrie lip, was the magic of the Wise Ones. Everyone knew it and revered it to the utmost. The Wise Ones were not human, but of an entirely different race; part of a family which cared for all aspects of nature. They had the power of the water in their veins; could shift from one place to another through the matter of their element; lived for millennia. It was said that for every century that passed, they only aged the equivalent of one year. It was they the Asrians appealed to on a daily basis, for everything from fish to wishes. It was to them the songs were sung at Midsummer; in their water newborn babes were washed to be granted their blessing.
Dylana had often asked her father if their lake was the entrance to another world. Every time, he would simply smile and say, “Who knows?”
She watched the women until they were little more than spots in the distance; then she headed inside to cook her breakfast. Her home was tiny: only one room, but cosy in its simplicity, and was all she needed. She combed her thick silvery blonde hair, tied it back with a strip of fabric, and perched by the fire pit in the centre of the floor. She opened the bag Fenella had given her and pulled out the trout within, speared it on a spit and set about roasting it over the flames.
Since she didn’t go near the water, Fenella always made sure she was well-stocked with food. In the three years since her father’s death, Dylana had looked after herself. The neighbours kept a watchful eye on her and helped when they could, but for the most part, she remained on her own. And that was exactly how she liked it.
As she turned the spit, her mind wandered to the empty corner where her father’s bed had lain. It was gone now, but she could still remember the shape of it. Fifteen Midsummers ago, she had been born in that bed; her mother’s last breath drawn at the same time as Dylana cried out her first. Her father had buried the bones in the Tomb Garden and raised Dylana alone. But he was old and sickly too, only managing to make it until her twelfth birthnight.
And just before he died, he had grasped her arm and urgently begged her to never go near the lakes.
“I am no longer able to protect you… Use caution, my daughter!” he had cried as his lungs failed. “Keep to thyself… that is all you may do now. Heed me and stay away from the water as thou hast done all thy life!”
“Protect me? From what?”
“Swear to me!” he cried. “Keep away from the Asria, Dylana! Swear thy word!”
She had quickly agreed, and word of her vow passed around the Kingdom as her father was laid to rest. But nobody had actually believed she would keep it so seriously. They had told her she was free now and didn’t need to keep the strange tradition which had been once forced upon her. To never go down to the lake was like the girl had cut off a hand.
And yet she stayed in the summits, taking her water from the little stream behind her house. Not once did she relent.
She was an outsider because of it, she knew that well. It was difficult enough being the only one in Delamere with purple eyes. Everyone else’s were blue or grey. But she had been born at odds from the start; her irises shone violet from the moment they opened. She had taken them as a gift from the mother she had never known, but what the others didn’t know were Dylana’s own suspicions as to why her father had made her promise.
She could see things – things which should have been impossible to comprehend or identify. She would sense massive storms weeks before they struck; how many fish would be caught, right down to the single number. Sometimes, she knew instinctively when somebody was going to die. And she hadn’t cried at her father’s passing, because she could still speak with him.
She wondered what her neighbours would call her if they found out. She had no proof, but was sure she would be the quiet solitary orphan no longer. Instead she would be a demon; a necromancer. How else could it be labelled? How could she predict how they would react?
It was better not to risk it. Better to be a little strange than completely outcast.
She took the trout off the flames and ate half of it, wrapping the rest in the bag to save for supper. Then she hung it off the floor, smoothed her skirt and walked outside.
It was true night now. The final blue glow had disappeared into the west, but she saw as clearly as the owl and bat. The moon was climbing high in the star-spangled sky; the waters of the Asria caught its light and threw it in all directions like the shine of a million diamonds. Close to its shore sat the King’s home: not large or grand enough to be called a castle, but still unique enough from the houses on the slopes to leave no denial as to who lived there.
Between there and her own home was the Tomb Garden. The Asrians did not bury their dead – the rocky ground was far too hard to dig, so instead, they gave their loved ones a sky burial: allowed the birds to pick the bodies clean. A stone engraved with their name was erected in the shadow of the King’s home, so they would know they were never forgotten, and then their bones laid to rest at its base.
Dylana followed the warren of paths until she reached the Tomb Garden. The faint whispers of the deceased drifted around her as she moved. They could sense her; knew she could hear them. She listened as she passed their stones. None were shocked or appalled by her; she was their only link to the world now. They would often ask her to pass words to their relatives, but she never did. It was too risky. If only the living were as accepting as the dead.
She rounded the corner where her father lay and sat in front of his stone. A little orb of light hovered above it. Many of the stones had them: the bones within the earth cast memories of themselves into the air. Everyone was aware they were there; it was how they could recall their loved ones so clearly when they came to the Tomb Garden. But only she could see them.
The one before her pulsed faintly and Dylana heard her father’s voice inside her mind.
Good eve, my dear…
Father, she thought back. How does ye?
I am most content. And thy mother too… She speaks of thee often…
Dylana smiled and swept her finger across the orb. Once, as a child, her father had brought her to show her where her mother lay. She had tried to play with the memories like balls, and when her hands slipped through them, quizzed her father about what they were. It was then he had realised the extent of her powers.
“Why can you not see them?” she had asked.
“Because I am not special like thee.”
“Could Mother see them?”
“Yes, as clear as day. She was like you in many ways, but also held her tongue. It does not do to take such a gift and hold it aloft, Dylana. The eye will see what it wants to see, remember that.”
Then he had swept her onto his shoulders and carried her home.
Now, in the present, ignoring the voices and memories was like an attempt to shut out the moonlight. She could try, but it went against her very nature. She could no easier do that than fly.
She went to speak again, but then a sound cut through her thoughts and she stilled. It was hard, guttural. Someone else was in the Tomb Garden, and they were sobbing.
“What is’t?” she muttered. Father, pardon me.
Without another word, she crept through the undergrowth in the direction of the sound. Soon enough, she spotted a figure, crouched over and looking down intently at one of the stones.
Curiosity overcame her and she approached. It was a young man; she could see that much. His face was turned away from her, but there was no mistaking the two bands around his wrists. They were woven from hardy grass and decorated with the deep red of amarant blossoms. Only one person wore those.
It was the King.
Dylana drew in a gasp before she could stop herself. The young man spun around. She was so shocked that she almost fell backwards over a stone.
Forgive me, she silently muttered to the bones resting there, then turned to the King.
“I am so sorry, Your Majesty. I did not realise.”
“There is no need for apology,” he replied, but kept his eyes downcast. “I have not seen thee for some time, Dylana.”
“There has been no reason for me to trouble anyone,” she said. “They have their own lives to live.”
“And so you live yours here,” said the King with a glance at her.
Dylana shrugged. Like many Asrians, she was on friendly terms with their ruler. Even though he was the leader, he was still one of them. And like many, she felt sorry for him. He had only become King two months ago, at the age of just fifteen, barely out of his boyhood. The bands – the sign of royalty – had been woven off the dying Queen's wrists and onto his own, passing the mantle over to him. Before that, he was like any other youngster: playing with his peers and running along the lakeshores. But now he was sullen and withdrawn, still mourning his mother’s death. Now, he was a prince no more, but King Zandor the First: Duke of Delamere.
He looked at her again and wiped a tear from his cheek.
“Thou comes here more often than others. I have seen it.” he remarked. “Why? It is several years since thy father’s death.”
“And yet he remains family,” answered Dylana.
The memories shone in every direction, invisible to Zandor, but brighter than the stars to her. She motioned to the stone in front of him.
“I know you miss her.”
Zandor managed a thin smile. “More than any words may say.”
He knelt down again and ran a hand across the name engraved into the smooth surface.
“I wish I could speak to her again,” he said. “I did not have an opportunity to say farewell. She was not awake when the end came. She fell into sleep long before she drew her last breath. I had to stand at her side and simply… wait. It was the worst thing. No parting words, no final kisses.”
Dylana sighed. “I am terribly sorry.”
“Thou never knew thy mother, true?”
“Not for a moment, but the loss is felt and understood.”
Zandor was looking away, so she nodded her head respectfully to the old Queen’s stone.
The dead woman’s words echoed in her head.
Pass my love to him… pass my love…
I cannot, Your Highness, Dylana replied. I dare not.
Pass my love to him… It pains me to see him suffer so…
I beg of thee, do not ask this of me. I cannot let him know what I do, lest the others discover it.
The Queen’s voice grew fierce.
Pass my love to him!
The harshness was so sudden that Dylana cried out in shock. Zandor stood up again.
“What is it?” he asked, voice laced with concern.
Dylana turned away so he wouldn’t see the alarm on her face. When her own father died, it had been a peaceful thing; Dylana never worried for a moment about never seeing him again, because she knew he was still there. She knew it better than anyone. But for others, when it was less peaceful, and when there was none of that comforting knowledge, what was there to do?
Zandor and his mother had been torn from each other so slowly and yet deliberately. Nobody could prevent the end from coming, but to have no chance to accept it either… it would leave a puckering wound on anyone’s heart. Dylana could sense it in the air: invisible throbbing waves of depression and loneliness – and frustration that the other was so close and yet just out of reach.
The Queen’s words echoed in her mind, pitting themselves against those of her father. Could she? Should she?
She hesitated – she had never promised anything about her powers, only about going to the lakeshores. She wouldn’t be breaking any vows.
“I… think I may be able to grant thee a favour,” she muttered uneasily.
Zandor’s concerned expression changed to one of confusion.
“What dost thou mean?”
Dylana chewed her lip.
“If I tell you, will thou promise to keep my secret?”
“What secret?”
“Please, Your Majesty. I would not ask this if it were not important to me. Please, swear thy silence.”
Zandor looked at her for a long moment. “I swear it.”
“Thank you,” said Dylana, then took a deep breath and watched him closely.
“I can see her. Your lady mother.”
The King’s eyes widened, but Dylana didn’t wait for an answer. The longer she hesitated, the more likely her resolve would flee.
She lowered herself to the ground and cupped her hands together over the memory. She had never done this before; she had no idea if it would even work, but it felt as though it was the right thing.
After a few moments, the air between her palms grow thicker, as though it were half water, pressing against her flesh. Zandor gasped behind her. She opened her eyes a crack and found white light shining through her fingers. She slowly drew her hands apart, and sure enough, an orb was hanging there, exactly like the ones she saw. But this time, it was denser; less ghostly-looking.
“Do you see it?” she asked quietly.
He nodded, mouth hanging slack. Inside the memory, the old Queen’s face peered through a film of mist. Her eyes settled on her son and shone with love; pearly tears of happiness flowing down her cheeks.
Dylana smiled to herself. It had worked. She had made the memory real.
Zandor appeared beside her on his knees. He reached towards the orb, fingers trembling, but he stopped before he could touch it. His lips didn’t move, and neither did his mother’s, but Dylana could still hear their exchange as loudly as if it had been spoken aloud.
She regarded him. Already, his face was brightening; the sadness seeped away like rain into a river. This was what both of them had needed, and she had given it to them.
She drew back so as not to eavesdrop, and glanced at her hands. She hadn’t realised her power ran so deep. It was one thing to see the memories; hear the words of the dead. It was another completely to bring them forth for others.
She wondered if her mother had also been able to do this.
Then she looked up and her stomach flipped. Straight ahead, beyond the low border wall, were Fenella and the other women. Their expressions revealed they had seen everything.
They stared at her in silence. Dylana struggled to breathe. She hid her hands behind her back as though they were stained.
The women found their voices.
“What have you done?” Fenella choked out.
“Is it true?”
“She shows herself!”
Dylana thought she might faint with horror. She went to run, but Zandor’s fingers closed on her wrist.
“Be still,” he said in an undertone. He put his other hand on her shoulder, silently urging her to calm down.
Dylana’s knees knocked together. She wanted the ground to swallow her; the sun to rise and put an end the night… anything to take her away from this moment. It dragged out around her and pulled at her bones; every breath hurt as panic swelled in her chest. But she managed to keep herself under control, and when Zandor was sure she wouldn’t flee, he spoke up.
“What she has done is nothing short of a miracle,” he announced. His voice was strong, but his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “She has allowed me to say goodbye to the Queen. She has a gift… whatever it is, I am grateful for it. Ye need not be afraid.”
Dylana threw an anxious glance between him and their audience. The secret was out. Fenella was the greatest gossip in Delamere; soon all the Asrians would know about this.
Would they drive her away? If they did, where would she go? To the next valley with its giant ribbon lake, which was still half-full of ice from the melting glaciers? Nobody lived there; it was too cold and dangerous. She would be alone forever, with only the trees for company, without even a single dead soul to listen to…
“Please!” she cried before she was even aware of her mouth opening. “Have mercy on me! I meant no ill of it!”
Zandor turned to her.
“Do not fret, Dylana. Nay harm will come to thee. You know we are a people above that. What you have done is something to be applauded, not feared.”
“But it is unlike any other, Your Majesty,” Fenella insisted. “I know her well; she is a harmless one. But she is strange, have no doubt of it, and her father had his secrets. Now it be out, we should seek guidance from the Wise Ones.”
Dylana's stomach twisted into a knot.
“I cannot,” she protested. “All of you, feel free to go to the Asria, but leave me be, up here.”
By this point, several others had arrived, all gazing in wonder at the hovering orb. Fenella was quick to fill in any newcomers on what she had seen, and soon the Tomb Garden was filled with hushed voices. It even drowned out the whispers of the dead, and Dylana had to fight the urge to cover her ears. There was so much noise; too much noise…
“Thou must come,” a man named Yanro said. “Ye may have the power to grant all of us one of those… visions. So we may all remember our loved ones forever, with our own eyes. The Wise Ones will know! They know more than any of us!”
His words acted as a rally to the gathered people. Before Dylana could draw a breath, they had entered the Tomb Garden and rushed towards the two youngsters.
As though sensing the King may be trampled, several guards appeared seemingly from nowhere and formed a barricade. They tried to push Dylana back to the throng, but Zandor kept hold of her and held her by his side.
“She is to stay with me,” he said firmly.
The guards did not reply, but none of them moved for Dylana again. Her father’s words cut through the wall of sound and stabbed in her ears like needles.
Keep to thyself... Listen to them not and remain up high... Thou swore an oath...
She clutched at Zandor’s wrists.
“Please, Your Majesty, I beg of thee! Do not to take me to the lake!”
He frowned. “Why ever not? All Asrians are welcome there.”
“It is not a case of welcome. My father bade me to never go to the Asria. I have kept it so and vowed on his deathbed to uphold it. I dare not enter there.”
Zandor hesitated. A strange determination had set in his eyes.
“The Wise Ones will understand in these circumstances, I am sure. And dost thou not wish at all to discover why you possess such a gift? May they not have given it to you themselves?”
The crowd shuffled and whispered.
“Do you not want answers, Dylana?” Zandor pressed.
“Of course I would like to know,” she insisted, “but I swore. My father said… I must not go. It would be dangerous for me.”
“Dangerous? How so?”
“I know not, but I believed him.”
“The Wise Ones are only dangerous if they are offended. You know that. What if these powers have been given to thee for a purpose, to help others in their times of need? Who else can tell thee these things except those among us who are also powerful?”
Zandor looked at her earnestly.
“Thou hast the irises of someone otherworldly. There is more to you than meets the eye, I believe that. And you have the Kingdom behind you; all my guards; you have my watchful eye. You are Asrian as much as I and as much as anyone in Delamere. No harm shall come to you.”
Dylana’s lip trembled. She threw a glance in the direction of her father’s stone.
Forgive me, she said. They will not leave me be or let me go until I consent.
Do not go, daughter...
I have no choice.
Twisting her hands together anxiously, she nodded.
“This one time only.”
Zandor smiled.
“This one time only,” he promised. Then he raised his hands and motioned for everyone to follow.
The walk to the lake was one of the longest Dylana had ever taken. Her heart pounded with a raging cocktail of emotions: pride at helping the King, guilt over breaking her promise, and both relief and worry that her powers had been revealed. More and more people swarmed to join the crowd. They had heard the news and were eager to join in, many craning their necks to get a glimpse of her. She hunched her shoulders in discomfort.
They reached the rocky shore of Asria. The surface was still and glassy; the moon’s reflection hung fat and bright over its centre. Dylana couldn’t see the bottom, only boulders and scree at the edge which gradually melted away into the black depths.
A sudden heaviness overcame her, as though the entire weight of the water had crashed down on her body. She fell to her knees and gasped for air.
“What is it?” Zandor asked under his breath.
Dylana looked up at him urgently.
“There is something wrong… I cannot be here! I feel it!”
To her dismay, the King only shook his head.
“No, you are merely nervous. I told thee, there is nothing to fear.”
“Not from you, perhaps,” she replied. “But here… I must leave! Let me go!”
She staggered upright. The Asrians had pressed together like a wall in their excitement; there was no way out. The panic built inside her, and like a frightened rabbit she ran into the water, trying to cut around the side of them.
She had barely taken three strides before she fell. Something was grasping her ankles and rooting her to the spot. When she tried to get free, she realised with shock that the restraints were part of the water itself, somehow made dense and firm enough to hold her still.
The lake suddenly rippled and a deathly silence fell over the muttering crowd. All eyes turned to the clear reflection of the moon. Out of it rose a sinuous humanoid figure, long hair flowing down past its heels. It stood on the surface as though it were as solid as ground, clad in nothing more than a sparse tunic of shimmering fish scales. Every single inch of its flesh was transparent and sparkling, made entirely of water. From a perfectly aligned face stared two eyes of the richest violet, alight from within, and they were fixed on Dylana.
She trembled. Those eyes were the same colour as her own.
Everyone on the shore sunk into a deep bow. Never before had they seen such a creature. But the Lady ignored them.
“You have brought her here,” she said in a voice older than the mountains. “She with the eyes of the Arncæ.”
Dylana frowned. What were the Arncæ?
“She has granted me a gift, O Wise One,” Zandor said shakily.
“If that is how you choose to view it,” the Lady responded. With every syllable, her tone became colder. “But it is a gift which she should never have possessed. We know of you, Dylana. We have been waiting for this moment for a long time, ever since you were born.”
Dylana swallowed.
“Why? What dost thou want of me?”
The Lady regarded her as though deciding whether she would make a tasty meal.
“Your mother was my sister.”
Dylana was so shocked, she almost fell over again.
The crowd started muttering, but they and their voices seemed a thousand miles away. There was only her, the Lady, and the water between them. That short distance was terrifying; the same lake touched both of them, held her in place, forced her to look into those chilling eyes, so like her own, but empty of everything…
“You are a crossbreed of the humans and the Arncæ – the beings of the water,” the Lady continued. “Why else would you have our violet gaze; be able to deal our powers with no ill effect? To do what you did; to even experience life as you do every day, hearing the dead, speaking to them… If you were simply human then it would kill you instantly. Your father knew this. Why else would he always come with you to the lakes, if not to keep you safe? Why else would he make you promise to stay away when he passed on?”
Dylana's mouth fell open. A crossbreed? That couldn’t be… her mother had been a common girl like so many others; that was what she had always been told…
As though reading her thoughts, the Lady carried on.
“They all knew about your mother,” she said, motioning to the Asrians with a twitch of the head.
Dylana broke away to stare at them. Sure enough, many of her neighbours’ familiar faces were cast down, like guilty children who had been caught out.
“You knew?” she cried. “You knew all along and never told me?”
“Oh, they did not know about your powers, or even hers,” said the Lady. “But they were aware of your origins; of how your father used to come to the tarns in the middle of the day when your people do not walk in the sun. And then, how he awoke one evening to find a babe left on his doorstep, soaked to the bone and yet not in distress. Why else would they find you odd, you foolish girl? They always knew you were not one of them, not completely.”
Dylana whimpered in shock. None of the Asrians dared meet her eyes. The only person who was still looking at her was Zandor, and he seemed just as surprised as her. He was the same age as her; he would never have been aware of this secret his Kingdom had covered up.
Dylana gritted her teeth. She was still shaking, but the Lady’s words cut deep and forced a strength from her she didn’t know she had. Fear slowly drained away into anger.
The Lady smirked.
“How I behold you! Such fury; such human rashness! What will you do? Punish them? Will you summon the dead to scream in their ears forever, just as you have always heard?”
“Why would my power stretch that far?” Dylana growled.
“Perhaps. If only you had been born a true Arncæ. You descend from the strongest of our line. But my sister was foolish, as you are.”
“How am I foolish? Why has thou waited for me?”
“Your resistance of the water is all that has protected you. But now you are here, defenceless, and having revealed your stolen powers to those who should never receive them.” The Lady paused. “Such a display – and such an existence – goes against all that must be. Your heart and lungs and life represent a mixture which should not be; cannot be. I refuse to allow it to continue to sully our kind so callously.”
“With respect, I had no choice in being born or to whom,” Dylana argued. “No babe knows such luxury. I meant no harm and I will stand by my vow forevermore. Never again shall I use the power. Dost thou accept this?”
“A promise to a dead man means little to we who live for millennia,” said the Lady. “You will die this night, Dylana the Asræ. And as for your people, by taking one of ours into their midst, having the nerve to bring you back here… My punishment extends to them. All of you will die.”
The low whispers instantly turned into a scream. The crowd panicked and tried to hurry back towards the path. But the bottleneck was too narrow to take them all. The Lady raised her arms. Her entire body glowed white, until it hurt to look at her. She focused on the Asrians, ready to bring the curse down upon them.
Dylana’s panic reached its peak. She wrenched herself free of the watery grip.
“Nay!” she shrieked. “Leave them be!”
The guards quickly surrounded Zandor, but Dylana knew it wouldn’t be enough to protect him. She sprinted towards him, just as the Great Lady brought her arms down.
The light shot from her like a knife – and Dylana leapt in front of it.
It tore through her: a sharp, freezing pain which worked into every muscle. For a horrid moment, she lost all feeling in her body and thought she was dead. She was floating somewhere above herself, with no breath in her lungs nor heartbeat in her ears. But then she sensed a growing heat in her hands; the air growing denser, as it had when she pulled the memory into sight. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she drew it closer, opened her eyes, and threw it back at the Lady.
The Lady pushed harder, trying to force her out of the way. Dylana set herself like a shield. No matter what happened, she couldn’t move. If she did, the light would strike Zandor, her neighbours, all her people, and the entire Kingdom of Delamere would be lost forever.
And all because of her...
No. She had to stop this. She could stop this.
She resisted with all her might, until she felt the curse somehow absorbing into her, filling her with its influence. Like water held within a bucket, it did not breach her defences; instead it fuelled her in a way she hadn’t thought possible. It strained against her body, bursting to get out. She couldn’t hold it much longer.
Then a sudden thought came to her. She hadn’t created the memory orb for Zandor, only changed it into a new form so he could see it. She knew, instinctively, that she couldn’t destroy or stop the Lady’s power. But she could change it.
In a final bid of energy, she grasped the Lady’s magic in an iron grip. The strength of it caught the Arncæ off guard; Dylana felt her hold slacken. Then she wrenched it towards herself and let go.
The light erupted from her, fracturing as though it had hit a mirror, and struck every single Asrian in the heart. But Dylana was in control now. She concentrated so hard, she feared her head would explode. She sought every single person out, as she had sought the dead in the past, ensuring not a single one was left. When the light had reached everybody, she switched to her own power and sent a little of it to all she had reached.
We will survive! she thought. Come water, sun, the ravages of time… we will survive together!
The words echoed as though she had shouted them. The last of the magic finally flooded out of her, and she collapsed onto all fours. She stayed there for a few long moments and tried to catch her breath.
She exclaimed in shock.
She was not kneeling in the water, but on top of it; and her hands were pale green with webbed flesh running between her knuckles. The green was all over her body; her feet were webbed too, and her hair had transformed into a deep emerald. She tried to stand, but the movement made her wince, as though she were carrying a bundle on her back. Reaching over her shoulder, she was stunned to find a large fin protruding from her spine. It had torn straight through her clothes and ran from the base of her neck to her hips.
She turned to face the Asrians. With relief, she saw them standing, as though nothing had struck them at all. But like her, they were transformed; every man, woman and child staring between her and each other. And every single one of their eyes was now purple.
“Very clever,” the Lady said, and Dylana spun around again. She wasn’t sure she could fend off another attack.
But despite the Arncæ’s obvious frustration, it was clear she would not strike again. She was shaking her head in disbelief.
“I underestimated you,” she said. “You took my magic, combined it with your own, and altered its intent. And look what you have done with it!”
“I know what I have done,” Dylana replied. “All of my people now have a piece of me within them – a piece of thee. Thou said thyself, this very night, that I was strong enough. I knew my power would stretch that far. And it protected us.”
To her surprise, the Great Lady sniggered.
“You believe you have saved them? You have struck them with a double-edged sword, fool! Yes, you have now forced them all to share in Arncæ power – you will age as we do, one year for every hundred that pass. You may breathe under the water and walk upon its surface. These are blessings, but only if you had been strong enough to repel all of my malice! I sensed what you were doing, and so I also altered my power. If you so much as step one foot into the sunlight, it will not merely harm you, but melt you like ice in the spring thaw. All those who see your twisted bodies will look upon you in fear; revile you as monsters. Is that truly what you wanted, Dylana the Asræ?”
The Lady shook her head slowly.
“You are Asrians no longer. Your Kingdom will return to the rocks and the lakes; become dust so small that none shall remember you. And you have brought it all upon yourselves.”
She cast one final glare at Dylana; then slowly receded back into the depths, leaving nothing so much as a ripple to mark her presence.
Dylana sat on her yard wall and gazed at the faraway summits. The dusk had turned the sky a beautiful pink, streaked here and there with golden-edged cloud. The air smelled crisp, and far below in the distant valleys, clouds of mist were settling down for the night. In the soft twilight, there was no boundary between earth and sky, and if she squinted, she could almost imagine herself flying, or perhaps swimming in a bottomless pool; a sanctuary with no need to breathe or speak.
Sunset was her favourite time of day. No matter the season, she always made sure to be out of bed early enough to watch the last light disappear. Darkness was the time when the Asrians lived; the light was too bright for their sensitive eyes and the heat prickled their pale skin. So they existed with the moon, not the sun. They would close their windows against the day, and when the stars emerged, so too did they.
As she sat there, Delamere slowly became alive. Doors opened and their occupants flooded out, ready to begin the night's work. A group of women came walking along the path, wooden tubs clutched in their arms to be filled at the lakeshore. They would ask permission from the water to take some of its bounty, then haul the tubs back up to the scree so they could launder at a respectable distance.
One of the women, an elderly lady named Fenella, noticed Dylana and nodded in greeting.
“Good eve to ye, dear,” she said. “Wilt thou come today?”
Dylana smiled, but shook her head. “Nay, I have no need.”
“Thou is always welcome, know that,” said Fenella. She withdrew a bag from her belt and handed it over. “I kept it back from yesterday. I shall bring more later.”
“Thank you,” said Dylana.
“Fare thee well, sweet girl.”
The women headed down the steps to the lake. Dylana watched them in silence. They knew she never went to the lake; she’d never stepped foot in the water in her entire life. But, driven by politeness and custom, they never stopped inviting her along. She might have grown irksome about the whole thing if the lakes were not such an integral part of being Asrian.
Her people were even named Asrians after the largest lake in the region – Dylana could see it from her door: a near-perfect circle of water which had turned almost black in the growing darkness. It looked like a massive hole which no light could penetrate, and she couldn’t even imagine how far it might stretch into the earth. Nobody knew that; nobody dared swim deep enough. Not for fear of drowning, but of what lived there.
There, in the darkest part just before the corrie lip, was the magic of the Wise Ones. Everyone knew it and revered it to the utmost. The Wise Ones were not human, but of an entirely different race; part of a family which cared for all aspects of nature. They had the power of the water in their veins; could shift from one place to another through the matter of their element; lived for millennia. It was said that for every century that passed, they only aged the equivalent of one year. It was they the Asrians appealed to on a daily basis, for everything from fish to wishes. It was to them the songs were sung at Midsummer; in their water newborn babes were washed to be granted their blessing.
Dylana had often asked her father if their lake was the entrance to another world. Every time, he would simply smile and say, “Who knows?”
She watched the women until they were little more than spots in the distance; then she headed inside to cook her breakfast. Her home was tiny: only one room, but cosy in its simplicity, and was all she needed. She combed her thick silvery blonde hair, tied it back with a strip of fabric, and perched by the fire pit in the centre of the floor. She opened the bag Fenella had given her and pulled out the trout within, speared it on a spit and set about roasting it over the flames.
Since she didn’t go near the water, Fenella always made sure she was well-stocked with food. In the three years since her father’s death, Dylana had looked after herself. The neighbours kept a watchful eye on her and helped when they could, but for the most part, she remained on her own. And that was exactly how she liked it.
As she turned the spit, her mind wandered to the empty corner where her father’s bed had lain. It was gone now, but she could still remember the shape of it. Fifteen Midsummers ago, she had been born in that bed; her mother’s last breath drawn at the same time as Dylana cried out her first. Her father had buried the bones in the Tomb Garden and raised Dylana alone. But he was old and sickly too, only managing to make it until her twelfth birthnight.
And just before he died, he had grasped her arm and urgently begged her to never go near the lakes.
“I am no longer able to protect you… Use caution, my daughter!” he had cried as his lungs failed. “Keep to thyself… that is all you may do now. Heed me and stay away from the water as thou hast done all thy life!”
“Protect me? From what?”
“Swear to me!” he cried. “Keep away from the Asria, Dylana! Swear thy word!”
She had quickly agreed, and word of her vow passed around the Kingdom as her father was laid to rest. But nobody had actually believed she would keep it so seriously. They had told her she was free now and didn’t need to keep the strange tradition which had been once forced upon her. To never go down to the lake was like the girl had cut off a hand.
And yet she stayed in the summits, taking her water from the little stream behind her house. Not once did she relent.
She was an outsider because of it, she knew that well. It was difficult enough being the only one in Delamere with purple eyes. Everyone else’s were blue or grey. But she had been born at odds from the start; her irises shone violet from the moment they opened. She had taken them as a gift from the mother she had never known, but what the others didn’t know were Dylana’s own suspicions as to why her father had made her promise.
She could see things – things which should have been impossible to comprehend or identify. She would sense massive storms weeks before they struck; how many fish would be caught, right down to the single number. Sometimes, she knew instinctively when somebody was going to die. And she hadn’t cried at her father’s passing, because she could still speak with him.
She wondered what her neighbours would call her if they found out. She had no proof, but was sure she would be the quiet solitary orphan no longer. Instead she would be a demon; a necromancer. How else could it be labelled? How could she predict how they would react?
It was better not to risk it. Better to be a little strange than completely outcast.
She took the trout off the flames and ate half of it, wrapping the rest in the bag to save for supper. Then she hung it off the floor, smoothed her skirt and walked outside.
It was true night now. The final blue glow had disappeared into the west, but she saw as clearly as the owl and bat. The moon was climbing high in the star-spangled sky; the waters of the Asria caught its light and threw it in all directions like the shine of a million diamonds. Close to its shore sat the King’s home: not large or grand enough to be called a castle, but still unique enough from the houses on the slopes to leave no denial as to who lived there.
Between there and her own home was the Tomb Garden. The Asrians did not bury their dead – the rocky ground was far too hard to dig, so instead, they gave their loved ones a sky burial: allowed the birds to pick the bodies clean. A stone engraved with their name was erected in the shadow of the King’s home, so they would know they were never forgotten, and then their bones laid to rest at its base.
Dylana followed the warren of paths until she reached the Tomb Garden. The faint whispers of the deceased drifted around her as she moved. They could sense her; knew she could hear them. She listened as she passed their stones. None were shocked or appalled by her; she was their only link to the world now. They would often ask her to pass words to their relatives, but she never did. It was too risky. If only the living were as accepting as the dead.
She rounded the corner where her father lay and sat in front of his stone. A little orb of light hovered above it. Many of the stones had them: the bones within the earth cast memories of themselves into the air. Everyone was aware they were there; it was how they could recall their loved ones so clearly when they came to the Tomb Garden. But only she could see them.
The one before her pulsed faintly and Dylana heard her father’s voice inside her mind.
Good eve, my dear…
Father, she thought back. How does ye?
I am most content. And thy mother too… She speaks of thee often…
Dylana smiled and swept her finger across the orb. Once, as a child, her father had brought her to show her where her mother lay. She had tried to play with the memories like balls, and when her hands slipped through them, quizzed her father about what they were. It was then he had realised the extent of her powers.
“Why can you not see them?” she had asked.
“Because I am not special like thee.”
“Could Mother see them?”
“Yes, as clear as day. She was like you in many ways, but also held her tongue. It does not do to take such a gift and hold it aloft, Dylana. The eye will see what it wants to see, remember that.”
Then he had swept her onto his shoulders and carried her home.
Now, in the present, ignoring the voices and memories was like an attempt to shut out the moonlight. She could try, but it went against her very nature. She could no easier do that than fly.
She went to speak again, but then a sound cut through her thoughts and she stilled. It was hard, guttural. Someone else was in the Tomb Garden, and they were sobbing.
“What is’t?” she muttered. Father, pardon me.
Without another word, she crept through the undergrowth in the direction of the sound. Soon enough, she spotted a figure, crouched over and looking down intently at one of the stones.
Curiosity overcame her and she approached. It was a young man; she could see that much. His face was turned away from her, but there was no mistaking the two bands around his wrists. They were woven from hardy grass and decorated with the deep red of amarant blossoms. Only one person wore those.
It was the King.
Dylana drew in a gasp before she could stop herself. The young man spun around. She was so shocked that she almost fell backwards over a stone.
Forgive me, she silently muttered to the bones resting there, then turned to the King.
“I am so sorry, Your Majesty. I did not realise.”
“There is no need for apology,” he replied, but kept his eyes downcast. “I have not seen thee for some time, Dylana.”
“There has been no reason for me to trouble anyone,” she said. “They have their own lives to live.”
“And so you live yours here,” said the King with a glance at her.
Dylana shrugged. Like many Asrians, she was on friendly terms with their ruler. Even though he was the leader, he was still one of them. And like many, she felt sorry for him. He had only become King two months ago, at the age of just fifteen, barely out of his boyhood. The bands – the sign of royalty – had been woven off the dying Queen's wrists and onto his own, passing the mantle over to him. Before that, he was like any other youngster: playing with his peers and running along the lakeshores. But now he was sullen and withdrawn, still mourning his mother’s death. Now, he was a prince no more, but King Zandor the First: Duke of Delamere.
He looked at her again and wiped a tear from his cheek.
“Thou comes here more often than others. I have seen it.” he remarked. “Why? It is several years since thy father’s death.”
“And yet he remains family,” answered Dylana.
The memories shone in every direction, invisible to Zandor, but brighter than the stars to her. She motioned to the stone in front of him.
“I know you miss her.”
Zandor managed a thin smile. “More than any words may say.”
He knelt down again and ran a hand across the name engraved into the smooth surface.
“I wish I could speak to her again,” he said. “I did not have an opportunity to say farewell. She was not awake when the end came. She fell into sleep long before she drew her last breath. I had to stand at her side and simply… wait. It was the worst thing. No parting words, no final kisses.”
Dylana sighed. “I am terribly sorry.”
“Thou never knew thy mother, true?”
“Not for a moment, but the loss is felt and understood.”
Zandor was looking away, so she nodded her head respectfully to the old Queen’s stone.
The dead woman’s words echoed in her head.
Pass my love to him… pass my love…
I cannot, Your Highness, Dylana replied. I dare not.
Pass my love to him… It pains me to see him suffer so…
I beg of thee, do not ask this of me. I cannot let him know what I do, lest the others discover it.
The Queen’s voice grew fierce.
Pass my love to him!
The harshness was so sudden that Dylana cried out in shock. Zandor stood up again.
“What is it?” he asked, voice laced with concern.
Dylana turned away so he wouldn’t see the alarm on her face. When her own father died, it had been a peaceful thing; Dylana never worried for a moment about never seeing him again, because she knew he was still there. She knew it better than anyone. But for others, when it was less peaceful, and when there was none of that comforting knowledge, what was there to do?
Zandor and his mother had been torn from each other so slowly and yet deliberately. Nobody could prevent the end from coming, but to have no chance to accept it either… it would leave a puckering wound on anyone’s heart. Dylana could sense it in the air: invisible throbbing waves of depression and loneliness – and frustration that the other was so close and yet just out of reach.
The Queen’s words echoed in her mind, pitting themselves against those of her father. Could she? Should she?
She hesitated – she had never promised anything about her powers, only about going to the lakeshores. She wouldn’t be breaking any vows.
“I… think I may be able to grant thee a favour,” she muttered uneasily.
Zandor’s concerned expression changed to one of confusion.
“What dost thou mean?”
Dylana chewed her lip.
“If I tell you, will thou promise to keep my secret?”
“What secret?”
“Please, Your Majesty. I would not ask this if it were not important to me. Please, swear thy silence.”
Zandor looked at her for a long moment. “I swear it.”
“Thank you,” said Dylana, then took a deep breath and watched him closely.
“I can see her. Your lady mother.”
The King’s eyes widened, but Dylana didn’t wait for an answer. The longer she hesitated, the more likely her resolve would flee.
She lowered herself to the ground and cupped her hands together over the memory. She had never done this before; she had no idea if it would even work, but it felt as though it was the right thing.
After a few moments, the air between her palms grow thicker, as though it were half water, pressing against her flesh. Zandor gasped behind her. She opened her eyes a crack and found white light shining through her fingers. She slowly drew her hands apart, and sure enough, an orb was hanging there, exactly like the ones she saw. But this time, it was denser; less ghostly-looking.
“Do you see it?” she asked quietly.
He nodded, mouth hanging slack. Inside the memory, the old Queen’s face peered through a film of mist. Her eyes settled on her son and shone with love; pearly tears of happiness flowing down her cheeks.
Dylana smiled to herself. It had worked. She had made the memory real.
Zandor appeared beside her on his knees. He reached towards the orb, fingers trembling, but he stopped before he could touch it. His lips didn’t move, and neither did his mother’s, but Dylana could still hear their exchange as loudly as if it had been spoken aloud.
She regarded him. Already, his face was brightening; the sadness seeped away like rain into a river. This was what both of them had needed, and she had given it to them.
She drew back so as not to eavesdrop, and glanced at her hands. She hadn’t realised her power ran so deep. It was one thing to see the memories; hear the words of the dead. It was another completely to bring them forth for others.
She wondered if her mother had also been able to do this.
Then she looked up and her stomach flipped. Straight ahead, beyond the low border wall, were Fenella and the other women. Their expressions revealed they had seen everything.
They stared at her in silence. Dylana struggled to breathe. She hid her hands behind her back as though they were stained.
The women found their voices.
“What have you done?” Fenella choked out.
“Is it true?”
“She shows herself!”
Dylana thought she might faint with horror. She went to run, but Zandor’s fingers closed on her wrist.
“Be still,” he said in an undertone. He put his other hand on her shoulder, silently urging her to calm down.
Dylana’s knees knocked together. She wanted the ground to swallow her; the sun to rise and put an end the night… anything to take her away from this moment. It dragged out around her and pulled at her bones; every breath hurt as panic swelled in her chest. But she managed to keep herself under control, and when Zandor was sure she wouldn’t flee, he spoke up.
“What she has done is nothing short of a miracle,” he announced. His voice was strong, but his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “She has allowed me to say goodbye to the Queen. She has a gift… whatever it is, I am grateful for it. Ye need not be afraid.”
Dylana threw an anxious glance between him and their audience. The secret was out. Fenella was the greatest gossip in Delamere; soon all the Asrians would know about this.
Would they drive her away? If they did, where would she go? To the next valley with its giant ribbon lake, which was still half-full of ice from the melting glaciers? Nobody lived there; it was too cold and dangerous. She would be alone forever, with only the trees for company, without even a single dead soul to listen to…
“Please!” she cried before she was even aware of her mouth opening. “Have mercy on me! I meant no ill of it!”
Zandor turned to her.
“Do not fret, Dylana. Nay harm will come to thee. You know we are a people above that. What you have done is something to be applauded, not feared.”
“But it is unlike any other, Your Majesty,” Fenella insisted. “I know her well; she is a harmless one. But she is strange, have no doubt of it, and her father had his secrets. Now it be out, we should seek guidance from the Wise Ones.”
Dylana's stomach twisted into a knot.
“I cannot,” she protested. “All of you, feel free to go to the Asria, but leave me be, up here.”
By this point, several others had arrived, all gazing in wonder at the hovering orb. Fenella was quick to fill in any newcomers on what she had seen, and soon the Tomb Garden was filled with hushed voices. It even drowned out the whispers of the dead, and Dylana had to fight the urge to cover her ears. There was so much noise; too much noise…
“Thou must come,” a man named Yanro said. “Ye may have the power to grant all of us one of those… visions. So we may all remember our loved ones forever, with our own eyes. The Wise Ones will know! They know more than any of us!”
His words acted as a rally to the gathered people. Before Dylana could draw a breath, they had entered the Tomb Garden and rushed towards the two youngsters.
As though sensing the King may be trampled, several guards appeared seemingly from nowhere and formed a barricade. They tried to push Dylana back to the throng, but Zandor kept hold of her and held her by his side.
“She is to stay with me,” he said firmly.
The guards did not reply, but none of them moved for Dylana again. Her father’s words cut through the wall of sound and stabbed in her ears like needles.
Keep to thyself... Listen to them not and remain up high... Thou swore an oath...
She clutched at Zandor’s wrists.
“Please, Your Majesty, I beg of thee! Do not to take me to the lake!”
He frowned. “Why ever not? All Asrians are welcome there.”
“It is not a case of welcome. My father bade me to never go to the Asria. I have kept it so and vowed on his deathbed to uphold it. I dare not enter there.”
Zandor hesitated. A strange determination had set in his eyes.
“The Wise Ones will understand in these circumstances, I am sure. And dost thou not wish at all to discover why you possess such a gift? May they not have given it to you themselves?”
The crowd shuffled and whispered.
“Do you not want answers, Dylana?” Zandor pressed.
“Of course I would like to know,” she insisted, “but I swore. My father said… I must not go. It would be dangerous for me.”
“Dangerous? How so?”
“I know not, but I believed him.”
“The Wise Ones are only dangerous if they are offended. You know that. What if these powers have been given to thee for a purpose, to help others in their times of need? Who else can tell thee these things except those among us who are also powerful?”
Zandor looked at her earnestly.
“Thou hast the irises of someone otherworldly. There is more to you than meets the eye, I believe that. And you have the Kingdom behind you; all my guards; you have my watchful eye. You are Asrian as much as I and as much as anyone in Delamere. No harm shall come to you.”
Dylana’s lip trembled. She threw a glance in the direction of her father’s stone.
Forgive me, she said. They will not leave me be or let me go until I consent.
Do not go, daughter...
I have no choice.
Twisting her hands together anxiously, she nodded.
“This one time only.”
Zandor smiled.
“This one time only,” he promised. Then he raised his hands and motioned for everyone to follow.
The walk to the lake was one of the longest Dylana had ever taken. Her heart pounded with a raging cocktail of emotions: pride at helping the King, guilt over breaking her promise, and both relief and worry that her powers had been revealed. More and more people swarmed to join the crowd. They had heard the news and were eager to join in, many craning their necks to get a glimpse of her. She hunched her shoulders in discomfort.
They reached the rocky shore of Asria. The surface was still and glassy; the moon’s reflection hung fat and bright over its centre. Dylana couldn’t see the bottom, only boulders and scree at the edge which gradually melted away into the black depths.
A sudden heaviness overcame her, as though the entire weight of the water had crashed down on her body. She fell to her knees and gasped for air.
“What is it?” Zandor asked under his breath.
Dylana looked up at him urgently.
“There is something wrong… I cannot be here! I feel it!”
To her dismay, the King only shook his head.
“No, you are merely nervous. I told thee, there is nothing to fear.”
“Not from you, perhaps,” she replied. “But here… I must leave! Let me go!”
She staggered upright. The Asrians had pressed together like a wall in their excitement; there was no way out. The panic built inside her, and like a frightened rabbit she ran into the water, trying to cut around the side of them.
She had barely taken three strides before she fell. Something was grasping her ankles and rooting her to the spot. When she tried to get free, she realised with shock that the restraints were part of the water itself, somehow made dense and firm enough to hold her still.
The lake suddenly rippled and a deathly silence fell over the muttering crowd. All eyes turned to the clear reflection of the moon. Out of it rose a sinuous humanoid figure, long hair flowing down past its heels. It stood on the surface as though it were as solid as ground, clad in nothing more than a sparse tunic of shimmering fish scales. Every single inch of its flesh was transparent and sparkling, made entirely of water. From a perfectly aligned face stared two eyes of the richest violet, alight from within, and they were fixed on Dylana.
She trembled. Those eyes were the same colour as her own.
Everyone on the shore sunk into a deep bow. Never before had they seen such a creature. But the Lady ignored them.
“You have brought her here,” she said in a voice older than the mountains. “She with the eyes of the Arncæ.”
Dylana frowned. What were the Arncæ?
“She has granted me a gift, O Wise One,” Zandor said shakily.
“If that is how you choose to view it,” the Lady responded. With every syllable, her tone became colder. “But it is a gift which she should never have possessed. We know of you, Dylana. We have been waiting for this moment for a long time, ever since you were born.”
Dylana swallowed.
“Why? What dost thou want of me?”
The Lady regarded her as though deciding whether she would make a tasty meal.
“Your mother was my sister.”
Dylana was so shocked, she almost fell over again.
The crowd started muttering, but they and their voices seemed a thousand miles away. There was only her, the Lady, and the water between them. That short distance was terrifying; the same lake touched both of them, held her in place, forced her to look into those chilling eyes, so like her own, but empty of everything…
“You are a crossbreed of the humans and the Arncæ – the beings of the water,” the Lady continued. “Why else would you have our violet gaze; be able to deal our powers with no ill effect? To do what you did; to even experience life as you do every day, hearing the dead, speaking to them… If you were simply human then it would kill you instantly. Your father knew this. Why else would he always come with you to the lakes, if not to keep you safe? Why else would he make you promise to stay away when he passed on?”
Dylana's mouth fell open. A crossbreed? That couldn’t be… her mother had been a common girl like so many others; that was what she had always been told…
As though reading her thoughts, the Lady carried on.
“They all knew about your mother,” she said, motioning to the Asrians with a twitch of the head.
Dylana broke away to stare at them. Sure enough, many of her neighbours’ familiar faces were cast down, like guilty children who had been caught out.
“You knew?” she cried. “You knew all along and never told me?”
“Oh, they did not know about your powers, or even hers,” said the Lady. “But they were aware of your origins; of how your father used to come to the tarns in the middle of the day when your people do not walk in the sun. And then, how he awoke one evening to find a babe left on his doorstep, soaked to the bone and yet not in distress. Why else would they find you odd, you foolish girl? They always knew you were not one of them, not completely.”
Dylana whimpered in shock. None of the Asrians dared meet her eyes. The only person who was still looking at her was Zandor, and he seemed just as surprised as her. He was the same age as her; he would never have been aware of this secret his Kingdom had covered up.
Dylana gritted her teeth. She was still shaking, but the Lady’s words cut deep and forced a strength from her she didn’t know she had. Fear slowly drained away into anger.
The Lady smirked.
“How I behold you! Such fury; such human rashness! What will you do? Punish them? Will you summon the dead to scream in their ears forever, just as you have always heard?”
“Why would my power stretch that far?” Dylana growled.
“Perhaps. If only you had been born a true Arncæ. You descend from the strongest of our line. But my sister was foolish, as you are.”
“How am I foolish? Why has thou waited for me?”
“Your resistance of the water is all that has protected you. But now you are here, defenceless, and having revealed your stolen powers to those who should never receive them.” The Lady paused. “Such a display – and such an existence – goes against all that must be. Your heart and lungs and life represent a mixture which should not be; cannot be. I refuse to allow it to continue to sully our kind so callously.”
“With respect, I had no choice in being born or to whom,” Dylana argued. “No babe knows such luxury. I meant no harm and I will stand by my vow forevermore. Never again shall I use the power. Dost thou accept this?”
“A promise to a dead man means little to we who live for millennia,” said the Lady. “You will die this night, Dylana the Asræ. And as for your people, by taking one of ours into their midst, having the nerve to bring you back here… My punishment extends to them. All of you will die.”
The low whispers instantly turned into a scream. The crowd panicked and tried to hurry back towards the path. But the bottleneck was too narrow to take them all. The Lady raised her arms. Her entire body glowed white, until it hurt to look at her. She focused on the Asrians, ready to bring the curse down upon them.
Dylana’s panic reached its peak. She wrenched herself free of the watery grip.
“Nay!” she shrieked. “Leave them be!”
The guards quickly surrounded Zandor, but Dylana knew it wouldn’t be enough to protect him. She sprinted towards him, just as the Great Lady brought her arms down.
The light shot from her like a knife – and Dylana leapt in front of it.
It tore through her: a sharp, freezing pain which worked into every muscle. For a horrid moment, she lost all feeling in her body and thought she was dead. She was floating somewhere above herself, with no breath in her lungs nor heartbeat in her ears. But then she sensed a growing heat in her hands; the air growing denser, as it had when she pulled the memory into sight. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she drew it closer, opened her eyes, and threw it back at the Lady.
The Lady pushed harder, trying to force her out of the way. Dylana set herself like a shield. No matter what happened, she couldn’t move. If she did, the light would strike Zandor, her neighbours, all her people, and the entire Kingdom of Delamere would be lost forever.
And all because of her...
No. She had to stop this. She could stop this.
She resisted with all her might, until she felt the curse somehow absorbing into her, filling her with its influence. Like water held within a bucket, it did not breach her defences; instead it fuelled her in a way she hadn’t thought possible. It strained against her body, bursting to get out. She couldn’t hold it much longer.
Then a sudden thought came to her. She hadn’t created the memory orb for Zandor, only changed it into a new form so he could see it. She knew, instinctively, that she couldn’t destroy or stop the Lady’s power. But she could change it.
In a final bid of energy, she grasped the Lady’s magic in an iron grip. The strength of it caught the Arncæ off guard; Dylana felt her hold slacken. Then she wrenched it towards herself and let go.
The light erupted from her, fracturing as though it had hit a mirror, and struck every single Asrian in the heart. But Dylana was in control now. She concentrated so hard, she feared her head would explode. She sought every single person out, as she had sought the dead in the past, ensuring not a single one was left. When the light had reached everybody, she switched to her own power and sent a little of it to all she had reached.
We will survive! she thought. Come water, sun, the ravages of time… we will survive together!
The words echoed as though she had shouted them. The last of the magic finally flooded out of her, and she collapsed onto all fours. She stayed there for a few long moments and tried to catch her breath.
She exclaimed in shock.
She was not kneeling in the water, but on top of it; and her hands were pale green with webbed flesh running between her knuckles. The green was all over her body; her feet were webbed too, and her hair had transformed into a deep emerald. She tried to stand, but the movement made her wince, as though she were carrying a bundle on her back. Reaching over her shoulder, she was stunned to find a large fin protruding from her spine. It had torn straight through her clothes and ran from the base of her neck to her hips.
She turned to face the Asrians. With relief, she saw them standing, as though nothing had struck them at all. But like her, they were transformed; every man, woman and child staring between her and each other. And every single one of their eyes was now purple.
“Very clever,” the Lady said, and Dylana spun around again. She wasn’t sure she could fend off another attack.
But despite the Arncæ’s obvious frustration, it was clear she would not strike again. She was shaking her head in disbelief.
“I underestimated you,” she said. “You took my magic, combined it with your own, and altered its intent. And look what you have done with it!”
“I know what I have done,” Dylana replied. “All of my people now have a piece of me within them – a piece of thee. Thou said thyself, this very night, that I was strong enough. I knew my power would stretch that far. And it protected us.”
To her surprise, the Great Lady sniggered.
“You believe you have saved them? You have struck them with a double-edged sword, fool! Yes, you have now forced them all to share in Arncæ power – you will age as we do, one year for every hundred that pass. You may breathe under the water and walk upon its surface. These are blessings, but only if you had been strong enough to repel all of my malice! I sensed what you were doing, and so I also altered my power. If you so much as step one foot into the sunlight, it will not merely harm you, but melt you like ice in the spring thaw. All those who see your twisted bodies will look upon you in fear; revile you as monsters. Is that truly what you wanted, Dylana the Asræ?”
The Lady shook her head slowly.
“You are Asrians no longer. Your Kingdom will return to the rocks and the lakes; become dust so small that none shall remember you. And you have brought it all upon yourselves.”
She cast one final glare at Dylana; then slowly receded back into the depths, leaving nothing so much as a ripple to mark her presence.
*
The rest of the night passed in a haze. Dylana fled to her home and slammed the door shut; she snatched a chair and wedged it under the handle so nobody could come in. People shouted for her, pounded on her wall, but she flung herself down on her bed and did her best to ignore them.
What had she done?
She thought about Zandor. What were they going to do now? How could they survive without the lakes? No crops could grow up this high; no fish swam in the streams. The Lady’s words rang in her memory and sent shivers up her arms.
She screwed her eyes closed so she wouldn’t have to look at herself. The fin on her back waved of its own accord; the webbing between her fingers snagged on the sheets. It felt terribly delicate, as though it was spun from spider silk.
Soon, the sky began to lighten and silence fell across the Kingdom as everyone hurried home. Dylana got to her feet and eased the door open. As soon as she stepped outside, she let out a hiss of pain; her skin stung as though it had passed through flame and water seeped from her pores. She drew back in alarm and nursed her hand.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Everybody else would feel the same now; before the sun’s touch had merely hurt. Now it could kill them. She had doomed them all.
But she couldn’t stay in her house, either. With every moment that passed, the walls seemed to press in around her; the air became thinner and invisible fingers pushed themselves down her throat. She had to get out. So she snatched her thick winter cloak, wrapped it around herself until she was completely covered, and fled toward the Tomb Garden.
The paths were empty. Faint voices carried on the wind as others realised the light couldn’t touch them. Dylana did her best to ignore them and hid herself behind the wall. She crept to her father’s memory and laid upon his stone.
I am sorry! she cried. I am so sorry! Thou always told me not to go there and I could not listen! One time I waver in my resolve, and look at what has been done!
I wish thou hast heeded me, came the reply, but it was laced with a tenderness which Dylana hadn’t been expecting.
Are you not angry?
I was for a moment, but there is no need for such emotions among the dead, my dear... I am the one who should be sorry... I concealed the truth from thee... I bade all others to do the same... I should have been honest about thy mother, thy origins... It was my failing...
Nay, I am the one who has failed us, Dylana wept. I have mutilated us, destroyed all we are. Father, I do not wish to live! I cannot hold this burden upon my shoulders forevermore!
Before the memory could reply, she reared onto her knees and pulled her hood off her face. Pain seared across her cheeks as the first rays of dawn peered over the eastern summits. She gritted her teeth and waited.
“What are you doing?”
Hands suddenly closed around her middle and dragged her away. She yelped in fright and kicked out as hard as she could.
“Leave me be!”
“And let thee come to harm? Nay!”
She was thrown through a door and into a large room. She spun around to face the figure. It was Zandor, flanked by two guards. She forced herself to not cry out at the sight of him – he was still young and handsome, undoubtedly himself, but to see his pale skin and silvery hair turned as green as water made her stomach flip.
“What was thy intention?” he asked. “To die? To give up?”
“It is no more than I deserve, Your Majesty!” Dylana protested. “I have destroyed everything!”
“We are not destroyed,” Zandor said. “Observe! I still stand, as do you, and all our people. We should all be dead, yet we were saved by thee.”
“Saved?” Dylana repeated incredulously. She threw off the cloak and motioned at herself. “Thou dost think this is saved? What I did
to thee, to everyone?”
“We are saved,” he insisted. “Changed much, aye, but saved, living. We shall not die.”
“Not for thousands of years! And again because of me!”
“You are not listening! Do you think I have been sitting idle all night, not thinking of our future, of how we may continue?”
Zandor stepped closer and took hold of her hands.
“Dylana, our people are not fragile. The light may always have hurt us, but if we were so dainty and easily-broken, why would we have lived as we have, up here, far from anyone else? Thou may have been different from us once, but no longer, and even before, not so much as might be thought! Thou comes from the Wise Ones! Thou is a Wise One, who has given us life; a new existence. We are indebted to you. And we will survive.”
Dylana’s eyes stung with tears. She didn’t try to stop them as they cascaded down her cheeks. Zandor’s face blurred into a haze of green.
“Then what would you have us do?” she choked out. “No lakes? No light? No Wise Ones? We will surely perish. It will be as she said.”
A tiny smile curled Zandor’s lips. Dylana had never seen such an expression: hope and sadness in equal measure; the promise of new things alongside grieving and heavy knowledge.
“We will perish here,” he said slowly. “But not elsewhere.”
“What dost thou mean?”
“We leave. We cannot remain in Delamere. The land is too dry; the air too thin. So we shall move on and create a new future. We can choose it: a chosen land above all others.”
He gripped her tighter.
“And I would bid thee to help me rebuild. I shall be King, and thee the Mistress of Magic. Instruct us in how we may adapt to this, teach us the power thou hast given to each of us. We shall be as Asrians no more, but a new people, under a new home and new name. All is not lost. So, Mistress Dylana, wilt thou do this with me?”
Dylana’s heart thundered. Leave everything behind? Was it possible?
“There is no other way, is there?” she said quietly.
“Not which I can see,” replied Zandor. “Any way is better than none. Thyself is proof of that. Is it not preferable to live in an altered form than to join all our loved ones in death?”
Dylana pressed her lips together and looked away. She would have been happy to do that. She imagined herself lying over her father’s grave, letting her bones become entwined with his, never again having to deal with the tangles and shallowness of the living. It was a tempting offer. Blessed silence and stillness, floating in an abyss without beginning or end, sound or speech, breath or blood. Just nothingness, forever.
She sighed. Zandor seemed to realise her thoughts, because he dipped his head to catch her eye again.
“Dylana, you can be as the dead anytime,” he said, “but what is the rush?”
What had she done?
She thought about Zandor. What were they going to do now? How could they survive without the lakes? No crops could grow up this high; no fish swam in the streams. The Lady’s words rang in her memory and sent shivers up her arms.
She screwed her eyes closed so she wouldn’t have to look at herself. The fin on her back waved of its own accord; the webbing between her fingers snagged on the sheets. It felt terribly delicate, as though it was spun from spider silk.
Soon, the sky began to lighten and silence fell across the Kingdom as everyone hurried home. Dylana got to her feet and eased the door open. As soon as she stepped outside, she let out a hiss of pain; her skin stung as though it had passed through flame and water seeped from her pores. She drew back in alarm and nursed her hand.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Everybody else would feel the same now; before the sun’s touch had merely hurt. Now it could kill them. She had doomed them all.
But she couldn’t stay in her house, either. With every moment that passed, the walls seemed to press in around her; the air became thinner and invisible fingers pushed themselves down her throat. She had to get out. So she snatched her thick winter cloak, wrapped it around herself until she was completely covered, and fled toward the Tomb Garden.
The paths were empty. Faint voices carried on the wind as others realised the light couldn’t touch them. Dylana did her best to ignore them and hid herself behind the wall. She crept to her father’s memory and laid upon his stone.
I am sorry! she cried. I am so sorry! Thou always told me not to go there and I could not listen! One time I waver in my resolve, and look at what has been done!
I wish thou hast heeded me, came the reply, but it was laced with a tenderness which Dylana hadn’t been expecting.
Are you not angry?
I was for a moment, but there is no need for such emotions among the dead, my dear... I am the one who should be sorry... I concealed the truth from thee... I bade all others to do the same... I should have been honest about thy mother, thy origins... It was my failing...
Nay, I am the one who has failed us, Dylana wept. I have mutilated us, destroyed all we are. Father, I do not wish to live! I cannot hold this burden upon my shoulders forevermore!
Before the memory could reply, she reared onto her knees and pulled her hood off her face. Pain seared across her cheeks as the first rays of dawn peered over the eastern summits. She gritted her teeth and waited.
“What are you doing?”
Hands suddenly closed around her middle and dragged her away. She yelped in fright and kicked out as hard as she could.
“Leave me be!”
“And let thee come to harm? Nay!”
She was thrown through a door and into a large room. She spun around to face the figure. It was Zandor, flanked by two guards. She forced herself to not cry out at the sight of him – he was still young and handsome, undoubtedly himself, but to see his pale skin and silvery hair turned as green as water made her stomach flip.
“What was thy intention?” he asked. “To die? To give up?”
“It is no more than I deserve, Your Majesty!” Dylana protested. “I have destroyed everything!”
“We are not destroyed,” Zandor said. “Observe! I still stand, as do you, and all our people. We should all be dead, yet we were saved by thee.”
“Saved?” Dylana repeated incredulously. She threw off the cloak and motioned at herself. “Thou dost think this is saved? What I did
to thee, to everyone?”
“We are saved,” he insisted. “Changed much, aye, but saved, living. We shall not die.”
“Not for thousands of years! And again because of me!”
“You are not listening! Do you think I have been sitting idle all night, not thinking of our future, of how we may continue?”
Zandor stepped closer and took hold of her hands.
“Dylana, our people are not fragile. The light may always have hurt us, but if we were so dainty and easily-broken, why would we have lived as we have, up here, far from anyone else? Thou may have been different from us once, but no longer, and even before, not so much as might be thought! Thou comes from the Wise Ones! Thou is a Wise One, who has given us life; a new existence. We are indebted to you. And we will survive.”
Dylana’s eyes stung with tears. She didn’t try to stop them as they cascaded down her cheeks. Zandor’s face blurred into a haze of green.
“Then what would you have us do?” she choked out. “No lakes? No light? No Wise Ones? We will surely perish. It will be as she said.”
A tiny smile curled Zandor’s lips. Dylana had never seen such an expression: hope and sadness in equal measure; the promise of new things alongside grieving and heavy knowledge.
“We will perish here,” he said slowly. “But not elsewhere.”
“What dost thou mean?”
“We leave. We cannot remain in Delamere. The land is too dry; the air too thin. So we shall move on and create a new future. We can choose it: a chosen land above all others.”
He gripped her tighter.
“And I would bid thee to help me rebuild. I shall be King, and thee the Mistress of Magic. Instruct us in how we may adapt to this, teach us the power thou hast given to each of us. We shall be as Asrians no more, but a new people, under a new home and new name. All is not lost. So, Mistress Dylana, wilt thou do this with me?”
Dylana’s heart thundered. Leave everything behind? Was it possible?
“There is no other way, is there?” she said quietly.
“Not which I can see,” replied Zandor. “Any way is better than none. Thyself is proof of that. Is it not preferable to live in an altered form than to join all our loved ones in death?”
Dylana pressed her lips together and looked away. She would have been happy to do that. She imagined herself lying over her father’s grave, letting her bones become entwined with his, never again having to deal with the tangles and shallowness of the living. It was a tempting offer. Blessed silence and stillness, floating in an abyss without beginning or end, sound or speech, breath or blood. Just nothingness, forever.
She sighed. Zandor seemed to realise her thoughts, because he dipped his head to catch her eye again.
“Dylana, you can be as the dead anytime,” he said, “but what is the rush?”
*
When the summer receded and the longer nights swept in, the all of Delamere all gathered outside the home of the King. They left their homes abandoned and took no belongings. The only things collected were the bones from the Tomb Garden, carefully stored so no two would accidentally mix. Dylana carried those of her father under one arm and her mother under the other, and kept her violet eyes straight ahead. There was nothing behind, not anymore.
One by one, the people made their way out of the pine forests and the carpets of heather. They walked through the peaks by the light of the moon, hiding in caves to avoid the sun. through the peaks in the direction of the next valley. There, in the hidden basin concealed by a melting glacier, they would find a new home, Zandor had said. A new Forest of the Lakes would spring up and protect them, as the mountains had done before. They would call it the Land of the Elite: the land they had chosen above all others to be home. And Dylana made a new vow to her people: that once they were there, she would place a protective spell around the entire place, so the Wise Ones would never find them again.
She had passed the power of the Arncæ to her people. And as a result, they were not Asrian any longer.
Like her, they were Asræ.
One by one, the people made their way out of the pine forests and the carpets of heather. They walked through the peaks by the light of the moon, hiding in caves to avoid the sun. through the peaks in the direction of the next valley. There, in the hidden basin concealed by a melting glacier, they would find a new home, Zandor had said. A new Forest of the Lakes would spring up and protect them, as the mountains had done before. They would call it the Land of the Elite: the land they had chosen above all others to be home. And Dylana made a new vow to her people: that once they were there, she would place a protective spell around the entire place, so the Wise Ones would never find them again.
She had passed the power of the Arncæ to her people. And as a result, they were not Asrian any longer.
Like her, they were Asræ.