Darkling (24 page)

One of his hands is still holding mine. He squeezes it.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Heat is racing through me. This is happening too fast. I can’t understand it. He can’t be leaving. He can’t. I just brought him back. Tristan clenches his jaw as a spasm courses through his torso. He is in pain. Again. We cannot be created for such suffering.

I lean forward until all I can see is him. I comb my fingers through his soft hair. I press my lips to his. Though they’re already cooling, he’s all I know. He’s all I feel. And the rest of the world fades away again, leaving us alone for one last time, wrapped in each other. And I remember how he fills me with warmth.
With life. How we danced in the moonlight
. One, two, three
.

“I’ll always love you,” I whisper against his lips.

Tristan squeezes my hand. I lift my head just high enough to see his eyes. The pale light around us is shining in them, filling them with wonder. Innocence. Love. And for a few more precious heartbeats, it’s just us. Just us and our light in the darkness.

Then his hand grows limp. I squeeze it but he doesn’t squeeze back. The wonder in his eyes fades. His chest doesn’t stir against mine.
An empty body. He has been ripped from me, taking my heart and any sense left in the world with him.

My lungs have sto
pped working. All I can hear are horrible choking sounds. Like someone being fed upon. Then I realize they’re coming from me. I lay my head on Tristan’s chest, listening for a heartbeat I know I won’t find. But why can’t I find it? It was here just moments ago. Just moments. I won’t let go of his hand. I shake as I sob against his chest. His still chest. I’m leaking from my eyes and nose but I don’t care. He’s growing cold beneath me. No. I won’t let him.

Don’t grow cold, Tristan. Don’t leave me.

After a while I realize that someone is touching my head. They have been for some time now. They try to pry me away from Tristan but I fight. I scream. I keen. Through my tears, I think I glimpse my father but I don’t care. This is my place. This is where I belong. By his side evermore. Even if he has grown cold. Even if he has left me.

An arm slips around my waist and hoists me up. I’m too weak to fight. Someone is trying to keep me on my feet. It’s my father again. Below me is Tristan’s body, still and peaceful. The white snow around him stained red with his blood.
So red. He needs me.

I try to lunge for him again, to curl up at his side and wait for my own death, but my father stops me. He speaks to me but I can’t understand the words. I can’t understand anything. He’s trying to lead me away. He is strong and I have no choice but to drag my feet behind him. As I start to move, I see Draven’s mother. She is weeping. She wails something at me but I might as well not have ears.

Then I see Draven standing there, watching me. Looking at me as if I were Lady. Those dark eyes pooled with tears, his breath clouding before his face.

Everything is so bright.
So nonsensical. Where am I going?

Tristan.
I have to get to Tristan. I try to twist away to dash back to my beloved. But I am suddenly floating. Father is carrying me. I can see the sky and it’s blinding me. Blinding. I close my eyes.

I
lie in bed and listen to the world around me. My back is turned to our hearth. I am facing the wall, as I have for days. Voices echo to me from the center of the village. Axes chop, digging into wood. I hear Megan laugh some distance away, laughing because she is sunburned. I close my eyes. I try to shut out the sounds of life around me. I don’t want them. For what is life without Tristan?

My mother sets a bowl of stew down beside me. I can hear the rustle of her dress. Smell the herbs of the broth. I don’t want it. I won’t eat. I haven’t since he died days ago. And I don’t intend to. My mother lingers for a moment, hoping I’ll stir. I hold extra still. Pretend I’m asleep. She leaves.

Maybe I do sleep. When I wake, my parents and Jasper are trying to speak in hushed voices. They’re trying not to disturb me. I ignore their conversations. I don’t want to hear how Draven has been asking for me. How it was his mother who picked up his fallen crossbow. How it was his mother who thought she was killing the fiend who had nearly killed her son. The sunlight was so bright. All she had seen were Tristan’s horrible scars. All she saw was monster, not man. So she fired.

Instead, I focus on how Tristan lay behind me in bed, filling me with such warmth and protection. How he sang as we danced.
Laughed as I twirled.

“
For without you I’m a flower gone dry,

A ship without sails,

A star without a sky.
” I whisper to the night.

No one in the house stirs. It’s dark. Time has slipped past me again. And I don’t like it because I get confused. My memories of Tristan are becoming jumbled. I can’t order them properly. I can’t find the ones that feel the most real. Everything is slipping away with me.

The next morning, I awake to a sound I haven’t heard in ages. A songbird. Its ululating melody is so charming that I wish Tristan was here to listen. At least he got to see the sunlight again, though that’s little comfort since he’s not here to enjoy it. Hot tears are on my cheeks. This is like Scarlet’s death all over again. As soon as I regain my strength, I cry.

A bowl of porridge is left on the quilt beside me. I didn’t even hear my mother approach. I sniffle and cover my face, trying to hide. My hair itches as I move. It has matted into rugs that tug at my scalp. I smell. But I like my wretchedness.

“Lil?” comes a soft voice.

I hold still and listen. That’s not my mother’s voice. It’s Jasper’s. He rests his small hand on my shoulder.

“I don’t want you to die, too,” he whispers.

I roll over to look at him. My vision is blurry in the overcast light. I blink to clear it. Jasper’s grey eyes are timid, his thin face drawn. But his color is coming back. He may yet grow tall.

Sniffling, I hold my hand out for his. He takes it and climbs into bed with me. He rests his head in the crook of my neck.

“Everyone dies,” I whisper. I’m surprised by the hoarseness of my own voice. My mouth is dry.

“I know that,” Jasper says. “That doesn’t mean we can’t live.”

Live. Can I still be counted among the living? Am I living? I am.
Barely. I’m forgetting. Everything. Like a spirit. Because I’m letting myself die.

Jasper shifts and grabs the bowl of porridge. He holds it in front of me. I see the worry in his eyes. He no longer has the faith that his big sister will do what’s right. So I do what I haven’t done in days. I prop myself up and take a bite.
Jasper smiles.

Maybe it was the birdsong. Maybe it was Jasper feeding me instead of my mother. But I’m thinking more clearly. I’ve bitten my fingernails down to stubs. I’ve stopped trying to sort through my memories of Tristan, because all of them are important. And I’ve tried to relive them so much that they’re becoming dull.
Faded. I don’t want him to fade. Ever.

That night, I hear my parents talking. This time I listen. My mother mentions that Draven has asked for me again. My father sighs. The next day, while my family is out, I get up. I wash my body and comb my hair. I put on a clean dress. I slip my feet into boots. By the time I make it to the door, I’m dizzy. I need to eat more.

I stagger outside, squinting in the sunlight. The sky is still overcast but I feel the pale light on my skin like heat from a lamp. I don’t want to be seen. I don’t want to answer any questions. So instead of walking through the village, I circle around it. Slow, steady steps. I close my eyes and tilt my head to the sky, soaking in the light. I hold my hands out like a bird gliding. Like Lady soaring.

I’m not better. There is no better. But I need to feel the sun.
For Scarlet. For Tristan. I start twining pieces of dead grass into a bracelet. My wandering has brought me to Draven’s barn. The hens used to live here. Draven used to sneak outside to sleep with Lady here. Draven.

His mother steps outside, carrying a bucket to the well. I look at the ground instead of her face.
Her hands which released the bolt. Released my sanity. While she is out, I shuffle into his house.

The place is quiet. Only ashes glow in the hearth. Draven is in bed. Isn’t it late? I thought I was the only one who stayed in bed at all hours. I let my fingertips drag across the wall, feeling the rough logs as I step over to him. His eyes open at the scuff of my boots. His face and neck are slicked with moisture.
Fever.

I sink down into the chair beside his bed.

“They didn’t tell me you were sick,” I say.

The flush of his cheeks and the scent of his sweat invigorate me. He smells like death. The hole in his neck hasn’t healed. Angry red skin surrounds it. His eyes are tired and glossy but they find mine. I hold his dark gaze. Several moments pass. Then he shivers and I pull the pelts up over his bare shoulders. He shifts to lie on his side.

Birds sing outside. I wonder if he hears them. I hope he knows I’m here. He hunches his back as if he has feathers to ruffle. I tuck the pelts under his chin. One of his wrists is uncovered, resting against the straw mattress. The skin there is crisscrossed with white scars from Lady. I remember when the falcon first hatched. Draven spoke more back then. I made a bracelet that day. I have one in my hands.

Draven watches me with half-lidded eyes as I slip the dry grass bracelet onto his wrist. He studies it for some time, never moving more than the rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, his eyes drift shut and he sleeps. I kiss his damp brow then leave. By the time I get home, I only have the strength to crawl into bed and sleep. For the first time since I can remember, I dream.
Of butterflies. Such colors. When I wake, I remember Tristan.

He had dreamed of butterflies, as well.
Had thought that they must be jealous of him. Because while they had bodies longer than he did, he had his long enough to feel the sun. And my hand. And that was enough for him. I look at my hand. Pale and lined. I open and close it. There is nothing special about it. It was only special when our palms touched. I close my eyes and sigh but I do not weep. Not tonight.

I wake up from pounding on the door. The light is gray.
Before dawn. Jasper stirs first, pulling a blanket around him in my parents’ bed as my father rises. He answers the door and Draven’s mother dashes in. I stiffen at the sight of her. She is sobbing. I want to throw something at her. Scream for her to get out.

“I’m so sorry,” she wails against my father’s chest. He reluctantly pats her back then looks over his shoulder at my mother. She hurries out of bed and hugs her friend.

“What is it Gwen? Is it Draven?”

Gwen nods, her face flushed and shining.
Tears. I don’t care if she’s wretched. I still want to hit her. I’m standing. I didn’t even notice getting up.

“He won’t wake up. I’m being punished. This is my punishment,” Gwen moans.

My mother gazes at me as she rubs Gwen’s back. Then Gwen notices me. She stumbles towards me, her hair a rat’s nest, her bony hands reaching for mine.

“I’m so sorry, Willow. So sorry for what I’ve done.”

She grabs my hand and falls to her knees. She presses her wet cheek against my skin. She is sobbing. I yank my hand away and dart out of the room, out into the grey light.

My nightgown is thin and the air is crisp but there is no snow. I run on bare feet. I run into the forest. I want to keep going to the house.
To see if Tristan is there without a body. To lie where he lay. But instead, I stop in a clearing. What used to be a meadow. Green shoots are sprouting all over, surprisingly tall. The naked trees are adorned with buds.

Spring is coming. Draven is dying. Tristan is dead. I fall to my knees.

I want to weep. I try to force myself to weep. Nothing comes out. So I throw a rock. It bounces off a trunk and disappears in the dead leaves. So much death. So much suffering. Is this the reason for life? An endless string of goodbyes? I want to say goodbye to Draven but I can’t bring myself to move. I’m weak. I can’t watch another death. Another body fail.

Warmth kisses my hands.
My arms. My chest. I look up. The sun is peeking over the ridge, rising in the east. The clouds are scattered. For the first time in years, I feel its golden light. I close my eyes as it bathes my face.