Mist upon the Marsh: The Story of Nessa and Cassie (13 page)

But the experiment went terribly wrong. Initially, it appeared to be taking successful effect; and in addition to working upon himself, Qiello hurried the process of spreading the “cure” to the others of his clan. It was discovered too late, however, that the drug was only serving to debilitate the Voranan condition, so that it was evolved into something even worse than it had been to begin with. Qiello and his clan underwent a painful transformation into something more terrifying, horrible and hideous than he could have ever expected; and he was ashamed to show his face even to those who looked like him; and was disgusted even to look upon his own children.

Propagation had been already halted; but presently it was formally forbidden for any member of the clan to bring additional Voranu into the world; and if by chance this did occur, the pups were killed immediately. When a member of the clan became ill, or was grievously injured (the former of which condition was a familiar one, given the unforgiving air and climate of the marsh; though it seemed, perhaps somewhat strangely, that their neighbour Samuel Clocker was done no detriment by it), he was put to death. In this way, the numbers of the clan dwindled quickly; and by the night of Nessa’s visit to the house of old man Clocker, they consisted of only several dozen.

Now, Qiello had known (indeed since the day of his arrival) that Samuel Clocker dwelt in that same marshland, though some miles away from the home of his clan. He maintained a close watch upon him, for fear that he (or any associated with him) should find out their dwelling. Once there was a boy in the house with him; but some years ago he disappeared. Nowadays, Clocker only ever received a single visitor: once a week and no more, a young woman who remained with him for two to three hours, and then departed.

Never did this arrangement vary. Yet Qiello was sure always to send a scout to keep watch over Clocker, the nights on which these visits took place.

And so, on this particular night in late July, Qiello was astonished to hear of what had transpired at the house of old man Clocker. His son, Niono, returned home with the news that the young woman had been accompanied by another. So Qiello asked his son, who was this other? And Niono answered, that it was another young woman, though with strange white hair and a familiar, loping gait. Even from his place behind a tree, some half a mile from Clocker’s house, he could smell something particular about the young woman.

She was a member of the Endai.

At this, of course, Qiello’s shock only increased; and his thoughts fell instantly to revolve around this young Endalin woman. He had great faith in his son’s observations, and doubted him not, so began instead to ponder what had brought such a young woman so very close to such a place as Qiello’s own dwelling. He thought of Morachi, and feared that he had issued a warrant for the clan’s execution – but abandoned this theory quickly, after reminding himself that the young woman had come in none other but the presence of a single human. What mischief could she have had in mind? Qiello came to the only logical conclusion there was: and this was that she had no knowledge at all of his clan.

But this, of course, only led his mind into other, more tangled and incomplete thoughts. He imagined that Endalin woman, walking in such close proximity to his haven, and he was filled with fury. This fury encompassed all of the failures and disappointments of the past, and reminded him that he had been forsaken by Morachi. He was filled, indeed, with more anger than he had ever known. He hated the Voranu, and he hated the Endai; and the thoughts and plots which began to dance in his mind, were all of
a black and malevolent nature; and centred in that moment all around a young, white-haired Endalin woman.

Presently she was unknown to him – but she would not be for long. There started up that night a raging fire in the marsh, which centred all around that young, white-haired Endalin woman, and at the head of which stood Qiello, who fed the blaze as well as he could, and who sought ever afterwards for a way in which to increase its consumption.

Part the Second

Episode III

Chapter XV:

Fickle H
eart

N
essa arrived at Dog’s Hill just before first light. The rays of the sun were beginning to show themselves, in the ashen sky to the East, and seemed to stretch forth towards the earth from a centre-point in the vast vault overhead, creating perfect and shimmering beams of pink and orange light across a grey canvas. The trees stood tall beneath all this, reaching their own dark arms up into the heavens, as if beseeching them for a dose of luminescence, with which they might remedy their lonesome blackness.

Nessa looked upon the unspeakable beauty of this scene; and found, much to her surprise, that she was no longer tormented by the pain that had been hers only a short number of hours ago. All the long way home, she had thought not at all of the unpleasantly stuffed quality of her house. Neither had she thought of Dechtire’s displeasure, or of Caramon’s distance from herself. She had not thought anything of what she could or should say to Orin.

And she had not thought even once, in a way that was quite unusual for her, of Leyra. She found now, when she looked down into her own heart, that the smoke of that recent fire had all but cleared away, and she was afflicted no more with its detrimental effects. When she thought of Leyra, she thought of her with a greater amount of indifference, and a greater amount of benevolence, than she had known that it was possible to feel towards her. All of the anger with which she had formerly held her family captive, seemed now to have drifted completely away, like the moving of the morning mist from the surface of the river. She thought of her brother, whom she had considered to have betrayed her; and felt naught but love for him.

She slipped round to the back of the hill, and found the East entrance partway ajar. Perhaps the runners were not yet returned; or perhaps Dechtire had noticed her absence, and had chosen to aid her return in the only way she knew how. As she passed into the hill, Nessa felt even a warm burst of affection for Dechtire – whose words she had thought she would never forgive.

But oh – how things can change, in such a short amount of time!

Nessa climbed to the topmost level of the hill, and passed into the third chamber on the right-hand. The earthen floor was trampled and muddy. It seemed that the runners had only just passed into the house.

From a small chest in a corner of the room, Nessa removed a set of clothes; dusted herself off quite as well as she was able; and dressed herself. She had intended to make her way on into the house, but upon turning her eyes towards the low mattress, she felt the fatigue of her run settle down over her. So she went to the bed and lay down upon it; and hardly before she had even the chance to close her eyes properly, she was asleep.

~

Upon waking, she was not entirely certain where she was. Her first, and perhaps most hopeful, idea, was that she had never left the house of Cassie MacAdam, and indeed had actually fallen asleep there; but she quickly remembered the details of her leaving, and so abandoned that notion.

She stretched out on the bed, and yawned loudly. Over the sound, she did not at first notice the echoing of a voice, just there above her head; and so when she did, she was terribly startled. She bolted upright; but then there came a gentle hand upon her shoulder, and a repetition of the voice. The speaker drew a candle out from behind their back; and Nessa realised that she was looking only at Leyra.

“Good God, Leyra!” she shouted. “What are you doing?”

“What are
you
doing?”

“I was sleeping. I would think that that was painfully obvious.”

She looked at Leyra for several seconds, with narrowed eyes; but after a little, thought of a relevant question to put to her.

“Did anyone say anything, about my being gone?”

“Your father asked where you were, when it came time to run. Dechtire told him that you and she had had an argument – and that she had made you so angry, you left the house.”

“I see,” said Nessa, letting her head fall back on the pillow. She was beginning to suppose that she really needed apologise to Dechtire.

Leyra set the candle down atop the little chest at the foot of the bed, and came then to sit beside Nessa.

“I don’t understand why you’re here, Leyra.”

Leyra made to reach out a hand to Nessa; but she failed only halfway through the motion, and let her hand fall down into her lap. She looked to Nessa with eyes that glistened in the candlelight, in a thoroughly miserable fashion. Nessa felt a small part of her indifference, growing into something that was perhaps not so small as before; and she felt the smoke of that fire, drifting in again from its hiding place.

“I have missed you, Nessa, so very much,” said Leyra, putting up a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I can think of nothing but what I said to you; and I can do nothing but wish, that I could only take it back.”

Her hand came creeping again along the mattress, and Nessa let it twine with her own. Her eyes were fixed upon Leyra’s face, and it seemed that all her good thoughts of the hours past had disappeared.

“Won’t you say something, Nessa? Won’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know what to say to you, Leyra. I feel that we’ve said all we can say.”

“Oh, but Nessa!” Leyra cried, flinging herself down upon the mattress. She touched her face to Nessa’s shoulder, and whispered: “If only I could take it back!”

Nessa put a hand to her cheek, and smiled with all the kindness she could muster. “It matters not what you said, Leyra. Things will be always as they are – they will never change! You are Faevin’s, and I do believe that you are happy in that.”

“But I am not happy without you, Nessa.”

“You cannot have us both.”

“I know I can’t!”

Leyra began to sob, and hid her face in the crook of Nessa’s arm. Quite against her better judgment, Nessa reached out with her other arm, and wrapped it around Leyra. She held her all the while she cried, doing as she would (which was not so very much) to keep the tears from her own eyes.

“Come, Leyra,” she said. “Cry no more! Faevin loves you – and you love him! You are not alone, my dear.”

“Yet I cannot help but feel that way,” whispered Leyra, turning her face to Nessa’s.

Nessa pulled back, and disentangled herself from Leyra. “I am sorry,” she said. “I cannot do this anymore – and that is the end of it.”

Leyra was quiet for a moment. But then she raised her eyes to Nessa’s; and Nessa found that they had lost none of that pale and cutting quality, which had always caused her before to lose her head. Yet she made no move, still debating with herself what way in which to tell Leyra, simply to leave her be.

“I have been sharing my room with Misha,” said Leyra. “Her hair is not quite like yours, not perfectly white like yours; there are black streaks that run all through it, spoiling it. Her face is not pretty like yours. But, when she lies with her back to me, and the moon shines down over her hair, bleaching the black away, I can almost imagine that it’s you, lying beside me like you used to . . .”

Nessa shook her head. “I can’t,” she repeated.

Leyra nodded; and before she could burst into another fit of tears, she fled the room.

Nessa dropped back onto the mattress, and pressed her hands to her face.

~

That evening, Ceir organised a great and exquisite supper to be served in the dining room. She had been wanting to do just such a thing for some weeks past, in a sort of effort to unify the household that seemed to be crumbling. So this night, when she found all of its members in practically the very same place, at the very same time – and when she did find all of those people in something of a better mood than any of them had been in a long string of days – she decided that the time was ripe for just such a supper.

On recent nights, it had been difficult just to maintain a complete table for any length of time beyond ten minutes. Or, rather,
two
complete tables: for with the arrival of the house of Huro, it had been necessary to order another large table into the dining room. Sometimes, it seemed not even possible to ensure everyone’s presence. And so Ceir looked upon everyone this night, and examined the smiles on their faces, and the twinkling in their eyes – and indeed, these things seemed quite the novelties. She looked most especially upon her daughter, who laughed perhaps more than anyone else, and who allowed Orin, for the first time in a long time, to draw near to her. Ceir’s heart was lightened at this, and she placed a hand over it to muffle the effects of her joy upon her countenance; but of course, if she could only have known the cause of her daughter’s brightness, she perhaps would not have granted herself so quickly that joy.

Nessa sat in the parlour with some of the others, in one of a great circle of armchairs that had been gathered around one another. She talked and laughed, and drew near to her father, who seemed especially grateful for her cheerfulness. She put her hand sometimes on his knee, and lowered her head sometimes to his shoulder; her heart filling with a warm sort of happiness, each time he laid his hand atop her hair, and smiled. (She
had wholly forgotten, it seemed, what unpleasantness had occurred in the hill that morning, and had allowed that lightness which had been hers just before it, to reclaim her.)

“No more fighting with your sister, all right, my darling?” said her father.

“Of course not, Father,” said Nessa. She looked then to Dechtire, and smiled at her; and was immensely pleased to have her smile returned.

Orin sat on the other side of her, and she made no move to stop him, each time he reached out to take her hand. She noticed that all others in the circle were watching them closely, and seemed almost to flinch, fearful upon each occasion that Nessa would shy from Orin. But she made a point of not doing any such thing, and even went so far as to turn her smile upon him. He beamed brightly in return, with a certain sort of light in his golden eyes, that nearly served to make Nessa’s heart ache.

For, as we all certainly know much better than Ceir, Nessa’s agreeableness had nothing at all to do with any sentiments that she may have recently remembered she entertained for Orin. She loved him in his right, rather as she loved Dechtire. She even enjoyed having him there beside her, and feeling from time to time the warmth of his arm, pressed against her own. He kissed her cheek, and she lost none of her happiness. He came close to catching her lips with his, and she felt no dissipation of her contentment.

Ceir and the elder women came into the parlour, and called everyone to table. The laughter and conversation of the past hour or so did not diminish in any respect, but simply transferred itself to the space of the dining room, where all took their proper seats, and took up again whatever dialogue they had previously been holding. Some minutes after having started into their supper, Caramon caught Nessa’s eye, and nodded in a most approving fashion. She was not sure how she felt about the gesture, considering that his own opinion concerning her behaviour could not have been anything but different from the truth; but she only returned the small movement of her head, and went back to the discussion she had been having, with her father and Orin.

After the meal had ended, and the tables fell into the sort of easy banter that preceded the pouring of the brandy – Nessa rose from her seat, and went for what might have been the first time, to offer her help in the kitchen. The women looked at her strangely, and laughed; but Ceir kissed her cheek, and directed her to the dirty dishes. After she had broken her second plate, however, her mother took her by the shoulders once again; kissed her face three times; and shoved her out of the room. The tables roared with laughter.

At half past eleven, the younger Endai rose from the tables. Nessa and her brother kissed Dahro; and the others kissed their parents, as it was all their habit to do. Then they all sixteen filed out of the dining room, and out of the house.

The air was sweet, and filled with the fragrance and taste of the many wildflowers in the overflowing garden. The night was hot and humid, and clung to the skin like a cloak. Even before they had changed their shapes, the bodies of the runners broke out in a sweat; but they breathed deeply, and shivered with the pleasure of the sticking, sugary darkness.

They ran for hours on end, with scarcely a care upon their minds; and chased one another in wide circles all through the trees, along the banks of the river, and up and down the Devil’s Crag. At daybreak, they halted their activities, and began to race one
another home. Caramon’s jaw dropped down in astonishment, as Nessa overtook him and won the race. But Orin only smiled proudly, and kissed her hand.

Once inside the house, the runners parted to make their way to their separate rooms; but Nessa exited her own after the others had shut themselves in, and ran down the hall for a quick shower. She dressed quickly, and hung her Turin round her neck. Then she went down to the barn, climbed into the truck, and started on the drive to LeMontagne Boulevard.