On the Isle of Sound and Wonder (27 page)

“You knew this moment would come since you first took him in,” Dante said, pursing his lips. “You knew that I would find him, and still you did it. You probably even knew I would do something terrible to him when I found him.” His smile returned for a moment. “You were right, daughter. I’m going to kill him. They will die for what they’ve done. It is destined.”

Ferran threw Mira a terrified look, but she did not back down from her father’s gaze, just as she had not backed down from the tiger’s strange blue eyes. She pointed the spear at him like an accusatory finger.

“Your books speak of laws and justices and judges and rules. You are no law, no justice. You are a man, as is he. He deserves no punishment, least of all death at your hands. This is madness.”

“The threat of insanity bears little meaning when you have already passed the point of no return,” shrugged Dante, and turned back toward Ferran, who had uneasily gotten to his feet.

Before Mira could move, Dante swiped the air with one hand, his fingers trailing symbols in fire, and Ferran went flying across the clearing, slamming into the base of the tree that held up Mira’s shelter. Dante drew closer, raising both arms like a fisherman raising a net, and Ferran was dragged upward into the air, groaning in pain.

Mira lunged, sliding her hands down toward the base of her spear and swinging it like a bat, the broad shaft connecting with Dante’s side. There was a crack like thunder, and he staggered sideways, bellowing in anger. Mira spun the spear again and struck his hand, making him drop his staff. She advanced on him, but he turned and flung a hand at her, throwing her backward several feet. Her own spear went flying. The stone spearhead broke clean off the shaft and vanished into the bushes.

“Mira, don’t!” yelled Ferran, from above.

Dante flung his other hand up at Ferran and gestured. The prince fell and hit the ground hard with a shout.

“Stop this now!” Mira cried, regaining her balance and straining against the magical grip her father trapped her in. Her hands balled into fists, and she pressed hard against the invisible force.

“You will not interfere!” Dante cried, looking simultaneously furious and incredulous that she fought back. A great wind kicked up all around them, and the smell of lightning burned in Mira’s nostrils. “You cannot stop what is already in motion.”

“No,” agreed Mira, pressing harder, “but I can slow you down!”

Something snapped, and Mira soared forward like a stone from a slingshot. Dante snatched at his staff and made a sharp gesture at Ferran, and with a bellowed word that Mira did not recognize, both her father and Ferran were gone. She hit the ground, tumbling forward on the rough earth, and lay on her back, gasping for air.

“Gonzo,” she gasped, sitting up. “Gonzo?” She got to her feet, her bones thrumming and her palms tingling from the fall. “Gonzo!” She searched the bushes at the edge of the clearing for the metal man and, after a few moments, found him.

Gonzo had been torn into two large pieces. Some of his wiring and innards had spilled out, shining on the dark ground. His eye-lights had only a residual dim glow to them, and his jaw appeared to be unhinged. It was as though he had fallen from a great height, or been hit with something very heavy. His legs lay under a fern several feet away.

“Gonzo?” Mira knelt, her body still trembling from the skirmish.
Ferran will be devastated.
“Gonzo, please . . .” She tried to turn him over, but his broken insides clanked and tinkled like a chandelier in pieces, so she stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said helplessly.
He
’
s only made of metal,
she reminded herself.
Maybe he can be repaired.

She gathered him up into a pile and took him up to the treehouse bit by bit, carefully laying him out in the shape he once had been. She went down again to check for any last cogs or coils, and saw her spear lying on the ground where it had fallen, now missing its stone point. Glad it was not otherwise damaged or missing, she moved to recover it.

As she grasped the wood, lightning seared through her body. The etchings on the staff illuminated in brilliant blue-white, and she felt her own vision go bright-hot and blind. Hot pain seared her palms, and at the same time, a sensation of beautiful strength and ease swept over her. Power coursed through her as powerfully as an eagle in flight, soaring effortlessly through the air. At last, the blindness passed and the burning evaporated, and Mira gasped for air again and staggered backward a step. She stared at the stick in her hands.

This isn
’
t my spear,
she thought, her mind full of thunder and rolling clouds as she turned the stick back and forth. It was like her spear, tall and hefty, with careful and deliberate carvings all over it. But unlike her spear, this staff made her palm warm as she held it, and buzzed with something unseen when she let go and shifted it to the other hand and back again.

“His staff,” she whispered aloud, realizing. She had never been allowed near it, even when she was a child, and her father had never explained why it was forbidden. Was it because of this? Did he know this terrible feeling would come to her if she held it? Mira shivered.

“
Now what do I do?” she breathed.

There was a cold breeze that made her skin prickle, and a voice answered her: “Command me how you will, my master, I am—oh!”

Mira turned, brandishing the staff as she would her own spear. A youthful man stood in the clearing, his features handsome and blue-tinted, with windswept hair, and a translucent and half-complete body, like a painting unfinished. He stared at her as though he could not believe his eyes.

“No,” he breathed, a powerful, desperate sound of hope. “It can’t be!”

“What are you?” Mira demanded. “Where did you come from?”

The bluish man fell to his knees, his palms up in supplication. “I am your humble, loving servant,” he cried rapturously, “Aurael!”

1869

Aurael curled up on a smooth patch of stone still warm from the heat of the day, tucking his long tail around him and pricking his triangular ears toward Mira, who lay on the grass a little ways away, reading some book or other. He found himself taking on all sorts of different animal shapes lately: hound, bear cub, goose, pig, and now, a cat. In any shape, Aurael would follow Mira about and keep an eye on her from day to day. Occasionally, she would play along with him, riding on the bear cub’s back or chasing the pig around until he squealed.

There were other days—like today—where he felt somewhat invisible to her, as though he were not chief of all things on her mind. He doted on her, even on the days where she seemed not to notice him. Those days were far too frequent of late, and he found his best option was to be an animal when near her, or she wouldn’t even notice him. If he spoke as a formless voice on the wind, she did not hear, and if he shaped himself as a man, she did not see him. She only saw the animals, and that worried him. He didn’t understand what caused it, though, and so he carried on, trying constantly to win her affection and attention as different beasts and birds.

“Mira,” called her father from just inside the cave. “Bring that book in. I don’t want that one in the dirt.”

“I’m almost done with this part,” Mira replied, with a smile. “I’ll bring it in again in just a moment.”

“Mira!” Dante moved to the mouth of the cave, his eyes like dark clouds. “I will not repeat myself.”

“Father, I am so close to the end of this chapter,” his daughter pleaded, sitting up on the grass with her long legs splayed. The dress from her childhood she had long outgrown, and now she wore its torn and repurposed remains as a bodice of sorts, with her skirt comprised of sailcloth and burlap and linen. “Please, please let me finish reading, Father!”

Dante hesitated, and the cat Aurael watched the tension in his master’s jaw shift in thought. Then Dante set his mouth in a firm line. “Do not tarry too long,” he commanded brusquely. “Finish your reading and replace it on the shelf as soon as you can. If you linger, I will be displeased,” he added, moving off into the cave again with a begrudging frown.

Aurael lay his head back down, watching lazy dragonflies circle in the air above Mira, who began reading again.
He does love his child,
Aurael thought to himself.
I’ll give him that much. It’s not so bad, being his slave. If he loves Mira that much, he’s sure to set me free eventually.
He yawned with his tiny cat jowls and closed his eyes.
Especially if I convince her to beg him for it.

“Mira, Mira, Mira, Mira!”

Aurael’s eyes snapped open. Mira sat up as the misshapen beast Karaburan came crashing through the ferns, startling a few birds and banishing the dragonflies. Cats cannot frown, but Aurael tried to anyway.

“Kabu? What is it?” Mira closed the book.

“I had the most terrible dream!” Karaburan cowered like a frightened dog, his head lowered, shoulders trembling. Aurael hated the sight of him, but it was unavoidable that Mira was fond of the fish-skinned creature.

“Come here, it’s all right,” Mira coaxed, and Karaburan crept forward and sat in a huddled heap nearby, his face in his six-fingered hands.

“It was horrible,” he groaned, shuddering.

“It’s over, now,” Mira said, gently patting Karaburan’s bulky shoulder. “You’re safe, all is well. There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

Funny
, thought Aurael.
The maiden comforting the monster. I didn’t send him that nightmare; he must have had one all on his own.

Aurael enjoyed crafting detailed and sumptuous dreams for Karaburan, usually involving the long-dead witch Corvina as well as elements of torture and deception. He didn’t do it very often, but when he did, the dreams were expertly executed and utterly horrifying, unlike the beautiful dreams he gave Mira.

Her nights’ visions were filled with soaring through the clouds on wings of her own, or swimming to the depths of the sea with whales, or climbing highest mountains with nimble-footed goats. Mira’s imagination was well-equipped to take on its own adventures in the dreams, once he gave her the gentle nudge to do so; Karaburan’s mind was so weak that Aurael felt like a play actor, performing and strutting through those visions with gusto and fury.

“I feel so awful,” fretted Karaburan, his teeth chattering. “I never want to sleep again!”

Mira shook her head. “Don’t overreact, Kabu. You’ll sleep again, and you’ll sleep soundly. One bad dream does not cause all dreams to become bad dreams. There are always good dreams and bad dreams. It’s really going to be all right. Besides, if you realize that it’s a dream while you’re dreaming it, you can do anything!”

“Anything?” echoed Karaburan, dubiously.

“Yes. I fly sometimes in my dreams. You only have to realize you’re dreaming, and then you can take control. I fly over mountains and deserts and cities and oceans.”

 “But there are no cities except in those books you showed me,” Karaburan said, furrowing his brow. “There is nothing out there but our island.” He hugged his legs to his chest.

“Kabu, you know that’s not so. We’ve talked about this. I showed you the maps!” Mira’s eyes sparkled with fondness and excitement. “There’s so much more out there beyond our shores. And someday, I’m going to see it all!”

“You want to leave the island?” Karaburan looked stricken.

“Not now,” Mira assured him. “Not anytime soon. But someday. That’s what I dream about, you know. All of the things that could be out there.” She paused then added a little more gently, “I’m sorry you had a bad dream.”

“I don’t want to dream that ever again,” Karaburan whined, quivering in fear. He seemed to be calming down, but his pale blue eyes were wide and still clung to his fear.

“You don’t have to sleep right away,” Mira told him, standing up. “I have to put this book back, but then we can play a game. Would you like that? We can play a game, and then later you can sleep on the moss near me instead of going back to your shelter.”

Karaburan looked speechless. Aurael’s hackles went up instantly. “Oh, may I?” whispered Karaburan. “You won’t make me go sleep alone on the rocks?”

“Not if you don’t want to. Just this once. I don’t see why not. You’ll see what I mean—nightmares come and go. They’re just dreams.”

“But won’t your father be angry if he sees me here? He told me to stay by the rocks at night.”

“He only said that because you smell like fish, sometimes,” she explained simply. Karaburan looked thoughtful, but nodded. “It doesn’t bother me so much. Besides, we’re friends, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. Let’s put this book away, and then we can go look for crabs ‘til it gets dark!”

Karaburan followed Mira into the cave, past Aurael, heading for the library where Dante’s books were carefully kept away from the elements. Aurael stood still in disbelief, his tail upright, staring wide-eyed after them.
Unbelievable. This hideous beast is more welcome to her company than I? It’s as though she
’
s forgotten me. She can
’
t have . . . Can she?