The Eater of the World was a flawed creation. Unlike her, who walked pure and undiminished in the Dark.
And if her chest ached so fiercely at times that she wondered why there was no deep, violent scar carved in her flesh, well, that didn’t matter because she no longer remembered what she had lost.
You won’t find the answer to whatever pains your heart at the bottom of a bottle, Michael, Shaney had said.
You’re not doing yourself or the world any good, Magician, Kenneday had said. Go somewhere your heart can find peace.
Michael sat on a stone bench and watched the koi in their pond. Find peace. Well, there was no better place to find it than Sanctuary, was there?
It always came as a jolt to realize he had known her for no more than a double handful of days. Oh, he dreamed of her for longer than that, but he hadn’t known the woman for more than that short span of time.
So much had happened in those too few days.
My heart’s hope lies with Belladonna. Her darkness is my fate.
Too few days. But he would spend the rest of his life living in her shadow.
“It has been quite some time since you visited here,” Yoshani said, sitting down on the bench.
“Haven’t been in tune with the place, have I?” Michael replied, not caring about the bitterness that flowed through his words.
“Perhaps you haven’t wanted to be in tune with the place,” Yoshani said gently. “Perhaps now you are starting to heal.” He paused, then added, “They understand, Michael. It hurt them—hurt all of us—but we had known Glorianna would stand against the Eater of the World and, most likely, not survive.”
“They don’t understand—and they haven’t forgiven.” Michael turned his head and looked at Yoshani. “Nadia has forgiven, as much as she can, but not Lee. Not Sebastian. What happened to Glorianna was no clean death, no peaceful ending. She cast out all the things that belong to the Light—joy and kindness, compassion and love. Hope. She wears a coat of misery, makes a bed out of despair, and drinks sorrow. And the forces of darkness must sit at the table she has made from the bones of their kin and weep bitter tears over the banquet she has set before them.”
A long pause. Then Yoshani said, “Those words do not come from the story about the Warrior of Light.” He smiled when Michael narrowed his eyes. “You left the box of books with Caitlin Marie. She showed me the story. Your words tell me you have given that dark place, and the woman who walks there, much thought.”
“So what if I have?” He hadn’t dreamed about her once since she disappeared into that dark place. Some mornings he woke up weeping because he didn’t even have that much of her anymore.
“There is something I have wondered.”
Yoshani fixed his gaze on the koi pond. That avoidance of meeting another person’s eyes caught Michael’s attention as nothing else could.
“What happened to the Light?” Yoshani asked softly. “In the story, it is dispersed through the world. But I have also heard about the dark landscape that was created when the Dark was cast out of Lighthaven. So I wondered what happened to the other half of Glorianna’s heart. Was her Light dispersed through her landscapes or is it—”
Michael sprang to his feet and took a few steps before realizing he had moved.
He’d asked Ephemera to keep the Light safe. Hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember. He had accepted the tragic ending of the Warrior of Light. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that it was just a story? And stories could be changed.
Wild child? he called, hardly daring to breathe. Wild child? Do you know how to find Glorianna’s Light? yes yes yes
Faint notes carried on the air. A song he thought he would never hear again—the bright part of the music that was Glorianna Belladonna.
Happiness flowed in the currents around him. As if Ephemera had been waiting for him to ask the question. Or discover for himself where it had put the Light half of Glorianna’s heart.
Fool. The world had been waiting for him to ask the question.
“I have to go back to the Island in the Mist.” He spun around to face Yoshani. If he was wrong, he wanted someone with him because the despair would crush him. If he was right, he wanted to share the joy. “Come with me?”
The bridge that led to the Island in the Mist was on one of the little islands that dotted Sanctuary’s small lake. It was separate from the other little islands and not easily accessible, but flat stepping stones rose above the lake’s surface as he and Yoshani approached the shore, giving them a slippery path.
Michael trembled as he crossed over to the Island in the Mist. Not to the walled garden this time, but to the part of the island that would have been his home with Glorianna. The part that would have nurtured their life together.
The music rang in the air, calling him.
He ran, knowing exactly where to look, with Yoshani right behind him.
Had it been there all these months, waiting for him to find it? He hadn’t heard a single note of this when he was in the walled garden. Hadn’t suspected it was here.
He skidded to a stop in front of a bed near the house. His heart’s hope plant looked brittle. Dead. But there was one little patch of new, green leaves. And one tiny bud struggling to bloom.
Beside his little plant was a glory of Light. A heart’s hope bigger than any he’d seen and covered with buds.
“Michael?” Yoshani asked, looking at him, then at the bed, then back again.
He pointed to the heart’s hope. “Her Light.”
Yoshani frowned. “Nadia, Lynnea, and Caitlin have all been here to tend the gardens and do the mundane work. Lee was here to make the bridge. Even Sebastian has been here. They said nothing.”
“They don’t know,” he said softly, as stories and memories and all the things Glorianna had told him about the connection of Dark and Light spun through his mind.
My heart’s hope lies with Belladonna. Her darkness is my fate.
The key had been inside him all the time. Had he realized the answer too late, or would he be able to open that locked door?
“Forgive my doubt, Michael, but how do you know?”
He gave Yoshani a brilliant smile. “I can hear the music of her heart.”
Chapter Thirty-three
The sand in the box Glorianna had referred to as a playground didn’t change. Hadn’t changed in the handful of days since this idea had taken root. He hadn’t been rewarded with a pebble or a weed or even a tiny patch of bog. Nothing. He had hoped that music could be a bridge between landscapes, could touch what, otherwise, couldn’t be reached. But there had been no indication, not the slightest, that his music was reaching the woman he played for.
Discouraged, he tucked the whistle in his pocket, then let his hands fall into his lap.
“I don’t know, wild child,” he said. “Maybe I left it too late, didn’t figure things out fast enough.” It had occurred to him, while he was doing the washing up after dinner last night, that time was a factor. Every day Glorianna Belladonna remained a heart divided was another day she would change a little more, become someone different from the woman he’d known—and the song he remembered would no longer be the song that matched the whole of her heart. Months had already gone by since she’d taken the Eater and Its landscapes out of the world. Who was she now? Did she remember anything about her family, about him?
He’d played the music that was Glorianna Belladonna. And he’d played the music that was Michael the Magician, hoping the memory of being with him would stir something in the currents of the world.