“Does he know who you are?” she asked.
Fyra shrugged. Maybe. He’s not as smart as you. He’s like a little boy. She looked up until Churls met her stare. You don’t want him to tell Vedas about me, but I don’t think he will. He hasn’t even told you about me, and he tells you everything. I think I’m his one secret. Everybody’s got at least one—except Vedas, maybe. He can’t keep a secret. You’ve got lots, though. Isn’t it funny, how everybody shares except you?
A muscle jumped in Churls’s jaw. “Is this why you wanted to talk, to tell me I don’t share?”
Yes. But there’s more. I want to help. Some of the others do, too.
“Others?” Gooseflesh rose on Churls’s arms and neck. “You mean the dead.”
I only said some. Fyra shook her head sadly. Some of them are angry about Vedas’s speech, but most of them don’t care. They say it doesn’t matter what happens to the living now. They tell me to shut up. But the ones who still have people they care about don’t think like that. They don’t want to see the world destroyed. It’s good to have a home, even if you leave someday and never come back.
“You would fight Adrash? What can you do?”
Fyra managed to look insulted. We can make people stronger, like I did for you and Berun. We can see inside anything and make it better. I’m good at it. I can show others.
“Won’t Adrash see? What if that’s the thing that sets him off?”
That’s why some people tell me to shut up. They think I’ll attract too much attention and get everybody in trouble. Fyra curled her lip. They’re cowards. What can Adrash do to us? He never even noticed us. And we’ll do it in secret. We’ll make everybody stronger, but we won’t make it a show. Still, we can’t do anything if you won’t let us.
Churls almost laughed, but the horror of this statement stopped her cold. It all depended on her say-so? A war against Adrash, the awakening of an army of the dead, up to her alone? She could not make that decision now. She might never be able to make that decision.
She struggled to form an adequate response. She did not want Fyra to misinterpret her intentions. To her surprise, she also found she did not want to hurt her daughter’s feelings—or close off the possibility of help entirely.
“I’m not even sure I want to fight, Fyra. I’m not sure I believe in this war. Give me some time to think.”
You’re lying. Fyra’s expression conveyed what she thought of liars. You’ll follow Vedas wherever he goes because you love him.
Churls did not bother to deny this. Love did not solve the problem. It never had.
“I can’t tell the dead what to do, Fyra. You’ll have to decide for yourselves.”
You have to do it. The others aren’t special like me. They won’t break the rules like I do. They want a living person to tell them. They picked you. You just have to talk to Vedas first. He will help you. Promise me you’ll talk to him, and don’t lie to me like you did before.
Too tired to argue anymore, Churls nodded. She would not pretend there was any other way. Events had proceeded far beyond the realm of her understanding. Vedas needed to know. Not because he possessed any more intelligence or knowledge than she, but because she needed someone to share the burden with her.
“Is that all?” she asked.
One more thing. Fyra held out her hand.
Churls took it. It was no more substantial than air, of course, but she could no longer claim to feel nothing at Fyra’s touch. Warmth flowed upward from her wrist, suffusing her body like smoke filling a room.
She stepped onto the flats, and the wind did not bite or suck the moisture from her skin.
I want you to look at the stars with me, Fyra said.
They lay on the parched earth, connected at the hands.
Tell me about her. The way you did when I was little.
Churls recalled with perfect clarity. She had buried the memories, but had never truly forgotten. On clear summer nights, sometimes she and Fyra had slept on the roof of Churls’s house. Listening to the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below, she made up stories for her daughter’s amusement— stories of gods and goddesses waging war across the void, giant ships sailing the oceans of other worlds, and kingdoms spreading their fingers toward the ends of creation.
Now and then, she told the story of a little girl who jumped from star to star, trying to find her way home. Aryf. It took Fyra years to realize the girl’s name was her own spelled backwards.
Do you remember, Mama? Fyra asked.
“Yes,” Churls answered. “Yes, sweetie, I do.”
She blinked, and the tears spilled over. She had not expected them to come, but they came nonetheless.
‡
Vedas stood in the center of the room, staring down at the graven image of Adrash. He had removed his hood, and held his left fist at the base of his neck. Slowly, he inserted a finger between suit and skin and tugged, stretching the elder-cloth ever so slightly. He did not look up when she walked in, though he could not have failed to see her.
Exhaustion loosened her tongue. “How long has it been, Vedas?” He opened his mouth, took a deep breath and exhaled before speaking. “Twenty years. More than half my life.” His eyes roved around the room, landing everywhere but on her before returning to the floor. “It’s odd, but I never used to think of it as odd. I haven’t felt sun or water on my skin for two decades. I haven’t touched anything or anyone in that time.”
This was an exaggeration, Churls thought—surely. Someone, an instructor or a friend, had run their naked fingers through his hair or patted his cheek, offering comfort. Someone had kissed him, an innocent overture between adolescents. He had not abstained from sex completely. He had taken lovers before suffering whatever wound crippled him.
She would be a fool to take his words literally, yet the images failed to resolve in her mind. She could not imagine him receiving or giving affection to anyone.
The man she had grown to love did not dissolve where he stood. He was still the same man. Rather, she realized how greatly her desire blinded her to the reality Fyra had known all along: Vedas spoke the truth. He had not touched another soul in twenty years. He had kept the world at bay with a thin fabric shield.
And yet, surely the suit was inconsequential. With or without it, he would not know how to comfort a crying child or hold the hand of a sick friend. He did not know how to kiss or make love.
Churls considered this, and her desire remained.
“I want to touch you,” she said.
He did not move except to tighten his fist around the fabric at his neck.
Heart pounding at her foolishness, she took two steps toward him. The room was not large. If she took six or seven more steps, she would be standing before him.
“I want to touch you, Vedas. Will you let me?”
Slowly, he unclenched his fist and spread the open hand upon his chest. He still did not look at her, and when he spoke he did so clearly, forming each word carefully, as though he did not want her to misunderstand.
“I have pictured touching you, Churls. I have pictured taking off my suit and making love to you, but you should know that I cannot do it all at once. It won’t...” He shook his head. “It will not be like it is in my head.”
She smiled and took another two steps. “I know that, Vedas.”
He swallowed, and ventured a glance at her face. She noticed for the first time how deep the wrinkles around his eyes had become, how sharp his cheekbones. His lips trembled in the pauses between sentences.
“It is not just my inexperience that makes this difficult. It is the fear of changing into someone I do not know. Perhaps I have already gone too far by disobeying Abse. Maybe I am no longer a Black Suit already. If I love someone outside the order, reason says that I cannot remain in the order. If I choose to do this now, I will be a man without a home.”