Chapter 15: Celestia
It is a quarter to nine, and only forty-two days remain before the autumn equinox. Though I keep track of the hours, for a long time, I couldn’t be sure of when our time in this house would come to an end. Yesterday, during our daily outing, the swans at the gate sang to me, and though my swan-self has left me, I haven’t forgotten their language.
They sang it loud and clear. The gagargi’s men are coming.
Many are the moments when I have felt alone and beyond exhaustion, trapped in this house. But I haven’t shared this with my sisters. As I sit on the drawing room’s sofa, my back straight, my hands folded on my lap, I maintain the façade of calm as I always do.
Alina, Merile, and Sibilia play on the carpet with the two dogs. Lately, Sibilia has been increasingly interested in the dogs. I don’t know if it is merely because she ran out of pages and ink and can no longer keep a diary or because she knows every sacred passage of the scriptures by heart already.
Perhaps it is because she detests Elise’s attempts to reconcile with her. The one, who betrayed our mother out of her own will, mends the sleeve of her dress on the padded chair next to me. The dull needle parts again and again the fabric so worn that no amount of thread will ever suffice to make it whole.
I am tempted to pace the room, worried of what may come to pass so soon. But it isn’t my right to despair, not now when we are so close to the end, not even after the end. My duty as the Crescent Empress is to persist, and that I shall do. My beloved, the Moon, is on our side. I am stronger now than I have been ever in my life. But at the same time I am weaker, too. I have stayed up through every cloudless night, to bask in my beloved’s light. My eyes ache constantly as if they had sunk too deep in my skull. An iron circle encloses my head, another, heavier one presses against my chest. One day they shall lift. One day my sisters and I shall walk free, even if it costs me my soul.
Though I don’t know if that will come to pass tonight. My beloved, he hasn’t shown me what he sees yet, and I do wonder at times if something went wrong during the ceremony. Questions crowd my mind, but there are never answers. Only light brighter or waning.
“What.” Merile’s voice is unmistakable, childishly confident. “What did you hear, silly?”
The black dog has trotted to the curtained window closest to our chambers, there to tense with one paw up, head cocked left. Of course it would be one of the dogs that heard the arrival of the gagargi’s men first.
Sibilia’s knees click as she gets up from the carpet, slowly towering to the full height she isn’t yet accustomed to. She meets my gaze, but chooses not to say a word. We have talked of this moment before. As the older sisters, it is up to us to remain undaunted.
And then, though walls separate us from the autumn evening, we hear the howls of Captain Ansalov’s hounds, the shrill wails not that far away from those of their kin, the wolves. Barks, too, cascading into cacophony. Someone is approaching the house. There are orders shouted, words replied, both too faint to reach us. But I know their meaning.
I rise up from the sofa then, with exaggerated slowness as if I were in control of the situation, though that I am not. Elise snaps the thread, quickly knots it to secure her handiwork, and places the needle and thread on the table, disturbingly excited. Sibilia stays with Merile and Alina, but her hand slips into the pocket of her dress, there to fidget with her pearl bracelet.
“They are coming,” I say, for sometimes people are reassured by the simple act of the one they look up to stating the obvious. Mother once said that it makes them feel as if they could affect their fates. “Now we must wait.”
The ghosts appear before the captains, guards, or soldiers do. Alina and Merile greet them, still unaware of how dire the situation may soon become. The ghosts’ outlines are blurry, hems limp and heavy, hair untied, slowly swaying as if they were submerged in a river. The news they bear is important, but I can’t rush these poor creatures any more than I can maintain the illusion of security.
It becomes apparent that the ghosts have lost control of their bodies. I shouldn’t pray—for that rarely helps—but I do pray that they still have enough control left of their minds. I need to know what awaits us, though I have done my best to prepare for every eventuality.
“Troika,” Irina wails. “Troika. Troika.”
“Away,” Olesia adds, and I can tell that they are trying their best, though each word costs them more than any have ever cost me. Soon there will be nothing left of them but a fading memory of younger Daughters of the Moon.
“Thank you.” I nod at the ghosts. This is what I agreed with the gagargi. Though it is late already, whichever of the two captains enters the room, he will demand I leave this house immediately. Any more delays might mean that I mightn’t arrive in the Summer City in time for the ceremony.
“Which one of us will you choose?” Elise asks, her voice bright as if she really expected me to follow through with the deal I manipulated the gagargi into accepting. She has changed more than I have, but out of her own will or under someone’s influence, that I don’t know. But I shall not forget she betrayed me once already, that she is young and idealistic, dangerous to a degree.
“Either we all go or no one goes.” I repeat what I have said so many times before. I won’t leave this house with one of my sisters and abandon the others in the hands of Captain Ansalov, regardless of what Elise may insist.
Sibilia nods at me, glares at Elise. Merile takes hold of Alina’s hand. But little Alina, she seems completely unafraid, the last thing I expected. As I meet her gaze, I realize she is sure I will keep her safe, that I will live up to my promise to protect her from the gagargi and his horrid machine.
“Coming.” Irina drifts to the door, fists clenched against her chin. As she quivers her shape disintegrates, her voice hoarsens. “Coming. Coming.”
And then the heavy, determined steps already rattle on the stairs. Those familiar. Those these hallways haven’t known for weeks.
“Let us be ready then,” I say to my sisters, and step forth, to stand at the exact center of the room. My sisters hurry into an arc behind me, in the order of age, though Elise does so reluctantly. No matter what she claims, a part of her believes that I will triumph tonight. Indeed, the time has come for me to use the strength bestowed on me, that of my very own soul, to alter the mind of the person who steps through the door.
The door opens with a slow creak. The ghosts flee, out of their own mind or out of fright I don’t know, and presently I must focus on the task at hand, the one that surpasses all others in its direness.
I pronounce the glyph.
“Evening.” Captain Ansalov marches in, a letter with a broken red seal creased in one outstretched hand. His curly brown hair springs with his steps, but his beady green eyes are without emotion other than fierce devotion. From this I know the gagargi addressed the orders to him. He is in charge tonight.
Captain Janlav follows two steps behind Captain Ansalov, quick and sure with his movements, but undecided yet in his mind. I can tell this from the way he stares at Captain Ansalov, how his gaze darts from us to the door and the guards and soldiers that crowd the hallway beyond. His gaze meets Belly’s, and the guard wide and tall closes the door before anyone else can enter the room. Though my sisters and I may have appeared meek in the captain’s eyes for many months, he is no fool. He knows that I will not simply give up.
And this is exactly what I have counted on him doing, sealing us in with no unnecessary personages left to witness what may come to pass. I part my lips and let the glyph out. “Good evening to you, too, Captain Ansalov. Captain Janlav.”