The Sweet Far Thing

“Enough. She is not well. You must go now. Take the basket with you.”

Shamefaced, I reach for the basket and Mother Elena grips my arm. “The door must remain closed. Tell them.”

“Yes, I’ll tell them,” I say, and walk quickly out of the wagon.

I nod to Kartik on my way past him. He falls into step behind me with the dogs until we are far enough from the camp and Spence not to be seen by anyone.

“What did Mother Elena have to say?” he asks. The dogs sniff at the ground. They’re restless. Low thunder rumbles far off. The air has the coppery smell of rain, and the wind has picked up. It blows my hair wild.

“She believes the East Wing is cursed, that it will bring the dead. That someone wants them to come.”

“Who?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t understand what she’s saying.”

“She’s very ill,” Kartik explains. “She’s heard an owl calling in the night; that’s a harbinger of death. She may not live till summer.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” I say.

One of the dogs puts its paws to my skirts and stretches up for a pat. I scratch it gently behind the ears and it licks my hand. Kartik strokes the dog’s fur, and our fingers touch for a moment. A current passes through me.

“I had a new dream last night,” he says, looking about for others. When he’s sure we can’t be seen, he moves closer and kisses my forehead, my eyelids, and, at last, my mouth. “I was in a garden. White blossoms fell from the trees. It was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.”

“You’ve described the realms,” I say, trying to talk though his lips are on mine. “And was I in this dream?”

“Yes,” he says, offering no further explanation, only a trail of kisses down my neck, which makes me a bit dizzy.

“Was it awful?” I manage to ask, for suddenly I’m afraid of what it could have been.

He shakes his head slowly, and a wicked smile steals over him. “I may have to see these realms for myself.”

The thunder grows closer; small streaks of light crackle in the sky. Fat drops of rain spatter through the trees and hit my face. Kartik laughs and wipes the wet from my cheeks with the back of his hand.

“Best go indoors.”

By the time I reach the top of the clearing, the rain’s coming down with a fury, but I don’t care. I’m grinning like an idiot. I throw my arms out and raise my face to greet its wet kisses. Hello, rain! Happy spring to you! I step hard in a fresh puddle and laugh as the muck spatters the front of my dress.

Mr. Miller’s men aren’t so happy. They hurry on their coats and hats, their shoulders bunched up against their ears to keep the bruising wind away from their work-damp necks. They gather tools and shout to one another over the din.

“It’s not so bad, really,” I say, as if they can hear me. “You should come have a splash in it. Do you good to—”

It comes over me so suddenly I can scarcely draw a breath. One moment, I see the turret and the men, and the next, it’s sliding sideways. I’m in a tunnel, being pulled fast. And then I am inside the vision.

I’m in a small room. Strong smell. Makes me gag. Birds shriek. Wilhelmina Wyatt writes on the walls, a woman possessed. The light’s too dim. And what I see jerks about like a windup toy. Words: Sacrifice. Lies. Monster. The birth of May.

The scene shifts and I see little Mina with Sarah Rees-Toome. “What do you see in the dark, Mina? Show me.”

I see Mina on the back lawn of Spence smiling up at the gargoyles. And then I see her drawing a perfect likeness of the East Wing, drawing the lines I have seen stretching across the earth. The scene is washed away, and now Wilhelmina writes a letter, the words etched with angry strokes: You’ve ignored my warnings…. I shall expose you….

“Miss? Miss?” My eyes flutter open for the briefest of moments to see Mr. Miller’s men crowded around me on the lawn, and then I’m in the dim room again. Wilhelmina sits on the floor, the dagger in her hands. The dagger! She takes out a small leather roll, which she unties to reveal a syringe and vials. Carefully, she wraps the dagger in the leather pouch. So that’s where it is! All I need do is—

Wilhelmina rolls up her sleeve, exposing her arm. She taps fingers against the veins at the bend of her elbow. She plunges the syringe into it and lets go, and I feel a whoosh inside me.

“Miss!” someone calls.

I come to on the back lawn in the soaking rain. My heart beats wildly out of time. My teeth grind. A strange exhilaration takes hold.