Haven Lost Read online

  When Celine was summoned at last, Emily sat alone in the room, listening to the stillness. None of the others had stayed after their meeting with Caireann. Emily wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but it seemed an ill omen. Most of the girls had seemed upset, or at least unsettled, by their interviews.

  She ran her fingers along the grain of the tabletop, as Celine had done. It felt cool and smooth and very, very old. She thought of running her hand along the rail on the boat last night as they’d come into port. It, too, had exuded an aura of immense age that seemed to only solidify its reality. This could not be a dream—it just couldn’t.

  And if it wasn’t a dream, just what the hell had happened to her? And what was she going to do about it? She couldn’t stay here—could she? She didn’t belong here. This wasn’t her world, and she had an iPhone and hockey puck upstairs that proved it, tucked away inside a backpack bought from Walmart.

  She may have spent half her childhood fantasizing about magical castles where boys and girls were taught to turn guinea pigs into pin-cushions, but she didn’t think Seven Skies was quite the same—probably not the same at all. And despite all she’d said to comfort her new friend, she did not feel so very confident for either of them in this place. She was stuck in a world that was not her own, among people she could barely understand, and was being buffeted this way and that down a course of events that she seemed to have little, if any, control over. There had hardly been a moment to even stop and…grieve…

  Caireann seemed like a kind enough woman, and though the food and clothing weren’t going to win any fashion shows or culinary prizes, the girls had, thus far, been reasonably well taken care of. That didn’t jive with the cruelty of the blonde man who had fetched them from the boat, though, and the quick way he had with his whip when Celine had stumbled. It didn’t tally at all, and the more time that passed, the more uneasy it made her. It wasn’t the knowing—just plain old human intuition. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark—or wherever the hell she was.

  Her reverie was cut short as Caireann returned, a subdued Celine trailing in her wake. She looked pale and shaken, and she stared down at her feet in silence.

  “Yer turn,” Caireann said to Emily, and she got to her feet and, with one last troubled look at Celine, followed Caireann from the room.

  Caireann led her down a short corridor that opened into a study of sorts. High windows let in bright sunshine on either side of an enormous stone fireplace. Small bookcases lined the walls, and a short divan embroidered with gold flowers faced the hearth.

  Caireann perched on one end of the divan and patted the cushion beside her. Emily settled herself gingerly on the lush fabric, feeling distinctly out of place. The furnishings were a long way from the threadbare carpet and beer-stained sofa at home, and it seemed wrong, somehow, to sit on something so fine, like walking with muddy shoes across a fancy tablecloth intended for Christmas dinner.

  “Yeh seem uneasy,” Caireann observed.

  Emily wondered what the right answer would be. If she agreed too readily, it might reveal her ignorance. If she seemed too bold, she may come across as impertinent. Finally, she decided on a small part of the truth, and nodded reluctantly.

  “That’s good. Yeh’re right to be uneasy. But I think yeh’re a bit braver than you let on. That’s good, too, but hold it in check, Emily.”

  Emily stiffened. How did this woman know her name? She hadn’t told it to her. The only person she’d given it to was Celine. Had Celine told her during her own interview? It seemed unlikely…but…

  “Nay, yer little friend didn’t give yeh away. I just…know things, sometimes. The way I think yeh do, too. Every girl who comes here has a special talent or two. For some, they can tell a smatterin’ of the future. For others, they can find things that have gone missin’, or talk to animals so as they understand ’em. Me, I know things, and one of the things I know is that yeh know things.”

  Emily thought of that last hockey game. How she’d known, but the knowing had been wrong. Her heart began to thud heavily in her chest.

  “I used to,” she said without thinking. “I don’t think it works anymore.”

  Caireann laughed. It was the first time Emily had seen her do it, and it was such a contrast to her ordinary demeanor that it surprised Emily into a smile. The frantic pounding in her chest eased a little.

  “Oh, my dear. There hasn’t been a soul in all the history of the world with a talent who hasn’t thought that from time to time—save the mistress herself, mayhap. Yer talent is raw, but it is there. Needs a bit of oilin’ up is all. Yeh’ll see. But the thing I want to ask—the important thing—is where yeh came from. I can’t tell. I don’t know, and that makes me uneasy.”

  Caireann’s face became stern again as she studied her, and Emily’s pulse quickened once more.

  The truth…or a lie…? The truth…or a lie…?

  The silence spun out between them as Emily fought her indecision. At last, Caireann shook her head sadly.

  “It’s a’right. Yeh don’t trust me. Mayhap a time will come when yeh’ll have to, though. Remember that, Emily.” She stood and began moving toward the door, then turned back to look at her.

  “I could make sure there’s a place for yeh, if she doesn’t take yeh on. Those of us who know things…we have to watch out for one another. There are precious few of us in the world. Those of us who weren’t taken on do, too.”

  Part Three: Five for Fighting

  “What, nephew, said the king, is the wind in that door?”

  —Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte D’Arthur

  “The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.”

  —William Shakespeare, Henry V

  “The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.”

  —Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby

  Chapter Seven

  Emily found Celine waiting for her in the dining room; none of the other girls had remained after their interviews, but Celine had stayed. The gesture soothed her jangled nerves. It was something Casey would’ve done.

  She sank onto the bench beside Celine, her mind still whirling from what Caireann had said. Caireann hadn’t been taken on as apprentice; more, she knew about knowing. Perhaps, after all she’d seen since waking on the boat, it shouldn’t really surprise her, but it did anyway. The knowing had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, and she’d long ago accepted that it was a part she couldn’t share with anyone. Casey had come closest to guessing, with all her talk of “the groove”, but even she, as Emily’s only real friend, had barely scratched the surface of the truth.

  Now, there was another who knew her secret—someone who not only knew it, but understood it—and the world had not come to an end. That fact filled her with a strange mix of both relief and disappointment. The knowing was no longer hers alone.

  “Well…’ow was it?” Celine asked, breaking into Emily’s thoughts. She sat with her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. The posture seemed to strip away the lines that a hard life had etched upon the sharp angles of her face and left her looking like any other kid. She was still pale, but seemed composed. She studied Emily with frank curiosity mingled with concern, and Emily was touched again.

  “Okay,” she said, unsure if that was the truth or not. “Caireann’s…interesting.”

  Celine snorted. “I s’pose that’s one way of puttin’ it. I think she’s downright creepy. She…” Celine glanced over Emily’s shoulder toward the door, then back again, “…knows things,” she finished in a whisper.

  Emily nodded, and before she knew what she was doing, she said, “So do I.” Three tiny words. Five simple letters. After all those years alone with the knowing, it was surprisingly easy to confess her secret.

  Celine gaped, staring at Emily for the space of several seconds, her eyes going wide. Then she snapped her mouth shut, sniffed, and said, “Seems to me, what with all yer questions about ’ow yeh got ’ere, yeh don’t know all that mu
ch.”

  Emily couldn’t help herself—she laughed, and Celine offered a begrudging smile. “I s’pect that wasn’t very nice, was it? Sorry. Didn’t mean nothin’. I ’ave a nasty ’abit of speakin’ my mind, I do.”

  “It’s okay,” Emily said. “I kind of like that about you.” She got to her feet again, feeling restless. “C’mon. Let’s explore.”

  * * *

  The tower was constructed, as far as Emily could tell, like a stack of wheels. A spiral staircase wound its way up through the center and seemed to be the only way to reach their rooms at the top. At even intervals along its length, doors led off at right angles onto the various floors.

  The parade of rooms, corridors, passages, and alcoves seemed endless and labyrinthine in their layout. She thought even if she spent the rest of her life at Seven Skies, she could never learn every nook and cranny. And there were six other towers!

  She and Celine explored the first two floors, finding only dusty parlors and abandoned cupboards. It seemed this tower was used for very little beyond serving as a dwelling for the potential apprentices. Much of it looked as though it hadn’t been visited by anyone in decades. Thick layers of dust cloaked every surface, and the hearths were all cold and empty.

  On the third floor, they marveled at rusting suits of old, bloodstained armor, and, mounted on one wall, the skeleton of a cat with two heads. The remains of its gray fur lay in a little heap on the floor beneath it, and a long, jagged crack ran down the side of one misshapen skull. A jade-green spider had spun itself a nest inside the other and was perched upon the yellowing teeth. It seemed, like the cat itself, to be examining them with keen interest as its pincers twitched and the facets of its scarlet eyes gleamed in the dim, dusty light.

  As they found their way back onto the stairs once more, Emily brushed the hair out of her eyes and glanced up toward another door, just visible at the next bend in the spiral above them.

  “One more?” she asked.

  “What? Another? I’m done in, and I’m not sure I want to see anymore two headed cri’ers. Jaisus, I feel like it’s still watchin’ me.”

  “Come on. One more, and then we’ll stop for the day.”

  Celine didn’t respond, but she stomped grumpily after Emily as she sprinted up the stairs.

  It felt good to be moving again. They had seen no sign of the other girls, and Emily couldn’t imagine what they could all be doing. Emily herself was being driven onward by a desire to exercise some of the nervous energy from her body as well as the hope that she might find some answers hidden away in the dark and dusty corners of the tower. The physical activity and the strange discoveries were helping to clear her head. Besides, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should be…what? She had no idea how to get home, or even if she wanted to go back at all. Either way, circumstances seemed, on that score, far outside her control for now. It was easier—better—not to think about it just now.

  She waited for Celine to catch up before lifting the latch and pushing tentatively on the heavy wooden door. It opened slowly, the screech of its hinges seeming cacophonous as they reverberated up and down the long stairwell. Beyond, there was only darkness.

  “It’s too dark,” Celine said, sounding relieved. “We won’t never be able to see nothin’ in there. We can come back la’er with a candle or somethin’.”

  Emily ignored her and stepped through the door. Celine stood outside for a moment longer, and then huffed and followed her through.

  As soon as she had, the door slammed behind them with a hollow bang, seemingly of its own accord. Both girls jumped, and then a candle in a tarnished and dusty silver holder flared to life directly before them. It hung suspended in the air, bobbing gently, much as Caireann’s candle had on the evening they’d arrived.

  With a hiss, a second candle bloomed in the darkness, only an inch or two from Celine’s nose. She cursed and stepped hastily backward, thudding against the closed door behind her.

  Unperturbed, the candles glided smoothly forward, stopping to hover silently before each of them, and then were still…waiting?

  “Should we take them?” Emily wondered aloud.

  “Jaisus!” Celine sounded slightly hysterical. “Yeh want to trust open flames that can fly around and move where they please and burn yeh up or God knows what? Are yeh mad or somethin’!”

  “It didn’t burn up Caireann.”

  “Yeah, well…she knows what she’s about, don’t she? And remember what she said about the ’elpful torch burnin’ the flesh off of yer face or somethin’? Mayhap they ain’t big enough to burn us up, but I’m mighty fond of my eyebrows…”

  Celine broke off as Emily reached forward and plucked one of the candles out of the air before her. It was like taking it from the hand of an unseen person, and the silver holder was as cold as ice. The feeling was distinctly unsettling, and a rash of gooseflesh ran up her arms.

  “Thank you?” she said. The candle in front of Celine dipped and wavered slightly, as if the carrier had offered a stiff bow in acknowledgement.

  “I…d’not…like…this…” Celine moaned, side-stepping further away from the candle, and sliding along the wall. The sound of her tunic against the rough stone seemed very loud in the darkness.

  “She’s not going to take it,” Emily said into the dark, her heart racing. “Just…um…set it down on the floor?”

  The candle bobbed again, then drifted downward to rest on the stones at Celine’s feet.

  “Thanks,” Emily said again and bent to scoop it up from the floor. She held it out to Celine, who stared at it with wide eyes.

  At last, she took it warily from Emily, muttering, “Yeh’re a feckin’ lunatic.”

  Emily turned away, smiling a little despite the hammering of her heart.

  Ghosts? Was that what they were dealing with now? Christ…as if things weren’t bad enough. Now they knew this place was haunted.

  She led the way down the passage, holding her candle high to cast its light as far around her as possible. After a few feet, a reflection caught her eye, and she turned to hold the candle up to the wall on her right.

  It was covered with an enormous, intricate mural that seemed to stretch far beyond her small circle of light. Before her, depicted in life-size, was the image of a man with a dark beard, clad in heavy and ornamental plate armor. The forest—or was it a jungle?—looked as though it had come to life around him. Thick green vines bound his hands and feet. The tall stems of white roses had grown up around him, wrapping their thorny stems about his torso and squeezing until a jagged crack ran diagonal across his breastplate. In the background, the trees seemed to be leaning over him, wrapping their sturdy branches around his throat. He was clearly trying to scream, and the abject terror captured in his eyes sent a chill up the back of Emily’s neck. Suddenly, the mermaid sculpture didn’t seem so bad.

  “Jaisus!” Celine cried again, stepping up beside Emily and staring at the painting, before further words failed her.

  “What is that on his chest?” Emily asked, reaching out and running a finger down the crack in the man’s armor. It ran through an image of something crimson emblazoned on his breastplate, but it was impossible to tell what it was. Some sort of insignia, perhaps?

  “Looks like an animal or somethin’,” Celine offered, frowning at it. “God, this place is creepy!” She turned away with a shudder.

  Emily moved slowly along the wall, examining the mural that continued to stretch out before them. After a moment, Celine reluctantly followed.

  Every few feet there was another unsettling image, wrought in the most minute and exquisite detail. Most were of men, struggling futilely against the lush foliage that suffocated them with clutching boughs and pierced their flesh with hungry thorns. In one, a woman hung with her feet dangling above the ground, the limb of a tree thrust through her body like a spear. Blood spurted from her screaming mouth and misted the leaves of the tree that tormented her with fine scarlet droplets. More white roses stood at
attention like soldiers beneath her kicking heels. They seemed to have mouths that yawned to catch the crimson tide.

  That was enough for Celine. She stepped away from the wall, resolutely only looking ahead into the darkness.

  “Ain’t yeh ready to go back yet?” she grumbled. “This is worse than the bleedin’ cat!”

  Emily, too, moved away from the wall, but did not turn back. “Just a little further. I want to see where this goes.”

  Celine sighed and they continued down the passage for another few dozen steps as it curved around to the right, following the shape of the tower’s outer wall. It ended at last at another wooden door. As they approached, their candlelight reflected dimly off the old brass handle. It rotated slowly, and the door swung smoothly and silently open on its own.

  Emily glanced at Celine over the dancing flames. There was something thrilling about exploring these old and dusty corridors, and she found herself filled with a curiosity that would not be denied. Besides, if it was a dream, she had nothing to fear; if it was real, she might find answers as to why she was here. Surely, there must be a reason.

  “Let’s see what’s inside,” Emily said. Celine let out a disgusted sort of sound, and then nodded resignedly.

  Emily stepped forward through the door and found herself in a long, narrow room, not much different in size or shape than the passage she’d just left. A long table ran down its center. It was slightly arched, so that as the room curved gently with the shape of the tower, the table stayed always at its center. It made for a queer effect, exaggerated by the flickering candlelight.

  Celine stepped up beside her, looking around in mute wonder.

  “What is this place?” she whispered. The stillness of the room seemed absolute, as though they’d just entered a tomb of some long dead Pharaoh.

  Emily did not answer at once, but took another tentative step into the room, feeling the lush softness of the rug beneath her feet. The air was thick with a musty, familiar smell that filled her with such an intense wave of nostalgia that, for a moment, its enormity prevented her from identifying it. She took a deep breath, savoring the scent, and her mind filled with the image of long, metal bookshelves; it was the sweet, almost mystical aroma of paper and binding.