Page 20 of A Conduit of Light
TheMoonand theSun.
ThesongMoiraandIhad sung in the glen was so familiar then, like somethingIhad always known, yet didn’t know how.
Frustrationrose inside of me, andIslammed the lid before huffing, collapsing with arms crossed back in the chair.
Ithad been weeks of theBaron’smysterious treks out into the forest, and they were wearing on me.Everysunset,Iwould come back into theFortressafter spending the day withMoira, only to be snuck out again, theBaron’smidnight blue eyes alight with mischief, little said from his lips.Hewould lead the way through the forest, a different path each time, trotting along ahead of me, silent, but aware of my presence all the same.
Itwas his silence that annoyed me so.WasInot worth speaking to?Wasmy company so bland that he could not find a single thing to say?
Hehadn’t touched me again since that first secret outing at dusk, but,Iadmitted reluctantly,Iwanted him to.Iwasn’t sure if it was his touchIcraved or anyone’s who could hold me when my mind fell into echoes of darkness and patterns of fog.
Iagain felt my thoughts slipping away.Theyoften did, but less and less the moreIheld the stone.ThemoreIchanged my routine, following his dark figure out of theFortressand into the setting sun, the moreIwas able to grasp my emotions and hold onto them.
Ihated dusk.Thewhisper of it veered closely when we walked, its presence tangible between the sway of the trees, the tops of which soaked every last drop of sunlight before the dark entombed us all.
Iwould watch in trepidation each time as the sun betrayed the sky and broke its promise to illuminate the very world of which it gave life to.Iwould stand on the precipice of all-knowing to the obliterating black of night, and as the last sliver of my maker shed the last glimmer of promise to return,BaronRevichwould turn around, smile my way, and lead us back home.
Acruel man indeed,Ithought asIwound the box again and listened, waiting forMoira’scompany.Shewas gone longer these past few weeks, andIwondered if she had yet caught on to our secret walks in the woods.
Ididn’t know whyIlooked forward to following him, or why my heart raced each timeIentered his study whenIused to dread it.He’dbe there, looking out of the window to the forest, waiting for me, often pacing.I’dclose the door and stare at him.Eachtime he’d stare back.Sometimesfor just a moment before practically racing across the room to leave, sometimes for what seemed like ten minutes, twenty—our gaze confusing to me, butIcouldn’t just let it go.Itwas like he spoke a languageIdid not understand.Hewanted something from me, butIcould not, in all of my efforts, understand what.NorcouldIcompletely clear my mind of swirling mists and a heaviness.
So, so heavy.
Ididn’t know whyIkept it fromMoira.Justlike keeping the stone from her, something told me not to say anything, andIguessedMoirawouldn’t approve.
Confusionplagued me again andIstood to pace the room, hand reaching for the stone at the bottom of my pocket as it often did now.Mymind cleared the momentIsqueezed it in my palm.Ahush so calming and still rushed through me.Iclosed my eyes, standing still, the last few chimes of the music box playing slowly through the room.
“Saidthe sun to the moon.”
“Saidthe moon to the sun.”
Ishook my head, my body itching to be free of this place.Iwanted to be far away from the black walls that silenced everything and held secretsIcould not unravel.
Itwas as if the green stone was the end of a story, a peaceful conclusion that warmed my soul and held my heart.Buthow?Why?Iwas missing the rest of the story.Ididn’t have the reasons andIfelt myself going mad there, in the tallest tower, if it was all kept from me any longer.
Therewere two souls thatIknew had the answers.
Moira’swhereabouts could be anywhere.
ButtheBaron’s?HisIcould guess at, and soIstood, resolute among my place of rest.Iwas going to get my story.
Ishut the music box and stormed to the door of my room, anger beginning to take hold of my heart with a determinationIhadn’t remembered ever feeling before.
Itfelt…good.
Ipulled the handle to my door and it opened loud and wide, startlingMoirawho was just coming up the stairs nearby.
“Karus!Whatwas that about?”
“Oh!You’rehere.”Mycheeks flushed.Moirawas carrying a leaf pouch that she used to gather demorte petals.
“What’swrong?Whyare you so…red?”
Iraised a hand to my cheeks, assuming they had flushed. “I—never mind.Didyou find some demorte?”
Moira’seyes narrowed, but she nodded, fluttering into my room beforeIclosed the door.Myanger suddenly fell away, not before curdling into something sour in my stomach.
“You’redifferent,Karus.Idon’t know why, but you’ve changed recently.”Moirabusied herself at my vanity, gathering the supplies she’d need from the drawers and settling down to do her work, the mortar and pestle just the right size for a faerie.
