Chapter 18
Bella careened into the yard with frantic and urgent swiftness, her heart in her throat and her face glazed with salty tears. She held Kora's reins in trembling fingers as she focused on the rise and fall— the familiar, predictable movement of the mare's four hooves as she stamped her feet in a steady rhythm. Her thighs gripped the saddle painfully hard. Her fingers, white and stiff, did not loosen their grip as she urged the horse this way and that, navigating around wayward roots and low-hanging branches. The horse, once so knavish and fickle, was a model of discipline and sobriety as Bella urged her on, leaving Carlisle and his aging stallion in the dust they kicked up. Kora seemed to sense her rider's anxiety, and as a result, seemed just as eager to return to the homestead as Bella herself.
Bella saw Esme before Esme saw her. Crouching on bended knee in her fenced-in garden, Bella caught a brief glimpse of her leaning down to pull up a bright, orange carrot from the earth, her face shaded by the brim of the overlarge sun hat perched atop her head. Beyond the rushing fear and chaos coursing through her, Bella felt a pang of sad, nostalgic yearning. She could almost hear the Beatles song, so soft and faint in the back of her mind, just the way her mother used to sing it as she dug her own holes deep in the brown, packed earth of their Seattle garden.
Bella saw Esme's easy smile disappear as soon as she heard Kora's stamping hooves on the path. She rose in a shot, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes as she squinted through the glare, her eyes narrowing on Bella as she brought the horse to a screeching halt at the edge of the yard. The gate blocked her path— that great, carved masterpiece depicting scenes from myths Bella had never heard— standing tall and firm. When she fell from Kora's back in her haste to dismount, landing hard on her backside in the dust, she heard Esme's cry of worry before the warm, dirt-stained hands were hauling her back to her feet.
"What's wrong?" She demanded. Bella winced as she flexed her sore wrist. "Where's Carlisle? What's happened?"
Bella heard Carlisle's own horse galloping furiously through the jungle mere seconds before he, too, burst from the trees, his bright eyes raking worriedly over his wife and the girl. Bella didn't move when Esme tugged at her, those kind eyes flickering nervously between her consternated husband and Bella's throbbing wrist. Esme seemed to sense her discomfort, but when she looked Bella full in the face, her flickering worry turned to fear.
"Carlisle!" Esme called, her voice rising in pitch and volume. "Carlisle come!" She turned swiftly back to Bella. "What has happened? Are you hurt? Darling, why are you crying?!"
For Bella was wiping angrily at her cheeks with her free hand, her face aflame with embarrassment.
"Take her inside," Bella heard Carlisle say. "Sit her down. I'll tie Kora in the pen, but I cannot tarry long."
"But what's happened?" Esme whispered again, grabbing at Carlisle as he tried to pass her. Her free hand squeezed Bella's wrist. "Are you hurt, sweetheart?"
"Not in body," Carlisle answered for her. "But quickly, Esme. I must move on. Bring Bella inside." He disentangled his sleeve from her grip, and turned back towards the panting horses.
Esme wasted no more time. Taking Bella with a firm command that left no room for argument, she ushered her through the squeaky door of the cabin and installed her ceremoniously on the breakfast stool she'd abandoned just that morning. The remnants of their meal still littered the long, wooden table. Bella stared intently at a wayward crumb, watching as a bulbous, shiny beetle crept up through a crack in the wood to snatch it in its jaws.
"Sweetheart, here…" Esme pressed a cloth handkerchief into her fist. Bella brought it to her face, dabbing angrily at her eyes. "Drink this."
Tea, hot and strong, burned Bella's tongue when she brought the cup to her lips, but she gulped down three mouthfuls anyways, relishing the burn that made her eyes water. Esme stood before her, her hands clasped around the apron at her waist, before she, too, sat gingerly on a stool, at a loss for words.
"Thank you," Bella croaked, trying to clear her throat. Her nose was stuffed and blocked.
"It's no trouble, sweetheart…" Esme's hand rested on her knee. "What happened, darling? Are you hurt?"
"No." Bella shook her head. Esme looked suspiciously at her knees, which were dusty and tattered from her fall in the dirt.
"Your wrist…"
"It'll be fine." Bella flexed it carefully, grimacing when the pull sent a shock of pain down to her fingertips. "It's not broken."
Esme tutted, running her fingers carefully over the newly-knitted bone.
"Nothing out of place," she agreed carefully, "but I'd like to ask Carlisle to be sure…"
"He can't stay," Bella said again, and this time she heard the tears before they fell. "I think he has to go…"
"Go where?" Esme asked softly. "What has happened, Bella?"
Her mouth went dry.
"We found…" Stuttering like a fool, she felt her stomach begin to twist again. "There were…"
"What?"
Her eyes pinched shut, Bella saw the flash of red in her mind's eye. The child's t-shirt— the same t-shirt she'd sat beside for hours on that ill-fated flight from LAX…
Her stomach roiled and she leapt to her feet, startling Esme as she bounded, headlong, for the door.
"Bella!" Esme called fearfully after her, though Bella did not stop. Thanking all the Gods she knew, Bella made it out beyond the fence before the tea made its reappearance, her retching drowning out the sounds of Esme's footfalls.
"You're alright," Bella heard Carlisle say. As he had on the beach, Bella felt him lift the heavy braid of hair from her neck. A cool breeze washed over her. "You're alright, Bella, just take it easy…"
"What is going on?" demanded Esme in a hiss. "Is she sick, Carlisle? When she fell…"
"No," he murmured. "No… it's got nothing to do with her fall from the horse. Come inside, both of you…"
But Bella shook her head.
"I can't," she said. Her insides were writhing. "I'm sorry, Carlisle…"
"Alright, sit down right here, then," he bargained. "There you go…" He lowered her onto a log of wood, precariously perched atop a mound of earth. "Sit there a while and gather your wits. When you're ready, come inside."
Bella rested her head between her knees, swallowing hard against the lingering threat of sickness. She wiped her nose on her sleeve— if she breathed too deeply, or held it too long, it was almost as if she could smell them. She had never smelled anything like it before in her life. Such a sour, rancid smell... not even Uncle Charlie's hunting prizes or the coolers of fish he'd bring home after a fruitful lakeside weekend could compare.
She breathed noisily through her mouth to keep the memory at bay.
Angry with herself, she pressed her face into the linen skirt on her knee. Her legs were trembling— she could feel the shivering, vibrating quivers against the wet fabric on her cheek. Her stomach was still queasy, bubbling and popping as if a flock of butterflies were brushing their wings against her. She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand.
"Get it together," she muttered angrily. The English sounded so foreign to her now. "Stop crying and get it together…"
She sat for what felt like ages. Perched atop the log, she felt her feet begin to tingle and prick until they fell completely asleep. She heard nothing from the house. Slowly, as the sun crested overhead to mark noon, Bella felt her nerves begin to settle, and her back begin to ache.
Just as she began to wiggle her aching legs, a throat cleared behind her and nearly sent her tumbling down into the dirt.
"Excuse me," said a voice as Bella's head snapped up. She blinked into the sun, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes.
It was a man Bella had never seen before. Tall and lanky— almost skinny— he stood behind the fence with his head bowed and his feet shuffling in the dirt. His dark hair was dusty and damp and his face— young, open, and sunbaked— looked nervous and uncertain. He watched her with eyes of deepest grey as he clutched a hat in both hands, wringing it anxiously, almost as if he were nervous.
Bella staggered to her feet.
"Oh, please…" The man reached out a large, dusty hand. "Please sit. Do not rise on my account."
Bella sniffled.
"I…"
"I am looking for Master Carlisle," the man said. "I come from the capital."
"He's inside," Bella croaked.
The man continued to watch her. Bella, feeling slow and stupid, felt the warmth rise in her cheeks.
"I'll show you in," she said finally, remembering common courtesy. She did not know what the protocol was for guests in Maronese homes, but if the man's unmoving stance outside the gate was any indication, he would not enter unless invited in.
The man waited while Bella fumbled with the latch, her fingers struggling to disentangle the thick rope from the worn, wooden peg. Her hands were trembling, and he only watched her struggle for a moment or two before he reached over, glancing carefully at her for permission, and undid it himself.
"Thank you, my Lady," he said graciously. He stepped inside the yard. "I am most grateful."
Bella simply blinked at him, clearing her throat.
"He's through here," she said quietly. "Just in the house…"
The sun was overhead now, beating and hot. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck as they walked.
How long had she been sitting in the garden?
He followed behind her, his hands still clenched on his hat, while she guided him to the door.
"Carlisle?" she called, pulling at the door. It swung open easily. "There's a man…"
"Benjamin," said Carlisle quickly. He was seated at the table, his head bent close to Esme's, but he had jumped up at Bella's soft call. The stranger, Benjamin, nodded his head.
"Carlisle," said Benjamin. "Esme."
"Come in, Benjamin," said Esme. She glanced surreptitiously at Bella, her efforts to hide her concern failing. "Sit, please…"
"As much as I wish I could, I cannot," said the man. "I am here for your husband, and I'm afraid our business is urgent."
"Will you take bread?" asked Esme, undeterred. "Wine, perhaps?"
The man smiled uneasily at her and shook his head.
"Sit then, Benjamin. You are among friends." Carlisle, shuffling restlessly at the table, pulled out a stool for the newcomer and waited until he had installed himself in his place before he, too, sat down again. Bella did not join them.
"I have come from the city," said Benjamin to Carlisle. "The Watchers from the tower sent your message on."
"What are we to do?" Carlisle asked grimly. Esme came to stand next to Bella, wrapping her strong arm about the girl's shoulders.
"Feeling better?" she whispered, so quiet that neither Carlisle nor Benjamin could hear.
Bella nodded softly.
"The birds are swift." Bella frowned in confusion. "The King has sent word that he is readying a party," said Benjamin. "His missive relayed that he would arrive at sunset. In the meantime, he asks that we bring the casualties here, to your cabin. The Council does not want to leave them so exposed on the shore, and most especially not at night. The Southern Watchtower has recorded a number of disturbances from the Western Shore, and the King would not risk enticing the enemy to strike."
Carlisle sighed, his lips pursed.
"Of course," he murmured. "How many in the party?"
"Twenty," said the man. "At least. With horses, oxen, and wagons."
Carlisle stood from his seat. "Will they arrive before the King?"
"As soon as possible," said the man. "He's sent his guard ahead to help with the cleanup. The wagons are slow-going, but all are moving through the jungle as we speak."
"Good. Very good…" Carlisle stood distractedly, brushing the last remaining breakfast crumbs to the floor. "Shall we?"
"Yes." Benjamin stood, knocking the stool back in his haste to rise. Bella saw his tawny cheeks flush as he righted it again, glancing nervously at Esme.
"I'll prepare supper," said Esme gently, paying no mind to the upturned furniture. "We will have all in order. With four hands at the helm, it'll be easy going, won't it darling?"
Bella felt Esme's hand squeezing hers, and she nodded reflexively.
"Yes," she agreed quickly. "Yes…"
Benjamin, awkward and gangly, bowed low to both Bella and Esme before he made his way to the door and slipped outside. Carlisle said nothing until he was sure the man was out of earshot, and then he whispered so low that Bella almost didn't hear him.
"I expect Edward will stay the night," he said. "We should prepare the back room."
"Yes," agreed Esme. "But leave that to me. You go, now, and show that poor boy what you've found. And please…"
He raised his eyebrows.
"You must tell me what I can do."
"You do much already," said Carlisle as he kissed her brow. "I do not relish having those poor, soulless creatures near our home, but alas, the King is right. Take care of our girl."
Bella's face went bright red when Carlisle turned to her, a sad and bemused smile on his face.
"And you would do well to rest," said Carlisle, speaking lowly to her. "I must return to the shore… no, just listen."
Bella had opened her mouth to protest.
"I must return to the shore," he repeated softly. "I must assess the remains and make sure that they are fit for transport. They will be in my care until the King decides what's to be done."
"What's to be done?" Bella repeated confusedly. "What do you mean?"
Carlisle sighed.
"This is a… singular event," he said slowly. "Nothing of this magnitude has happened in living memory… perhaps not ever."
Bella bit her lip. She had never asked what the Maronese did with their dead.
"We have… protocols for such things," continued Carlisle. "Rules to follow and processes to be upheld when the dead wash up on our shores. But these protocols might not apply in a situation such as this. Those people— those poor people— are not from here, and it will be up to the King to decide what is to be done with them. We've no idea of their customs, or their beliefs, or their Gods…"
Bella bit her lip.
"I see," she said. Carlisle glanced nervously out the window. "But…"
"I will answer all of your questions in due course, Bella," he said softly. "But right now, Benjamin is waiting on me. I must return to the shore. Stay here with Esme and rest a while. You've had a nasty shock today."
"Go," said Esme gently. "We will be just fine until the men arrive."
"If anything should happen…"
"I know." Esme kissed him. "I know. Now go… I can see Benjamin saddling the horses."
"I…" Bella bit her lip when Carlisle turned to her, questioning. "Just…"
He watched her, silent.
"Just… be careful," she said lamely. "If it's as dangerous as you say…"
"I will," he said. "I've promised my wife, and I'll promise you, too."
Feeling Esme's warm hand in her own, Bella returned to her silence, giving him a quick smile.
"Go now," Esme said. "Be swift and safe."
The pair of them listened to the sounds of preparation from the window as they watched Carlisle and Benjamin, a tandem team, preparing the horses. Bella watched as the horses were fed and watered, drinking deeply from the troughs of sweet, fresh water. They were saddled— Carlisle's dark stallion and Benjamin's palomino that looked like a bulkier version of her own Kora. They tied saddle bags to their pommels— Carlisle's full to bursting with fruits, water, and hard bread for the road— and when he stopped, patting his horse gently on the nose, Bella knew it was time for him to go.
They watched, tight-lipped and anxious, as both men mounted their steeds. The sound of hooves on the hard, packed ground was loud, and the dust they kicked up wafted lazily through the glassless kitchen window as they disappeared into the trail lined with tight-packed trees. Bella listened until the sounds died away and she continued to watch until the dust had settled again, and there was nothing more to see but the rippling of the leaves, the glow of the sun through the thick, fluffy clouds, and the humdrum of bees and butterflies, buzzing to and fro from plant to flower in Esme's abundant garden.
"Sit, Bella," said Esme suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. Bella stepped away from the window. "You look peckish."
"I couldn't eat if my life depended on it," said Bella with a humourless chuckle. "I'm the furthest thing from hungry."
"Some water, then," Esme said. Before Bella could answer, she'd poured a generous mugful of fresh water from the ewer on the mantle and slipped it into Bella's fingers. Bella brought the cup to her lips, begging her tossing stomach to obey, and sipped it carefully, watching as Esme moved restlessly from one edge of the table to the other.
When she sat, it was with the disturbed air of a woman unsettled, and Bella could see in her eyes that she had something to say.
"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
"I worry for you, is all," Esme sighed. "You can't seem to catch a break."
Bella barked a laugh.
"I've never led a particularly exciting life," she admitted. "But since I've been here, there's been an endless stream of excitement."
"This should be an easy time for you," said Esme. "One for healing and learning, not grieving."
Bella bit her lip.
"Carlisle told me what you found."
Bella nodded sagely.
"I cannot imagine…" she began. "I couldn't even begin to fathom…"
Bella gulped her water.
"I'm sorry you had to see," she said finally. Bella didn't realize her fingers were tapping the table until she felt Esme stay them, squeezing lightly. "I know you went to the shore hoping for peace and calm, but…"
Bella's stomach twisted again.
"What did Benjamin mean, when he spoke of the birds?" she interrupted. Esme blinked confusedly.
"I don't know what you mean."
"He said the birds are swift," she clarified. "What did he mean by that?"
She did not want to linger on the image of those corpses any longer than she had to.
"Oh." Esme shook her head, as if to clear it. "That is how the towers communicate."
"Which towers?"
"The Watchtowers," said Esme. "Each one— minus the Western one, of course— uses the birds to carry messages."
Bella, suddenly seized by an urge to laugh, had a vision of a carrier pigeon, flying through the air with a scroll in its claws.
"I understand it might sound strange," chuckled Esme, seeing Bella's sudden humour. "But I don't know what we would do without them."
"They… carry letters?" she asked.
"Not quite letters," explained Esme. "The birds are bred in five main places on the island— each of the three Watchtowers, the King's Castle, and out back in our garden shed."
Bella smiled, surprised.
"They are born and raised in a particular place, and they come to know that place as home," she explained. "They are uncannily smart when it comes to finding home…"
"We used to have…" Bella began. She did not know the Maronese word, so she she spoke in English. "Pigeons, we call them. They were messenger birds too."
"Indeed?" Esme cocked her head. "Ours are green parrots— perhaps you've seen them roosting?"
Bella shook her head.
"Well… they are smart creatures. They are bred in each of the five nests, and they know their homes well. Once they are weaned, grown, and trained, they are carried off to other stations around the island. Carlisle and I lodge birds from the Capital, mainly. We do not need to send messages to many others."
Bella paid close attention.
"The birds know home," Esme said again. "If they are raised here, they will always return here. So when we send our new birds to Edward, all he needs to do is affix the message to the bird's leg, and it will find its way into the coop. Benjamin, who lives just outside the city walls, is a minor herbalist, and he's raised his own bird for his personal use. He is a trusted advisor of the King, and so he received the message from Edward, which undoubtedly asked him to relay it to us. He set out straight for our home once he had it in hand. Edward does not like to use the birds— he worries about interception— and so it has become his way to send his messages via a human messenger instead."
Bella finished the last of her water, swallowing thickly.
"If you'd like me to show them to you, I'd be happy to," said Esme. "They are quite friendly… but before we can, we've got business to attend to."
Bella stood at once.
"Tell me what to do," she said at once. Esme watched her nervously. "I'll be of help to you, Esme, I promise."
Anything to take her mind away from those bodies on the beach.
Bella thought her skin might melt off.
Seated before the hearth, a great, wooden spoon clenched in her sweaty fist, Bella leaned over the great, hanging pot and stirred, pulling the blackened iron hook further from the flames. The stew was bubbling madly in the pot, spitting great globs of hissing broth onto the blackened stone above the flames. Esme had warned her not to let it get too hot— too hot and it'll stick, she'd warned— but here she was, spoon in hand, watching helplessly as it did the very thing Esme had warned her it would.
Using the thick, dry cloth that had fallen to the floor, Bella wrapped the red-hot iron hook to protect her hands from the heat and pulled, hard, to lug the great, sloshing pot away.
Out of reach of the flames, it immediately returned to a merry, bubbling simmer.
"It takes practice," chuckled Esme, making Bella jump. Swinging around, Bella came face-to-face with her where she leaned against the long trestle table, her eyes dancing with amused chagrin. Bella fought the urge to laugh herself— how ridiculous was it, really? A grown woman unable to do so much as stir a pot of stew?
"Where I come from," Bella said, stirring gently again, "the heat is more controlled."
Esme cocked her head, curious.
"We've got… stoves." The word made Esme grin again. "They're… electric."
Esme hummed. Taking the long, wooden spoon from Bella's clenched fingers, she stirred the stew herself, nodding approvingly when she dragged it along the smooth bottom.
"Not burned," she said soothingly. "If you dampen the flame some, it'll go easier."
Bella glanced down at the raging fire, her eyes flickering to the pot of sand that rested by the hearth's edge. She had eyed it more than once since she'd started cooking, but had yet to muster enough courage to try it.
"I don't want it to go out," she said quietly. "If it does…"
Esme laughed again.
"Carlisle is a worrier," said Esme. Just that morning, before they'd set off for the shore, Bella had listened to Carlisle's whispered concerns to Esme about the fire. It was low, he'd said. If it died, it would be a great hassle to relight it. How would they cook? What would keep them warm? What if there were no more hot coals in the outdoor firepit to give them a spark?
"We've got lanterns a-plenty, Bella, and all of them lit. And if all else fails, the brush outside is dry enough to catch, should we need to use the flint. And besides… a little sand will not extinguish that."
Bella glanced at the billowing flames again, which were licking the stone sides of the firepit. Esme, sensing her discomfort, reached over herself and poured three cupfuls of dry, white sand onto the blistering flames. They were tempered at once, and Bella felt the intense heat decrease immediately.
The flames dampened and the pot returned to its rightful place on the heat, Bella stood, stretching. She grimaced when she felt her spine pop, her neck cracking as she pulled it from side to side, trying to loosen the stiff muscles.
"You should rest," said Esme ruefully, her face once again a mask of concern. "Carlisle told you you should, and here I am having you slave over a hot pot…"
"I'm fine," Bella said softly. "I don't want to rest."
"No," agreed Esme, "but sometimes what we want is not what we need. Besides… I found something for you while I was airing the store room."
While Bella had been cooking, Esme had been busy in the rear of the house, shelving the potted plants that had been left out to lay in the sun. The house only had two usable bedrooms— one for Carlisle and Esme and one spare, though that spare had recently become Bella's own. The other rooms— the ones in the attic space above the kitchen and storeroom— were musty and dank, and in dire need of cleaning.
But the King was coming to stay, and so another bed had to be made up.
"Found what?" Bella asked curiously. Stepping away from the fire altogether was a great relief, and she wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt.
"Books," Esme said carefully. Bella did not miss the surreptitious glance she threw towards the empty yard. "The… old books," she clarified.
Bella, with a sudden jolt of curiosity, walked a little faster behind Esme.
"Edward will not mind," promised Esme, fiddling with the latch on the storeroom door. "His father might have…" The door seemed to stick. "But he will not. He is a patron of the arts."
"Why are they so…" Bella struggled for the word. "Problematic?"
Esme sighed.
"You must understand, Bella… after the Elders passed, the only way we knew was our own."
Bella frowned. Esme pushed the door open.
"So many of our people mistrust and dislike that which they do not understand," she said. "And no one— not even the King himself— knows what these books say anymore. Though he could not read them, these texts meant a lot to Carlisle's father, and it was only my status as the Queen's sister that kept them safe from the Old King's Purge."
"His what?" Bella asked.
Esme sighed.
"His Purge," she said again, and though she did not know why, Bella envisioned this word with a capital P. "Edward's grandfather was a very suspicious man, Bella. He lived in terror of an attack from the West. He tolerated the Elders— their wisdom placed them beyond the reach of anxious Kings— but once they died, their knowledge died with them."
Bella chewed her cuticle, listening carefully.
"Their knowledge was contained in books," said Esme gently. "I don't know how much you know, but there are legends…"
"Legends?"
"Legends of… visitors," Esme said. "Strange men, from long ago…"
Bella frowned.
"They brought books," said Esme. "Generations ago. Beyond anyone's living memory, and so long removed that they've passed beyond of the realm of truth. They've become myth, and we cannot be sure they existed at all… the only proof we have of them are these books."
Bella watched, silent and attentive, as Esme moved towards an old wooden trunk Bella had noticed, but never minded. It was locked— Bella's surprise mounted even higher when she saw the old, rusted padlock— and when Esme produced a large, ornate key, Bella sat up a little straighter.
"Carlisle's father kept them," said Esme. "Risked life and limb for them too…"
"How so?" asked Bella quietly.
"When the Elders died," said Esme, fiddling with the lock, "the Westerners burned the cave."
"What cave?"
"Their home," explained Esme. "It was called Stonehearth."
Bella chewed her lip.
"They burned the cave, and with it, most of their writings. Those men were learned and wise, Bella. They had stores of knowledge that the rest of us could only ever dream of…"
She lifted the lid of the trunk and Bella craned her neck to see.
"These are old," she said. "Old, and worn, and delicate…" She lifted a massive, hardcover tome from the dusty depths. "Carlisle mentioned them before, and we both wonder…"
She rested the book on the sideboard, and Bella's eyes fixed immediately on the dusty cover. It looked ancient— so ancient, in fact, that Bella wondered whether Esme should even dare to touch it— but when Esme peeled back the ornate, leather-bound cover, only the cracking of the spine gave any warning.
"Wonder what?" Bella asked softly. She stepped closer to the book. She had always been a reader— had always loved the smell of the paper, like an old, friendly library— and though she was thousands of miles from any of her old, familiar haunts, the smell was so much like home.
"Wonder whether you might understand it," said Esme quietly. She watched Bella with an unspeakable curiosity in her eye— so deep and sudden that Bella had to look away, awkward. When Esme stepped aside— a small movement that gave her a clearer look at the looping words inscribed on the page— Bella felt a jolt of recognition.
In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep…
Stepping closer, she scanned down the page in wonder.
"The letters are ours," said Esme quietly. "Carlisle has spent much time with this particular volume… he can decode it, but neither of us can understand it."
Bella bit her lip.
And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night…
Esme's hand on the page and her tremulous, startled laughter, gave Bella pause.
She hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud.
"I thought you might know it," Esme whispered softly. Bella peeled her eyes away from the page. "Such a mystery…"
Esme's fingers, cool and soft, trailed over Bella's cheeks, her touch as light as a gossamer thread. The tickle made her shiver. The kindling hope in her heart had been lit— she knew those words, even if they were not dear to her as they might have been to others, and though Esme, and Carlisle, and the whole Island itself might think these words a blasphemous mystery, Bella thought she knew better.
Bella was a learned woman. She had always been studious and constant, and she knew, more than others might expect, some of the history that might explain this book's appearance. She knew about the missionaries— the ships of holy men setting out for lands unknown, to convert those people without the Good Book, the word of the so-called true God…
Flipping to the front of the book, Bella squinted down at the looping, ornate script, a bounding excitement swelling in her belly at the sight of the inscription.
The Holy Bible,
Conteyning the Old Testament,
And the New
Newly Translated out of the Originall
tongues & with the former Translations
diligently compared and reunited by his
Majesties speciall Comandement
Appointed to be read in Churches
Imprinted at London by Robert
Barker, Printer to the Kings
Most Excellent Majestie.
ANNO DOM. 1611
Anno Domini 1611. The Year of Our Lord 1611…
406 years ago.
"I do know it," Bella said, her words unnecessary. "We all know it…"
Esme closed the book carefully, a plume of fine dust rising to the ceiling. With careful hands, steady and sure, she brought it carefully to her chest before she handed it over to Bella, whose eyes widened.
"Oh no, Esme…" she protested, though she could not refuse when Esme pressed the book into her hands. "I couldn't…"
"You can, and you should," she said. "It does us no good here, serving no one. If it can bring you some comfort, let it."
Bella bit her lip.
"Carlisle wants you to relax," she said, her voice low. "Take that book and go and sit in the sun. It'll be dark soon, and with the darkness will come the men. Then I will need your help. But until then…"
Bella eyed the yard— so bright, and green, and vibrant— and felt the allure of honeysuckle and plumeria drawing her out.
"Go," said Esme again. "Read, and learn, and relax. Perhaps, when you come in, you can tell me all about it."
Bella did not miss the curious way she glanced at the book, as if it held a great secret that was only just ready to be discovered.
"Thank you, Esme," said Bella quietly. "This is…"
"It is nothing," said Esme. "Nothing at all. A trinket to me, and a bauble to Carlisle… but if it can be more to you, then I'm all the happier for it."
But it was not nothing, Bella thought. Walking out to the garden, passing the stump where she'd sat this morning, overcome by grief and despair, Bella clutched the book to her heart. It was not nothing… this was the furthest thing from nothing she'd been given in living memory, and she clung to it with a newfound peace, her eyes devouring the familiar words written in a tongue she hadn't even realized she'd been missing.
She devoured the book until the sunlight failed her, and she was left squinting through the darkness beneath a bruised, purple sky. She cursed at the heavens, her voice low and growling as she watched the last rays of orange fading to magenta, before a big, bulbous cloud rolled lazily over the place where the pink touched the trees, and she could see no more.
The glow from the house was too far, to dim, to light the pages for her.
"Bella?" Esme's voice rang from the house, as soft and sweet as a chickadee. Bella popped her head up over the wild, untrimmed plant beneath which she rested. She could see Esme at the window, her face shining and alight from the glow of the hearthfire, and when she caught sight of Bella, tousled and bright-eyed in the garden, she gave an indulgent smile.
"The men will arrive soon," she said gently. "And the King too…"
Bella stretched, dusting her skirt to be rid of the debris of leaves and soil. Her legs were damp. Getting carefully to her feet, Bella tucked the volume beneath her arm and sighed, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs.
Bella had never been a religious person. Neither her mother, who Bella suspected had embraced every religion known to man at some point or another, nor her Uncle Charlie, whose idea of a good, Christian Sunday involved nothing more than a beachfront fish fry and some Vitamin R, were either. Bella had never read the Good Book, nor had she ever felt the urge to try, but there was something about what she had done today— sitting alone, with no one but the frogs for company, reading the words with the voracity and dedication of a monk— that gave her a new outlook on things.
Never— not once since she had arrived here— had she felt so connected, so hopefully close, to the life she'd left behind.
When she entered the house, taking care to wipe her shoes on the mat by the door, she blinked in surprise at the spread Esme had set out. Piles of dishes— wooden bowls, plates, cups, and spoons— sat ready on the trestle table. The stew Bella had started— meat and root vegetables melded together in a salty, aromatic sauce— bubbled merrily on the fire. Bella could see the cubes of meat, pink when she'd left, now turned dark, rich brown. There was pale, yellow wine in corked bottles, resting in the window ledge to cool. Grapes, plucked from the nearby vineyard, heaped on platters of dark stone. Flatbread, some of which still cooked in the fire, flooded the room with a homey, yeasty smell that made Bella's mouth water. Apples and oranges, papaya and tomato, all ripe and sliced, ready for the picking.
"You could have called me," Bella said sheepishly. She placed the book on the upper shelf along the side wall, well out of sight and reach of any visitors. "I would've helped."
"It was no trouble," said Esme. "You were very intent."
Bella bit her lip, not daring to tell Esme just how intent she had really become. She felt sated— as if a thirst she had not known was plaguing her was finally quenched— and she could breathe a little easier now, as if something in those pages had soothed a wound she had not known she had.
"But come now," said Esme, straightening at once. Bella felt her own spine stiffen in response, and when Esme paused to listen, Bella did too.
Hoofbeats. Cantering, galloping, rushing hoofbeats, coming up from the southern gate of Esme's yard.
"They're here," said Esme somberly, and Bella, her interest piqued, glanced carefully out the window. She could not see anyone coming— could not make out any shapes of men or horses, but there was a strange glow, orange and bright, flickering between branches down the path through the jungle.
"South?" Bella asked, her voice tight as her nerves rose. "Shouldn't they be north?"
"No," Esme shook her head. "Edward will have gone to the Tower first, the beach second. Else he would have arrived just after noon, I expect…"
Bella, biting her lip, watched as the glowing fire grew brighter.
"There are many," Esme mused, her trained ears more astute than Bella's. "Can you hear them, darling?"
"I hear something," Bella admitted, "though I'd have no idea how to begin counting how many there might be."
Esme chuckled.
"Neither have I," she said. "That requires a soldier's training, which I do not have…"
The hoofbeats grew louder.
"Come," she said finally, reaching for the latch on the door. "We should be there to greet them…"
The evening had grown dark. Bella, though she had only left the garden sanctuary not twenty minutes prior, found herself squinting into the blackness when Esme opened the door. This was something she had not yet grown accustomed to— back in Seattle, where the world was bright and alive, there was hardly any place at all where a body could go to be out of the hustle and bustle of city life. In the parks, where nature reigned supreme, one was constantly reminded of the concrete metropolis through warning signs, bylaw postings, and orderly, paved bicycle paths. Chirping crickets and chirruping frogs were drowned by the roar and rumble of countless cars and busses. Camera shutters clicked on nature hikes. Cell phones rang incessantly on the sidewalks. Buildings glowed, billboards flashed, and people, both old and young, were always on the move, never stopping for so much as a glance skyward, where, had they been lucky, they might have caught a glimpse of a lonely, flickering star.
But here, on this island paradise, there were no electric lights to dim the stars, no buzzing hum of electricity through the very walls of the buildings, and no rushing of vehicles do drown the sounds of the wild.
Bella squinted, and when the first torch flickered and flared into the clearing, she had to blink away the spots.
Soldiers— tall, strong, and all identical in their red and yellow standard— came filing out of the trees one-by-one. Bella watched them with mild apprehension— were these men always so tall, perched atop their great beasts? They were quiet and orderly as they filed in— only one voice, a loud, booming bass that Bella recognized, spoke in the hush.
"Move up, men!" it called. "Let the wagons through!"
And at once, Bella wondered how she'd missed the sound— the rumbling of rough-cut wheels on packed dirt seemed to echo through the quiet evening, rolling through the air like thunder through the sky. As it grew louder and louder, it consumed her. Watching, her face tight with apprehension, she saw the horses shuffle, the men dismount, and slowly, like a funeral procession, a line of four wagons, lit by fiery torches in the dimming twilight. Each one was full, laden with heavy burdens wrapped in thick, white sheets.
The colour drained from her face as if a plug had been pulled. Esme, watching her with consternation, squeezed her hand in sympathy as the procession came to a halt, and the last, lonely rider made his way around the oxen-pulled chariots.
Bella recognized the black stallion at once.
"At ease, men." He spoke so softly that Bella almost missed the words. The commander, whose great, booming bass Bella had recognized, took off his helmet, and Bella watched as he took the King's reins when the latter dismounted. Emmett took both beasts— jet black and chestnut— to the trough of water Carlisle had set out for Kora earlier in the day.
Bella stared steadfastly at the King as he walked up to the gate, shadowed closely by a pale and somber Carlisle, who held it open to let him inside.
"Aunt Esme," said the King, and Bella stepped aside when he embraced her. Esme squeezed him fiercely, the pucker between her brows deepening when she took in the pallor of his face, and the troubled lines that ran from the corners of his eyes.
"You must be hungry," she said softly. Bella didn't miss the way her eyes flickered to the bodies, piled high on wagons. "You've had a long, tiresome day…"
"The men first, Esme," he said. "And yourself. You ladies have cooked a feast, I see."
Bella watched him, then— really watched him— and saw how he tried to smile at her. She saw his kindness there, the same kindness he'd shown her back at the castle, but this time there was a strange, unfamiliar tension in his gaze. His jaw was tight— Bella could see, even in the feeble light of the kitchen fire, how he clenched it. His eyes were dark— some of that bright, vibrant green she'd come to know had faded, leaving behind a murky pool so deep that she wondered whether he'd drown in it. Perhaps he already was drowning. He'd seen things today, the same things Bella herself had seen…
"You first, Edward," said Esme. Her voice was low, but cross. "It's alright to put yourself first, sometimes…"
He spoke over her, and Bella saw her shoulders sag.
"Men!" he called. Bella watched the troupe— at least 20 strong— stand tall. "Come and join in the feast my aunt has made."
The crowd began to bustle.
"Edward…" Esme gripped his arm as he tried to turn. Though he did not pull away from her, he did turn his head to face her, and Bella saw how sadly he eyed her.
"Let me go, please," he said, too quiet for anyone but them to hear. The men were too far away. "My men are hungry…"
Esme, gritting her teeth, let him go, and when he turned to speak to her again, Bella felt Esme's hand on her back.
"Come, Bella," she said. "We must go in."
And without another word to nephew or husband, Esme urged her through the open kitchen door.
"Stubborn boy," she growled, reaching over to the trestle table to take a stack of bowls. "Headstrong, unruly man…"
Bella bit her lip.
"Should I…?" she gestured carefully at the wine. "I don't know where I should be."
"Yes." Esme shook her head. "Yes, of course, Bella… you pour the wine. There is an extra crate beneath the table, should you run low. The vineyard was fruitful this past winter…"
Bella glanced down by her feet, where a rough wooden crate of tall, glass bottles rested, each coated in a thin layer of dust.
"If they want water, there is a pump in the yard," Esme said. "They should know, but they may ask you for permission."
Bella frowned, and Esme, catching it, sighed.
"It is our way, Bella," she said gently. "We do not enter homes, nor do we take bread or water, unless we've been invited to do so."
"I understand…"
The door opened, and Bella watched as Carlisle led the line of men into the kitchen.
Like a well-oiled machine, the long line of soldiers moved from station to station with the utmost courtesy. Bella had never seen a crowd of men— especially not hungry, hot, and thirsty men— so orderly, so disciplined. Each man washed his hands— for none were clean— with a pail of water set out by the kitchen door. They waited at Esme's station until they were handed a heaping bowl of stew, and each took no more than two of Esme's delectable flatbreads. When they came to Bella, each gave her a small, polite, and reverent bow— one that had her cheeks permanently stained pink— and accepted the cup of cool, sweet wine she offered with great thanks. They had built a fire outside, at which Bella could see the King hunched low over bent knees, and Bella watched as each soldier carved out a piece of yard for himself, settling in with friends and comrades, laughing over the crackling flames and rumble of conversation.
The last of the soldiers came through quickly, followed by Carlisle, who took up the rear. Bella handed him a cupful of wine with almost absent care, and he stopped, his eyes raking over her as if he were searching her. What he found there, Bella never knew, but before he could open his mouth to ask after her, she cleared her throat.
"Will he eat?" she asked, jerking her chin towards the solitary, brooding silhouette on the lawn. "He hasn't moved since he sat down."
Carlisle sighed.
"He is troubled," said Carlisle. "There is trouble on the Western front, and with these poor souls to care for…"
Bella would not look at the wagons again, though Carlisle's gaze slipped over them.
"He will not starve, Bella." Carlisle patted her hair. "Do not worry after him. He's old enough to know his own mind."
Esme, scowling fiercely, gave an angry sniff before she placed a bowl of stew before Bella, and disappeared down the hall. Carlisle sighed, his eyes closed.
"She worries about him, though she knows she shouldn't," said Carlisle softly. "He's not a boy anymore…"
The bedroom door clicked shut and Bella winced, knowing she had heard him.
"Eat," sighed Carlisle after a long moment of quiet. "You're still healing."
He nudged the aromatic bowl towards her, and Bella, though nothing in her felt hungry, took a careful bite of steaming potato.
Esme really was a delicious cook.
"The men will leave the dishes by the door," said Carlisle gently. "They will camp outside tonight, in the tents they carry. Do not be bothered by them, Bella. You will be quite safe tonight."
"I know," said Bella honestly. She listened to the low rumble of voices from outside. None of it— not even the noisy, raucous chatter from a particular group in the far corner— made her nervous.
"The King's soldiers are disciplined, and well-trained," said Carlisle. "We've attracted some attention today, I won't deny that…"
"Attention?" Bella sat up straighter. Carlisle sighed.
"The Westerners grow anxious," said Carlisle. "As we loaded the bodies onto the wagons, we could see them watching from the cliffs. They think they're stealthy…"
Bella, in her mind's eye, could almost see it. She'd seen the cliffs herself just that morning, though she'd paid them little mind. A great grey wall, higher than most of the skyscrapers in all of Seattle, rising tall and proud from the ocean waves. Miles of rock, jagged and peaked, like a mountain cut in two…
And faces, peeking out like cowards, watching the gathering as if it were a three-ring circus.
"Edward knows they won't wait long," Carlisle said ominously.
"What does that mean?"
"It's been almost six months since the last attack," said Carlisle. "In all the time Edward's been in power, the longest we've gone is two."
"Maybe they're weakening?"
"Doubtful." Carlisle took a mouthful of stew. "They've got substantial numbers, though they cannot touch Edward's army for strength."
Bella bit her lip.
"No… they're waiting for something. Edward knows it, I know it, and I suspect everyone in the capital knows it too, though they're staying rather quiet."
Bella's heart fluttered anxiously in her chest.
"But what it is, we cannot know. We may never know, until the time comes."
Bella blew out a breath.
"Well…" She stirred her stew, and the steam began to dissipate. "He should still eat."
And without waiting for another word from the healer, Bella snatched the last clean bowl from the trestle table, filled it with food from the bubbling, steaming pot, and, with her own dinner in her other hand, maneuvered her way out into the cool, dark yard.
Though the night was quickly changing from indigo to black, Bella could see clear across the yard in the orange glow from the massive, towering bonfire. She did not know how they had kindled it so quickly. It raged, a massive inferno contained by a circle of large, deep black stones. Flames licked the logs, the blaze working its way through dried bracken and carefully piled leaves, their edges curling and crumbling to ash. The fire mesmerized her. She had always possessed a healthy fear of it— she had seen, with her own eyes, how it could eat its way through a home in minutes— but the way it flickered and flared… it transfixed her. Only when she heard a sigh up ahead, so quiet she almost missed it, was the spell finally broken.
With the distance between them almost closed and in the bright glow from the flames, his face was easy to make out in the dark. He had not yet noticed her— even if he looked, she suspected she would be nothing more than a vague silhouette, for the fire would make her invisible to him. Bella watched him, more apprehensive than she had a right to be, as he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging until the wayward strands became even more unruly. He stared into the fire. The eyes that had looked so dark in the house were as green as summer grass in this strange light, and though she was glad to see the colour had returned, there was something beyond that bright, open countenance that belied his worry.
When she cleared her throat, he jumped.
"I brought you food," Bella said quietly. The bowl in her hand, warm and heavy, kept her still. "You must be hungry."
Blinking fiercely, almost as if she had broken him from a trance, Bella watched his eyes flicker from her face down to her outstretched hand, to the steam that rose from the bowl to float away in twisting, turning curls.
"Thank you," he said, and he rose in one, fluid motion to stand before her. Bella glanced up curiously as he rose— he dwarfed her, as tall as he was, but despite this clear size advantage he held over her, he took the bowl with careful, gentle hands.
"Esme is a wonderful cook," he remarked quietly, returning to his seat. Bella did not know where it had come from, but the log was long, and smooth, and warm. "Please… sit."
He shuffled carefully to the side, giving her enough space to perch beside him. She was close enough to feel his warmth through her sleeve, but still far enough to keep from touching him.
"You should eat," Bella said gently. "I don't know what you eat on the road, but…"
He chuckled— a low, humourless sound— and Bella's cheeks flushed.
"Curtak," he replied, and Bella frowned. She took a bite of her own stew— it had cooled to the point of edibility— and chewed carefully before she swallowed it down.
He watched her, amused by her sudden silence, and reached down to a satchel at his feet. She watched him rifling through it, displacing his water pouch, a bunch of thick, hard carrots for his horse, and a soft length of grey fur, before he pulled out a lump of hardened bread, pressing it generously into her hand.
She brought it into the light and turned it over, tapping the solid crust with the back of her fingernail.
"Curtak," he repeated. "It's a bread. Very hard, and very hardy… and unless you want a broken tooth, you must dip it in water."
Hardtack, Bella thought. She handed the piece back to him. Just like in olden times…
"We've got something similar," she replied, taking another bite of stew. "Where I come from."
"I'm sure."
He fell silent then, taking large mouthfuls of stew that disappeared with startling swiftness. Esme had been right. He was hungry, and Bella could not understand why he would refuse to eat.
When his bowl and cup were empty, resting comfortably on the hard, packed earth, Bella turned back to him, her brows furrowed.
"Esme will be pleased," she said quietly.
"Esme worries too much for my sake," sighed the King. "I was perfectly content to rest here a while, and let the fire run its course. You don't know how rare this kind of solitude is, when every man, woman, and child in the Kingdom demands your time."
Bella shifted, suddenly awkward.
"I can go," she said quickly, rising to her feet. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
But before she could take a step, she felt his hand on her. Large, hot, and unfamiliar, she felt his fingers close around the delicate bones of her wrist, gently pulling her back towards the fire.
"Please," he said, and Bella fell silent again. "Please, stay. I'm sorry… I don't mean to be rude."
Bella sat again, and as if he had only just realized what he'd done, the King relinquished her at once, his hand balling into a tight fist.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "It's quite presumptive of me to even assume…"
But Bella shook her head.
"I like the fire," she said gently. "It's… soothing. And I don't mind sitting with you, if you'll have me."
"Are you well?" asked the King. "Carlisle told me some of what happened…"
"I suppose I am," Bella said slowly. "As well as I can be, at any rate."
He studied her, his lips pulled tight.
"I'm sorry for what you saw," he said softly. "For what's happened today."
"It's not your fault," Bella said. Swallowing thickly, she forced back the painful lump that was threatening to rise. "You've done nothing wrong."
"No," he agreed. "Nor could I have prevented it, but that doesn't mean I'm not sorry."
Bella sighed.
"Thank you."
"I've wanted to talk to you all day," said the King quietly, and Bella glanced up, confused. He was watching her still, in that strange, inscrutable way of his, and though she felt a distinct pang of embarrassment at being watched so closely, she could not break her gaze. He watched her like he was waiting for something, for some unspoken secret to come tumbling from her lips, or for some great revelation to make itself known to the both of them. Bella felt naked under that gaze, as if he could somehow know her innermost secrets just by looking, but she stared just as intently back at him and wondered if he felt the same.
"Why?" she asked finally, and he looked away from her then, a light, almost imperceptible pink flush creeping up his neck.
He bit his lip, looking more like a boy than a man, and when he finally spoke, it was not the words she had been expecting.
"To ask what we should do," he said, and Bella fought to catch up.
"What we should… do?" she repeated stupidly. The man let out a sigh. "What do you mean? You are the King. Shouldn't you decide what to do?"
He laughed at this— a real, loud laugh that made her jump and the men in the yard go quiet. He stifled it with the back of his hand, turning away from her as the senseless mirth died away as quickly as it had come.
"I've been simply Edward longer than I've been King of anything," he said, and Bella waited, patient. "But you're right. A King should know what to do. A good King would know, yet here we are, with an abundance of questions and almost no answers."
His bitterness stung her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"You are a good King," she said quietly, and his head snapped down to her. "You're kind, and reasonable, and generous…"
"Sometimes," he conceded. "But just as often I'm ungracious, cantankerous, naive, foolish… young," he finished lamely. "Too young, and too green."
Bella did not know what to say.
"So here I am, King of everything and nothing, asking you, a girl of neither rank nor position, what I should do."
The words should have stung. They should have bitten deep, sinking like teeth to the bone, but as they washed over her, low and frustrated, Bella felt nothing but pity.
"Gods above," sighed the King, shaking his head. "I'm sorry again, My Lady. I don't know where my head is."
But Bella did. Despite herself— despite every promise she'd made to the contrary— her eyes travelled across the ground, beyond the flames rising ever higher into the sky, and towards the quartet of grounded, covered wagons carrying the ocean's dead. She knew exactly where his head was, and what a place it must be. Bella had only seen them— their bloated faces, staring eyes, and gaping mouths— for a short while. She'd even touched one— that mystery woman she'd never even spoken to, whose face had been obliterated beyond all reasonable recognition, and it had made her sick. She had fled, run like a spectre in the night, and fallen to pieces in those long, hateful minutes until her work had made her whole again.
But she knew, just by the look on his face, that he'd seen them too. He'd touched them, just as she had, and she suspected he'd felt and seen more than her. He was the King— the leader of the people and the ruler of the land, and no matter how unsavoury the business was, no matter his feelings of sadness or revulsion, it was his duty to do right by those countless dead, whose bodies now lay not twenty feet from them.
"You know that you don't have to call me My Lady, right?" Bella blurted out, and the sudden change in tone made him blink. "It's a little strange…"
"Wel…" He seemed amused. "What should I call you, then? For you are a Lady, as much as I am a King."
It was her turn to blush.
"Just Bella is fine," she murmured softly. The King said nothing. "That's what everyone calls me. Even Carlisle does, though it took him longer than Esme."
"Bella," said the King, testing the name. "It suits."
Flushing, she bit her lip.
"I'll make you a deal," said the King, leaning away from the flames. His face was shadowed now. "I'll call you by your given name, if you call me by mine."
Bella laughed.
"Is that even allowed?" she asked. He shrugged.
"I don't know," he admitted wryly. "But if anyone has the right to make that decision, I would think it would be me. You've never called my brother by his title, and no one's complained yet."
"How is Jasper?" asked Bella softly. "Is he still angry with me?"
Edward sighed.
"He's always angry with something," he muttered. "He's gotten over you, I think. He knows you're still here, which soothes him. At the moment, he's angry with me because I would not bring him with me."
"With you where?"
The King— Edward— snorted.
"To collect bodies from the Southern Shore," he said dryly. "As if that's any place for a child. It's hardly a place for a grown man, and yet here we are…"
"He's lonely," Bella guessed sadly. Something in her heart ached for that child— so volatile and angry, but with eyes brimming with such pure and deep affection.
"Yes, I suspect he is," sighed Edward. "He's been lonely and angry for a long while, I think. It is not easy for a young boy to bear the burden of loss as he's been forced to do."
Bella felt a weight settle in her chest— a weight she had not felt for many, many years. She knew the burden of loss all too well, knew how quickly it could drag you down into the briny depths of despair, refusing to let go even as you drowned in it, swallowing more water than you could handle.
"He'll heal," said Bella wisely. "With time."
"But with what scars?" asked Edward softly. "He's already wounded, and he hates me more and more each day."
"He'll heal," she said again, "and he'll grow. Children always do, you know…"
He smiled, though only slightly, at her lame attempt at humor.
"But we have not answered the real question," Edward said, his eyes flickering back to the wagons. "And no matter how it pains me to do it, I must ask you again."
What should we do?
"I… don't know," Bella sighed. "I don't know what your customs are, or what happens to those who've…"
But Edward cut her off, shaking his head in the gloom.
"That is exactly why I must ask," he said softly, turning around in his seat to face her fully. "Your customs are not our customs, and it would be a disservice to those poor souls to have their final rest tainted by the stain of well-intentioned, but ill-advised ceremony."
"They are not my people either, Edward," said Bella, a quiet understanding dawning on her. She did not know these people. "I don't know them, or which Gods they worshipped, if any…"
"Yes, but your Gods are different than ours in every way," Edward continued. "It would not do to give them our farewell, though I will if that's what's required…"
"They're dead," Bella frowned. "It won't matter much to them what they're given…"
"But are they gone?" mused Edward, glancing once again at the clear, starry sky. "Is anyone ever really gone?"
Bella did not answer.
"They deserve peace, Bella," he said. "They all deserve peace, and though I am King, and Leader, and Father of the People," he snorted at this last title, "I cannot bring them peace if I do not know what to do."
"I don't know how," she whispered. "I don't know how either, Edward, because I don't know who they were."
"They were yours, Bella," he said easily. "Brothers and sisters from your own world that must seem ten thousand leagues away. Whether you knew them or not, they were more yours than they could ever be mine."
Throat thick with sudden emotion, Bella felt the cooling air at her back as the fire died down some. She swallowed hard— she would not lose it in front of this man, this stranger— though it might cost her every ounce of self-control to keep it under control.
"I don't know what to do," she said again, a quiet, almost impossible laugh bubbling on her lips. "I don't know what to tell you, Edward. I don't know what to do."
The flames burned lower still, and when he leaned forward again, she could see the sadness blazing in his eyes. He snatched her hand in his, the grip so tight it was almost painful.
"Tell me what you would do," he pleaded, and Bella heard a new urgency in his voice that hadn't been there before. "Tell me what you do for your dead, how you lay them to rest in peace when their souls have left them. Tell me how you calm the ghosts, Bella, for I have no desire to leave twenty-six spectres to wander on an empty shore, without solace or amity because of something I could have avoided!"
She held her breath in her chest. If she breathed too deeply, drew the nighttime air into her lungs that burned and ached, she knew what she would smell. The salty air, and the fragrant palms on the edge of the water. The seaside brine. The sand, with scuttling crabs and abandoned seashells. The death, the decay, the mouldering flesh, and rank, rotting clothes…
When her tears fell, the King's hand tightened around hers.
"I don't know," she repeated again. "I don't know what to do…"
She thought of the cat— the first pet Bella had ever owned— buried in a hole in her Uncle's backyard. She thought of how she'd cried as Charlie poured dirt over the decorated, flashy shoebox, while Bella clung to a blurry polaroid of an orange tail, waving frantically through the misty air.
She thought of her father— the nameless, faceless man whose absence had become as much a part of her as her own heart and soul. She had only ever known him by a cold, hard stone in a churchyard, with the words " Husband and Father" inscribed beneath a date that had come all too soon.
And finally, though the image pained her, Bella thought of her mother. Her mother alive and dancing. Her mother laughing, and singing, and twirling, before she thought of her mother dead on the floor of the living room, dead in the drawer of the morgue, dead in the satin-lined casket, where Bella had seen her face for the last time when her Uncle, weeping like a baby, had closed the lid to hide her from view.
"I don't know," Bella repeated, and this time, she could not stop the lump from growing. He saw it at once, and though she wanted to rise and leave him, she could not make her legs move.
"I'm sorry…"
"I don't know what to do," she repeated. "I don't know what they'd want, or where they'd like to go…"
"I'm sorry," he said again. When a hot, fat tear splashed down onto her lap, she brought her hand up to wipe at her cheek. His grip tightened on her. "I should have never pushed. I'm sorry…"
Her eyes fixed on the wagons, Bella felt the familiar, deepening sadness grip her heart.
"I don't know what to do," she said. "I don't know what to do, no matter how much I wish I did."
And though he didn't say it, Bella knew that he felt the same.
A/N: Thank you for your patience! I hope this extra long chapter makes up for my slowness.