Chapter 2

Chapter 2

An Injured Laugh

Whispers, but not whispers; whole, but in pieces; the light, penetrating the darkness; and the darkness, a shroud over the light: Quiet whispers were sounding in Edward’s mind, like always, and he hated it.

Edward was lying without clothes in his bed with only a thin sheet covering him. His mattress was right across from the one window in the room, and the first morning lights would shine right into his black eyes every morning; but the brightness of the sunrise did not bother him.

            Edward was thinking about what he was going to do that day. It was not Monday, Wednesday, or Thursday. If it was, then Maria would be barging into his room at any moment to wake him so that he and the rest of the orphans could go do their lessons with Mrs. Wright, the once-upon-a-time governess of the governor’s sons. There, they would learn their letters, the history of the city of Mitia and the Stellan Empire, and the philosophy which Mrs. Wright thought especially important.

Maria was educated herself, and she believed that it had not helped her in the least. She would send the orphans to the former governess, though, because it was an amendment to her arrangement with the Minister of the Right, but Edward did not know that. All Edward knew was that he was fine with it, because he was very good at learning and was able to watch the knights train and joust during the afternoons with his foster brothers before returning to Maria at sundown.

On Tuesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, the orphans would do some work to support their ever growing family. Maria received an allowance for every kid she took in, but it was never enough to take care of them all. So, she would give the older kids off to either the baker nearby, to Butcher Devin, or to Granny Lorena. Then, they would be sent back with food or money in the night. While they were out, the three youngest, all girls, would cook for when everyone else returned.

Edward was the only one to ever be sent to the bar nearby, to a man named Morgan. Morgan paid Edward well to scrub the floors, to wipe every mug and pitcher, to help carry the crates of wine from delivery carriages into the bar, and to make sure not to bother anyone. Edward would work all morning on those three days every week and then spend the nights listening to Morgan, the sailors, the guards, and even the occasional knight about what was going on in the world. Edward would hear about the ghastly highwaymen near the capital, about stacking shipwrecks to the north, and even about high-heeled boots and bright stripes from the barmaids.

That day, the 28^th of July, was a Friday, Edward’s favorite day of the week. Friday was chore day for everyone else, but Edward would have Fridays all to himself, for he would finish his chores over the course of the week. He would spend every Friday walking the streets of Mitia, searching for something. In fact, since he was able to walk, Edward had been wandering the city roads, back and forth, from north to south, up then down, as the roads curved and jolted. It was one of the biggest cities in the world in those times, and Edward had almost walked along each and every road in it, searching for that something, a special some-place somewhere where those whispers could not reach him.

Edward was just thinking about where he would be searching that day when a stray thought occurred to him. He wondered, ever so briefly, about what he would be doing if he had not been orphaned. If he still had parents somewhere, parents who could explain the whispers, the voices, and the songs in his head, then what kind of day would Friday be? He would not be going for a walk around the backstreets, of a surety; dangerous roads and ends can only be found in the backstreets, were houses and storages have been in disrepair and abandoned for many years since the war. Only the few streets close to the bar and right behind the governor’s castle were secure, including Feral Street where Edward lived. Edward chanced daylight strolls through the backstreets, though, for he was not one to overlook a single rock of road in his search. But if his parents would indeed be able to explain what those Voices were, then there would be no need for a search at all.

And then there was a knock on the door, and the stray thought was suspended.

Edward waited, wondering who could be knocking at the door so early in the morning, and then there was another knock.

Edward, fighting the urge to pretend to not be present, rose from his hard mattress. There were at least two stones amongst the straw in the mattress, and they had been poking in Edward’s back no matter how he had turned, but Edward did not complain. He strode over to the farthest corner of his bedroom to grab on a pale shirt, torn at its sleeves, and his stitched up brown trousers, both of which he had been wearing the night before. Everything else was far too dirty or too smelly to wear, and all of them too small. Even his sandals, at the foot of the bed, were so small that the edges of his feet felt cold stone as he walked on Mitia’s roads.

There was another impatient knock on the door which hastened Edward as he was fastening the strings on his sandal. Edward sighed as he went out of his room on the second floor, dressed in his rags, and he walked downstairs.

Edward knew when he got off the stairs that the kitchen on his right would be empty, so he looked to the left, into the sitting room, where there was a door going into another bedroom. That door was closed, so Edward went up to the front door and opened it.

“Hi, hello, and good morning,” said the young man who was knocking. “The name’s Sadler.”

The squire of the governor’s youngest son was standing before Edward.

“Good morning,” said Edward. “I’m Edward.”

Edward recognized the squire’s long strands of blond hair, because they could be found all over the training grounds at the end of every day, though they had never talked before. He was young, thin, and tall for his age. The top of Edward’s head barely reached the boy’s naval. The squire was awkwardly holding a little girl wrapped in a pale blue fabric so she was barely visible except for her face and her hair. Edward guessed that she was at least half a year old.

When Edward saw her, a penetrating laughter sounded in his head, one that was not his own. Edward grabbed the right side of his head.

“Is something a-wrong up there?” asked Sadler the squire, pointing to Edward’s head.

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

Sadler drew himself up and said, “Well, that up there is one place you don’t want anything being wrong, you see. I’m well accustomed to problems of the mind. Part of my profession, you know? Squire to Sir Yeverly Ramparts! See, squires have to know all ‘bout all sorts of injuries, especially to those up there. Dangerous as well as unpleasant, that they truly are. And it’s all about imbalance and trauma.”

Edward simply nodded as the laughter continued, and only he could hear it. It was a loud laugh, manly and deep, and it echoed in Edward’s head, ceaselessly. It did not hurt Edward, not like a headache, though he would not know since he has never had a headache before. Only, like always, it was extremely annoying.

“Nothing imbalanced about up here, thank you,” said Edward. “Though, if I might ask, what is your business here?” Edward asked, though he knew very well what his business was.

Orphans then started going into the streets from two other houses. Maria owned the two houses, as she owned her own, and all three houses together housed twelve orphan children. Edward remembered how thin all the walls were, and he knew that the children had heard what the squire and Edward had said. Some of the kids that appeared had tired, thin, filthy faces, and others had hungry looks and open mouths. They were staring at the Squire and the little baby, whispering amongst themselves.

“Um, well…” said Sadler. “You s-see… I’m here to see M-Mi-Miss Maria Veila. Is she-she here?”

“Uh—yes,” replied Edward. “Wait a moment.”

Edward strode over to Maria’s bedroom, the room past the sitting room. He gently knocked on her door, and he said, “Maria? Wake up. There’s someone at the front door. Maria?”

There was a groan from the other side of the bedroom door. Edward got an image of Maria trying to pretend the messenger away, as he himself had tried to do. Edward turned to look at Sadler and saw him sticking his head into the house, but his feet were planted outside.

“What’s its name?” asked one of the younger orphans, a girl named Reina.

“It’s a ‘her’, not a ‘it’, Rocker,” said Tyner, a blond boy who was younger than Edward, but he was taller.

“What’s hers name?” asked Reina.

Sadler tried out different methods of holding the baby while he stammered an unintelligible answer.

After a few moments, Maria opened her door, and she left her room wearing her night gown, a plain white dress that covered everything from under her shoulders to below her thighs. She had not brushed her hair yet, so it was a tangled mess. Yawning, she shoved Edward aside as she headed to the front door.

“Yes?” said Maria.

“Hello Mi-Miss,” said the squire. “My name is S-S-Sadler. I am here on be-behalf of the governor’s c-court.”

The squire waited for a response, but Maria just stood there with her arms crossed. The squire cleared his throat after a moment.

“You are be-being called to recount, M-Miss,” said Sadler, looking upwards with his back as straight as could be. “Thy In-Infantine Pact with the Governor of Mitia, whe-whereby thou shalt be b-bound forever, states that, in the course of thy life, should there be cause for th-th-thy se-services, thou must, without ex-exception, be most ardent in thy duty with all the endeavor th-th-thou mayest m-muster. Therefore, he-heretofore, thou shalt possess this here child until comes the cause of a-another wi-willing the r-res-responsibility onto them away from thee, in which case, th-th-thou shalt be f-free of thy ch-ch-charge.”

The squire, bouncing on his toes now, hurriedly shoved the baby into the foster mother’s arms and managed to pull out several sheets of paper from a black, leather bag around his shoulder.

“Um, I be-be-believe you will n-need this,” said the squire, holding the papers. “The child’s le-letters of b-b-b-birth.” He placed the papers onto the baby’s arms, from which the papers slid. Sadler watched the papers hit the road and scatter, and then he yelled a goodbye and ran off.

The baby started crying.

Maria, normally never awake so early, scoffed and said, “Well now… this is a treat, huh?”

Her eyes were drooping, but her stare was freezing cold.

The other orphans started talking loudly, each asking different questions, and each question received different answers, and Edward watched all of them, hearing the laughing in his head which was not his own.

“Stitch your jamming lips, will you?” said Maria, giving them all a questioning look, wondering if anyone was going to challenge her and open their mouths.

Then Maria said, with a soft, gentle voice, the voice she always spoke to babies with, like wind whispering to the leaves, “What’re we going to do with you? Stop crying, unpleasant child. No one’s to harm you. You’re safe.” She touched the baby’s mouth. The baby started chewing on Maria’s finger, still crying, and the baby girl opened her two big, beautiful light brown eyes. Her tiny fingers wrapped around Maria’s finger. The baby had short, thin brown hair, messy and curly like Edward’s, and Edward heard her slowly stop crying.

“Boys!” said Maria with a whisper to the surrounding orphans. The few girls among them looked anywhere other than at Maria. “We need some bread and some greens. We’re running low. Get some back for all of us or don’t you consider coming back.”

Maria told them this at least once a week. Five boys walked off with each other, silently, and without any money. Edward was wondering if he was to go with them.

He was just about to when Maria said, “Edward! Pick these up!” She nodded at the pages the squire had dropped.

Edward said, “Yes, Miss.” He did as he was told, and as he grabbed them and clustered them together, he read what was on the pieces of paper.

But Edward did not read them.

Edward did not have to read them.

Edward simply touched the pages. Then, through his fingertips, as slowly as rain drops slide down windowpanes, the words of the writer flowed into the boy, leaving the ink behind just the way it was. Once inside, the words turned into a Voice. Edward’s vessels passed the Voice up to his brain. The Voice was then in his head, and it was like a tiny person whispering to Edward, reading the pages quietly, allowing the boy to understand who the words were from, to whom they were written for, and so much more.

It is the same as touching a hot hearth; nerves will pass along the word up to the brain from the burn: hot. Or, when touching the warm belly of a dog: hairy. Or, when touching snowflakes, balling them up: cold. It was the same with Edward; only, he could hear whole sentences, paragraphs, and complete ideas—not just sensations.

Touching a burning flame sends a message to the brain, telling it how to perceive the flame, telling it that it is dangerous and threatening and potentially fatal. Touching a piece of paper tells a man nothing except that it is thin, fragile, and a piece of paper, because that is what the human brain understands it to be. But it is tricked. A hearth is not just hot, a dog is much more than hairy, and it is never just a piece of paper; it is more. Even reading is not enough. There are things hidden inside which cannot be seen, felt, read, or told about, things that are not hidden to Edward.

Edward, judging by the assortment of material in his hands, figured the squire had left many more pages than he intended to. As Edward shifted through the pages the squire had dropped, the words on them rang through his head, and he found that many were meant for others and were worthless to him: a few were for the head physician in the governor’s castle and were long receipts for the ingredients he could claim in the market: oil from hemp, angelica stalks, garlic, honey... Another page was an itinerary for a naval vessel that was headed from the capital of Stella to Mitia. Others were orders to blacksmiths and tailors from the knight the squire squired for, for new helmets and gauntlets made of bronstead and for blue—not white—chevalier gowns that knights wore under their mail and plates.

As Edward went through the pages, the laughing he had been hearing since he first opened the front door continued. Edward knew, he knew, that the laugh was a Voice as well. Edward could tell that it was coming from the baby. He looked at her. She was in Maria’s arms, in the sitting room by the couch. Just by being in the same house as her, a Voice, this laughter, was pouring into Edward.

From the floor, the walls, and even the air, voices, laughter, singing, and sometimes just quiet whispers, flowed into Edward. They did not come through his ears, but through the pores in his body, like invisible, microscopic knives stabbing him all over his skin. They could even appear before him, like a phantom, or some sort of apparition, Edward did not know, but he could see them, and then they would disappear. However, whether they were noises in his head or visions, Edward still called them the Voices. He did not know what else to call them.

Once, only once, did he tell anyone else about the Voices. It was to Maria, when he was five years old. After a long day of chores, Edward had been sent up to bed, and then he tried to fall asleep, but Voices, three Voices, came to him, and Edward thought that they were some sort of invisible beasts, and they were inside his head, talking to him like they knew him. Edward was scared and frightened, and he ran to Maria who said that he was just having a bad dream and to stop being a stupid baby.

But it happened all the time. All the time.

When he touched the page that belonged to the baby girl, her name echoed loudly throughout his brain: Zahara. Edward brought everything to Maria, with the baby’s paper in the forefront.

“Zahara,” said Maria, reading the piece of paper as Edward held it up for her. “You’re seven months old.” Maria readjusted the baby in her arms. “Oh. Your parents died… Hmm… Last night.

“Edward,” said Maria, looking past the papers. “Put everything on the table.”

Edward went into the kitchen which had nothing in it but a few pots, plates, and a table with one chair by their fireplace. He set the papers down and went back to Maria. She was now sitting on the couch.

“Does 12th still have the cradle?” asked Maria. She meant the house to the right of theirs.

“No, Miss,” replied Edward, resisting a sudden urge to massage his head as the laughter kept pounding. “We gave it away to make room for Sarah.”

“Oh, that’s right… Then I guess,” said Maria, rocking the baby, “that this one’ll sleep with me for now…”

The infant still sucked on the foster mother’s finger. Maria, looking at her with half-open eyes, said, “But this is going be a stupid, annoying problem… isn’t it?”

Edward had seen the problem the moment he had seen the baby, at the same time that loud laugh first ran though his head.

“Is Drusilla here?” asked Maria.

Edward looked towards the door, and there she was, with the other girl orphans. She had pale skin, not because her skin was naturally that color, and long grey hair, brushed and well managed. She was freckled too, like salt and pepper sprinkled over hot boiled potatoes. She stepped forward to stand next to Edward.

“Miss,” said Drusilla, putting her hands behind her as if someone was tying them together. Drusilla was always quiet around Maria and the others, but talked so much to Edward. He did not like it, especially when she would tell him secrets that he did not care for.

“Huh… What was it again?” said Maria, still talking softly. “Her name, what was her name? I had it at the edge of my mind just one second ago. Your friend—the dark one with the bows—her father’s the baker—what’s her name?”

“Alyse, Miss,” replied Drusilla.

“Yes! Alyse! Right! Do you know if her mother is still nursing?”

“No, Miss, not since yesteryear.”

“Honestly? Was it such a time ago? Hmm…” Maria took her finger out of the baby’s mouth and thought of something. “I can’t think of anyone else who might be… I suppose I could try… Hmm…”

As Edward watched Maria scratching her chin, a Voice penetrated Edward’s skin.

Edward looked straight down as the Voice went up to Edward’s head.

It was laughing like a madman, saying, I’ve been waiting a long time! Don’t you know?

It was so loud.

It was saying, Now! Now! Now!

Now I get to cut!

I get to slice!

I get to MURDER!

I GET TO TASTE YOUR BLOOD!

And Edward suddenly wanted to leave. He wanted to go out that door and start walking as far away as possible. The Voice was rushing into his head. It was coming in like a wave, like sea water crashing against the rocks. It was like a person suddenly screaming at once. It was like someone trying to squeeze their way into your mind, through a little hole in the head, one forceful inch at a time.

It would happen once in a while, Edward finding a Voice this loud. Walking would always help with it, drown away the noise.

Edward’s palms were getting sweaty. The Voice was an angry voice. It was a violent voice. It was full of rage, monstrous and unkind, unmerciful. It was shouting, in his head, thoughts of bloodshed.

 “I suppose it’s worth a try. Hey—Ed, where are you going?”

Edward had been inching backwards, towards the door; it was because of that Voice, the one with the laugh that was drilling itself into his brain. Edward had to get out of there.

“Um…”

“Come here! Take the baby for just a pinch of a minute.”

“No, I’ve got to go.”

“What? Don’t be stupid, come over here!”

“Please, I’ll be ba—”

“—Get over here, Ed!”

Maria got up and went towards Edward.

“Here!”

Edward held out his arms, sweat beading down them, the voice growing ever louder, shouting, Blood, blood, blood!

“Yes, there you go. She can’t bite yet.”

But then the voice was going, Finally found youse; I’ve been looking all over, don’t you know? You’ve been slippery little monsters, don’t you know, DON’T YOU KNOW? And Edward heard the voice over and over in his head until the baby was almost in his arms and then it said, laughing, You’ll get yours, all youse, you’ll die and go under and BURN until your skin falls off and then your bones’ll melt, with your heads’ boiling as you dangle by your necks off of… And Edward looked at the baby with its big wide eyes, and the voice said, It’s your turn, little one, and you’ll see, yes you will, it’s better off this way, with them DEAD, and everyone DEAD, and me too, DEAD, don’t you know? And Edward’s blood went out of his hands.

“Miss,” said Drusilla, “I actually think the butcher’s wife is nursing right now.”

Maria pulled the baby away from Edward back to her chest. Readjusting Zahara in her arms, Maria said, “No, really! Yelena? But, wait, you’re right? How’d I forget? Their eighth child—can you believe it?—only last month. How’d I forget…? Have Sara and Libby go over to her, will you? Let them know I’ll give her all of Zahara’s allowance: probably around five silver a month. Make sure they ask her politely! If Yelena refuses, I’ll blame them. I’d send Tyner and Silvie; they know the family better. But I’ve done and sent them off, and babies drink a lot, and I don’t how long it’s been…since she’s last fed…”

Drusilla said, “Yes, Miss,” and she rushed over to the girls outside and started talking to them.

Maria went back to the couch and got comfortable on it, the baby still in her arms.

Eventually, Drusilla came back into the house with three other girls, Reina, Kat, and Nell.

“Sarah and Libby are going now, Miss,” said Drusilla. “They won’t fool around; they’ll ask her right.”

“Miss Maria,” said Nell, Drusilla’s real sister, with the same grey hair and freckles, but five years younger. “Is it possible for us to hold her too?”

“Please, Miss,” said Kat, a thin brunette, “we can take care of her for a little while if you want to go back to sleep.”

Edward was still sweating and could still hear the echo of the voice in his head, you know, you know, you know, and he felt as pale as Drusilla was.

He watched Maria hand over Zahara to Nell, who took the baby with a gigantic smile on her face. Nell was the exact opposite of Drusilla when it came to Edward; she talked, laughed, and played with everyone except Edward. She avoided him, like one avoids a rabid dog or a cursed horse. She would not even look at him. Edward assumed it was because she knew, somewhere deep inside her, that Edward was not like them.

And Edward knew that she was right.

“Ed, what’s the matter?” said Maria from the couch. “I thought you had to go.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” said Edward.

“Miss, Edward! Always call me by Miss!”

“Yes, Miss,” said Edward. “Morgan mentioned he needed work done on Friday—I mean today. He was talking to a sailor about it. I told him I would be available, and then he asked me if I could help him.”

“Ed, what’s wrong with you?”

Edward wondered if he looked like he was going to be sick, because that was how he was feeling. He said, “What do you mean?”

Then Maria said, “You’ve never mentioned it to me before. Forgot, did you?”

“It had slipped my mind,” replied Edward, “until this morning. Yes, Miss, in fact I just remembered.”

“You just remembered… Can you tell me when it was that Morgan asked for your help?”

“Oh, just the last time I saw him—”

“—And you didn’t think to tell me right afterwards?”

“No, Miss.”

“So… What is it you’re helping him with?”

“Oh, it’s just a project. And I am about late.”

“Know when you will return?”

“I wasn’t told.”

“Well if you get done early, I’ve got a chore—”

“—Right, Miss, I’ll come right back!”

“Edward!”

“Sorry, I’ll tell you about it when I get back!”

            Edward went out of the door, and then he added, “Miss!”

            The laughter had been building up in his head again, but it quieted down as Edward walked away from the house. After only a few steps, it was gone completely, leaving only quiet whispers. Edward was going north up Feral Street, where there would be less people. The road he was on was made of river-washed stone, set in with sand and clay, and Edward walked onwards, not intending to stop, and not listening to his rumbling stomach.

            He passed by several people, busy with their own lives, before the roads narrowed. Darkness started descending down around him because the buildings were so close together. Edward felt like he was in an alleyway. He had been here many times before, since this was the shortest way to get outside the backstreets and onto soil.

The road workers had done an excellent job, centuries ago, because there was only stone road in the city of Mitia. Trees, grass, and flowers had not been seen in the city, other than in the fairgrounds, since they had finished their constructions. It looked a beautiful sight from the sea, a stone city, shining in the sunlight, but it just seemed dead and dark to Edward. But Edward did not need to see life and green that day, so he did not go that far. He walked only a few more minutes before he slumped down a wall, holding his knees. He was still sweating.

Edward tried to think of a story to tell Maria when he got back, because Morgan had never asked for his help, but Edward was too preoccupied. He started thinking about something else, something he had thought of often, and it was like continuing a conversation after a moment’s digression.

Edward did not know what the Voices were, but he knew they were real. They were not dreams, like Maria had thought, unless Edward had been dreaming his entire life. But that’s not possible—right?

Edward did not know what that Voice was, the Voice that was laughing, the Voice that was going to kill—had already killed—and wanted to kill even more, but Edward knew that the Voice was in his house, with his foster brother and sisters, with Maria, his foster mother, and that it was somehow connected to the innocent, little orphan baby.

And Edward did not want that Voice in his house.

Edward could only ever imagine that there was something special about him, something extraordinary, superior and awesome, because he could hear these Voices that everyone else were oblivious to. He knew that his parents must have been the same, though there was no way he could be sure. He could not remember how they looked like, but he would imagine his father with black eyes and wrinkles around them, and he would imagine his mother with graying, curly black hair. Try as he might, he could not remember having parents at all. Edward asked Maria about what had happened to them once before.

“How would I know what happened to them?” she had said. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Even if there was no one to tell Edward what the Voices were, he was sure of a few things: He knew that he was not reading minds, and that the Voices were not ghosts or demons. Unless demons have been possessing parchment and paper for quiet sometime, that would not explain why he did not have to read them.

Edward also knew that the Voices did not just come from humans or from human writing. Once, Edward had gone far out into the forest outside the streets of Mitia. There was not a human within earshot of him. Yet still, he could hear the Voices. They were ancient whispers, in a language Edward recognized as belonging to an ancient creature, the Aylfádl, the Wood Fairies, because he had heard Mrs. Wright sing a song in their language once, and there was only thing Edward could hear clearly: Al-Yahood min an-naum.

Edward could hear it in his head, and it was a Voice. And Edward could understand it, though he did not know the language. It meant, Find me in your dreams.

Edward rose up from the cold, stone road, ready to return home. It been at least ten minutes, about the time it takes to walk to the bar. He could tell Maria that he went to the bar and that Morgan did not need him anymore, and that should be enough.

Back to the middle house, Maria had fallen fast asleep on the couch. Drusilla and Kat were in the kitchen, squatting by the hearth, trying to convince a flame to appear there. Reina and Nell were on the floor of the living room, playing with Zahara.

“Ed?” said Drusilla when she saw Edward walk through the door. “Is something a matter?”

To Edward, that seemed like the third time someone had asked him the same thing that morning.

“Everything is good,” said Edward. “Morgan said it appears he does not need me this morning, and that I have to get their early tomorrow.”

“Oh, all right,” said Drusilla.

“Ed,” said Kat, “you know how make this stupid thing alight?”

Kat usually went to Granny Lilly Lorena’s house with Libby and Reina, where they sewed dresses and threaded together blankets which they sold at the markets on Tuesdays. Drusilla, with two of the boys, went to the Bakeria, the house of Baker Panter, and she worked the front shop with the baker’s wife. Neither of them was accustomed to lighting fires. But Edward was.

“You knew how to build up the wood in there?” said Edward, observing their work.

“Yes,” said Drusilla. “I’ve watched Miss Panter do it thousands of times, but we couldn’t get the flint to work.”

“And you’re using those pages the squire left to start it?”

“Maria told us to,” said Kat. “Right before she passed away. Zara’s birth-letter is still on the table.”

Edward nodded and took the black fyrestone from Kat’s hand and quickly struck a small spark. The papers caught the spark and the beginnings of a flame started to be born.

“Zara?”

“Shorter than Zahara, and it sounds like Sara,” said Drusilla. “Nell thought it up.”

When the fire caught on the wood, Drusilla and Kat used it boil whatever potatoes they had lying around, making sure to slice them up as small as possible first. After the potatoes were sufficiently dampened, the girls drained all the liquid out, added some flour to the pot, poured the liquid back in, and then stirred like mad as they heated it up once more, making Maria’s specialty, Potato-Puff Porridge.

Edward watched them, sitting down on the first step of the stairs, listening without his ears, trying to decipher, through all the whispers in his head, if the laughter was still there—if the madman’s Voice was still there.

I found you, don’t you know? was all Edward heard, and he heard it only once, but there was laughter no more save from the mouths of Nell and Reina as they watched Zahara stare at them.

Edward knew what he had to do then, and he laughed quietly to himself as well.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Creatures

A special creature was living in a home that was made up of three houses, sitting side-by-side, in the backstreets of Mitia, of the Stellan Empire. They were owned by Maria Veila, the most well known woman in the entire port city. She was the foster mother of twelve young orphans.

Maria was perfectly happy to tell anyone how hard it was to take care of the twelve young children, how irritating and needy they were, how they never cooked and cleaned for her unless she forced them to, how she had to find work for them to get through the weeks, and how they ran her towards insanity.

Maria was the first foster mother in the history of Mitia, as far as anyone knew, so there was no way to validate her complaints. But they listened to her, and they talked to her. They would also invite her to festivals and celebrations. But Maria would always reject their invitations, preferring to sit in her one comfy couch in the middle house, staring at the opposite wall, alone even though twelve kids were housed right by her.

Many knew Maria from when she was still a barmaid in Morgan’s Bar, the only bar and inn in the backstreets of Mitia. The bar was also well known, even though it had just opened recently, since it was safer to drink wine than their water in those days. The customers enjoyed Maria and knew her to be brusque yet kind, dangerous yet beautiful, with pearly white skin, like winter’s first snow, talking to everyone, giving them orders while she took theirs, and even kicking out the drunk and stupid. On holiday nights, when everyone in the bar would be laughing and cheering until the building threatened to collapse on them all, Maria would wear a mean face, because she found loud noises unpleasant. Her white lips would be pursed together, her nostrils would be flaring like a wild boar’s, and her bright hazel eyes would be as cold as frozen lake water. Everyone knew Maria’s mean face well, and they rightfully feared it.

But, strangely, they would call her kind. They called Maria kind, though she would yell and scream at her lazy boss, Morgan; though she would always insult men when they told her what to do; and though she called babies ugly and nasty and animals rude and dirty.

They called her kind because she could use her words to put a man’s spine back into shape, because she could yell a woman’s tears away, and because she could stare down a beast and civilize it. She had a power, they said, and though no one thought it was possible for a surlier woman to exist, they still called her kind.

It was cause for celebration when it was finally known, in the year 6652 on the Stellan Calendar, that Miss Maria was getting married. She was a full twenty years old, and it was only five years since her coming of age.

“I don’t believe,” said a regular of Morgan’s Bar, a man named Killian. “Morgan, it cannot be true.”

“Aye, Kil, it sure is,” said Morgan, the master of gossip in the backstreets. It had not been half a day since Maria had been proposed to, and already he knew everything he could about the engagement. He was sitting at a table with Killian and a few others, sharing free drinks.

“Deary!” shouted a maid, past her prime, slamming two large flagons of wine on the table all the men were at. “You, Killian, you’ve known her all yer life! You should be proud!”

Killian said, “I am, Lilly.”

“Then, what’s all this, ‘It can’t be true!’ You, with a frown and all lemon-sour! We’re celebrating, you know!”

“It’s just tough…”

“What is?”

“You know…” said Killian, muttering. “It’s seeing her getting tied to another…”

Morgan laughed and said, “What? Are you joking?”

“Why in blue seas would I be joking?” said Killian.

“Now I don’t believe it! You telling me you didn’t know?”

Killian stared at Morgan.

“She hated you!”

Morgan was a middle-aged man, but he had hair as grey as a rain cloud on a horizon. He was big as well and took up half a bench at the table. His nose looked as if they were inflated, swollen to the size of a peach. His eyes were as grey as his hair and beard, and they had kind lines around them. He filled several mugs with the flagons the barmaid had set down.

Killian sighed after a moment, and he said, “Yeah, I know.”

A man laughed, putting one of the stone mugs into Killian’s hands, and he said, “Kil, brother, remember that night Maria kicked you into a wall, head-first?” Everyone at the table laughed. “And then,” continued Killian’s friend, “then you was like, ‘Oh! Excuse me!’ like it was your fault your buttocks were in the way of her boot!”

“Aye,” said Killian, “she’s so pretty when she’s ornery.”

“She used to tell me to stop serving you!” said Morgan, and then he guzzled down an entire mug in one fell swig. “And know she didn’t use those words! What was it? Oh! She said, ‘That runt, ratty, roaring piece of dog dung! Why you keep letting him in? He’s just stinking up this place; that he is!’ That’s exactly what she says!”

The barmaid, Lilly, came back, bringing one more pitcher to the table, and she said, “Don’t you be lying, Morgan! She’d never say that!”

Morgan replied, “Oh, yes she would! She’d have me outta here too if my name weren’t on the front!”

“Oh, Lord, I can’t believe she’s getting married!” said Lilly, ignoring her boss. “I am just so happy for her! What’s the man’s name again, Morgan?”

Morgan, filling his mug again, said, “Lenn-something.”

“Who’s he?” asked Killian’s friend.

“He’s a city guard, from a family of city guards. Heard the governor glossed him over as all the other guards were sent off last summer ‘cause ‘a some special duties of his. More than that, they apparently wall him from relishing a fine drink now and then, ‘cause I haven’t seen him yet. I mean, he lives here in our very own backstreets, he does, but he can’t seem to find the time enough to visit us.”

“City guard, eh?” said Killian, staring at his mug, not thirsty at all. “Bet he’s upper on the scale, and drinks finer wine up in the castle whenever he wants to.”

“Hey, don’t be knocking my product right in front of me!” said Morgan, laughing.

“Bet he’s richer than me,” said Killian.

“Oy, drink it off,” said his friend, forcing the mug up to Killian’s lips. “Maria’s too pretty for you! There it is! Come on! Down it goes!” The mouthful of wine went smoothly down Killian’s throat. “There! Feel better? You just have to think: after she gets married, and she’s all happy, she’ll quit this place and you won’t have to see her anymore!”

Killian drank again.

“She’s as mean as a raigelle and as strong as a troll, she is,” consoled Morgan. “You don’t need a girl like her. You’d never see the light ‘a day, sharing a life with her.”

Before Morgan had finished, Killian had emptied his drink, and then he filled his cup again by himself.

“I can’t bring myself to do anything today!” said the maid, hovering by the table. “I’m just too happy, and don’t we know there’s not been much to celebrate… When is the ceremony?”

Morgan, having done nothing all day except drink and spread rumors, said, “How would I know?”

“You said you knew everything about it already!”

“She was just proposed to today! They’re not gonna decide that right away! If you wanna know, you’ll have to ask Maria tomorrow.”

And so she and everyone else did ask her. The next day, when Maria walked into the bar for work, all anyone did was ask her about her new fiancé and how she felt about it and her wedding plans. She told them all off, saying that if they were not there for business or a drink, they were to leave right away. She called the tenth person who asked her about the engagement a rancid dead beast of a man, butting into business that wasn’t his. The eleventh fared no better. She had her mean face on all day.

Yet they all still called her kind and were happy for her.

When Maria returned home, back into the backstreets, she found her fiancé waiting for her by the door with sunshine yellow flowers, and flowers only grew miles beyond the streets of Mitia, and he held her and said that he loved her, and Maria took off her mean face and held the man right back.

“Maria,” said Lenn, “I cannot let you live here anymore.”

Lenn was a handsome man, with a large chin and curly blonde hair. He was wearing his city guard uniform, a thick pale tunic and a leather belt which held a sword against his hip.

“Are you evicting me?” said Maria, who normally hated when people were sarcastic, even spilling a pint on a man’s head for the same crime once before. She smiled.

“Yes, Miss, effective immediately.”

“Aww… Is there, by particular chance, anything I can possibly do to change your mind?”

“Hmm. I do not know, Miss. You might have to get especially creative.”

Two weeks later, they got married, much to the chagrin of Killian. After the wedding, Maria came to the bar only once more to yell at Morgan and to say thank you.

“And don’t come back, witch-woman!” called Morgan after her, laughing his head off, feeling sad and happy all at once.

Maria did indeed move in with Lenn, into the middle house of three on Feral Street. The other two houses were to be for the children they were to have, and they planned on having so many children, like every other family in Mitia. They had many dreams, and they talked about them every night, about Lenn eventually being knighted for his family’s long line of service, about Maria running a full house and raising little noble boys and girls, because the children of a knight became noble, and about a bright future together.

***

It was not long until Maria was pregnant. In those nine months, as Maria got bigger and bigger, the two were as happy as could be. Lenn would laugh and say that everyday there was more of her to love.

Even the continent was growing in peace. The rest of city guards had come back from battle, so Lenn had little duty to attend to. So, with all the time he suddenly possessed, in expectation of his child’s birth, he built a cradle with his own hands. Having never been good with woodwork, be built seven of them in all; the first six they gave away to other families. The last one, the one which was strong enough to hold Lenn and Maria together, they kept for their child. They put it in the only room on the second floor of the middle house, and they put their best blankets in it, and the room seemed bright as Maria visited it every day.

But on the day that was to be their child’s birthday, Maria got sick. She was burning up like wildfire, sweating through the sheets over her straw mattress, flailing about in bed because she felt like exploding. Maria kept thinking, Just a few more hours, and then she’ll be out, and I’ll be all right again. She knew the baby was going to be a girl, because it was so gentle, never kicking her or being rough with her like a boy would.

Her fellow maid from Morgan’s Bar was with her. She had seven of her own children already, and had helped deliver five. She was telling Maria, “Fight, girl. Just keep on fighting.” She was holding Maria’s hands, and Maria was clamping down on hers, and Lenn was nowhere to be seen. Maria wanted him there, even though there was nothing he could do. He would be in the way, with his big body, his strong body. He would take care of her, he was always there for her, but why he wasn’t there now—Maria could not remember anymore.

LENN, she cried, but all that came out was a long, loud moan, and then she could feel it start.

It was not a girl. It was a boy. That day, Maria got sick and gave birth to a still baby boy, and Maria could not bear the silence.

***

Then, two months later, there was a battle near Mitia. The flames of war across the continent seemed to have been extinguished, a thirst quenched, but the hearts of creation are never satisfied with any quantity of blood. A rouge group of dwarves attacked a human village in the city’s outskirts. Once the news got to the governor’s castle, Mitia’s knights and the city guard were sent to confront the rebels, Lenn among them. The guards, not having armor like the knights or the dwarves, were slaughtered. As the men of the city guard fell, the knights rode in on their steeds and rampaged into the line of dwarves, literally annihilating them.

Maria, three days after the battle was over, had not slept at all. She rarely slept or ate anyways, not since that day, two months ago.

Lenn had not returned from the battle, but he was not proclaimed dead yet either. As men searched the bodies of the fallen, identifying them, Maria could not lay down her head for fear her Lenn would turn up the moment she did, and all she could think of was the child she bore, about how it looked when she first saw it, how quiet it was, and how quiet the house was then… Why isn’t he back yet? She kept thinking to herself. Why isn’t he here?

And then there was a knock at the door.

Maria opened it, and then sighed when it was just the maid she used to work with.

“Good morning,” said the maid.

Maria said, “Moring to you, too, Lilly. What brings you here?”

Maria was in shambles. She had not brushed her hair for a long, long time, so it looked like brown forest vines. The bags under her eyes had bags. Her youthful beauty seemed to be wasting away. She tried to smile, but it would not come, so she settled on scowling instead.

The maid, Lilly, noticed the deterioration. “I’m just visiting, Deary. May I come in?”

Lilly spent three hours brushing Maria’s hair until it was perfect. They were sitting on Maria’s couch, the only comfy couch in all of Feral Street. Lilly then held Maria’s hand, not saying a word, just looking at Maria’s hazel eyes, and then Maria let loose tears like there was no tomorrow.

But tomorrow did come, and with it another knock on the door. It was not the maid this time, but three men. Two were holding a wooden box, too short for Lenn’s body. The other was standing before Maria.

“Miss Maria Veila?” asked the man.

“That is I,” answered Maria.

“Wife of Lenn Veila?”

“Yes, that is I.”

And then they dropped the box containing the pieces of Lenn, and they told Maria that he was dead, and that everything they could find of him was in the coffin, but it was not a coffin to Maria. She had to look, she had to, and it was Lenn, and it was not Lenn, and Maria did not cry that time. She closed the box and left it where it was.

She went to the only place she could think of. Her feet were moving by themselves. She did not want any friends or comfort. She wanted something far different.

Maria found herself in front of the governor’s castle, made of pure white stone and gleaming in the morning light. The iron gates in front of the castle walls were closed, like Maria knew there were going to be. And then she screamed. She roared a dragon’s roar, crying out every bit of anger and soul that she could muster, not shouting any words, just loud sound, and it was not long until knights came to the gates. They took her as she was still raving: right though the gates, past the grounds, and into the castle. They took her into a large dining hall where an old man in a long blue gown was waiting to receive her.

At the sight of him, Maria’s screams became coherent.

“MY HUSBAND! HE’S DEAD! DEAD! YOU UGLY, OLD FIEND!”

Maria was screaming and crying at the Minister of the Right, the man responsible for the civil law of Mitia. The color in the minister’s face quickly drained as Maria was yelling.

“YOU SENT HIM TO SLAUGHTER: LIKE AN ANIMAL! OR MAYBE YOU DIDN’T SEE WHAT HAPPENED? HOW HE WAS CUT DOWN BY BEASTS HALF HIS SIZE? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? COULD YOU NOT AFFORD SOME GUARDS FOR HIS SHINS OR HIS THIGHS? WHY ARE YOU SO STUPID! SO, SO STUPID AND WORTHLESS AND PATHETIC! YOU KILLED HIM! YOU! YOU BUTCHERED HIM, YOU FOOLISH, OLD MAN!”

The minister and Maria were separated by a large burly knight. Another knight, Sir Grum, was holding Maria’s hands behind her back. The Minister, pale as a sheet, looking past the knight, watched the woman with what seemed to be disgust and fear in his eyes. Maria did not understand that it was pity.

“Miss, what is your name?” asked the Minister of the Right after the woman had run out of breath.

“Maria,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “Maria Veila.”

“Miss Maria,” he said. Maria assumed that she was about to get coddled before being sent to a dungeon for torture. She had heard of a maiden getting her head lopped off for yelling at a knight with rusting armor before, so she figured yelling at an important person with expensive clothes must be worse.

“Miss Maria,” said the Right again, “Do you know who I am?”

Maria nodded.

The Minister of the Right bowed so low he was staring at his knees.

“I am beyond grief at the loss of so many of the guards. Please believe me.” The Right raised his head. “Ask of me one wish, your greatest desire, as long as it is in my power to grant it…and I will fulfill it.”

Maria looked taken aback, and then the fury returned.

“JUST. GIVE. ME. BACK. MY. HUSBAND!”

Maria roared her words, one by one, and a baby woke up from outside the hall. He was being carried by his nurse, and as they went by the entrance to the dining hall, the nurse could not help but start to overhear, especially since there was no door to the hall. When the baby started crying, the nurse looked shocked and ashamed. She was perfectly visible to the people inside the hall.

Maria, the two knights, and the Minister of the Right all looked at the baby and the nurse.

“I am so sorry, Minister,” said the nurse, a middle-aged, round lady. “I beg your pardon.”

The nurse started rocking the baby back to sleep, walking away, but was stopped by Maria’s voice.

“Wait!” Maria cried. “Can you bring him back?”

The nurse looked at the Minister of the Right, who nodded in allowance. The nurse brought the baby to Maria.

Maria had never seen anything like it. She had seen babies before, but there was something special about this one, this one baby, who was still crying, had curly black hair, and was enchanting. She wanted to hold him and take care of him, like she had held Lenn, tightly and with no mask.

She saw it crying as the nurse continued to rock it, but no tears left its eyes which were closed tight, and Maria felt an unfamiliar tug at the edges of her cheeks, and her anger was ebbing far off, as if it was blowing away like steam.

And then it was all gone, for anger cannot exist in the company of innocence as easily as in injustice.

And Maria remembered how her baby boy looked before she buried him. How peaceful it seemed, how pure it seemed. And the baby in front of her was pure and gentle and at peace as it cried like all babies cried. And she was at peace too.

“Who’s baby is this?” asked Maria.

“No one’s. That is, I do not know. For now, this baby has no parents, no relatives, and lives here only because we have no idea what to do with him.”

“Then this,” said Maria, softly, “if that is true, then this must be it. This baby. I want this baby. That is my one wish.”

The minister could barely hear her. He wanted to pretend as if he had not heard what the woman had said at all, but he did not. It was not because he had already given Maria his word, though that is what he would tell the governor. It was something else.

“You would have to take care of it,” said the minister.

He did not know why he said it. He saw Maria looking at the baby boy, and could not help but give her what she wanted. It was reckless, crazy, unlike him. Even the knight that was standing between Maria and the minister was shocked, looking like a startled troll, staring stupidly back at the Right as if the minister was indeed crazy. Sir Grum let go of Maria’s hands, allowing the woman to go closer to the nurse and the baby.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Maria, taking another step forward. “Always.”

“He must always be happy,” said the minister.

“He will be. I promise.”

“I’ll give you some money: an allowance for Edward once a month until the boy passes from your care.”

“Edward,” repeated Maria, hearing nothing else. “That’s his name?”

The Minister of the Right wondered again what he was doing. He closed his eyes. I am giving away a baby to a grieving woman, he thought to himself. And then he remembered that the baby did not belong to anyone anyways, and was only in the castle because of some strange, unexpected, unexplainable fate. A knight had found the baby in front of the gates, crying, with nothing to suggest it belonged to anyone or to anywhere at all. Why not let it belong to this lady, Maria, who they also found in front of the gates, crying, because of fate? The minister opened his eyes again.

“Yes,” said the minister. “His name is Edward. Do you really want him?”

“Of course,” said Maria, standing right in front of the nurse now, looking into Edward’s face. “I do.”

Maria took him back to Feral Street. She did not know how she made the journey back; she was in a daze the entire way through. It was different than when she left her house, though, because then all she could feel was anger. Now all she wanted was to get home, fearful that everything was a dream and wishing that everything was a dream.

She went into alleys, up staircases, across bridges, and finally got to her house which was squashed in-between the two empty buildings. She was holding the child, Edward, and was carrying a leather bag with her. She vaguely remembered the minister giving it to her. It was somewhat heavy, probably filled with the baby’s clothes and toys. She went past the box which contained what was left of her husband and went into the living room. Eventually, the pieces would have to be buried in the ground for good, but that would wait. Once inside, Maria set down the leather bag on the couch.

Then Maria held the baby up and spun around. She slowly spun in circles, bobbing the baby up and down, and then playing with its black hair, just as curly as her husband’s hair. Maria looked into Edward’s eyes, his black eyes. It was black like the night when it is its deepest and darkest, when only starlight can penetrate it.

Then she remembered her baby, her baby that she had had only two months ago, in September the first, and she would never forget that day because the baby was silent when it was born, with its eyes closed, and Lilly had told her that there was no pain, that it was still too young to feel pain, but Maria thought that that was nonsense, and Maria had cried then just as she had cried the morning before. But now she was spinning, trying her best to be happy again for the first time in two months, and she said, “Edward,” and nothing else, and she smiled.

And Edward, peering at Maria with his black eyes, heard her say his name, “Edward”, and he smiled too, and he tried to reach Maria’s face with his tiny hands, was laughing because he couldn’t, and he was happy that they were spinning, and excited that he was a world away from the ground, and he liked the sound of Maria’s voice, and she was humming now, and he liked that too, and he heard something else. He didn’t hear it through his ears. He heard it in his head. A voice that was soft and pleasant, melodious even, was rushing through his nerves up to his head where the voice echoed, and it made Edward so happy. You’re so beautiful, the voice said, and Edward was still laughing. You’re so beautiful, Edward.

Maria did not know what she was really carrying in her hands. She did not know that Edward had been left in front of the gates to the governor’s castle for a reason. She did not know that Edward was a creature beyond all reason and belief. She did not know that among every human being on earth, there is not one with pure black eyes, eyes that absorbed every particle of light, eyes that could see beyond what men can see, eyes like Edward’s eyes. In fact, there was only one thing on Earth just as purely black.

Edward, only a few months after he was born, was taken away from a large castle, far away in a distant land, across the sea. Adrift, both he and his abductor, a man in a large black cloak, took flight from the dark castle. They eventually arrived in Mitia, as the abductor had planned, and he set Edward down in front of the castle gates at dawn. The abductor knew Edward would be safe there, knew the governor of Mitia to be a kind fellow.

He was mistaken.

He could not have known about the governor’s negligence and cowardice, that the man would ignore a baby boy in favor of his own growing children and power.

Also, he could not have known about Maria.

And Maria could not have known that somewhere, far away, there was someone looking for the boy, someone in that dark castle, looking with every strand of being inside him for a boy with pure black eyes.

But the boy was with Maria, and she did indeed take care of him as best as she knew how. Then, as time passed, she took in others as well: eleven others over the course of almost eleven years. With each that came, there was more work and more noise. Before she knew it, the eleven years had passed, as quickly as a lightning bolt strikes the dead earth.

And now it was July of the year 6664, and Edward was just waking up on the second floor of his bedroom, with dawn shining into the room, about to start his day.