The Truth of Things Unseen

Eggs

The monster woke in the middle of the night. Pitch dark. Soft pillows.

A dream was still fresh in her mind. Gintas opening the box, leaning forwards, grinning like a demon, and inside, something incomprehensible...

"Get up," whispered her heart.

"Why?" she said, but her heart didn't reply.

She pulled on her clothes and padded out into the hallway. There were lamps burning. She half thought she saw a dark figure standing at the corner, but when she looked closer, it was just the way the light was flickering low.

The box had opened, and it had been as though she were falling into it, as though it were full of the endless night flowing with stars, and nestled in the middle...

"Stables," whispered her heart, and there was another sound too, a small murmuring, like a whisper behind a wall.

She padded down the hallway. She thought about taking a lamp from a sconce, but something told her to stay hidden. At the end of the hall, the stairs dove down into darkness. She followed them, down and down, into the back parlour.

Breakfast was already laid out, pats of butter to warm, bread dough rising in bowls beneath cloth, the warm tang of yeast. She went to the back door and slipped outside, into the night.

The moon was narrow but the stars were brilliant. She slunk across the sleeping yard, wary of the rutted places where carts had been. The moon reflected in a feeding trough, silver as knives. The stable door was open.

There was a white mare, already saddled.

"Take it," whispered her heart.

"I don't want to," she said, out loud.

"Take it."

She took the bridle and led the animal outside. It followed her, pale and placid.

"Ride," whispered her heart.

She hesitated, then put her foot in the stirrup and swung up, the barrel thickness of the horse beneath her knees, the course silvery hairs under her hands.

"Ride," whispered her heart again.

She spurred the horse with her heels and guided it out of the gate. Once again she heard the quiet sound, like a whispering behind a wall. She turned towards the sound, south along the track, then up, into a field, up high onto the chalk down. She gave the horse its head and let it walk while she sat up straight in the saddle. Below her, Gintas' mansion was spread out like a pattern. In the distance, the moon lit the silver sea.

"Ride," whispered her heart.

"Why?" she said.

She spurred the horse into a trot, south, over the downland. There was a barrow here, a tall broad mound, tribute to the bones of a dead king. She skirted around it, keeping an eye on it. She rode on. More and more barrows passed her on either side.

"Ride," whispered her heart, louder now, and the whispering behind the wall grew more insistent.

Time passed as though in a dream. The grass grew thick and scrubby and the ground became soft, and then she was riding between dunes with the rush of the ocean over the mounds. The horse found pathways and she let it trot, down, down to the beach. The surf was dark and rolling.

"Ride," whispered her heart.

"I can't," she said. "There's nowhere to go."

"Ride."

"I don't know how."

"Ride."

She spurred the horse and it waded out into the cold water, deeper and deeper, whickering and sniffing the salt, the foaming water rushed around its sides. Cold water filled her boots. The horse whinnied and reared up, tossing her into the waves, then it fell, losing it's footing in the pebbles, kicking and struggling to stand. It came up a short way off and began swimming back towards the shore.

"Ride," whispered her heart.

"Stupid heart, I can't ride," she said, then she heard the whispering again.

There was a pillar of rock someway out in the bay. Birds nested on it, the moon shone on the white stone. She splashed towards it, out of her depth. Her boots were heavy so she kicked them off under the water. She reached for the white stone and found handholds, encrusted with barnacles that cut her fingers.

"Ride," whispered her heart, and she began to climb. Her trousers chafed, salt on her legs. She gripped at the rock with her fingers and worked her toes into crevices. Below her, at the base of the pillar, the water thundered and surged. Higher and higher she climbed, pulling herself hand over hand, higher, up and up. Birds burst out of cracks in the rocks and flew at her, biting her. She crushed their eggs as with her fingers and swatted them away. The whisper behind the wall grew closer, and closer, and then it was no longer behind a wall. She reached into a crevice, finding sticks and eggs and fish bones and crunchy bird droppings, and there, another thing, hard and round and certain, a copper coin, and she took it, and she leaned back, and she fell, down and down, into the churning water.

Hours later, the tired horse trotted back into the yard. Taliette clung to the back of it, barefoot, with the coin safely tucked down the front of her bodice, nestling there, warm against her heart.

Gintas was waiting in the yard. He nodded to her once, then took the horse's bridle.

"Get some rest," he said. "I'll have dry clothes sent up."

The servants were up in the pantry. The bread was in the oven. She dripped water on the flagstones as she passed. She climbed the stairs to her room, undressed completely, leaving her wet things strewn across the floor. The coin she kept, pressed to her cold skin, and so she slept, naked beneath the blanket, with a third of her soul's price, pressed to her chest, clutched in her trembling hand.