I am nothing to them. The world isn’t interested in me any more now that I’m past my usefulness. They wish I was already dead.
The Healers’ gleaming green Faces don’t turn to me as they walk past my chair and I know the eyes behind those shifting leaf-like patterns don’t look my way either. People think the impression of leaves on a Healer’s Face is soothing, as if a painting of forgotten trees can make me forget that the whole River Realm is a bleak frozen hell. As if I can smile about wasting away in this chair every day. That is all they want from me now: the chair. I am a ragged corpse taking up space sitting on this precious wooden seat that could be used by someone more worthwhile. No wonder they are trying to kill me.
A man appears in front of me.
“Where did you come from?” He flinches at my tone. I expect he hasn’t spent a lot of time with Stone women.
He rubs his face, which is not covered by a Face of Service, and is webbed with streaks of red as if he has been painted. “You just asked me that.”
“I did not!”
I feel hot. I want to hit him but I know my weak arms will fail me. I hate him, although I can’t remember why. I think I know him. I wish I could remember. There are so many people spinning in my mind, so many who said they would care for me and instead decided to leave me here to rot. How many years have I sat here rotting in a chair? The Rest Room, ha! It is the Rot Room.
He is watching me and so I curl my lip at him. I let the silence stretch and take in his unnatural appearance. He wears a white robe with red streaked patterns, long and flowing but not a Hold robe. And no Cloak. There are two rings on his fingers, one white and one grey, that look like the cheap rings made of bone that children wear to act out stories of Queen Fallia and King Hannian. My eye is drawn along the weaving patterns, like spidery rivulets of blood, running across the folds of his sleeves and up to his shoulders and shattering into hundreds of spines around his hood. Inside, his eyes are dark, more like a Blurr’s or Shiver’s eyes than a person’s, with red webs fanning around them and across his face. He removes the hood.
I glare at him. “What Family are you?”
“None that you know of.” He glances up at my head, then smiles. “I used to shave my head like you. I was Stone once.”
He is lying. No Stone man would let his hair grow back, and no Elverhold Family wears their hair in such an unkempt fashion as his. It looks like he has not even combed it. There is a grey cast to his dark skin. He looks like one of those bizarre characters who lurk in the shadows in the Evening Market, without the hair of any Family or the Cloak of any colour. And yet something about him looks familiar. There is a white line running from his nose up to his forehead and into a white streak in his untidy hair. Yes, I know this man, I remember that marking on his face, I remember staring at it…
River-ice! He is leaning towards me. I need to get away.
A flash of pain seizes my back as I push on the chair to get up. The world flashes white, making me dizzy. I can’t move. I’m hurt. How did I get hurt?
Icy sweat is prickling my back. I try to unclench my hands and breathe. I am in a strange place and a man with a painted face is looking at me.
What is happening?
I’m sitting in a large Room, the curved ceiling dotted with warming vents, the walls stretching all around with no windows; not an Outer Ring Room then. That’s right – Elverhold, I live in Elverhold. I remember everything perfectly now. Yesterday after Day Lessons Mother and Father took me to a Lakka-Room and we watched the Singers. Although where I am now, and how I got here, is a mystery. This place is bigger than any Room in the Stone House. Its shape reminds me of the Listening Rooms in the Temple, but this Room isn’t decorated with Elvers or filled with people bent over and humming. It is scattered with old people, in chairs or lying on furs, all wrinkled and slumped. I look around for someone I know. Where’s Mother? She told me that it was bad to call our friends River people, even though it used to be their Family name. I didn’t know it was bad. They are our Sky Family now, she said, her eyes shiny. Has Mother left me alone because I was bad? Father would know what to do, but he’s not here either. I need to get away from here and find someone who will look after me.
Someone is saying something. The man is still staring at me.
Looking down I forget about the man as I notice my hands. It is the strangest thing to see. The sight of them captivates me. No, they can’t be mine. I twitch a finger and it moves; the hands are mine. The fingers are bent and swollen, the skin is bunched and wrinkled and dry and patched with bruises and spots.
Why do I have the hands of an old woman?
“Essa.”
The softness of his voice hardens something in me. Be like Stone. His face comes into focus.
Was I daydreaming just now? I feel like I’ve just woken up.
I can’t let myself do that; I need to stay alert. I realise something so obvious, even though it has never struck me before: I am nothing to them, and they wish I was already dead! They are keeping me here every day waiting for their chance. The ‘Rest Room’ – Ha! I will never rest. I can’t trust anyone; they are all trying to kill me.
I look at the strange man. “How do you know my name?”
He blinks at my question. He is surprised by my strength. Even old stones are hard.
“Listen to me, Essa. They tell me you are dying. Do you understand?”
I look around and see some people have gathered a little distance away, and are watching us talk. Healers. They are whispering, their green Faces held close together. Other people are looking too.
I feel sorry for them sometimes, the other old wretches in this Room abandoned like me. No one wants to spare any Sheardust for the likes of such relics who contribute nothing to the Hold. But my sympathy is foolish because I know these old wretches are out to get me too. I can see it in their blank soulless stares. “Yes, I understand all too well. They are poisoning me.”
“I can help you.”
“Who are you?”
Some emotions ripple across his dark face. What they are I can’t tell. He has a sharp nose and prominent cheekbones. And there is that white line running up the centre of his face. So strange. Maybe his eyes are familiar too. The darkness of them is unsettling and yet it feels comfortable too. It is as if the shadow of his skin tone and the blood-red of his face patterns have bled into the whites of his eyes, leaving them smoky and grey.
“You don’t remember.” He smiles, and the white flash of his teeth is shocking against the rest of his complexion. “It was a long time ago now. And they tell me you get confused.”
“They tell you? Those green-Faced poisoners?”
There are others here now, leaning over me. A female voice, talking over me like people always do. “If you cannot name your Cloak, Service and Family, then our Service duty must be to assume you have none.”
The man sighs. “Please. I need to speak with Mother Stone.”
The other voice sharpens. “Healers, there is cause to believe this person is from the Evening Market, and Roomless. One of us must fetch the Grey Healer.”
The man turns his head away. Of course, he has lost interest in me already, just like everybody else. “If you can let me speak with her a little longer, then I will leave.”
A lot of people have left me. I’m going to leave you one day, Essa. Who was it who said that? That young man who decided he needed more excitement in his life than living with me. Of course he did, I always knew he would leave. I am not worth anyone’s time to be around. I asked that one with the horrible face why he left and he said let me make it clear. I never cared about you. Let me repeat it for you, Essa. I never cared about you. He didn’t care and no one does. I remember holding my little baby boy. His skin was a strange pale colour and they said they were so sorry. Another box to be carried to the Deadhouse. As if that would make me cry. My Father knew the Stone Way; he knew how to carry a box. They were all crying that day out in the snow, every single one of them, except him. I asked Mother who was in the box and she said it was Father’s best friend, so I searched his face as he walked past us. Mother said he was allowed to remove his white Hunter Face so that he didn’t feel the pressure to maintain Service in his grief. But there wasn’t even a flicker in his expression; his eyes didn’t twitch, his jaw didn’t clench. He just moved his legs and carried the box and looked forward.
“Essa, are you listening? Why are you crying?”
I blink. There is a man here talking to me. I’m in the Rest Room in my usual chair. I take a breath, slowly like they teach in the Temple. Do not speak, just Listen. The Birds are out there, we wait and we Listen for their call. Do not speak.
“I’m listening.” This is probably what he wants to hear. I must be careful. I can’t trust anyone.
“They went to find a Grey Healer. I need to go. Do you remember what I said?”
He is not wearing a Face. Is it Evening? He has strange streaks of red on his face. I suddenly remember. The Shalazin cult! He is one of them. I hate them, so very, very much. “Go away.”
“Please. Tell no one about this. Go to the Door and ask for me. I will help you get through. I will take you to Eshera.”
What is this? He will take me where? Eshera, that isn’t a real place. Some Explorers say that there are other places out there, far in the distance. Beyond the other Holds, beyond the Vissers, beyond the snow. I do not entertain such daydreams. I have always lived in Elverhold, and I will die here. There is nowhere else for me to go. This man is trying to manipulate me and confuse me. I need to stay alert; they are all trying to kill me.
Some Healers appear, one of them wearing a Grey Cloak. The Grey Healer taps a hand on their chest in greeting, then their patterned green Face turns back and forth, as if both examining me and looking around for something. The Healers all turn away, and I can hear the sound of murmuring behind their Faces although I can’t make out what they are saying.
There is an empty chair in front of me, turned to face mine. I am sure someone was sitting there a moment ago.
A person has appeared in front of me. Looks like a man from the size of him; he is hunched towards me and I can see his Hold Robe bunching around the thickness of his arms and broad shoulders. He wears a Yellow Cloak and a Face of Service that I instantly recognise: the bold blue of a Runner’s Face, crossed with curving lines of white. His number is marked neatly in the corner of the Face in black – twenty-four.
I remember designing that Face. I was important in those days; people wanted to know what I thought, even Speakers from the Book Council knew my name and nodded to me when we passed in the corridors. I told the Crafters to make the Face visible in the snow. A Runner should be a symbol of hope for those in need; a blue beacon in the bleak whiteness. We were a new Service, not as important as the older Services, but no one looked down on us. We served the Hold, and kept our Faces, and it was all built by me.
And now look at me; I am nothing to them and they all wish I was dead.
“Do you know who I am today?” The Runner’s voice is deep but soft. There is an edge to his tone, an urgency.
“That is no way to talk in Service, Runner. Keep your Face.” I expect him to straighten at my words. He should be a Runner when in Service, not a person.
Instead he leans closer and whispers something.
I should reprimand him for ignoring me, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to. “I can’t hear you. Speak up.”
He speaks slowly, as if I am simple. “I’m not really in Service. I’m wearing my Face so I can take you away without them questioning us. The Snow Family want to speak with us; we have to hide.”
All my senses sharpen. Wearing a Face when not in Service is breaking a Book Rule. This man is trying to take me away, and he is misusing his Face of Service as a cover. Whatever his motives, he means me harm. I glance around the Rest Room. These Healers, they are trying to kill me too, but right now they are less dangerous than the Runner. I take a deep breath, and scream. “Help! I need help!”
He startles, his Runner Face whipping left and right. “Wait, wait!” He unties his Face and lets it drop. “Look, it’s me.”
His real face beneath almost makes me gasp. His smooth pale skin, unlike anyone else in Elverhold, that gentle smile and those soft, searching blue eyes. Something reminds me of another face with greyish skin and bizarre red-streaked patterns. That was a different man to this one; that one had a strange white streak down his face, but there is something… memorable, about both of them.
“Who are you?”
His smile doesn’t falter, but his face drops a little. “It’s me. You know me.”
“Mother Stone?” This is another voice, out of nowhere. “Are you in need of our Service?” A Healer’s green Face is at my shoulder. It turns toward the Runner, then back to me.
“No,” I hear myself say. I do need them. I need someone to rescue me from this strange Runner. I cannot trust anyone, and I cannot trust him. “No, I don’t need anything.”
The young man nods at the Healer as she leaves us, then turns back to me. “Thank you.”
“Leave me alone now.”
He sighs. He holds his Face in his hands, turning it and running his fingers over the streaks of white. “I know I upset you, last time I came. You wanted to come with me and I said you had to stay here.”
“What are you talking about?” If I can believe that he really is a Runner, despite his disrespect for Service, then maybe that is why he looks so familiar. His head is shaved smooth; he is Stone Family. Was he one of the new Runners I trained? But no, that was years ago and they would be older than this young man by now, so maybe he is the child of someone I trained. It is difficult to keep track of all the people I knew and all of their children. I had a child once, that little baby boy who they took from my arms to send to the Deadhouse. No family for me, that would be too good for me. Take everything away that would bring me joy. Leave me here to rot and let all these scum try their best to poison me.
Did I say I was going to leave you, Essa?
I look down at my stomach, and I see that underneath my dress I have a smooth swollen belly, and inside is my baby. But I don’t realise, not yet, that my little baby boy is going to be taken from me. But I always knew that you would go. You told me, Ricken. You always said you would, so what a fool I must be to think you had changed your mind. I can see your mind is set now; you won’t even turn around to look at me. You’ve changed, you got up one day and were a different person, as if you suddenly decided that all those years meant nothing, and I mean nothing, and our little pale baby meant nothing. I look around our small Room and remember when we first walked in. It seemed so new then, and finally ours. We ran to each corner, touching the stone walls and laughing. Now it looks tired and dark. Is this the end?
Something touches my hand and I flinch, and the movement sends daggers of pain up my back. “Get off me!”
I’m in a different place. How did I get here? There is a man with me. He retracts his hand, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry, you were… drifting off. I just need you to listen to me, please.”
“You hurt me!”
“I’m sorry.” He swallows, and glances around. “Do you remember a man in a white and red cloak who came to see you? One of those Shalazin, with patterns on his face?”
“Yes, I remember.” I don’t have any idea what he is talking about, but I need time to work out where I am. It is best not to let anyone know that I’m feeling so confused. I’ve been taken to a large Room; I’m not in the Stone House. There are lots of old people in chairs, and others walking around with green Faces. This is all some kind of trick. They are trying to catch me out.
“Good, good.” The man’s voice lowers to almost a whisper. “He came to me, too. He told me about the Door. The Elver Door.”
Something stirs in my mind. The Elver Door. A man with a red streaked face said something about that. In the ruined city of the Free People, there is a very large door on the edge of a cliff. It was called the Elver Door. “Those people can’t be trusted.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“No, of course not.” They tell me you are dying. I can help you. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t tell you. But I want to help you. The man is looking at me closely, watching my reaction. He has a Runner’s Face in his lap. It must be Evening if he is not in Service, unless it is Telday. “What day is it?”
“It’s Markday. Listen, he told me that it could save you if you went through. If he took you through the Door. He told me you would get better. It didn’t make sense, but he seemed so earnest. And you are so thin, and I’m worried about you. I wondered if there’s a chance, even a small chance it could help. Maybe the Door has some old power of the Birds, it must be called the Elver Door for a reason. So I told him I would talk to you.”
“He is a liar. Whoever he was, he doesn’t care about me. You’re a liar too.” I settle back in my chair. “No one cares about me. They are trying to poison me in here.” I look firmly away from him. I don’t know why I’m even talking with this stranger.
The Runner sits back too, and exhales heavily. “I’ve told you, that’s not true. I’ve eaten the food with you, it’s safe. Look, I thought he was mad as well. I just wanted to talk to you about it. I care about you, I’m here for you – ”
“Ha! You’ve never been there for me.”
“I am!” His face is red now. His eyes are wet. Something is spinning in my mind. I know this young man. I really know him. “You always say I left you but I never did. I’m here!”
I want to say something sharp back. I want to shout at him, and his ugly screwed-up face. I wish he would just leave me to die. I don’t know where I am or who is after me, but I’m ready to give in and die. I open my mouth but nothing I can think of seems right to say.
“I’ve told you before about what my friend said, that group he told me about.” The Runner is breathing deeply, but his voice is calmer now. “I’m going to do it, I’m going to join them. But they’ve told me to stay away from the Snow Family, because people have been disappearing. And I don’t want you to meet them either.” He stops suddenly, jumping at the sound of raised voices from the other side of the Room. Now he continues in a lower voice. It is difficult to hear him. Something about going to hide.
I shut my eyes for a moment. I need some peace from all this chatter.
“Just for a short time. My friends say the Snow Family are interested in that man, the one with the red-patterned face.”
I stare at the young man sitting in front of me. Where did he come from? He looks like he has been crying. “I remember a man with a painted face. He had untidy hair and not even a Cloak. A white line on his face. He sat where you are sitting.” I can help you. Go to the Door and ask for me. I will help you get through. I look at the young man; sitting in the same chair, but no red patterns or white lines on this face. “But tell me, who are you?”
The man stares back at me with reddened eyes, then unexpectedly laughs. “To you, I’m just a friendly stranger. Yes, you met him. I met him too.”
“You did?” Who is this young Runner? He is Stone, judging by his shaved head.
“He said his name was Raka. He told me that you wouldn’t go through the Door with him because you wouldn’t go without me.”
“Without you? I never said anything like that. I don’t even know you.” It was called the Elver Door.
The man is chuckling, although strangely I see a tear roll onto his cheek. He is murmuring something, I can’t hear what.
“Can you speak up?”
He smiles, a strange gentle smile. “I said, shall we just forget about the Elver Door?”
I laugh at him. This young man is so odd I can’t help it. “I’ve never met you in my life, I don’t know what you are talking about, and no, I am not going outside of the Hold to find an old door! Should I go and bathe in a river because someone says it won’t hurt me?”
There are no windows in this room, but I can see one. I see the snow falling, and I feel myself go cold. I hate looking out at the snow.
They say the Free People used to like the snow, because it fell so rarely and they became tired of sunshine.
They say the great Queens used to paddle in the rivers. The old, gentle rivers.
It’s no wonder the Free People left. The Rising would have burned the flesh from those royal legs.
“Please, calm down,” someone is saying. “Forget the man and the Door.” He is saying something about snow now. Why can’t he speak up? “Come with me. I promise, I will never leave you.”
Whoever is saying that is a liar. They are all liars.
“Come with me. I will protect you. A Stone endures.”
“It is the Stone Way,” I murmur to myself.
A man’s dark eyes stare at me from a red striped face and I see my own pain in them. He tells me what I want to hear. I can help you to live, to be stronger again. I would love to be stronger again. To get up on firm legs, to walk, to run. He gives me hope and I know it is lies.
Imagine a world where I am strong. Imagine a world that isn’t ruled by the rivers. Every year the piles of Sheardust dwindle, food stores from Harvest are stretched further and more people starve and fall sick. Siaran tools break, rivers spread and Summer seems ever shorter. Every year we survive is a victory, Father used to say. Imagine if there was more hope than a foolish desperate yearning for the Birds to return.
Go to the Door and ask for me.
I hear the Listeners’ voices preparing for Elversong. Elver, Thrake, Itzel and Shear. Hear our song, hear our song.
They are gone. They will never return.
Imagine a world where I’m not dying.
The Elver Door is a gateway to another world.
“Quickly! That’s one of them!”
Someone is tugging at me, and I grunt at the pain. Why can’t they all leave me alone? There is a young man here, a Runner by the look of the Face he is holding. Someone else is at my elbow, looming over me. I look up at a black shiny Speaker’s Face, silver swirls around its edge. The Speaker’s hair is short, with braids in the Earth Family style, but it has been bleached white.
“Come. Holdspeaker Ishen wants you two.”