ASH HAS LIVED with his restless uncertainty for long enough. He intends to build up the underground resistance. The six-person guard follows Ash about the city, greatly hindering his plans, but he has to try something. He starts with visits to old friends.
While the ordinances have hung a cloud of anxiety and moroseness over the country, old friends are relieved that King Marcus’ mercenaries left when King Orion agreed to implement the ordinances. They are reluctant to entertain the risk of doing anything that might prompt the return of the mercenaries.
After these visits, he begins talking to shop owners, street merchants, and anyone he meets.
The guards do not insist on being close enough to listen in on his conversations.
He asks his citizens about their well-being, their dreams, and their values. If he had hoped for revelations from these conversations, he is disappointed. Their words are guarded and rehearsed, everything royalty would expect to hear from devoted subjects.
What secrets would his citizens share had Cedar been the one asking?
He makes the walk back to the palace, admitting another day of defeat. What secrets would his citizens share had Cedar been the one asking? Cedar could relate to the struggles of these people in a way he never can. He has the luxury of royal birth. He had a life richly filled with the arts and stories, provided by his mother, as well as his travels. Does he even know what it is to go without?
He knows what it is to go without Cedar. He had thought he could have her and keep her from harm. Second sons are allowed their eccentricities. He could practically have disappeared. The gossip would run its course, and life could have gone on with hardly anyone giving him a second thought.
On the other hand, he could not live with himself if Cedar had to carry the burden of more risks that were not her own. He cannot place her in a position she does not want. There seems a world of difference between watching someone like his mother, who willingly took on the risks, and those who are caught up in tragedy against their will. As terrible as the loss of his mother was, there is some consolation in knowing she died without regrets.
As he walks the streets of his city, it occurs to him that he was naïve to think he could shield Cedar from his responsibilities. He is where he should be, even if James were still alive to take the crown. He was born for this. He had been running, but he could not have run forever. His conscience had been catching up.
Cedar had seen clearly where he belonged. He cannot stop the wish that she had seen a similar vision for herself, that she had freely made the choice to stand with him. He has no right to hope. He had dragged her into this, when she did not ask, and certainly did not deserve the risks. Better that she never be his and be safe, than sign the death warrant with him. She has suffered enough because of him.
He turns his focus to the task at hand. How will he go about fighting for a people who may very well want to be left alone? Does he have any right to tell them what he thinks they ought to want?
He returns to the palace to find his father waiting for him.
“There you are.” King Orion’s manner remains as stiff as it has been since his wife’s death. Something had altered in him after that, and Ash had mourned the loss of both mother and father. Today, Ash sees new lines etched in the older man’s face. Their shared grief for the loss of another loved one does not bridge the divide between them.
Neither wants to be the first to speak, but his father has been king long enough to not be influenced by awkwardness.
“As crown prince, you will attend James’ duties. I’ve no doubt you are familiar with much of what he was working on. I will have his secretary brief you on the rest.”
“I will not be the same ruler James would have been,” Ash says.
“You have no choice in the matter. I am your father and your king.”
“You used to teach me that I had another allegiance.”
“Your mother would still be alive if she had not held so stubbornly to hers.”
“And James? Allegiances to myths didn’t kill James.”
The King raises himself to his full height. “Your every move is being watched. I don’t mean only by me. I will send James’ team to debrief you tomorrow. Until then, I suggest you take the time to come to terms with your duties.”
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR KEEPS AWAY from the alcove in the courtyard and she keeps the poetry book hidden in her room.
A single rickety wheelchair is donated to the hospital. Cedar spends her evenings tinkering with the contraption until it is ready. She runs Calla up and down the laneway to prove its reliability. The hospital staff give their consent to use it for their room of sick kids.
Cedar walks them around the courtyard, telling them the names of plants and insects as she pushes the kids on the paved walkways.
The kids are so fond of these walks that Calla insists on taking over most of Cedar’s duties in the room so that each patient can have a turn in the wheelchair every day. Cedar is exhausted at the end of those first days, and imagines Calla feels much the same. Still, she cannot think of a more satisfying trade. In the following days, her body becomes used to this new task, and her mind feels clearer in the outside air.
Lily is her first patient of each day. Her sensitivity to movement requires extra care in the old chair. Cedar wants to spare her the jostling that is amplified by a long day of pushing the wheelchair all day long.
Cedar wheels her quietly from the room of sleeping patients. She has memorized every bump on the paths in the courtyard. On this morning, Cedar spots a package lying on the path ahead of the wheelchair. She steps around the chair and picks it up. Her name is written on the paper.
“What is it?” Lily leans forward in her wheelchair.
Cedar turns the package over in her hands and feels the weight of it. She stays crouched at Lily’s level. “I think it’s a book.”
“Open it,” she says weakly.
Cedar shoots a grin at Lily and rips the paper away. It is a book. Cedar holds it so Lily can see the intricate illustrations inside. It seems to be a retelling of old myths. Her hands are shaking when she closes the book. She tucks it away in her robes while looking over her shoulder.
Tears well up in Lily’s eyes, and she wipes at them with the back of her hands.
“I am sorry, Lily,” Cedar says.
Lily’s smile wobbles. “It’s okay. You could get in a lot of trouble.”
The girl’s words wake up a streak of defiance. Cedar takes one more careful look around her. She maneuvers the wheelchair into an alcove where she reads a forbidden book to a dying girl with sparkling eyes.
That evening, guilt and fear for putting Lily in danger compels Cedar to tells Calla what she had done.
“It won’t happen again,” Cedar swears.
Calla shakes her head. “I have never seen Lily look so aliveas she did today. Besides, what can they do to her that isn’t going to happen soon enough anyway?”
Cedar never hears Calla speak of her sister’s inevitable death. Caught off guard by the bitterness in her voice, Cedar says nothing.
Calla clasps Cedar’s hand. “It is a risk to you. I won’t ask you to continue.”
“You are not asking,” Cedar replies.
Soon, the book is finished. Another package is discovered. Cedar arrives at the hospital earlier than ever to allow more time to read. They finish the story together and discover yet another story.
~ . ~ . ~
ASH LEARNS HOW to escape the palace unseen, with help from a sympathetic guard. He will slip back into the palace before they take note of his absence, as he has many times now. Regardless of the ease of escaping the palace, at least for a night, he despairs at the point of it all. No one tells him anything about underground activities. Have they given them up? Some of his mother’s old friends tell him they cannot understand why he cares. King Marcus and his father are the only ones who believe Ash is committed to this fight.
It is a wet night, but the summer warmth keeps the chill away. There must be something he can do. He wanders the back alleys, mulling over a plan. He hears movement behind him.
“Prince Ash,” a man calls out.
“Is that you, Finch?”
Finch closes the gap between them.
“Cedar is safe. She is at the monastery.”
“You risked arrest to tell me this?” Ash says, not without gratitude.
“There is a warrant for the girl’s arrest.”
“King Orion will not speak to me long enough to hear me out,” Ash says.
“Seems like a lot of wasted resources.”
“Colt and the others reported a cello they found at the cabin,” Ash explains.
Finch gives a low whistle. “She’s a musician then.” He speaks the words with reverence.
“You understand how important it is that she stay hidden, especially now.”
Finch crosses his arms. “Fate might argue otherwise.”
Ash shakes his head. “She’s not who you think she is. This is not Cedar’s fight.”
Finch considers his words. “What if there is no other choice?”
“Even if Queen Azalea’s musician is gone forever, I’ll find other ways to fight.”
Finch studies Ash. He looks ready to argue, then bows his head.
“What does my Prince require?”
A brotherhood deepens between these two men.
“All the help he can get,” Ash says.
Finch raises his hand to his forehead in a salute. “He shall have it.”
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR LIES AWAKE in her bed, mulling over the discovery that accompanied the latest book found in the alcove. The wrapping for the book is a blueprint of the monastery basement, with a pencil circling a door in a hallway. A time and date are written beside. The date is today. The time is thirty minutes from now.
Cedar rises from her bed and slips on her sandals. She had gone to bed in her jeans and t-shirt, knowing all along that she would not disregard the message. The books may have been a test, to see if she would break the law. If that is the case, then she is only putting off the inevitable by not going tonight.
Cedar does not hope for something good. The last time she dared to hope, she lost Ash.
The memory of that morning brings an ache that time has yet to lessen. Tonight, it brings another memory. Cedar pulls her door shut. She walks down the passageway. For the first time since leaving the cabin, the music she had played on the cello gives a rhythm and a dance to her step.
She remembers the shape of her arm as she moved it across the strings. She remembers the sound of the strings, vibrating under the gentle pressure of the hair-strung bow. She remembers those low bass notes. They plunge into new depths in her mind, and it is all she can do not to groan out the melody in agony. What is it about having known joy that makes sorrow all the more acute?
She does not remember knowing sorrow like this, in all her dreary life. The only thing close to it was the loss of her parents, but she had been so young that those memories are foggy and dull.
Now, she considers if it would have been better to have never known the joy.
The melody in her mind comes to that brief silence, where the notes linger in the air as the remembered bow pauses in its movements. She does not complete the melody.
She walks the remainder of the way, down the basement stairs. It is dark in the basement, but a full moon shines enough light through a narrow high window to outline old furniture and closed doors. The walls are bare brick, and a thin, worn carpet covers the floor. She pulls a dangling cord from the ceiling to light a basement hallway. She follows the hallway to the door that is in the same location as the circled one on her map.
She tries the doorknob, and it turns. Cedar pulls another cord that hangs from the ceiling. Light floods the room, and reveals a small bedroom in disarray. There is a bed, but it has been pushed to the side. There is a rug, but the corner has been folded up. On the floor, is a trapdoor. A flashlight lies beside it, on top of a piece of paper. She inspects the paper and sees a hasty sketch of a maze. A blue pencil indicates a path through the maze.
Cedar’s melancholy makes her indifferent to whether this ends badly or not. Her apathy, while not the courage she wishes she had, propels her forward.
She takes the flashlight and the paper and opens the trapdoor. At the bottom of the ladder, she shines the flashlight around her. Earthen walls close her in. Tree roots reach out from the walls in search of water. She catches the movements of more than a few creatures that make their homes in the damp earth. She hovers the flashlight over the paper and follows the blue line.
There is a creaking sound and a sprinkle of debris falls from the ceiling. She shines the flashlight above her but sees only rough wood boards with large gaps. She shudders when she sees a fast-footed animal scamper across the gaps in the boards. She unfolds the blueprint she carries with her. If she has her bearings properly about her, she could be beneath the central courtyard.
She looks at the map of the maze again and continues on until she arrives at a great wooden door. The door is unlocked. It closes with a dull thunk behind her.
Like the maze, the floor is packed earth but the room is large and open. Rows of lit candles light the room. Piled against the walls are wooden crates, filled with books.
It is what sits in the centre of the room that arrests her attention. There is a cello, as well as several other instruments Cedar does not recognize. Cedar walks towards the cello. She reaches out to touch it, whispers filling her ears. Are they from the cello? She is filled with an overwhelming longing to play the instrument. Before she can touch it, she is stopped by a voice.
“So you made it here after all. You are late.”
Cedar spins around. The old nun, from the alcove so many weeks before, sits on a chair along the wall.
“You left me the map.”
The nun laughs, almost a cackle. “Of course.”
“What do you want?” Cedar asks.
“I want to see something happen before I am gone.” She shrugs. “And you may be the one to do it.”
Cedar surveys the room of books. She thinks back to the stories she had been reading to Lily. “What sort of something?”
“Bah! That you need to ask makes me second-guess my choice. But no matter. There is no one else.” She shrugs again, then sighs. “Humans cannot coexist with one another without culture. We are all tolerating a grand self-annihilation. We need stories, and poetry, and music.” She gestures about the room in sweeping arcs with her arm.
“And what do I have to do with all this?” Cedar asks.
“How should I know? I only know my role. And that is to show you this room,” the old nun says with finality, smug in her proclamation.
“Who gave you this order?”
The nun looks at an ancient religious symbol that is propped up against a stack of crates.
Cedar takes a step back, increasingly convinced she speaks with a mad woman.
The nun’s eyes bore into her.
“Why me?” Cedar hesitates. “Why not Calla, or one of the other girls?”
“I do not know,” the nun says with exasperation. “From a merely practical point, you have nothing to lose. You have no family, from what I have heard. Calla would never leave her sister, and I am impatient. I do not have time to wait until Lily is dead.”
The words make Cedar flinch, and the old nun softens.
“We all must die, child. The best poets do not give a satisfying answer for why we even live, though we may feel sure there is something. There is beauty in life, that is for sure, but it takes courage and persistence to uncover.” Her voice loses its gentleness. “And that is sometimes found in unexpected places. You, for instance, are such a tiny thing. Barely noticeable,” she gives another cackle, dismissively waving her arm. “The way you jump when you think someone is going to catch you with a book. And the way you go wherever you are called, do whatever is asked of you. Someone has trained you well.” The old nun looks her up and down, and Cedar feels her cheeks flush. “Still, I have been wrong before in my judgments. I’m taking a gamble that there is more to you than I can see. Time will have to tell.”
Cedar has heard enough from the nun. She reaches for the cello. Her rage dissolves when she grasps the cello’s neck, but it does not change her course of action. She takes the instrument and sits on one of the several chairs scattered among the crates of books, surrounded by candlelight.
The old nun watches her, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
The strings are tuned. Someone cares for this instrument. She plucks a few notes, and plays a scale, like Ash had shown her. Then she thinks of the song. She does not begin at the usual starting point, but at the place she had danced to in the passageway earlier that night. The sorrowful music awakens the raw wounds. She stops playing. The vibrations of sound die away before the old nun leans forward in her chair.
“Why do you stop?” she asks.
Cedar’s hand trembles. “I am afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” the nun demands.
“I am afraid of joy.”
The words free her body from its prison, and the trembling in her hand stops. Cedar marvels at the sensation of releasing in words a fear and a desire that has held her captive for most of her life.
She places the hair of the bow back onto the strings, this time playing the song from the beginning. It starts simply enough, steady and predictable, before plunging into the depths. She pauses only briefly after it reaches the bottom of the pit. More quickly than it had fallen, it climbs, occasionally being dragged back down towards the pit, but always climbing higher, further, and faster, resisting the pull of the bass notes until the highest note is struck. There is light in the sorrow, and it is not yet extinguished.
Cedar resolves in that moment to keep that light at the forefront of her mind, and dare to believe that joy can be found again. That alone brings a light before her eyes that does not vanish when the final vibrations of the song do.
She lays down the instrument and rises from her chair, determination and certainty in her movements. She is not yet sure what life will ask of her, but she knows now that she will hold onto the light. She will not be paralyzed by her fear. With Ash, she will find a way to help their people.
The old nun assesses her, marking the change that has occurred throughout a song.
“Do you know whose cello that was?”
Cedar shakes her head.
“It was mine.”
There is a sheen of tears in the old nun’s eyes.
“It cannot be mine again, I have failed it.” The nun raises her chin in the air, her eyes fierce. “You will not. But first, I will teach you how a real musician plays.”