ASH SEES THE Palace of Rubies come into view in the distance. The brilliant red stones reflect the sunlight. Foreign visitors never expect to see so grand a building in Danbarrah. The palace stands as strong as though it were built yesterday. It is a relic of a golden time.
The palace was constructed with many towers. The tower closest to the southern coastline is the one that holds the most memories for Ash. It contains his old school room.
As he sits idly in the canoe on the river highway, Ash swallows the grief that rises at the memories of the countless hours he spent in that tower with his brother. Rage mingles with his grief. He relaxes his hand when he realizes he has drawn blood from his palm.
He shifts his gaze to a northern tower overlooking the palace courtyard, which contains his father’s private office. He often heard his parents confer there about troubling matters, yet they were never to anxious to not take notice of their sons. The warmth of that room has changed. Now the tower carries memories of King Orion’s words of rebuke and his refusal to give any consideration to Ash’s concerns.
Outwardly, Southern Danbarrah has changed little. The stretch of river between Sapphire City to the ocean inlet near the Palace of Rubies is densely populated. Though the journey from Sapphire City takes two days, it is easy to find a good inn, good food, and plenty of company. The poverty of his people, which has long been a pressing concern, has not improved, but neither has it become worse.
Cedar’s identity as an orphan is evidence of the brutality of the massacre of instruments. The flight of southerners to the north is a testament to the unwillingness of many to live under the ordinances.
Still, he cannot speak for the majority of the people of Danbarrah, and his disconnect from them sits ill with him.
There are no roads from Sapphire City to the City of the Palace of Rubies, but they have entered the heart of the city. Ash shifts in his seat, anxious to confront his father, lift the manhunt for Slate and Finch, and ensure Cedar’s safety.
When they arrive at the docks near the palace, Philip persists in delaying Ash’s return by first tending to his briefing with his superior. He would never have thought of Philip as a petty man until now. Ash spends the time cuffed to a chair in the hall of military offices. Philip stands at attention through the office glass. Philip’s commanding officer looks angry, but Philip reveals no emotion as the two men talk. What must it be like in Philip’s mind? He has to be torn between his sworn and dedicated loyalty to his superiors, and the knowledge that Ash will one day be his highest superior.
Philip exits the room with his military posture intact, despite the total dressing down by his superior. Major Willow follows him out.
“And take those cuffs off, he’s your prince, not a prisoner,” Major Willow says.
“I had valid reasons for restraining his highness, sanctioned by King Orion.”
Major Willow turns to Ash and appraises him in the way he used to during training inspections years ago. “Are you going to run?”
Ash meets his gaze. “No.”
Major Willow slaps Philip on the back. “You heard the boy. Take those things off.” He returns to his office, slamming the door behind him.
All of Ash’s intentions of enlightening his father as to what sort of crown prince he can expect him to be are delayed. When they arrive at the palace, they are told that King Orion is away at Koshluk. A list of instructions is handed to Philip. When Philip finishes perusing the list, he hands the paper to Ash with barely suppressed relish.
“I have orders to place you under a guard of at least six men. You are free to go about within ten miles of the Palace, with your guard. Any attempt to escape will result in house arrest.”
Ash tosses the list aside. “I’m flattered Father thinks I could take on less than six men.”
Ash leaves Philip and walks up the many flights of stairs to his old schoolroom. He enters, and the first thing he sees is his belt with his dagger hanging on the wall. In Danbarrah, daggers are given to sons by their mothers when they begin the transition from boy to man. They represent love, and the commitment to fight for love. They even play a part in Danbarrah’s wedding ceremonies. A man’s dagger is customarily given to the woman he intends to marry. He had hung it in the room the day before he had left Danbarrah to spend time overseas.
Now it taunts him from its nail on the wall.
He does not hear the silent feet that come up behind him.
“How was he, in the months before he died?”
Ash twists around.
“Cypress. You could still sneak up on a tiger. I never did learn how you did it.”
“You were too busy charming your way out of every difficulty. That is not a skill I possess.”
“You more than makeup for the lack of that in your other abilities.”
“One does what one needs to survive,” she says. Her question hangs in the air.
“He was…preoccupied.” Ash meets her eyes. “I know you cared for him. I wish I could tell you otherwise.”
“We had no future.” She raises her chin in defiance of her own heart.
Ash walks towards the window and looks down at the courtyard. “I am glad Mother did not live to see it.”
“Your father remains unchanged. He is determined to let King Marcus have his way. He thinks he is saving his people from bombs and occupation by a dictator.”
The premonition that has been growing over Ash looms even larger. His hour is coming, sooner than he ever would have guessed.
“What is next for you?” Ash says.
“I have been ordered to report to the midlands forest. Top secret work.” She smiles, but there is no joy in it. “Something about an instrument discovered.”
Ash studies her. He guesses her work has to do with Cedar, Finch, and Slate. He wishes he could still know what to expect from her.
Cypress has suffered the loss of her birth mother, her foster mother, and the mother of her heart. She has lost the man she loved, twice over in painfully different ways. She has been a witness and a cause of suffering, and it is impossible to know in what ways such burdens change a person, even as close a friend as her.
“Finch and Slate will be charged with Jasper’s murder,” Ash says, gauging her reaction.
Cypress is silent.
“How much longer can you do it, Cypress?” Ash says, his voice tight.
“Philip trained me. I will follow my orders.”
“And if something changes? If you are given a task too brutal to carry out? Or forced to choose a side?”
“My job is to protect the citizens of this country. That is my guide.”
“Is that enough? Our people, innocent people, are suffering, Cypress.”
“You scorn everyone who fails to act the way your mother did, but what have you done that she could be proud of?”
She knows she has hit her mark, and leaves as silently as she had come. She always had impeccable aim.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR IS ESCORTED to a small, simple room.
“This will be your room. I’ll go find you some clothes.” Calla leaves the room in a burst of energy.
A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling. Pushed up against one wall is a thin mattress on top of a simple wood frame. In the corner is a wood desk and chair. The top of the desk hinges up and reveals paper, a pencil, and a small book. Cedar reaches for the book and thumbs through it. It is a book of poetry.
Calla comes into the room as suddenly as she had left. Cedar drops the book on the floor as though it has burnt her.
Calla’s eyes follow the sound of the book hitting the floor, then widen. She lunges for it and hides it under the folds of her clothing.
“It’s not mine, I found it in the desk,” Cedar stammers. “I mean, I would like it if it was mine.”
Calla’s eyes grow even wider. She bursts into laughter.
She hands the book back to Cedar. “It is probably from Sister Nettle. She does this to everyone. I think she’s trying to see who is on her side, and who she needs to declare war on. Or convert. I think she would take on the King singlehanded over the ordinances, if not for the vow of obedience she has taken to her superior. The abbess, Mother Rosemary, is empathetic to the resistance, but her primary concern is keeping the hospital open.”
Cedar glances down at the book. “Should I keep it?”
“That is the surest way to pass the test. I don’t know how she knew you are here. She must have seen you arrive. I don’t think she ever sleeps. The nuns here have to be careful. The King’s men often threaten to shut them down, but mostly they think one little monastery isn’t worth the trouble. Hardly anyone in Danbarrah practices the old religion. Also, the abbess has a connection with the Governor. I think he does what he can to keep interference down. They will all pretend not to notice another sister has joined their order, but you must look the part of a nun. This is the habit of a postulant.”
Calla lays the clothing in her arms on the bed. Cedar will miss her pants and shirt, but it is more than a fair trade for bed, food, and safety.
“You will work alongside me in the hospital the sisters run. They are very strict about cleanliness and order, and you can expect a tongue-lashing or two.” Calla goes on.
Cedar finds her excited chatter strangely soothing.
Calla sits on the bed and leans towards her. “They often reprimand me for my singing, even though I am careful to sing only when the Sisters I trust are near.”
Cedar had understood that southerners as a whole had no backbone to defy the ordinances. Will the overturning of her presumptions ever end?
Cedar lowers herself in the wood chair as Calla leaps off the bed.
“You will love the patients. They are so sweet. And what they have lived through…” A sad look comes over her face. “It is a pity. Medicine is so expensive, many of them…” she trails off.
“The morning bell rings at 5:30, but as we are only acting nuns, we are not expected to live as they do. Come to chapel when you can, to keep up appearances you know. There are so many new members, we cannot be sure none are spies.” Calla’s eyes twinkle conspiratorially with this news, then her voice takes on a more practical tone. “I will come get you when it is time to go to the hospital.” Calla looks apologetic.
“Thank you, Calla. This is all more than I deserve.”
Calla laughs. “I am sure that is not true. Finch is a good judge of people, and he likes you.” She wishes Cedar a good night and closes the door.
Cedar aches to open the book, but her eyes betray her and she settles for placing it under her pillow. She slips out of her clothes and throws them on the chair in a heap before crawling into bed.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR SLEEPS THROUGH the morning bell. Calla’s knock wakes her. Cedar jumps from the bed and opens the door, wrapped in a bed sheet.
“I have informed the abbess of your arrival. We are expected at the hospital in an hour.” Calla sweeps into the room. “I will help you with these.” She collects the robes. Cedar removes the sheet, and Calla sweeps the grey robe over her head. Cedar feels as though Calla has placed a tent about her. Calla takes a rope and ties it snugly about her waist, only somewhat minimizing the effect. Next, she arranges the head covering.
“Your hair is a wreck. I will show you where the showers are.” Calla bites her lip. “I ought to have shown you when you first arrived. You must have traveled a long way. I am so sorry.”
Cedar thinks of the layers of dirt she had half-heartedly attempted to clean in the river before they reached the polluted town. She must look awful. “Not at all, but a shower would be lovely. I have never used running water.”
“The monastery is one of the most modern buildings in eastern Danbarrah. I never had running water until I moved here.” Calla heads out the door, motioning for Cedar to follow.
The building from the outside is large and imposing. Inside it is a twisting of corridors.
“Many of the sisters are foreigners. Only the older ones are native to our island. King Marcus is openly hostile to the old religion, but with so many foreigners, he wants to avoid igniting international outcry. So it is safeguarded. For now. Still, most local families are too terrified to allow their daughters to join,” Calla explains.
There are nails placed intermittently in the walls of the halls. Cedar tries to imagine what sort of artwork graced this grand, mysterious building.
They pass young girls in similar clothes as themselves, with white head coverings flowing gracefully from their heads down their backs. They meet an older woman dressed likewise in a grey robe, but with a large black headdress that gives her head a boxed appearance. Calla steps to the side and bows her head respectfully, pulling Cedar along with her.
All she sees of each nun is her face, encircled as it is by head coverings. Even their hands are concealed, folded into the bountiful fabric of their robes.
The showers are in a single large room with showerheads fixed to the upper part of gleaming tiled walls that match the tile on the floor. The water is warmer than she expects.
Afterward, she walks with Calla to the other side of the monastery through more winding halls and goes through a door into what Cedar guesses must be the hospital.
A nun in a black headdress greets Calla, her eyes flickering
briefly to Cedar.
“Your sister had a relapse. Sister Dawn is with her now.”
Calla takes off through the halls. Cedar tries not to lose her as she sweeps around corridors.
Cedar hesitates at the door Calla ducks into. There are rows of beds lined along each wall, all occupied by children. Calla walks to the end, where a nun sits on a chair beside a girl in her bed. The girl is small and frail and lies completely still. The nun talks softly to her while she runs her hands lightly down the girl’s long, thin hair. The girl turns to look at Calla. Her face is pale, her eyes haunted, and her every movement is followed by a grimace of pain.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR’S HOSPITAL WORK consists of making beds, feeding and washing patients, and doing what she can to cheer them.
She takes her break each day in a small alcove in the spacious courtyard. The courtyard is walled in by the exterior of the monastery and hospital and is only accessible from within the buildings. There are several alcoves within the circular path and without. The path is paved with stones of varying shades of grey. Everywhere she looks are flowers and shrubs. Summer has transformed the courtyard into an enclosure of lush greenery, and the alcoves provide both shade and privacy. Cedar chooses the same alcove each day, closed in by tall shrubs. Two stone benches face one another, and she sits on one.
Cedar withdraws the book of poetry from her cumbersome robes. She has read each poem over so often that there is no need for the tangible book. She carries it with her anyway. The words are some small part she can have of Ash. Finch had promised to return with news, but there is no way of knowing when.
Cedar reads a poem Ash used to read aloud, remembering the inflections in his voice. She does not hear the distant echoes of the unsteady rhythm of feet coming closer. It is when the sound stops that she remembers there is something she is supposed to be listening for. She brings her head up from the book.
An elderly nun who holds a cane in her hands lowers herself onto the bench across from her. Too late, Cedar buries the book in the cloth of her robes. The nun taps her foot in a rhythmic pattern. Cedar waits for the words of caution or for her to pounce with the glee of apprehending a dissenter.
When she says nothing, Cedar rises.
“The courtyard is lovely. Do you come here often?” Cedar says.
The minutes tick by, but the elderly nun is so silent, that Cedar thinks she must be deaf. Finally, she walks away, annoyed at the interruption of her solitude and the nun’s bizarre behavior. She returns to her work.
Calla and Cedar are alone with the patients, and the door is closed. At moments like these, Calla sings. The laughter of the kids at Calla’s improvised nonsense words to her melodies turns this room of sick kids into a room of laughter.
Cedar marvels at the resilience of these patients. They are often in pain. When the hospital can procure painkillers, they merely dull the intensity of pain. Painkillers do nothing for the tedium of long days spent in a single room. Calla has proven the best medicine.
Sister Dawn enters the room, unconcerned with Calla’s singing. She stands beside Cedar as she tucks fresh bed sheets around an old, limp mattress.
“That girl is determined to give these kids a life shining with brightness,” Sister Dawn says. “Even if it is to be a short one.”
Cedar’s eyes widen as she stops and stares at Sister Dawn.
“Oh dear, she did not tell you?”
Cedar shakes her head, words lodged in her throat.
Sister Dawn lowers her voice to a whisper. “This is the palliative care ward. None of these kids will be with us for long.”
“Lily?” Cedar asks.
Sister Dawn hesitates. “There is medicine for Lily’s condition, but we do not have the funds. The most we can do is make her comfortable.”
“How long does she have?” Cedar’s eyes are fixed on the small girl, who lies curled on her bed, smiling weakly at Calla’s antics. The girl is small, though Calla said she will turn eleven at the end of the summer.
Sister Dawn shrugs. “A year? She continues to deteriorate, but thanks to good care, not as quickly as before she was with us.”
Sister Dawn turns to tend to a patient who calls her, leaving Cedar to her thoughts.