Post by Daniel nó Mandrake on Jul 3, 2011 18:40:40 GMT -5
I barely remember the last day I spent at Eglantine, because I thought it would be like every other day. It was early spring, so the air must have been filled with cherry blossom and the promise of warmth. We don’t have cherry blossom trees at Mandrake – the fragile and the fleeting are only visitors here.
When I was called to see the Dowayne, I was confused, and some of my anxiety must have shown on my face because she was quick to reassure me I had done nothing wrong. She seemed to me, at that young age, on that strange day, impossibly beautiful. And when she impulsively stooped to embrace me, with the ready warmth for which is renowned, her scent swept over me, a scent that to this day lingers when I think of Eglantine, and other transitory things. The last dying notes of a song you’ll soon forget.
And then we talked, and all I recall of that was a child’s terror because somehow the secret that I had thought was mine alone had been discovered. I had betrayed myself. Sitting there, subject to Calandria’s unusually focused attention, I felt as though I had become as transparent and brittle as glass – as if I carried who, or what, I was upon me like a brand.
I babbled, as if the truth of my nature was something I could erase if only they would give me a second chance. I was close to pleading with her, close to tears. I wanted to stay desperately and if I wanted other things just as desperately I was not ready then to admit it.
“It would be a sin,” said Calandria, at last. “It would not be right for you to stay.”
And the words – love as thou wilt – hung between us, unspoken because it would have been unnecessary. I wanted to protest that it was not as I wilt at all, but that would have been lie, and no-one would have believed it.
After a moment, Calandria rose and went to the door to admit two strangers – a tall, dark man and a child of about my age. The child was clad in black, and in aspect as severe as Kushiel himself, with the brightest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. Calandria introduced the man as the Dowayne of House Mandrake. It was strange, even to me then, to see those two together. They could not have been more different. It was as though a panther and a butterfly had formed a temporary alliance. Which I suppose, in a way, they had.
While I watched, Ignace handed to the child a piece of cake. After a moment’s hesitation, and casting a rather dark look at his Dowayne from beneath his lashes, the child repressed a sigh and took a bite.
“Don’t look at me, look at him,” said Ignace, half amused but in a tone that brooked no refusal.
Lifting his chin defiantly, the child faced me. He found both the cake and my scrutiny distasteful, that was evident. There was fury, warring with a flicker of discomfort, in his eyes. I tried to pity him. I should have felt guilty, I knew, that this strange ritual was being inflicted upon him for my benefit. But instead what I felt was a heady, thrumming pleasure. The battle between his misery and his pride was intoxicating and seeing it played out in front of me far outstripped anything my confused dreams and unfocused longings had conjured, when music had not been sufficient to distract me. I felt heat pulsing through me, and with it a terrible shame. They were right. This could not be hidden. There was a rustling in my head, as of great wings beating the air.
Ignace touched the boy lightly on the shoulder, and he spat the cake into a black silk handkerchief. It did not seem he would lightly forgive me for this indignity, however unwittingly I had been party to it. And then the Dowayne of House Mandrake nodded to the Dowayne of House Eglantine, and that was that. The path I had taken for granted was gone, my future lost in shadow.
Calandria embraced me again before I left. And very gently she took from my hands the papers on which I had been working that morning. Even at that age, I had a fascination for the dance of light and shadow. With a childish ambition that far outstripped my ability I had been writing a dreamy waltz – Dust Motes, it was called, or some such nonsense. I felt a brief moment of pain as I let go of my scribblings.
“A man cannot serve two masters."
It was the last thing Calandria ever said to me before Ignace took me away.
When I was called to see the Dowayne, I was confused, and some of my anxiety must have shown on my face because she was quick to reassure me I had done nothing wrong. She seemed to me, at that young age, on that strange day, impossibly beautiful. And when she impulsively stooped to embrace me, with the ready warmth for which is renowned, her scent swept over me, a scent that to this day lingers when I think of Eglantine, and other transitory things. The last dying notes of a song you’ll soon forget.
And then we talked, and all I recall of that was a child’s terror because somehow the secret that I had thought was mine alone had been discovered. I had betrayed myself. Sitting there, subject to Calandria’s unusually focused attention, I felt as though I had become as transparent and brittle as glass – as if I carried who, or what, I was upon me like a brand.
I babbled, as if the truth of my nature was something I could erase if only they would give me a second chance. I was close to pleading with her, close to tears. I wanted to stay desperately and if I wanted other things just as desperately I was not ready then to admit it.
“It would be a sin,” said Calandria, at last. “It would not be right for you to stay.”
And the words – love as thou wilt – hung between us, unspoken because it would have been unnecessary. I wanted to protest that it was not as I wilt at all, but that would have been lie, and no-one would have believed it.
After a moment, Calandria rose and went to the door to admit two strangers – a tall, dark man and a child of about my age. The child was clad in black, and in aspect as severe as Kushiel himself, with the brightest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. Calandria introduced the man as the Dowayne of House Mandrake. It was strange, even to me then, to see those two together. They could not have been more different. It was as though a panther and a butterfly had formed a temporary alliance. Which I suppose, in a way, they had.
While I watched, Ignace handed to the child a piece of cake. After a moment’s hesitation, and casting a rather dark look at his Dowayne from beneath his lashes, the child repressed a sigh and took a bite.
“Don’t look at me, look at him,” said Ignace, half amused but in a tone that brooked no refusal.
Lifting his chin defiantly, the child faced me. He found both the cake and my scrutiny distasteful, that was evident. There was fury, warring with a flicker of discomfort, in his eyes. I tried to pity him. I should have felt guilty, I knew, that this strange ritual was being inflicted upon him for my benefit. But instead what I felt was a heady, thrumming pleasure. The battle between his misery and his pride was intoxicating and seeing it played out in front of me far outstripped anything my confused dreams and unfocused longings had conjured, when music had not been sufficient to distract me. I felt heat pulsing through me, and with it a terrible shame. They were right. This could not be hidden. There was a rustling in my head, as of great wings beating the air.
Ignace touched the boy lightly on the shoulder, and he spat the cake into a black silk handkerchief. It did not seem he would lightly forgive me for this indignity, however unwittingly I had been party to it. And then the Dowayne of House Mandrake nodded to the Dowayne of House Eglantine, and that was that. The path I had taken for granted was gone, my future lost in shadow.
Calandria embraced me again before I left. And very gently she took from my hands the papers on which I had been working that morning. Even at that age, I had a fascination for the dance of light and shadow. With a childish ambition that far outstripped my ability I had been writing a dreamy waltz – Dust Motes, it was called, or some such nonsense. I felt a brief moment of pain as I let go of my scribblings.
“A man cannot serve two masters."
It was the last thing Calandria ever said to me before Ignace took me away.