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The Dark-Eyed Girl

When the gods had fought for one hundred years, Pale Daughter was so dismayed that she resolved to go out and surrender to her father to end the war, but her husband Silvergleam, his brother, and sister would not let her go, fearing her death. But her cousin Trickster came to her in secret and piped her a sweet tune, telling he would help her to slip away from her husband’s house. Trickster intended to keep her for himself, and would have, but a great storm came and he lost her in its howling discord. She lost herself as well, wandering a long time without knowing who she was.

In the battle Whitefire killed Thunder’s son, Bull, and Thunder in his rage beat down and killed Silvergleam, husband of Pale Daughter, father of Crooked. Many died that day, and the music of all things was thereafter more somber, even unto this hour.

—from One Hundred Considerations
out of the Qar’s Book of Regret

HE HAD BEEN FALLING for so long he could not remember what it was like not to fall, could not remember which direction was up, or even what having an up and down meant. The last thing he remembered was seeing the gates, the sign of the owl and pine tree, and then—as if those monstrous gates had swung open and a black wind had lifted him and carried him through—he had been tumbling in darkness like this, helpless as a sparrow in a thunderstorm.

Sister, he called, or tried to, I’m falling. I’m lost…! But she did not come, not even as a ghost of memory; they were separated by some gulf that even their blood tie could not bridge.

Sister. I’m dying… He could never have guessed that it would happen this way—that they would have no last farewell. But she must know how he loved her. She was the only thing in this corrupted world that mattered to him. He could take solace in that, anyway…

Who…are…you…?

It came to him as a whisper—no, less than a whisper, it came like the sound of a flower unfolding on the far side of a meadow. Still, in the midst of such utter emptiness, it was a glorious sound, glad as trumpets.

Who’s there? Is that you, Storm Lantern? But he knew that the fairy’s words could never feel like that in his mind, each one as cool, gentle and precise as water dripping from a leaf after the rains had stopped. It was a woman speaking, he could feel it, but that still didn’t seem quite right: the touch seemed even too light for that. And then he knew. It was the dark-haired girl, the one who had watched over his other dreams.

Who are you? he asked the emptiness. He was still falling, but the movement seemed different now, no longer plunging toward something but sailing outward. Do I know you?

Who am I? She was silent for a time, as if the question surprised her. I…I don’t know. Who are you?