Wren was woken by a sharp prod to her kidney. Her eyes snapped open to see a group of children around her giggling excitedly. She had overslept, and of course the children would be up early. Wren herself had told them to be ready for when Rosabella would wake.
A sense of excitement smothered out the weariness in her bones. She shooed the children away and quickly took her place in the line of children waiting to wash. When it was her turn she stood on the wide tray that collected spilled water and wiped her skin down with a cloth she had brought with her and a bucket of murky water.
Wren dressed and donned her father’s cloak. She always wore it on days like this. A gaggle of children had gathered around her curtain in anticipation. She grabbed the flowers she had bought the previous day then set to work organising things for when it was time.
“Silva, could you brew a tea with some lavender please. Ginny, help Granny Vorshe cook up the roach mince I bought. Everyone else, get this place nice and tidy in case Mum is strong enough to walk. A cleanup is well overdue either way.”
The children dashed away to their various jobs, chattering excitedly the whole time. Rosabella had become a legend to the younger children who hadn’t known her before her sickness had worsened. They saw her as a sleeping princess from a fairytale who would one day wake up and save the world. Secretly, Wren hoped for the very same thing.
Wren walked through the hall straight to a small room at the back of the building. It was the only separate space and was the private sanctuary of her mother, Rosabella. The room was scarcely bigger than the pile of rags that made up a basic bed, but even so, it was a luxury that most in Voyeur didn’t have access to. Drawings by the children plastered the walls and all manner of stones and trinkets they had found were scattered around as good luck charms and decorative art pieces. The room had almost become a sort of shrine where people came to make their offerings.
Rosabella Ashmoore was laid upon the bundle of rags, her porcelain skin and white hair contrasting with the dark fabric like a ghost in the void. She was thin, painfully so, and her chest lacked the steady rise and fall of healthy breathing. She could have been a corpse, but some aura about her gave her the sense of an art piece, a moment captured in paint awaiting the chance to continue its life.
Rosabella had always been a sickly woman. Before giving birth to Wren she had been a teacher from another city but had travelled to Voyeur with Wren’s father. He had died in a mining accident before Wren was born, but her mother often told her stories about how wonderful he had been. Those stories always made her mother smile, no matter how much her illness was affecting her. It was why Wren liked to wear her dad’s cloak when she visited her.
Wren knelt down beside her and watched, waiting for tiny hints of life that Rosabella still displayed up close. She reached out and held the pale hand in her own. It was almost skeletal. Gently she squeezed it.
“Mum. It’s time to wake up.”
Rosabella stirred ever so slightly. Wren repeated the firm squeeze and spoke the words again. This time her mother’s eyes twitched open and gazed upon her. There was a moment where terror flooded her eyes, then it faded and a calmness eased across her features. She smiled and squeezed Wren’s hand back.
“Good morning, my dear one.” Rosabella’s voice was soft and had a dreamlike quality to it. “How long has it been?”
“Another two weeks like we thought. Doc Tabbot has changed your serum again so hopefully it will start reversing things. He was able to stabilise your sleep to two weeks so he must be on the right track. Here.”
Wren fished out the small tube Doc had given her and uncorked it. She passed it across to Rosabella and watched as she drank the liquid within. Her mother made a sour expression and stuck her tongue out.
“The taste never improves, but the doctor does what he can. I’m grateful. They always help to dull the pain.” Her features smoothed and she settled back down into the blankets, pulling several across herself despite the humidity. “What stories do you have to tell me this time, Wrenfred? I remember so little from the last time that I must have been with you only a short while. Please, tell me how you’ve been.”
Had anyone else asked, Wren would have given a dismissive answer. Her life was little more than a constant chain of work. She didn’t really socialise either. Now that Rosabella was unable to properly care for the orphanage someone needed to keep things floating. For her mother though, she wanted to paint a vivid picture of life that she could cherish from the confines of her room. She told stories of the children’s antics and as her recap neared its end she remembered something else that would make Rosabella smile.
“Deeno paid us a quick visit last week too. He’s doing well. He said he’s with the haulers now and shares a roof with a few of the other haulers and their families. Most importantly though, he said his partner is expecting a child. He promised they’d visit again when it has been born so he can introduce you. He’s grown up a lot these two years since he left us.”
“That is wonderful for him. Life continues even in hardship and beauty emerges from even the ugliest of times. It helps give you faith in a better future.” Her eyes lost their focus for a moment. Wren could tell she had slipped into another memory. After a few seconds they refocused on Wren.
“What about yourself, my dearest Wrenfred? Has anyone caught your eye yet?”
“You’ll be the first to know, Mum. I don’t think I’m cut out for that kind of thing. The only man that’s touched me lately was probably trying to kill me, and I accidently threw bone-bane spores at him. He grabbed me with a knife outside the wall and I panicked. I’m pretty sure most people just see me as the weird white haired witch girl.”
Rosabella’s eyes sharpened. There was an intensity in her stare that Wren hadn’t seen for years. “Someone tried to harm you? Tell me everything. Don’t leave out a single detail. What did he look like?”
The questions went beyond concern for Wren. A fierce fear burned in the depths of her eyes. The look scared Wren. She tried to recall everything she could about the event.
“He was average height and scrawny. Wore the usual sort of rags you see everywhere in the outer city. Unkempt hair. I don’t think I was targeted as anything more than a young woman outside the walls alone. The knife was just a common working knife. I saw him following me but I couldn’t back to safety without passing him. I thought I could deal with him quickly and run but he was stronger than he looked. I think he was high on something going by how his eyes looked. I grabbed the first pouch I could and he definitely felt the bone-bane.”
Rosabella seemed to relax the more Wren spoke. The intensity and fear drained away and she slumped back down into the rags. “I’m glad you’re safe. There are a lot of bad people in the world.”
“Try not to worry about me. You taught me how to defend myself as a little girl and I’ve never stopped practising. I’m a fighter.”
The words had a strange effect on Rosabella. She tensed again, but this time there was no intensity. Instead it was as though she had slipped into a dream. Her pupils widened and expanded until they filled her whole eyes and her skin lost all its warmth.
“The fighter fled for five long forties with friendly fortune’s aid. Now foul foes find footprints once again. Fear! Fear! Fear! The frenzied fervour flowers soon. Foetal sins will finally be found. The forever forgotten fighter falls to fell deeds. Death dawns and divinity devours. They are coming!”
The words burst from Rosabella in a horse rasp. Then it was over. Rosabella sagged, her breath coming in gasping pants that shook her frail frame. Tears ran down her face in a silent torrent. Wren had never seen her in such a state before.
“Mum?”
The word seemed to snap Rosabella back to reality. She clutched tightly onto Wren’s hand.
“What happened? What did I say? I don’t remember anything. Only pain.”
Wren relayed the last few moments, trying hard to remember the exact wording. She knew her retelling wasn’t perfect but the general message was hauntingly memorable. Rosabella simply listened, her face unreadable. Finally she spoke.
“I need to think. Go help the others with dinner. I’ll need to gather my strength to properly clear my mind.”
“But what was that? A vision? They’ve never been that violent before.”
“It isn’t the first time one has come like that. They used to all be like that. I learned how to control them but my guard was down. It isn’t a pleasant. experience.”
“What does it mean? Those words scared me.”
“Don’t fear, my darling. I promise I’ll protect you. Just give me a little time. I’ll make everything better. I promise.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? It’s fine if you need to rest.”
“Don’t be silly. I bet the children have been waiting for me. I know you have. I just need a minute to gather myself. Help me to stand, dear one.”
Wren obeyed and helped Rosabella to her feet. The woman was so light, her skin so cold. When she was up though she stood tall and didn’t sway at all. Even as frail as she way, Rosabella wore strength like a cloak around her shoulders. Wren tried to help her mother to dress but Rosabellas waved her away.
“I’m still capable of dressing myself, dearest one, for a while at least. Help set the table. I’ll be out in just a minute.”
Wren reluctantly left the room. By the smell floating through the orphanage, the food was almost finished anyway. The centre of the room had been cleared by the children and a long mishmashed table had been assembled. Most of the work looked to be done already. She watched Silva as he poured tea into a mug and carried it across to the head of the table. Rosabella always appreciated a hot drink when she woke. Wren met him there and picked up the cup as he placed it down.
“I’ll give her this now. I know it will get cold if we leave it here. She’ll not get a chance to drink it once the other children start asking her questions.”
She took the drink and took a steady walk back to her mother’s room. She opened the door and froze. The cup fell from her slack fingers and shattered, the scalding water splashing across her legs. Wren didn’t even notice the pain.
Somehow, Rosabella was gone.
Matthew Roys 