I said that to Magister Ridson, who oversees the Assembly-House down in Lower Stoke, and he gave me a very long lecture about God and fairness and bad things happening to good people. I think he meant it to help me, but it didn’t. But writing a letter to you may help. It is sort of like crying on your shoulder, only without you getting snot and tears all over you, and you don’t have to feel awkward or embarrassed if you’d rather be doing something else. You can put this letter down and read it later, or tear it up. I won’t know.
When I left school in Murresby I told you that I hoped I would be able to come back. I don’t know if I will. No one here seems to know what is going to become of me now that Mama and Papa are gone. Uncle is not even here right now, so I cannot ask him. He has gone off to the Continent, which I am told he does a lot. So it is only me and the servants, and although you know I do not like large groups of people, it turns out I can still get lonely if I am left to myself for long enough.
I am sorry if this letter is depressing to read. Next time I will try to do better.
Sincerely,
Cora
Dear Miranda,
I will not be able to come back to Murresby.
Uncle is back now from the Continent. He seemed almost surprised to see me still here at Stokesley; I think he had quite forgotten that he had me brought here. He telephoned Mr. Thumree, his solicitor, and had Mr. Thumree come here, and then he (I mean Uncle) and Mr. Thumree and Mrs. Hilleck all went into a room and shut the door, and Rebecca the maid told me I wasn’t allowed to eavesdrop.
When they were done they opened the door and Mrs. Hil leck told me to go in, then left me alone with Uncle and Mr. Thumree. He (I mean Mr. Thumree) then gave me a long, boring speech I didn’t really understand about Papa’s finances. All I really took from it was that Papa apparently owed a lot of people a lot of money—more money than he actually had, because he was very foolish with some of his investments. Which Mr. Thumree said was very bad of him, because the money for those investments had been loaned to him by Uncle, so that it was not fair of him to then lose it in speculations.
But I did understand what it all means. I have no inheritance. There is no money to take care of me, much less send me back to school.
I asked him what is going to become of me. Uncle spoke up then and said he could hardly throw his niece out onto the streets, so I am welcome to stay at Stokesley. He has never married, so there is no wife to take care of his household; Mrs. Hilleck does all that work, but I can assist her, because it is better for there to be someone watching the servants to make sure they don’t try to cheat their lord. I don’t know how to run a household, but Mr. Thumree said it is a great deal like accountancy, and you know I am good at things like figures and making lists.
After that Mrs. Hilleck took me to Assembly and had Magister Ridson talk to me. He explained that it is very good of Uncle to take me in when Papa was so careless as to not make provisions for my future, and that I can thank him by being as obedient as if I were his own daughter. I told him I was not always obedient to Papa, and Magister Ridson got very stern and said I would have to do better than before. Were it not for Uncle I would not even have a roof over my head, so I mustn’t complain about not going back to school, but be grateful that he has taken me in, and must do everything I can to repay him for his generosity.
So this will be the last letter you receive from me. Although there were lots of things I didn’t like about being at Murresby, writing to you reminds me of the things I did like, and then I’m sad that I will never see them again. If I am going to be properly grateful to Uncle, I need to stop thinking about what I can’t have anymore.
And since I haven’t gotten any replies from you, I think it is likely that Mrs. Hilleck was wrong, and you only said to write because that is a thing people say when someone moves away. I apologize for troubling you with letters you didn’t want.
I’m not very good at friends. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.
Sincerely,
Cora
PRESENT DAY
FOR THE ARCHIVES OF THE SANCTUARY OF WINGS
written by Kudshayn, son of Ahheke, daughter of Iztam
The questions of faith that consume me are no abstract philosophical matter. I see their implications at work all around me.
Where once I would have interpreted the events I see only through my knowledge of the sun and the earth, they now take on additional dimensions, alternative understandings opening up before me. Is this the sun bringing me enlightenment, or is it the hand of the wind at work in my mind, in my heart, changing how I see? Is this rift between Audrey and Cora the work of the Endless Maw, the force of destruction?
If so, then it seems fitting that I should pray to the earth, the Ever-Standing, the creator (perhaps) of humankind, to preserve the friendship between them, and not let it fall to bone dust.
I believe their friendship is true—that Cora is sincere when she attributes her dishonesty to a sense of obedience to her uncle. She thinks in terms of rules, and the rules of friendship are unfamiliar to her, isolated as she has been at Stokesley. She knows them, but has never put them to such a test. And this test would be difficult for anyone.
Though I may think of this in terms of theology, we cannot attribute all evil and ill-will to the power beneath the earth. Just as friendship is a human thing, so too is the earl’s malice. I believe it merits that name: he hides it well, but even before the dinner at Priorfield, I felt its presence. He does not like me. He brought me here only out of need, and while at first I thought that need was the understanding that one of my people should be a part of carrying this story into the light, now I am not certain.
I said nothing to Audrey before, because it is tiresome for her to hear again and again that humans do not like me. She is more willing than I am to accept the surface pretense, the polite smiles and polite bows, without looking at what lies beneath. But I was not fair to her: she knows in her own way what it is to slide along the surface of a frozen lake, always aware that the solidity beneath your feet is just a mask for the icy water below.
I pray for forgiveness. I should have spoken sooner; it might have prevented some of this harm.
Bright mirror, shine your radiance into the depths of Lord Gleinleigh’s heart, so we may drag what lies there into the light. Dark stillness, do not let Audrey forget what she has shared with Cora; do not let her cast aside the proofs of sincerity and warmth. Keep them safe for her until she is ready to see them again.
However many doubts I may have, I believe that in this case I am right to pray only to those two. Change may come, but the earth will hold what must be preserved. Destruction may threaten, but creation will follow.
Though I have been mistaken on so many other matters, I hope that in this one I am not wrong.
Tablet XI: “The Return Tablet”
translated by Audrey Camherst and Kudshayn
Nothing barred their way as they ascended. They came out through the gate made from the bones of issur, bound with strips of āmu skin. They came into the lands of the living once more, and the Light of the World returned to the sky. But the Crown of the Abyss had claim to it, and so it left the heavens every night. The Maker of Above and Below did not want the people to be without light in times of darkness, and so it took Ektabr’s ghost, his echo, his memory, the brother of the four, and set that in the sky as well, as a comfort and a reminder of what had been lost.