Chapter 6 – Reverie
Mijandra stood before the gate with Gorion’s hand on her shoulder, a place he had become accustomed to putting it over the years. He had not yet adjusted to Mijandra’s new reflex of shaking it off as soon as it landed there.
Mijandra continued to watch the gate as Gorion’s hand returned to his side, ignoring his long release of breath. The worried and incredibly sad look his face would be wearing was designed to make her trust him, designed to make her doubt herself. She would keep her eyes forward.
The Watcher on the other side of the gate gave a shout, and the doors were opened, allowing two horses entry. Only one took the offer, guided through the gate by an overweight man on foot. The rider of the other, a hired guard by appearances, merely gave a final nod to the fat man before turning his horse and riding away, his client safely delivered. And sitting on top of the horse that remained was the reason for Mijandra’s presence.
An auburn-haired girl in a purple dress. Such clumsy clothing, Mijandra thought. In stark contrast to the girl wearing it, she noted, as the girl laughingly ignored the fat man’s offered assistance and leaped out of the saddle to land almost soundlessly on the ground before him, followed by a graceful – and very proud – bow toward Mijandra and Gorion.
Then the girl straightened and was suddenly off, moving toward them at a dead run, stopping just as suddenly with a small skid three feet in front of Mijandra. She immediately turned around to watch the fat man, out of breath, ambling after her, and laughed, suggesting that providing the man with some much-needed exercise may not have been unintentional.
She turned back toward them as the man caught up, and greeted them with a cheerful, “Heya!”
“This…little scamp,” the man huffed as he came to stand behind her, a hand on each shoulder, “is Imoen.” A few more seconds of gasping for air and the man continued, “Imoen, this is Gorion and-”
“Are you Mijandra?” Imoen interrupted.
Mijandra nodded as she felt eyes turning to her. Many more than six eyes. A decent audience had gathered to witness the arrival of another child to Candlekeep, and it had just grown further as passersby and nearby Watchers were drawn in by the sure-to-be-interesting first meeting between the new child and Mijandra.
Mijandra could feel now was the time to speak. She probably could have gotten away with being silent for now, but she would have to say something eventually if she wanted this encounter to end, and better sooner than later. Not that Imoen wasn’t interesting, but for Mijandra interesting people were something to watch, not talk to. Hopefully another girl her age would remain interesting for a while. Distractions were becoming a precious thing lately.
Of course, depending on what she said she could end up lengthening the encounter rather than quickening its end like she desired. Predicting what words would lead to what outcome continued to be beyond her, and so she didn’t bother putting much thought into what she would say. As she had many times before and would again many times after, she said the first thing that came to mind.
“You’re pretty.” From the large smile that grew on Imoen’s face Mijandra deduced these words would not have the desired result. She also noted absentmindedly that the smile made her even prettier.
“Thank you,” Imoen replied happily.
Mijandra heard Gorion’s voice beside her. “Let’s leave these two alone to get acquainted, shall we? Everyone?” Mijandra assumed he was distributing a liberal quantity of serious looks to the crowd, for she soon heard a chorus of slow footsteps as it began to dissipate. “Come, Winthrop, I’m sure you’ve business to attend to at the inn.”
“Oh, yes, right you are,” the fat man said. “Come to the inn when you get hungry, Imoen. Mijandra can show you the way.”
“See ya, Puffguts!” Imoen shouted, giggling as Winthrop scowled and grumbled as he walked away. Turning back to Mijandra, Imoen paused a moment before saying in a quiet voice, “You’re really pretty, too,” then lowering her head bashfully. Mijandra was rarely graceful in any conversation, but what happened next left her completely disarmed. As Imoen looked down she saw a silk ribbon wound between her fingers. When she raised her head again her hand went with it in offering. “Hey, ya want this?”
Mijandra eyed it with confusion. It was a very light purple, lilac maybe. “You’re giving it to me?”
“Yeah. I don’t want it, but I don’t want to throw it away. So I’m giving it to a friend,” Imoen said matter-of-factly.
Mijandra blinked and her eyes turned to Imoen’s. “Friend?” She thought she’d been prepared for the word. She’d certainly heard it enough times as Imoen’s arrival came closer. She’d expected that she might hear it from the girl. But, somehow, not like this.
She thought she might be asked. She thought it would be simple to answer. She was not prepared for the honest assumption that they were already friends. She was not prepared to be offered a gift for a few seconds of assumed friendship. She was not prepared for a bright smile and incredibly warm eyes, features that did not falter even as Mijandra quietly stared at them for almost a minute. She had not been prepared for Imoen.
The idea that they were already friends had her thinking in ways she never had before. Confusing thoughts. Frightening thoughts. Hopeful thoughts. Though the question had been skipped there was still the answer to give, and it was not the answer she expected.
Mijandra took the ribbon from Imoen’s hand. “What is it for?” she asked.
Imoen shrugged. “You could use it to tie your hair,” she suggested.
Mijandra paused a moment, then moved her hands behind her head. As she tied the ribbon around her hair she thought Imoen’s smile might have grown a little brighter.
--
“You’re not hungry already, Imoen? It’s a bit early for lunch,” Winthrop said as she came in.
“Nah, we’re just checkin’ the place out.”
Winthrop took another look up from the papers he was reading to see Mijandra come in behind her. “Oh, your sister is with you.”
Mijandra looked up sharply. “Sister?” both she and Imoen asked simultaneously.
“Um…well…you just get along so well…already…that, um…would you like to see your room, Imoen?”
They both blinked, Imoen’s face frowning in confusion. “Okay,” she said with a hint of suspicion. Mijandra mentally congratulated her. Suspicion was good. None of them could be trusted.
“Wow, it’s big,” Imoen commented as they stepped through the door Winthrop opened for them. A full-sized bed, a wide chest of drawers that rose to her chin, and a wardrobe next to it that looked like it might be taller than two of her. A few chairs, a small table, and plenty of empty space besides.
“You’ll grow into it,” Winthrop grinned.
“Is this a room for guests?” she asked, looking at him.
“It was.” When Imoen frowned, Winthrop’s grin grew, “Don’t worry, lass, there’s plenty of rooms left for customers. Candlekeep’s never quite crowded with guests, what with the entrance fee and all.”
Imoen shrugged, then smiled. “Okay.” Then she quickly kicked her shoes off and started jumping on the bed.
“Hey now, don’t be doing that!”
“Aww…” Imoen whined as her bouncing slowed to a stop.
“There’s a good lass. Now your bag is in the corner there if you’d like to unpack, make the room more home-like. I’ll be ordering you some new clothes as soon as I’ve caught up with some business. And you’re not hungry yet?”
“Nope.”
“Ah, well, holler when you are. And, uh, behave yourself, you two.” Winthrop left the room then looking only slightly overwhelmed by the new responsibility of caring for a child, and closed the door behind him.
Imoen waited a few seconds before she started jumping on the bed again. “Yeah, unpacking sounds like lots of fun, Puffguts. I’ll get right on that,” she muttered to herself, giggling. After a few jumps Imoen noticed Mijandra staring at her. “You wanna jump, too?” Mijandra shook her head, and Imoen dropped onto the bed in a sitting position. “Didn’t figure you would.” Imoen tilted her head at her for a moment. “So, what’s your story?”
“What do you mean?” Mijandra asked as she walked away from the wall and sat on the edge of the bed.
“How did you get here? What happened to your folks?”
Mijandra nudged her own shoes off before beginning her answer. “I don’t know anything about my parents.” She stood up on the bed and walked to the footboard. “They’re probably dead.” She put one foot and then the other onto it, balancing there as she continued, “I was in a place for a while, but Gorion found me and brought me here.” She started walking along the footboard to one of the bedposts.
“A place?” Imoen asked as she followed Mijandra’s progress.
“A place,” Mijandra confirmed, stepping up onto the fist-sized ball topping the bedpost. Imoen stood and also attempted to balance on the footboard before taking a shaky step toward the bedpost opposite Mijandra. Her arms cart wheeled and she soon found herself bouncing slightly as her back hit the mattress.
Mijandra observed Imoen’s pout with interest. “What about you?” she finally asked.
“Huh? Oh.” Imoen sat up again, only to see Mijandra casually stepping from the bedpost back down to the floor. “I can’t remember.”
“Can’t remember what part?” Mijandra asked as she walked towards the chest of drawers.
“Anything,” Imoen answered. “I can’t remember anything before almost a tenday ago, except for my name and how old I am – eight, by the way.”
Mijandra frowned as she began to climb the drawers. “It doesn’t seem to bother you much.”
Mijandra heard the soft thump of Imoen stepping off the bed. “Yeah, it’s strange, but it doesn’t,” Imoen answered.
Mijandra turned to see Imoen climbing up the drawers after her as she walked across the top of the chest to the side of the wardrobe. “So what do you remember?”
“Waking up in a chair with a guy behind a desk.” Imoen paused to grunt softly as she climbed further, while with a small jump Mijandra was soon pulling herself onto the top of the wardrobe. “Boring guy, seemed kinda cranky. He asked a bunch of weird boring questions.” Imoen finished climbing the chest and looked up at Mijandra. “Got annoyed when I couldn’t answer his questions because I couldn’t remember anything. Then he said something about arranging for me to stay with a friend, Puffguts apparently, and after a few boring days locked in his house I was brought here.”
“Do you know where you were?” Mijandra asked, watching carefully as Imoen seemed to be eyeing the height of the wardrobe.
“Athkatla, I think it was. Strange story, huh? I guess I should be more confused and afraid and stuff, but it doesn’t seem so bad. This place seems nice, if a bit boring, and Puffguts is a lot of fun.” Imoen then made her own, slightly larger jump, grabbing onto the edge of the wardrobe and attempting to climb up. She made little progress before one of her feet slipped and she swung outward, losing her grip on the edge and almost falling if not for Mijandra grabbing one of her arms. With Mijandra’s other hand anchored to the opposite edge she and Imoen then managed to pull her the rest of the way up.
After getting herself settled Imoen pouted again. “You make it all look so easy.”
Mijandra actually took a moment to consider her response. “Dresses are bad for climbing.”
Imoen looked down at her freshly wrinkled dress. “I like dresses.”
Mijandra considered again. “You could shorten it and wear pants under.”
“That would be better,” Imoen agreed thoughtfully.
They sat in silence for a while before Mijandra spoke up. “You should be careful.” They looked at each other. “You can’t trust anybody here.”
Imoen frowned. “Are they mean?”
Mijandra was quiet a moment. “No. They’ll probably be nice to you. But that still doesn’t mean they care. They don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Mijandra took a deep breath. And another. Imoen needed to understand. Someone needed to understand.
“They call me ‘child.’ Probably will you, too. I used to wonder why. ‘Child’ is not my name. They know my name. It is Mijandra. I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t use my name. But I do, now.” She dared a glance at Imoen, seeing genuine interest and concern. She continued. “They don’t care about me. They were nice, but they didn’t care. Not about me. Mijandra. It was ‘child’ they were being nice to. I know. Sixty-four days ago. I know.”
Mijandra wrapped her arms around her knees, laying her head between them before continuing. “The Keeper of the Tomes doesn’t like me. I don’t care. I don’t like him. I was looking at the cage again. In the barracks, for criminals,” Mijandra clarified when Imoen looked confused. “The Keeper of the Tomes came in, and said I belonged in it.” Imoen gasped. “He must have been having a bad day. It had been a long time since he said something like that.
“I wondered if he was right.”
“Of course not!” Imoen shouted.
Mijandra shook her head. “I used to be in a cage. At…the place. I used to be…” She suddenly felt confined, shaking as memories of the cage came stronger than they ever had before. Imoen beside her. Like in the cage. There had been others in the cage with her. Other children. They sat next to her sometimes.
But they never touched her. Never put a hand on her shoulder. Never said her name. “M-Mijandra?” She put her hand over Imoen’s, as if to be sure it was there, and the cage began to fade.
With determination Mijandra continued. “At lunch I left the barracks. I went to the keep’s kitchens, where the cook liked to feed me personally. Liked the joy of having a child around. She asked me what I wanted for desert. I asked her if I belonged in a cage.” Mijandra shook her head. “Stupid question. Shouldn’t have asked her. But the cage…was strong that day. She laughed the first time I asked. But…I kept asking. And then I tried to tell her. I tried to tell her…about the cage.”
Mijandra’s eyes closed and her head thudded against the wall behind her. “Shouldn’t have. Not her. But now I know,” she almost whispered. In a louder voice she continued, “I still remember exactly what she said. When she finally realized I wasn’t joking.” She sneered the last word. “I…can’t forget it. There was fear in her eyes. ‘Come now, don’t talk about such nonsense, child. Tell you what, how would you like two desserts?’” Mijandra’s fist suddenly slammed down against the wardrobe, in contrast to the quiet voice that continued, “She saw me. I was showing her me, Mijandra, and she turned me away. She didn’t want me, didn’t care about me. She just wanted a child. Any child, it didn’t matter. Its name didn’t matter.” Mijandra’s fist shook against the top of the wardrobe. “Children don’t talk about cages. They just want dessert. Lots of dessert.”
Mijandra’s head leaned forward again. “The others here are the same. I could tell. The way they treated me. The way they called me ‘child’. They don’t care about me. They just want a child, a child to laugh at, and feel smarter than, and stronger than, and make fat with sweets. They don’t care about me. They don’t want to know me. If I tried to tell them they would turn me a way, too. They don’t want to know why I’ve changed. They don’t want to know why I get angry, now. They don’t want to know why I run so much. Why I run until I can’t run anymore. To stop the anger from making me do something else. They don’t want to know how hard it is now to remember to climb back down from a tree instead of just letting go.” Mijandra began to finger one of her sleeves. “They don’t want to know…why I do this.”
Mijandra pulled back the sleeve, and Imoen gasped as criss-crossed lines of scabs both new and old were revealed. “They don’t want to know that pain distracts me from the cold. So c-cold in the cage. They don’t want to know how cold it was.” Mijandra’s thumb moved up and down her arm. “They don’t want to know about the cage. They don’t want to know about the cold.”
She pulled her sleeve back down. “They’re not nice to me, anymore. They were nice when I was just the ‘quiet child’. But I’m not quiet anymore. Now I’m d-disturbed. ‘Disturbed child’. They think I don’t hear them when they say it.”
Mijandra hugged her knees again. “I feel the cage every day now. Feel like I’m still in it. Never left. It just got bigger. But still too small. Small and cold. So c-cold.” Mijandra began to shake again. “It’s so cold, and no one will give me a name.”
“Mijandra!” Mijandra looked up and was shocked to see Imoen with tears in her eyes. “Mijandra is your name.” Then Imoen hugged her tightly. “And I care. I care about you, Mijandra.” She sniffled. “I want to know. Whatever you want to tell me I want to know. And I’ll always call you by your name.”
Mijandra could think of nothing to say. Silently she sat in Imoen’s arms, slowly, tentatively returning the embrace. She felt warm. For the first time Mijandra could remember she felt completely warm.
“What about…Gorion?” Imoen finally broke the silence. “He cares about you, doesn’t he?”
Mijandra scowled, replying in undisguised anger, “No. I am only his…research subject.”
“What?”
“He writes letters every so often. Letters that he keeps warded so no one can read them. But thirty-three days ago he finally slipped, and I was waiting. The letter was about me. But it didn’t use my name. It called me Veil instead. It was to some ‘dear distinguished colleagues’, and he talked about me like some kind of animal he was studying. An experiment for him, taking care of the disturbed child.”
There was a moment before Imoen responded. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I knew I couldn’t trust him.”
Another silence, Imoen swallowing. “He looked like he cared about you. You might have misunderstood.”
“I didn’t.”
Imoen sighed and fell silent. Mijandra was glad. She did not want to talk now. She did not want to think now. She just wanted to bask in the elusive warmth she was feeling.
“Sister,” she finally said at length.
“What?” Imoen asked, leaning back to look at her.
“Besides Mijandra. You can also call me sister. If you want.”
Imoen blinked a few times, then smiled. “Okay.”
--
“Hey sis, I’ve got something for ya!” Mijandra looked down to see Imoen holding a handful of wrinkled papers.
“Where have you been?” Mijandra asked, landing at the base of the tree.
“Getting these. Read them,” Imoen said, pushing the papers into Mijandra’s hands.
Mijandra looked at Imoen with her equivalent of a frown of confusion – indistinguishable by most from the completely blank expression she normally wore. Then she looked down and read the first line of the topmost paper, a greeting to a letter. A greeting that she knew well. “I don’t want to read this,” Mijandra said, pushing the papers back towards Imoen.
“Yes, you do.” Mijandra had gotten to know many of Imoen’s expressions over the past two days. This one was new. Mijandra decided to read further.
And the moment she did she found Imoen was right. She read halfway through before recalling there was more than one paper in her hand. She hastily shuffled to the next one, and found she wanted to read it, too. And the one after it. “Where did you find these?”
“All over his desk. The whole room was a mess. I don’t think he’s been in it for a while.”
Mijandra responded by shuffling to another paper. The handwriting was barely recognizable as his, frantic and messy, covered in scratches of ink to correct error after error. The writing suffered similar ailment, bordering on incoherent in places. Words and phrases repeated across the letters. ‘Please, help her.’ ‘…begging…’ ‘I’m losing her.’ ‘…my baby girl.’ One letter spoke the last at least three times. And while all the letters showed spots of water damage, that one appeared to have been soaked, and badly wrinkled besides.
Mijandra recalled the time she saw him coming out of his study four days ago. Ink was on his nose and brow. His eyes were red.
“Do you see?” Imoen asked.
Mijandra had stopped reading and simply stared at the papers in her hands. She could not dismiss it. Could not refute it. And truthfully, she did not want to. She wanted it to be real. She missed him. She wanted him to be her father again.
Mijandra wiped away a tear on her cheek, then slowly turned and hugged Imoen. “Thank you.”
--
As part of her chores at the inn, Imoen was helping the cook with breakfast. Not that her help was needed or even helpful, as she struggled to reach ingredients and utensils the cook could have retrieved for herself in half the time. No, Mijandra knew the real reason why Imoen was there. She’d been in this situation, before.
The cook gave Imoen an amused smile as she watched her stand on her tip-toes to stir the pancake batter. Mijandra mentally scowled and got up from her seat to get Imoen a stool.
Imoen smiled at her. “Thanks, Mijandra.”
The cook smiled, as well. “Yes, that was very thoughtful of you.” Mijandra looked at the cook with another invisible mental scowl. ‘Which makes you thoughtless, hag.’ Oh, she would have eventually suggested a stool to Imoen. And she would have done it in that patronizing way, her eyes dancing with laughter at Imoen’s expense.
Much as they did now as they looked at Mijandra. “Child, roll your other sleeve up, you look foolish like that.” She then took the liberty of grabbing Mijandra’s sleeve to begin rolling it up for her.
Mijandra jerked the arm away and took a step back. She then rolled her other sleeve down to make them even, watching the cook as she did so.
The cook sighed and turned away. “Fine then, wear your sleeves out in this heat if that’s what you want, child.”
Mijandra wordlessly returned to her seat at the nearby table and went back to watching Imoen, who she noticed had stopped stirring. “She doesn’t like being called child,” Imoen said, looking at the cook.
“Oh really?” Those laughing eyes turned to Mijandra again. “Thinks she’s all grown up, does she?”
Imoen shook her head. “No. She’d just rather you called her by her name.”
“Is that right, Mijandra?” the cook asked her.
The eyes continued their laughter. Mijandra knew she had only to ask and the cook would try not to call her child anymore. She would be nice to her again, and she would call her by her name. And her eyes would laugh all the while, thinking it a game. Children liked games, after all.
Mijandra’s eyes narrowed. She was no different from the cook at the keep. “No,” she answered. “You don’t need to use my name. I’d rather not be lied to.” Then she got up from her seat and walked to one of the shelves along the wall.
She heard it as she climbed, her ears once again underestimated. A sigh, and then a whisper. “Disturbed child.” She gritted her teeth and continued climbing. It hardly phased her anymore. A sudden shriek, however, left her quite startled and nearly made her fall.
Mijandra shortly gathered her wits and jumped down, turning around to see the cook with a mixing bowl resting upside-down on her head, pancake batter dripping down her face, and an irate Imoen glaring at her. “She’s not disturbed!” Imoen shouted as she stood on the stool Mijandra had brought her. The cook slowly removed the mixing bowl from her head. Imoen crossed her arms defiantly as the cook’s face began to turn a furious red under the pancake batter.
And for the first time in months, Mijandra laughed.
--
Mijandra laughed again. This was Imoen’s best find, yet.
“Brown eyes so true,
No other’s cheese will do,
The way that you moo,
I love you.”
Imoen sighed dramatically, closing Dreppin’s “missing” book of poetry over her heart and pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. “There is nothing more moving than the love between a dairy man and his cow.”
“Indeed,” Mijandra managed as her laughter began to die down.
“You suppose we should write in some critique before I put this back? Help him improve his poetry, maybe? I’m sure Nessie would appreciate it.”
“Oh, I’m sure she would.” They both shared a snicker as they traveled the last few feet to the lake.
“Ah, finally. We haven’t been here in forever,” Imoen said joyously, already undressing. She waited until she was mostly finished before shouting, “Last one in is a rotten egg!”
Normally Mijandra would have found this unfair. Normally Mijandra would not have had any trouble hearing Imoen’s challenge. But certain things just weren’t normal, lately.
It had indeed been a while since they last came to the lake, and in that time Imoen had started changing. Only now did Mijandra see the full extent of it. A hint of curves at the hips, a gentle swell to each breast, hair growing in new places. Mijandra found it fascinating. Very fascinating.
Imoen jumped into the water and emerged facing Mijandra. She stood there, water dripping down her small chest, and Mijandra found that fascinating, too. “Come on, slowpoke, what are you waiting for?!”
Mijandra blinked and nearly blushed as she realized she hadn’t moved an inch since Imoen had undressed. She hastily began removing her clothes, still distracted, having a much more difficult time of it than seemed necessary.
Though there was more than just Imoen’s chest distracting her. There was also Imoen’s eyes. For they watched her as she undressed, and learned of the changes Mijandra was undergoing, as well. And they soon began to shine with a fascination that mirrored her own.
--
“It’s past midnight. Happy birthday!”
“You should be asleep.”
“Hey. You’re not.”
“I only need four hours.”
“Oh, whatever. You’re supposed to be my sister, not my mom.”
“Your big sister.”
“Right, like you’re any older than me.”
“I’m two years older than you.”
“Year and a half. And I’m not talking numbers, anyway, I mean in spirit.”
“…You should still be asleep.”
“Whatever. So, fourteen years. What’s it feel like?”
“It feels like I’m going to get presents tomorrow.”
“Today, you mean.”
“Yeah.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“…I love that feeling.”
“It’s nice.”
“…Hey, Mijandra?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still get…cold?”
“Huh?”
“Like it was… Like you told me about years ago. You said sometimes you felt cold, like you were in a cage.”
“…I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean, you don’t think so?”
“I remember saying…things like that, but I can’t remember what I meant. I haven’t thought about the cage in a long time.”
“R…really?”
“Yeah.”
“Not at all?”
“Not that I can remember…Imoen, are you crying?”
“N-no, of course not. Haha! Birthday hug!”
“Oof.”
“Happy Birthday, Mijy! I love you, sis.”
“I love you, too. And don’t call me Mijy.”
“Mijy Mijy Mijy!”
“Quit it, Mon-Mon!”
“Hahaha! Okay, okay. Goodnight Mijy.”
“…Goodnight, Mon-Mon.”
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