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February 4, 1205
"Sorry. I didn't mean to imply that I thought your translation was wrong but... I don't know." Agathe sighed. She did not doubt Eldona. In moments when she might have, she'd scanned passages of the original diary for common words, and they matched well enough to what she guessed to be their translated counterparts from what she could tell. "It's not what I was expecting, I suppose--not that I know what I was expecting."
"It's fine. Really, I don't know what I was expecting it to be either, but I thought it might have been more than that. Or less than that, perhaps."
"Less?" Agathe frowned. She didn't know her sister-in-law well enough to guess about her inner workings, but Eldona certainly said some odd things every now and then. "What could be less than that? Every page either devolves into nonsense or was nonsense to begin with."
"I don't disagree, but you must admit--some of the imagery is quite striking, and very specific. It's even clearer in the original Greek, if you'll take my word for it. It's madness, yes, but... madness with a purpose."
"What purpose could madness have? You know what my mother was like. You know her madness treated Searle. Surely there wasn't any purpose in that."
"I know--and believe me, I'll never find her actions toward him any less than downright repulsive." And if truth could truly spark in the eye, then Agathe saw it in Eldona's, but there was something else as well. Curiosity, maybe. Sympathy for the devil, perhaps. Some enlightened understanding that even villains could bleed. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to study the original text a while longer."
NEXT CHAPTER:
December 10, 1204
Eldona had translated the diary. She'd read over that translation twice. She'd checked the translation, re-translated, read it over yet again, repeat. She could practically recite it--what she thought it said, at least--from memory. She was right, she was sure of it, or at least as right as she could be without the context of Searle's mother's fractured mind.
And she had no idea what the hell she could tell Agathe.
What was there to tell, really? Most of it was nonsense--the ravings of a madwoman whose madness had flourished under years of neglect and abuse and self-loathing. The rest of it was the years of neglect and abuse and self-loathing, a private account of deeply personal pain that belonged to a dead woman, pain that Eldona had no right to disclose. A cruel father, a crueler brother, a mother whose fate would repeat in her daughter. Agathe, at least, would be spared of that, in both life and knowledge. Perhaps that was the one comfort to be found in the early death of Riona as well.
But aside from the pain was... well, it was back to the nonsense. Something about a well, the blood of demons, trees with roots that knotted at the center of the earth and the things that slept amongst them. Something about beings made of starlight, clouds that rained emeralds, lions that devoured worlds. Something about seeds of darkness latent in the earth, windows masquerading as mirrors, the grave of the father.
Something part fiction, part delusion, part metaphor, part prophecy. Something Eldona couldn't explain, couldn't define, couldn't fathom. She had neither the ability nor desire to live in Eumelia's mind. She did not want to translate and read and re-translate and re-read again.
But she had to tell Agathe something.
NEXT CHAPTER:
July 7, 1204
"No, I can see that Oswald means well, but I do agree with you." It was odd, perhaps, that Eldona knew her sister-in-law's betrothed better than she did her sister-in-law herself. Oswald, possibly to make up for Agathe's reservations, had indeed made much more of a point to get to know Searle and herself, despite not having much reason to do so other than the family connection. But Agathe, Eldona had determined, didn't keep her distance for sheer lack of interest--and in Searle's case, plenty of space was indeed crucial to his well-being. "Unless the journal contains something he might find comforting or interesting or important, I don't see why Searle needs to trouble himself with it."
"Exactly. That, and... well, you know Searle and I don't exactly know each other like most siblings." Agathe broke their eye contact for a second to wave as little Celina turned her head and shot her aunt a toothy smile. The circumstances dictated that Agathe probably knew Searle's daughter better than she knew Searle himself, just because there was so little baggage to navigate when it came to a well-loved toddler as opposed to a grown man of harsh roots. "You'd be a better judge of whether it's relevant to him anyway. You don't think there's any chance of him finding it, though?"
"I doubt it. Searle's respectful of my study. He won't go through my drawers or anything, if that's what you're worried about."
"Good." But reassurance about her brother's security did little for Agathe's overall mood. From what Eldona could gather, her sister-in-law had escaped enough of her mother's scrutiny to lead a happy enough childhood, but her father's death had seen her transferred to the care of Maeja. Maeja was a lovely woman--but she was a lovely woman with much knowledge and therefore much well-informed hatred of Searle and Agathe's mother. Agathe wouldn't have grown up without more unanswered questions than any child needed.
"Thank you for helping me. I doubt it's anything more than her own madness, but we can all move on once that's confirmed."
"Indeed." Agathe, Oswald, and Searle too. Searle had a new life. That didn't mean the old one had never happened, that there wasn't still healing to be had even if it could never be complete. "You're a better sister to Searle than I think you know."
NEXT CHAPTER:
February 13, 1197
"So... your mother said you were thinking some time in May?" Cladelia was positive that her sister-in-law was tired of discussing her upcoming wedding, and she herself had no idea what to say to Eldona about it. Eldona and her betrothed seemed to be more a platonic match of companionship than anything else, but then again it was difficult to conceive of either party being romantic with anyone ever, so it may have been a moot concern--and, again, probably one Eldona was sick of hearing about.
But, if she didn't talk about something, then she'd start talking about her husband, and she couldn't talk about her husband. Not now. Not while no one else knew just how sick he was.
Not while she didn't want to think about how sick he was.
"Yes, I was thinking the fifteenth. Searle's father and sister said they should be able to come in from Dovia around that time." Eldona glanced over at Cladelia's son on the floor, who wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to their conversation. It wouldn't be long, if Cladelia's suspicions about her own malfunctioning body were correct, before Ovrean was no longer her youngest. At the same time, who knew if it would be too long for her new youngest to know their father. "But, how is our other Searle doing? I think Mother suspects something."
Cladelia caught her bottom lip on her teeth. Searle had told her not tell anyone yet, as he didn't want to worry them. Part of her wished he hadn't told her either. How was she supposed to go about as if everything was fine when four different doctors had confirmed the presence of that mass in his abdomen? "He, uh... he's taking things easy for now. Not training so hard, and he's been given some relief from any organized duties that might come up."
"Hmm. Well, I'm glad to hear he's not straining himself, at least."
Though it would be nice if he were able to. "I suppose."
"I hear Aerina Frey just released some new tonics. Perhaps one of those might be worth a try?"
There wasn't a tonic in the world that could do much for a mass in the abdomen. But, for the sake of not telling, Cladelia nodded. "Maybe..."
NEXT CHAPTER:
July 21, 1193
"So..." Eldona let herself trail off, but only out of fear she'd otherwise stop abruptly. Had she thought Searle had any other friends, she would have left the comforting to someone else. She'd grown up as the daughter of quite possibly the sweetest, wisest, most loving mother on the planet. She had no idea what to say about a mother who was... not. "I'm sorry."
Searle kicked at the base of the bench. "I was a terrible son."
Eldona bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn't unnatural to think one ought to have been better to the dead--she'd had her moments of regret with both her father and sister in recent months--but from all accounts, Searle's mother had been a monster. "Searle--"
"No. I was. She hated me. She wouldn't have hated me if I wasn't terrible."
Eldona blinked. There could have been logic in the sentence, but there was little logic in an adult's hatred of a child. "But what could you have done that was so terrible?"
He shrugged. "I don't remember. I forget things sometimes."
That didn't surprise her. But he was a gentle, passive soul--almost incapable of anything truly terrible. "I don't think anything you could have done justified her treatment of you."
"She didn't want me."
"Then she ought to have given you to people who wanted to be your parents, or to have eliminated you before you were sentient. If she wasn't allowed to, then that's a pity--but no one deserves a parent's abuse, Searle."
It seemed such a simple concept.
And yet, he failed to grasp it. "But I did."
NEXT CHAPTER:
August 11, 1189
Of all the people Eldona might have thought she'd find at the school library before term even began, her cousin Searle had not been among them. He didn't have much particular interest in any subject. He certainly wasn't doing well in many of them. He was barely even aware of where he was more days than not, and it wasn't as if he had any friends to pull him anywhere on their days off.
Why was he here?
"Searle?" He jumped. Why had she expected he'd noticed her? "Oh. Sorry, I... are you all right?"
He shook his head. "No."
Poor boy. Perhaps looking for new poems would have to wait. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Searle sighed. "I'm writing to Aunt Maeja."
"Oh."
Her father had gotten the news some days back. Their Uncle Marsden had been killed just before the end of the previous month. Eldona had never met him, but Searle had lived in Dovia. He would have known him well enough. "I see."
She also saw the page: blank except for the phrase 'Dear Aunt Maeja'.
"I... I'm not good at words."
"Don't say that. You're just... unpracticed, maybe." At any rate, this was the longest they'd ever spoken. Some people who didn't talk much expressed themselves in writing, but it stood to reason that some kept their thoughts and feelings inside, in the forms they took before they were words.
"Help me?"
Help? "I don't know, Searle. Letters like that are pretty personal."
"But you're a good writer. All the poems you read in class were so..." He stopped, in search of a new word. Instead, he fell back on a familiar one. "...good."
"All right." Not that she was feeling too poetic after a conversation like this--but she sat down anyway. "'Dear Aunt Maeja'."
Searle nodded. "Then?"
She thought on it a moment. But, she had to shake her head.
"I can't write this for you. Only you know what's in your heart."
He bowed his head and stared at the paper, as if he wasn't quite sure he had one.
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