Attie listened, mouth agape, which soon turned into a wily smile. “That’s why you asked me about falling in love with a stranger.”
Iris chuckled, slightly embarrassed. “I know, it sounds…”
“Like something out of a novel?” Attie offered wryly.
“He could be horrid in real life.”
“True. But his letters suggest otherwise, I imagine?”
Iris sighed. “Yes. I’m growing fond of him. I’ve told him things that I’ve never said to anyone else.”
“That’s wild.” Attie shifted on the roof. “I wonder who he is.”
“A boy named Carver. That’s really all I know.” She paused, gazing up at the stars again. “All right. Now tell me your secret.”
“It’s not nearly as dashing as yours,” Attie said. “But my father is a musician. Years ago, he taught me how to play the violin.”
At once, Iris thought of the current restriction on stringed instruments in the city. All due to fear of Enva’s recruitment.
“I once thought I could earn a place with the symphony,” Attie began. “I practiced hours a day, sometimes until my fingertips were bloody. I wanted it more than anything. But of course, things changed last year, when the war broke out. When suddenly everyone was afraid of falling prey to Enva’s songs, and Oath began to shed its musicians like we were a sickness. The constable actually came to our house, to confiscate anything with strings. You can imagine how many of them we probably had in our house. I told you I’m the oldest of six, and my father was keen on seeing all his children learn to play at least one instrument.
“But Papa had planned for this. He surrendered all his strings save for one violin, which he hid in a secret compartment in the wall. He did it for me, because he knew how much I loved it. And he told me that I could still play, but not nearly as much. I would have to go down to the basement and play during the day when my siblings were at class, when the city was loud beyond the walls. And no one, not even my younger brothers and sisters, could know about it.
“So that’s what I did. In between my classes at university, I came home and I played in the basement. My father was my only audience, and while it seemed like our lives had been put on hold, he told me to keep my chin up. To not lose hope or let fear steal my joy.”
Iris was quiet, soaking in Attie’s story.
“There were some evenings I would feel so angry,” Attie continued. “That a goddess like Enva had interrupted our lives and stolen so many of our people, compelling them to fight in a war hundreds of kilometers away. I was angry that I could no longer play my violin in the light. That my symphony dreams were dashed. And I know I told you about my stuffy professor claiming my writing was ‘unpublishable,’ but another reason why I signed up to be a correspondent was simply because I wanted to know the truth about the war. In Oath, there’s this undercurrent of fear and half-hearted preparations, but I feel like no one truly knows what’s happening. And I wanted to see it with my own eyes.
“So here I am. Freshly returned from the front. And now I understand.”
Iris’s heart was beating in her throat. She watched Attie in the starlight, unable to take her gaze from her friend. “What, Attie?” she asked. “What do you understand?”
“Why Enva sang to our people. Why she filled their hearts with knowledge of the war. Because that’s what her music did and still does: it shows us the truth. And the truth is the people in the west were being trampled by Dacre’s wrath. They needed us, and they still do. Without soldiers coming from Oath, without us joining in this fight … it would already be over and Dacre would reign.”
Attie fell quiet, lifting her binoculars back up to her eyes. To study the stars again.
“Do you think we’ll lose?” Iris whispered, wondering what the world would be like if the gods rose again to rule.
“I hope not, Iris. But what I do know is we need more people to join this war in order to win. And with music being treated like a sin in Oath, how will people learn the truth?”
Iris was pensive. But then she whispered, “You and I, Attie. We’ll have to write it.”
Dear Iris,
I have good news and slightly not good news. All right, it’s bad news. But I’ve always been an advocate for giving the best first, so here it is:
I found a snippet of a myth I think you’ll enjoy. It’s about Enva’s instrument and is as follows:
“Enva’s harp, the only one of its kind, was first born in the clouds. Her mother goddess loved to hear Enva sing and decided to fashion an inimitable harp for her. Its frame is made of dragon bone, salvaged from the wasteland beyond sunset. Its strings are made of hair, stolen from one of the fiercest harpies in the skies. Its frame is held together by the very wind itself. They say the harp is heavy to mortals, and it would refuse to let such fingers play it without screeching. Only Enva’s hands can make it truly sing.”
Now, onto the news you won’t like: I’m going to be away for a while. I’m uncertain how long at the moment, and I won’t be able to write to you. That’s not to say I won’t be thinking of you often. So please know that, even in the silence that must come between us for a little while.
I’ll write to you whenever I’m able. Promise me you’ll remain safe and well.
Yours,
—C.
Dear Carver,
Let me first say thank you for the myth snippet. I enjoyed it, immensely. I wonder if you are perhaps a wizard, for how you’re able to find missing myths the way you do. As if by magic.
But I also can’t help but wonder … where are you going? Are you leaving Oath?
Love,
Iris
She waited for him to write a reply. And when it never came, she hated how her heart sank into the silence.
{25}
Collision
Dear Carver,
I don’t know why I’m writing this. You just told me last night you were going away, and yet here I am. Writing to you. As I’ve been doing so compulsively the past few months.
Or maybe I’m truly writing for myself today, under the guise of your name. Perhaps it’s a good thing you’re gone. Perhaps now I can fully lower my armor and look at myself, which I’ve resisted doing since my mum died.
You know what? I need to completely restart this letter to you to me.
Dear Iris,
You don’t know what’s coming in the days ahead, but you’re doing just fine. You are so much stronger than you think, than you feel. Don’t be afraid. Keep going.
Write the things you need to read. Write what you know to be true.
—I.
“We need to get the seeds in the ground,” Marisol said with a sigh. They still hadn’t planted the garden yet, despite the fact that it was tilled and ready. “I’m afraid I won’t have time to do it today, though. I’m needed in the infirmary kitchen.”
“Iris and I can plant them,” Attie offered, finishing her breakfast tea.
Iris nodded in agreement. “Just show us how to do it and we can get everything planted.”
Half an hour later, Iris and Attie were on their knees in the garden, dirt beneath their nails as they created mounded rows and planted the seeds. It caught Iris by surprise—this weighted sense of peace she felt as she gave the earth seed after seed, knowing they would soon rise. It quieted her fears and her worries, to let the soil pass through her fingers, to smell the loam and listen to the birdsong in the trees above. To let something go with the reassurance it would return, transformed.