Miles to Babylon

III: The Endelese Breach, Part II

Immediately after school Awen set off, racing against the gnawing cold of nightfall. The train station was all the way at the other end of the village. And what would she do when she got to Ehrnfeldt? All she knew was that she needed to go; she needed to see Auntie Thea, to confess, to apologize, to—

What? What could she do to make up for the fact that all of this, all of it, was her fault? Much as it ripped her apart, this was far bigger than what she had done to Lydia. The way Nali had spoken about the Breach, and the dead, reaching things within it... she would have to be a fool not to see the connection. But what were they—sin itself?

With that question came an answer, spoken in a frozen version of her own voice. It was my sin. I created it. Nali's father was dead now, or worse, and it was because of people like her: criminals, sinners, who couldn't just obey—

"Awen!"

She stopped just outside the station, chest burning, and turned to see a sweaty, red-faced boy of her own age running from the other side of the station tradesquare. It took a moment to recognize him; she was used to Tuck wearing a jaunty smile, always ready with a quick jibe. Never before had she seen him as he was now, pale as a ghost and running like he had the Blackhand himself at his heels.

"Tuck? What's wrong?"

Tuck looked from Awen to the station behind her, breathless. "What are you doing?"

It was hard to give him a straight answer when she barely knew it herself. "Going to Ehrnfeldt to see Auntie Thea—what's wrong?"

"She's not there," Tuck said, strangely quiet. "She's..."

"What?" Fear that she couldn't place gripped Awen's heart. "Tuck, tell me!"

"Just go. You need to get out of here," he said, and Awen realized what was so off about his voice; this was the first time she had ever seen him frightened. "She got out of a carriage at your house with some people. There was a sentry." Tuck pulled Awen behind a column as a couple passed them by. His grip was like steel, yet he shivered as he hissed under his breath: "Awen, they're looking for you."

Tears clouded her view as Awen rounded the bend, where the cobblestone streets turned into dirt under the shadows of leafless grey oaks. As soon as she'd taken off toward her house, Tuck had tried to stop her; and he might have, too, had he been fast enough. Awen didn't care. She had only enough space in her head for one thought.

      Don't let them blame Auntie Thea—it's my fault—

There it stood, its red-brick walls and steep roof framed by dark wooden beams, a lamppost casting an ill-fitting glow over the path. There was something sinister about this light; even the glimmer behind the windows felt too inviting. Yet the true stain was the steam carriage parked on the lawn, almost fluorescently white.

The sight of the automobile gave Awen a new rush of resolve, even as the stitch in her side split her in two. Few in Myddvai had steam carriages, or any need of them, and even those wealthy families of Mesembrian lineage could rarely afford vehicles like this one. As she passed it, she took note of the emblem on its side: three towers surrounded by a ring like a sun, or a crown—the Banner of the Holy Kingdom.

She burst into the front door, paying no heed to the sentry who grabbed for her as she tumbled into the parlor. In front of the fireplace sat three people she didn't know, who looked up in quiet surprise. Auntie Thea was with them; she glanced over her shoulder from a high-backed armchair, following the others' gazes, as Awen fell to the floor with the sentry at her heels.

"Awen!" she exclaimed, rising from her seat.

"I'm sorry," Awen choked out, scarcely able to breathe. "Please—the Sombrien—she tried to tell me—" Awen's face was mere inches from the floor as she knelt before the people of the Faith, the servants of the Kingdom. Her tears dripped hot onto the dark wood.

"My dear," said a gravelly voice, "what is the meaning of this?" She heard a chair creak, soft footsteps.

"It's my fault," Awen wept, forcing her eyes shut. "I couldn't change—I didn't try hard enough. I hurt someone. Punish me, not Auntie Thea—"

Awen heard the wood groan, felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We aren't here to punish you," said the man's gentle voice. "We only want your help; nay, need it."

All Awen could do was shake her head, scattering more tears on the floor. "How could I help anyone?" She looked up, meeting the kind, crinkled grey eyes of a man even older than Auntie Thea. "The last time I tried..." The pain rose afresh, the remorse she'd held since the Sombrien Festival finally boiling over.

But the man's face was not that of an accuser or a judge. It was, if anything, a little bewildered. "My dear, I don't believe you understand," he said, dropping his hand from her shoulder. "You didn't hurt anyone that night. And you certainly brought no harm to the girl who had the Cothe."

The words echoed in Awen's mind like a distant thunderclap. She felt weightless, suspended between hope and disbelief. Tears still streaked her cheeks, but she swallowed her grieving, long enough to dare believe that he could truly mean...

"Had?"

"Had," repeated the old man, a small smile pushing through his full grey beard. "You didn't hurt her, Awen. You saved her."