Prince of Time

Chapter Eleven - The Place of Silence

Ane reached the secret place between the trees, warm in the clothes of a unicorn heart but cheeks flushed pink against the chill. She stepped past the oak tree, raising a hand to brush her fingers across the bark.

 Between the vast trunks of the trees, deep in the forest where even the air felt ancient and hung with old magic and stories, there was a pool. The depths made the icy water black and smooth, no moonlight reflecting from the undisturbed surface.

 Carefully, Ane knelt on the mossy ground. Delicately, a little tentatively, she drifted her fingers through the water. The cold invaded her skin instantly, shivers rushing up her spine. Ripples spread from her touch, the perfect surface disturbed.

“Origen,” she whispered. “Origen, amorem omnium verissima.”

The earth seemed to shiver beneath her. The air shifted, the endless stillness disturbed by her two-toned words. Ane shut her eyes as, for an instant, darkness seemed to caress her face as it slipped by, vanishing into the gloom.

  Something stirred in the water. Ane leant forward in anticipation. First a flash of white, like a smudge of skin, then the shape of two hands reaching up, rising from the gloom. They were followed by the stark white of an upturned face.

  A spray of water droplets showered over Ane and vanished instantly, so fast that she thought they weren’t water at all but liquid blackness. The figure surfaced, hands first, then head, then torso. Standing in the water as if there was a ground there. Gazing at her.

“Anemone,” he said, softly, “spiritus perfectum.”

He was young, perhaps seventeen or perhaps younger, and odd to look at. He appeared faded, as if the colour had been washed from him by time, bleached out by the sun. His skin was white bordering on grey. His hair, dark, was like feathers of ashes on his head.

  His eyes were captivating. The whites had almost disappeared behind enormous black pupils and deep brown irises. He had a stare that drew you in, made you feel as if you were falling head-first down a well.

“Origen,” Ane reached out to touch his face.

“Ane.”

He caught her hand and held it. His touch was frozen, cold and spreading through her skin. The chill crept into her bones but she ignored it. It was worth it. It was worth anything to be here.

“How are you?” he had a melodious voice, quiet. “You’re late this evening.”

Ane blushed. “There’s…been a change of plan. Origen, I have to leave. Tomorrow.”

Origen’s grip on her hand tightened.

“Where?” he demanded. “Where are you going? For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Ane said, gently. “You see, I’m bodyguard to the prince now.”

Origen stopped. “You’re headed north.”

Tears welled up in Ane’s eyes.

“You’re headed north,” Origen repeated. “Ane…”

“It’s alright,” Ane promised. “It’ll be ok. I’ll come back alive.”

Origen laughed. “It would almost make this less strange if you came back dead.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ane demanded, sitting back.

“Ane,” the boy said, frustrated. “Can’t you see? We’re an impossibility.”

“So? What’s your problem?” Ane glared at him.