Leaves of Glass
“You saw that too? The empty sky? Everyone gone?”
Paul shook his head. The gesture was tight and furious, like most of his body language. “They weren’t gone. You were gone. And the sky wasn’t empty, it was just a different sky.”
I didn’t understand, but joy overcame me, nonetheless. My focus narrowed on him, and I was rapt. Whatever the answers, I wasn’t crazy, nor did it sound like I was to blame for what had happened. Most importantly, I wasn’t alone. Determined, I started questioning him about Whisperwood, and did not stop for a long time.
Understanding any of it took over an hour. We talked, Mara made us a late lunch, we talked more. Often, they assumed I’d know things I had no way of knowing. They thought old books from the outside world referencing hearsay and fairy tales spoke about the same sort of thing that happened on a nearly daily basis in their little corner of the woods. That couldn’t have been further from the truth.
I pieced together a curious puzzle I still wasn’t sure I fully comprehended and, had I not seen plenty of strange occurrences with my own eyes, never would have believed.
The town was a frontier, acting as a lighthouse for the vast ocean of the unknown world beyond. They called that beyond-place Unspoken. It was populated by creatures the townsfolk called Whispers, because if they ever visited, they were only faint shadows and specters, like the one that greeted me on my first evening in town. They didn’t belong in our world.
Every now and then, that ocean sent out a Tide. Only a small handful of people were sensitive to Tides, Paul, Perdy, and, apparently, I among them. When Tides came, the Unspoken covered Whisperwood like rising waters. Without moving, without leaving town, in that moment, I had been in a different place altogether, and the rest of the people of Whisperwood went on with their day quietly beneath the surface, hardly noticing I was gone.
“And that’s why I was able to see them more clearly, the creatures from the woods?”
Paul nodded, his demeanor toward me warmer and more familiar by the minute. “I was watching from the chapel hill in case there was trouble, but those were only a harmless kind. I should have come to you, but it was so surprising to see a stranger at all, let alone a stranger who can walk the Tide like one of us trained Walkers.”
Something irked me. “Miss Crosman must have known I was gone. I even tried to ask.”
Before I could explain further, Mara burst into tutting and waved her hands in a broad dismissal. “The old crow, like most of the old’uns, they don’t talk about any of it. They hang herbs and perform unsongs and say prayers and believe that if they speak of it, they draw its attention.”
“And you don’t?”
“I’ve a brewery to run and friends to keep sane. I don’t have time to dance around in circles. Life is hard enough.” They all nodded, and she sighed. “And there’s no getting out.”
Eugen smirked, elbowing a still-drowsy Florin in the ribs. “Not that the more adventurous of us haven’t tried.”
I perked up. “Now that you’ve told me this much, will you tell me the truth about why we can’t leave town? Is it really impossible?”
Eugen was the one who answered with a solemn tone, and I could have easily pictured him lecturing a roomful of schoolchildren. “It’s been that way for many generations. Sometimes stragglers wander in, but for the most part we have to keep this place safe. The woods that way are Warded to hell and back. Once you stay the night, you stay for good. And even we’re not allowed to know exactly how they work.”
Mara touched my elbow with a look of concern on her face. “Does that…frighten you?”
“I hadn’t considered it, but I don’t think so. Not yet. I think, in a way, this might be just what I needed. A safe and isolated place to recover—” I caught myself before divulging too much. “But why? What would happen if people came and went as they pleased?”
Again, Eugen took the lead. “The Unspoken isn’t stable. It expands and shifts and changes every day. If word got out, people might come and put themselves in danger without knowing how to stay safe. Or worse, they might draw it out, and it would spread all over the world. It’s a hard place, all it takes is a step chasing the wrong light or a wrong word to a woodland creature and snap! You’re gone.”
Mara scoffed. “At least, that’s what the old’uns say. The ‘speak not of the Unspoken’ lot. Fat lot of help they are.”
Paul slapped his hands against the table, causing Florin and me to jump. “Not for long, aye? We’re going to change things. The old is on the way out, and we’re going to end the reign of secrets and ignorance and fear. We’ll push research and contact and turn this mess into well-oiled gears. You’ll see. In five years’ time we’ll be unrecognizable.” When he spoke, everyone listened. He was magnetic. “Scientific missions, diplomatic relations in every direction. And you know what else?”
I couldn’t help myself. Enraptured, I played along without even thinking. “What?”
“We’re going to need your help.”
A dangerous joy and relief rose through my body. The moment hung in touchable tension until the tolling of a bell broke through it, sending the flutters of excitement and hope that had been building in my belly to the four winds.
Paul shot to his feet, flinging his stool back. “Shag it, the mass!” He then flew out into the street without another word, and we were all left staring at the door swinging shut behind him.
I closed my mouth with a snap, clutching my disappointment and sudden emptiness to my chest. “What’s going on?”
Mara started to put our cups and plates away, and Perdy quickly rose to help. “He was supposed to say a few words at mass, talk about loving our neighbors and keeping peace with the Whispers. That bell means it started without him.”
I could see they were about done with their break, and ready to get busy, and I didn’t want to intrude on them more than I already had. Secretly, I hoped they’d welcome me again and again, and tell me more about their singular little town.
By the time we’d made our goodbyes, the rain had subsided, and I was able to take their note back to Miss Crosman without getting soaked. She wasn’t in, so I left it on her desk and went out for another walk. The town beckoned me to understand its movements now that there were people moving in it, and I couldn’t help but be curious about what role Paul thought I might play in their revolution, so I followed the sound of the evening bell toward the chapel.
The gloom meant everyone had lit their lamps early, and the yellow light from a window shone beautifully in one of the puddles across the street, a contrast to the deep dark blue of the wet flagstones. The main street felt almost familiar to me after only a day, the way it rose a little by the haberdashery and then dipped down to the entrance of the butcher’s basement, the way tufts of grass sprung between the chunky, silver-blue stones.
I made a left onto a long, winding road between some fields of barley. Roots of ancient willow trees dipped their toes into deep irrigation trenches, while the trees themselves cavorted on either side, their canopies so thick as to nearly cover the sky.
I followed that road for a while, lost in thought and feeling almost relaxed for a moment, silence broken only by the heavy flow of water in the ditches. There was something to be said about the relief of being in a place that had its own problems, and the opportunity to leave mine at its impenetrable door.
Several hedgerows passed. A lonely sheep cried out in the distance. Soon, where I expected there to be another hedgerow, a low stone wall sat grumpily stuck in a low ridge. Beyond it, leaning crosses of painted blue wood sung their terminal songs. The stone chapel behind them was adorned with spectacular stained glass, the likes of which would have been at home in any cathedral. Astounded, I drew nearer.
A few final stragglers ambled away to murmurs of gratitude and reminders of ‘peace and love to all God’s creatures’. By the time I made it near the entrance, only two hushed voices remained beyond the wall. I took a step back to just where it ended and hunched down behind it, untying my boot. My goal wasn’t to spy, but I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt what was clearly an important conversation.
“Be steadfast, my son. This could be wonderful news. We’ll need all the help we can get.”
“You think the same as I, that we can trust her and enlist her?”
“Kindness is a virtue, as is vigilance. Assume the best, but be prepared for anything.” The tone and words rang of priesthood, and I had no doubt that was the good reverend everyone mentioned.
“If the mayor brought her here, I swear—”
“Save the swearing for when you stub your toes. But no, I don’t think he could have. I’ll ask Master Artjom if they let anyone out over the last few weeks, but no. I want to believe God, the Spirits, or Luck itself sent her to us.”
An awkward moment of silence followed. Shuffling noises on the gravel path.
“Let me come with you tonight.”
“I’d rather not. Negotiations are delicate and they’ve been getting agitated. Last night, I was lucky I had food on hand to offer.”
“But they are negotiating?”
“Of course. We’ll make it. You’ll see. With her help, perhaps.”
“I have a bad feeling, Father.”
“If anything goes wrong, it’ll be your turn to make the hard decisions. Until then, be patient. Be kind. Be vigilant.”
The stone was cool and damp as I pressed against it, making myself as invisible as possible, just in time to see Paul run off back toward town. He didn’t notice me crouched in the shadows, and I felt the impulse to call out to him followed by a pang of guilt, but what was done was done.
I heard the crunch of boots move into the chapel and tied my lace back up as quick as I could. I counted to ten, then rose like nothing in the world was more natural. Nobody there. Good.
Inside, candles flickered, and a cold, oppressive gloom permeated everything. My first reaction was to recoil at the familiar damp mustiness I spent so much of my childhood being lectured in. After a second, all resemblance faded. This was no ordinary chapel.
A tall, grizzled man in plain gray robes loomed over the altar, a little book in his hands, murmuring to himself. He snuck it into his robe the moment he heard my voice, which was behavior unlike that of any other reverend I’d ever known.
“Excuse me?”
“Bless you, child.” His arms opened in a welcome that his face was in no mood for. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting to welcome me just yet. In fairness, I’d be in no mood either if I had to subject my bones to that damp chill every day.
“Father—” Suddenly, my throat closed shut, and I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“You can call me Andrei if the title doesn’t feel right.”
“Is it that obvious?”
He softened and smiled. “Yes. The spiritual leader before me was a stickler for clericalism and repetition. He didn’t believe in reading from between the lines of the Good Book. Many of the townsfolk are still traumatized and shun the chapel. I have a much lighter hand.”
“Pardon my ignorance, but what denomination is this?”
“Orthodox, at the root, but grown into its own tree, I think you’ll find. A lot of our lore isn’t in any books, but God sees us, and made room for us in his garden. We have our own songs and unsongs, stories and fables. Few visitors, no judgment, and no need to give ourselves names.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced he needed that many words to say ‘cult’ but who was I to judge? After what I’d seen, it would have been absurd to expect the locals to follow any religion that didn’t include the Unspoken.
“I couldn’t help but notice your beautiful stained glass.”
At that, the smile deepened, and it seemed genuine, albeit tired. “You flatter us, my dear. It isn’t really stained glass. Well, I suppose it is, in the sense that it is glass, stained.”
He reached up to the nearest of the little windows, a magnificent study in greens and purples, and fiddled with a few latches. The entire window, wooden frame and all, came off in his hands and he brought it down for closer inspection. Left behind was only a hole in the stone wall, much like there would have been in any poorer parish.
“They are frames fitted with two panes of glass. I had them brought in by the merchant, one by one, over the years, as the town could afford it. The town supports several institutions, this chapel not highest among them.”
He presented me with the glass, and I oohed in awe.
“I made the scenes myself, with God’s guidance, and a little inspiration from friends.” He winked. “I paint them onto one glass and cover it with the second, so that the paint will be protected in the center. For a while, at least. They will outlast me, for sure.”
“It’s magnificent. Crafty, for one, but the scene itself is breathtaking.”
I was neither joking nor exaggerating. The one he had brought down was covered in detailed images of woodland, leaves picked out in hues of unearthly green and dreamlike purple, hints of creatures lurking in between the trees, and standing above them brightly backed by a yellow sun, the shadowy figure of a large herbivore with horns that branched out into a forest of their own. As he moved to replace the masterwork, I almost heard the leaves rustle.
Eleven other such windows surrounded the room, each more beautiful than the last. A blue-and-violet peacock, a woman in white seen through a dreamlike haze, and a flock of dark indigo sheep stood nearest to us. Perhaps those were the saints of that odd place.
“It is a small thing my tired old hands were permitted to do in order to bring a little brightness to this place, and teach my flock about their neighbors.” His hands on the frame were neither tired nor old-looking.
“Neighbors?”
Turning back from the glass, his face shone purple and green, and his hand touched the pocket where his book was still hidden. “You will see. Soon enough.”
He stepped into the corridor between the pews, pushing me back with his presence as he did so, a clearly strong and well-constructed country man with more than a hint of menace. I shuddered to think what this man would be like in his full fire and brimstone Sunday best.
“Speaking of our neighbors, I’m sorry to rush you away, but I’ve somewhere vital to be and can’t spare another moment. Will I see you tomorrow, for the holiday sermon?”
I was sorry to leave, but so very pleased to have been invited back. It’d been a long time since I was welcome anywhere. “Forgive me, I’ve been on the road for such a long time. I’m not sure what we’re celebrating?”
“A local tradition. You wouldn’t have heard of it. It’s the night Saint Prasila slew the Serpent. We offer tributes of milk and painted snakeskin so he will keep us safe.”
By the end of his little speech, I had one boot out on the gravel and was struggling to keep the last one indoors. There was no winning against him, though.
“Bless you, friend. Hurry along to your room before it gets dark.”
The chapel doors clanged shut between us.