The Loneliness One Dare Not Sound

[Philomena]

Winter 44, 512
Satterwhite Cemetery, Zeltiva
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The tugging was strange and irregular now, difficult to predict. Difficult to comprehend. Minnie had marked so carefully, so very, very carefully, she had gone to the places she had felt the tug, to the library, to the fountain, to the cemetery, had watched all the names come, had watched for the sweaty brows there, had followed some - the man who had swooned and vomited by the fountain, she had followed him, followed him for thirty minutes, shy in the shadows behind, afraid to talk to him, afraid to ask, had followed him to his home, where he collapsed into the door, and she had mad e mark, had drawn another line. She had felt, there, the tugging, had felt it so strong all of a sudden, that she had clambered awkwardly up a a pile of crates, to try to look around the street, to look for the pale-haired head, for the steady, straight-backed walk, had even rasped out the name, there.

"Lanie!"

No one had stopped, some had looked up at her with the pity and discomfort that she had pointed at the fevered man.

//They do not know...// she thought, //They cannot know how this is. These people, they are dying unto death. I am like the "Lady in Shayaloen":

I drink the draught, and lay me down,
To die, now, unto life!//

Tonight, the tugging was more faint. She stood in the peristyle of the temple , shivering over the frozen Koi pond, closing her eyes, swaying gently, trying to recapture the feel of it.

"Lanie… Lanie… Lanie, I can't find you, where are you…"

She wheedled the words in a voice that hummed nasally out into a a piercing whistle of sound.

A Nuit, one of those who kept the place came forward behind her, a flat faced spiritist whom Minnie had never seen.

"Miss… you are seeking a spirit of the dead?"

Minnie turned, her eyes frightened and wild, a gasp in her throat. The man stared at her, his black tongue tripping across his teeth and lips as he spoke, and she quivered. The hall was dark, for it was very, very late. There was none to hear. A thrill of fear shot through her.

"No! No… no, the living!"

The Nuit almost looked surprised, "You are, perhaps, in the wrong place then. If there were a living soul here, we would know it. As we knew you were here."

Minnie shook her head, but said nothing, closing her eyes, ignoring him again, trying to find the thread of that tug. She felt it, quivering - was she moving? Did she walk away? She felt the web of death, of infection, and lifted her hands, in the dark of her shut eyes, as if laying her fingers on the gossamer threads of it… there… there, the vibration calling to her, like a fly who sough a spider.

A hand lay on her shoulder, and her eyes flew open. The Nuit. She had forgotten he was there.

"What is it, miss?"

Minnie turned, her braids jerking as she did so, and stared at the Nuit. He looked almost compassionate.

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm fine."

"You were crying out. This Liney? Is she who you seek here?"

She frowned, confused, reached a hand and touched her lips. Had they moved? Had her throat given voice? She could not remember speaking.

"Lanie… I… Lanie."

"Mortal, you must go home. You are not well. There is no business in the house of the dead for you, tonight."

Minnie frowned, shook her head, back and forth, back forth, slowly, methodically, forgetting for a moment what she was even thinking of, only knowing the way her brain sloshed gently in her skull, as she shook her head.

"Miss! Wake up! Listen to me, where do you come from? You are from East STreet? From the docks? I can send for someone for you?"

"The University. I … Lanie!"

She felt the tug, it was faint, but it felt real, and sudden, and it choked the name from her breast.

It was not Lanie, though, it was another Nuit, a woman this time. It made her think of The Evalin, though this Nuit had a low, dark body, too rotted, and too coarse for her to imagine the Evalin taking it.

"Hakkar, who is this woman? What is she doing in the graveyard?" the intonations of the voice were wrong, too - old, ancient, like The Evalin, but low, and practical, like a peasant woman buying onions.

"Damina, she has been her for two hours. We have been watching her. She is not well, she should not be here."

The woman nodded, looking coldly at Minnie, "She should be taken away. We do not need women dying here, it would bring the Living to be frightened of us."

"She says she is from the University."

"Very well. Take her there. To the infirmary. I will take the watch here for now. Take her to Mistress Claira, she will be there tonight I suspect."

"Of course, Damina."

"Remind her, won't you? She still owes me a chance to play fiddle aside her violoncello."

"Yes, Damina."

Minnie heard this, conceived of the statements they were making, but the shiver of place was gone, the web had melted. When there were so many people, it always melted it, part of her thought, perhaps, that is why she had come, and come now, in the deeps of night, to this place, because she knew it would be quiet, and still. There was no more to be done tonight, she had not concentrated hard enough. The complex web still tugged at her, and she had not found the spider yet. But when! When!