(Exhaustion — Responsibility — Distrust — Guilt — Compassion — Duty — Descent)
~~~ are used for changing the perception of vision (POV)
••• denotes flashback
*** denotes time skip
** denotes background sounds
… denotes silence
-x-X-x-
~~~
Miss Hornet.
She came awake with a gasp, head snapping up, neck protesting the motion. Blinked. The room assembled itself around her—lamplight, the tray on the table, the pallet.
She'd nearly gone under.
She muttered something to herself and it had edges to it but flew away before it finished forming. Just a child at the door. A small head, a small claw gripping the frame, one eye visible through the gap.
Hornet gestured. Come in, then.
She turned her head.
The Hollow Knight was already looking at her.
She let the breath go and turned back to the child.
She'd nearly fallen asleep in the same room as them. The silk threads still wound their frame to the bed-frame. She'd checked the knots three times over two days. They were holding each time, which was not the same as sure. Sure was not a word she applied to anything presently, least of all to something that had driven her shoulder open with a nail and bruised and swelled her chest with a headbutt. The shoulder still pulled wrong when she reached across her body. The place beneath ached low with each breath, a reminder that the mending had been rough and recent.
He was a small thing, short even for his age, with a body broad through the middle and a shell the colour of old cream. Two thin antennae drooped from his head, forever bending toward the ground. He spoke little outside the company of his parents. When addressed by strangers, he lowered his head and drew his shoulders inward. He had a habit of standing behind doorframes, peering around them with one dark eye, ready to disappear at the first sign of trouble.
She still couldn't remember his name.
What is it?
Mama wants to talk to you.
Right. She couldn't stay here all day beside the half-dead Pure Vessel. She had other things. She had always had other things.
Let me guess, she started, and glanced sidelong at the pallet.
The Hollow Knight sat at full guard. They hadn't shifted since she last looked. The silk threads lay slack. She took a quiet breath, briefly shut her eyes, pressed two claw-tips beneath her mask and rubbed them across her face, then withdrew and looked at the child again.
She nodded. I'm coming.
She stood. Checked the tray from across the room. Linen cloths, scalpel, the other instruments exactly placed. Nothing disturbed. Good.
Go. Tell your mother I'm coming.
Yes, Miss Hornet.
…
Out of the room and the door closed behind them with a click. The child stood in the hall looking at her. She looked at her Nail leaning against the wooden drawer beside the door. Picked it up and settled it at her back.
Child.
Yes? I mean—yes, Miss Hornet.
She opened her mouth. Stopped.
What had she been going to say to a child at this hour.
She took a moment. Swallowed.
Is your father in bed?
Yes.
And your mother is beside him.
The child nodded. Mama said Pa needed more of that Mooncap pol—polu—Politense.
Mooncap Poultice.
Uhh… Yea.
I'm on my way, then.
Oh. Okay.
…
Okay, bye-bye.
She watched him go. A blue cloak on his back—not the one Iselda had made for him.
Mooncap Poultice. Cornifer again. The mushrooms grew in the fungal passages of Greenpath, and they didn't keep well once cut. She'd be going underground before the day was out.
She put the tray in the drawer and went.
The hall of the house creaked under her feet despite the care she took. Every board had its particular voice and she'd learned all of them by now. She stepped through the door the child had left open and came out into Dirtmouth.
The sky was pale and sunless. The narrow street ran between its little houses, stone walls grey with age, wooden doors shut against the cold that came off the cliffs. Dry ground, sparse grass in the joints between stones. The bench sat empty beneath the open sky. Nothing moved along the street.
The houses were intact. Their walls hadn't fallen, their roofs hadn't caved in. They seemed smaller than they were, she had noticed this before, standing beneath the cliffs that walled the village in on three sides. The windows were dark. Dust before the doors lay undisturbed. Down the road the ground sloped toward the entrance and the dark waited there, rising cold from the kingdom beneath.
She stood and looked.
Houses enough for a hundred lives. A well. A bench. A road. A kingdom under her feet. Six left to use any of it. The rest were tombs with doors.
She counted what needed doing. The family. The Confessor. The streetlamp. She thought about the order.
Confessor first, before going underground. She wouldn't always catch her home. The woman had her own work—those rituals she performed, which Hornet did not ask about and was not entirely sure she wanted answered. Best to speak with her before disappearing into Greenpath for however long the mushrooms took to find again.
She started walking.
Ah. Princess protector Hornet.
She stopped.
The bug before her was stout and pale, small antennae, a walking stick he used as a cane now. Standing in her path the way he had probably planned to stand in her path.
Hornet is fine, she said.
Whatever you wish, princess.
She hadn't held that title in years. The mention of it still tightened at the corner of her mouth. She moved to step around him. He shifted. She stopped.
May I ask, she said, why you're blocking my way.
He adjusted the cane before answering. Is that how you speak to your elders?
You're not my elder. You're just fragile now.
That I am. But where you heading, princess?
She looked at him. He had the composure of someone who'd spent decades in rooms where other people were afraid of him. He was not stupid. He was not slow. The cane was recent and she wasn't convinced it was as necessary as he made it appear.
What do I get from telling you, Sly?
He looked at his cane. Thinking, or performing thinking—with him the two ran close. Maybe, he said at last, assistance?
I'm not a wanderer. I've been holding these lands together alone for years. You know the answer.
Okay, okay. No mercy even for an old bug. I was just asking. Being friendly.
And there it was. She let the smile come, the kind that wasn't.
I don't need your friendliness. She paused. I have something to say to the Confessor.
Sly looked at her. Then he pointed east. Saw her heading home, as you wanted to know.
She gave one nod.
He stepped aside.
She passed him. Thanks, she said, and didn't look back.
See you, princess traveller.
She heard his feet on the road, moving toward his shop. That sly little—she kept walking.
She rehearsed nothing on the way there. She would ask how she was. Then apologise. Then the rest.
The Confessor came around the side of her building just as Hornet arrived. Small, unhurried, eyes down on something in her claws.
Hey!
The Confessor didn't look up. Went through the door.
Hey—Confessor Jiji.
The door closed.
Hornet slowed. Stood outside. Knocked. Realised the door was ajar. She put her head through.
Come in, Hornet.
So she had seen her. Hornet went in.
Cramped inside, and shadowy. Warmer than the street. Candles on every flat surface, their light the colour of old butter. Jiji sat facing away, her blackish turban catching the glow, the reddish-brown of her robe gone nearly black in the dim, its yellow lining showing at the hem where she'd turned. Both claws raised slightly, summoning—there. A shade replica of Little Ghost, turning slow in the space between Jiji's palms like something caught in a current.
Hornet watched it for a moment.
How've you been? she managed.
Well, Jiji said.
Are you sure?
Too short. Jiji usually called visitors by many names. That was her way. She wasn't doing it now.
Your face still hurts, Hornet said.
You are quite observant, Silk Maiden.
Hornet moved closer. Set her Nail against the wall.
I'm sorry. For what happened. Both for my brother and for myself.
Hornet fell silent. The title came a moment later, too late to undo what she'd said. The Hollow Knight.
Thank you.
Still careful.
I wanted you to know, I'm going to Greenpath. Cornifer needs the mushrooms again. I thought if I told you beforehand—
Jiji hummed. By the time you return, I'll be done with my work. I'm glad you told me.
I'm sorry if I've been pressuring you.
No, Silk Maiden. A small sound—almost a laugh, but not quite. At least these two get to stay in practice. She raised her claws again, slightly. The gesture that meant her tools. Her claws.
Hornet offered a quiet sound in return. Then, because the question sat there and she couldn't leave it:
Are you comfortable—with the Hollow Knight. Still.
Yes.
Jiji hadn't let her finish. That was new too.
Even after what happened?
Yes.
You don't want to quit?
No.
Why. Hornet kept her voice level. You don't have to force yourself.
I'm not straining myself, Silk Maiden.
Then why do you want to help so badly?
I don't know.
The candles moved. Little Ghost made one slow turn in the lamplight.
Oh, Hornet said. Okay.
Silence in the room, the good kind, the kind Jiji had always been skilled at making.
Enough of me, Jiji said. How are you?
I'm fine. I spoke with Sly. He told me you were home.
How generous of you both.
Something shifted in her—a lightening around the posture. Then she tilted her head. Small motion. Considering.
You look stressed, Silk Maiden. And you said I carry too much.
How can you tell.
Years of service, Jiji said simply. I'm learning to look through masks.
Hornet said nothing.
Even if what lies beneath is ugly?
Even then. Jiji moved slightly. You should rest your body and mind. At the end of these low days, it is what we have left.
I'll take your advice.
You will.
After I'm done for the day.
Jiji's mouth opened. Closed. She kept the thought to herself.
I'll see you later, then.
Farewell, Silk Maiden. Be careful down there.
I know.
Hornet stepped outside.
But farewell, Confessor. Keep your instruments somewhere they canq't get in the wrong hands.
Of course, Jiji said.
The door. The cold air. The street again, the smell of it—something close to those infected husks, but not quite. Dry stone beneath it, and a faint, stale sweetness that the chill carried up from the kingdom below. Hornet breathed it in. Took stock. She knew the difference.
Family needed the mushrooms. Mushrooms were in Greenpath. Greenpath was below. The lamp could wait—she'd find pale butterflies underground before she came back up. She'd give the poultice to Jiji for preparation. Then Iselda. Then the Hollow Knight. Then the lamp.
The Hollow Knight.
Her claw came up to her chest without her deciding to do it. She pressed it there once, felt the ache beneath, and lowered it.
She turned back.
Just a look. Quick. She rounded the house and came to the back window, low under the eaves. She went up on her silk, the thread catching the roofline, and hung there and looked through.
The back of their head. Smooth shell and cracked, the shape nearly hers and not quite—the crown different, the tips of the horns where they'd snapped. They faced the door. They hadn't found this window. They probably would eventually. Not today.
She held that for a breath.
Then she let herself down and crossed to the well. The rim was worn smooth. The chain hung inside it, going down into the dark where some of the lower lights still held. She couldn't see the bottom. Didn't need to. The bucket was down there somewhere. Broken, probably, from the drop. She'd manage.
She put one foot on the rim. Closed her eyes. Kept her Nail close.
Let us go, then.
She took the chain and went down.
The Forgotten Crossroads.