the lost heartbeats
golden ones
so fiercely burning
hearts regretting,
falling, yearning
Pairing: Marisa Coulter x Asriel Belacqua
Short summary: A heartbeat tells a story, but when it skips, it writes a novel. Just a little something to recount the moments two people with the steadiest heartbeats felt their hearts fall (aka me sobbing over every parent moment ever). Pre-canon and canon Masriel.
Word count: ~ 1600
I am not sorry, this is for my feral heretical parents & lovers 💔
~ 1 ~
It happens in the most unfascinating way possible, over dinner, when they find themselves sat across each other at the table. A young man hurries to his place, and something in the way he carries himself, pressing the all-too-new jacket to his chest while listening on the go, tells her he's used to being late to everything. He sits. He looks at her.
Her husband is by her right side and she feels the need to tug at his arm, and tug again, and quietly say 'Edward, take me away, please', then add 'I'll do something terrible if you don't'. In her mind, she does that. She goes to their room and doesn't give another thought to the young man with blue eyes so fierce as though he'd just stepped in from the cruel blizzard. In reality, her heart stops - at the faint, yet painful loss this prospect sets in her. She's somewhere between intrigued and instantly infatuated. She doesn't know his name. What foolishness.
He sits, and he forgets to listen. Someone very important is speaking about something very important, and he vaguely remembers that he'd put a lot of efforts into getting here. He wanted to listen. He forgets how to. The young woman in front of him is staring in a way people give you a side-glance just before taking their eyes off of you, yet she doesn't. Nor does he want her to. His chest is like a stone wrapped tightly in his ridiculous suit. Just for a moment, he can't breathe. Then it comes again, the familiar steady beats against the rib cage. He suddenly chokes at the free-fall emptiness preceeding them.
He doesn't fully realize where that skipped heartbeat went. It's lost somewhere between 'Edward Coulter's wife' and 'Marisa, my love', and he later finds that he had never truly reclaimed it. She stole it. He gave it away gladly. And then, again, later - when he tells a stupid joke to her husband and sees laughter in her eyes, and her dark hair shine with soft golden gleams like the fur of her monkey daemon.
He comes too late, as always, and she's already a Mrs. Neither of them stops at the obstacle.
~ 2 ~
Lyra is born, and she is everything like her father, and nothing like her mother's husband. Marisa will never admit that, but when she's holding her daughter in her sinful arms, prepared to reject her, she suddenly shudders at the thought. She falls, with a heart bursting out of the chest. It forgets to beat properly. Her daemon, exhausted just like her, looks at the child in helpless admiration.
Asriel once told her that, should she want it, he'd fight for that child. He would rise and fight anything, anyone, with all his ferocity. There's always so much fight in him. She almost regrets refusing his offer.
Lyra is sleeping, while her mother, despite all her best efforts, is falling in love with her. It's like being plunged into a bottomless pit. Marisa thinks that, if that little bundle opened her eyes now and sweetly asked her to jump in an abyss, she would. She would jump in them all.
'Pantalaimon,' she whispers to the tiny mouse, clutching at her daughter's chest. Means, merciful. She's going to need all mercy after what she's about to do.
~ 3 ~
Giving Lyra away strains at her heart the same as being separated from her daemon. The same as with her daemon, Marisa doesn't show pain. Doesn't mean it's not there, in the glassy calm eyes and a thin arhythmic beating of her heart.
Asriel is furious with her, she knows, and yet he doesn't have time for their daughter either. He forbids the Master of the Jordan College to let Marisa in. She pretends she doesn't care, he pretends he doesn't give a damn about her not caring. They both hurt. Neither of them hurts enough to get them off their magnificent ambitious paths.
~ 4 ~
It's the worst in Bolvangar. Her dark, truly northern heart, cold through and through, simply stops at the sound of Lyra's voice.
A mother couldn't bear it. Marisa Coulter can, because she was late for motherhood just like Asriel was late for that dinner, but still, between the realization and the frantic salvation of her own child, there is nothing in her chest. Heartbeat - lost. Maybe it leapt out to Lyra. Maybe it left her actual, physical body for just a moment. She wouldn't be surprised. That girl was greedy. She loved that girl with everything she had.
That missed hearbeat feels like falling towards a sure, inevitable break.
~ 5 ~
Asriel loses his heartbeats, too. When she refuses to join him, his chest explodes inwards. He wanted her to say yes. When she paused before the answer, he already knew.
He hoped Marisa would see through him when he threatened her, and his giant, steady heart, that kept him going through snowstorms and the wilderness, stumbled helplessly when he realized that she had seen through him, indeed, but chose to stay. He felt untethered. She stood there with his heartbeat bleeding off her fingertips and looked at him like she had always done, with her constant, unbending 'Asriel, no...' dried silently on her lips. Strange how he didnt recognize the taste.
He wanted to ask for this heartbeat back. This one, she stole.
Though if he was being honest with himself, he still gave it to her gladly.
~ 6 ~
Bolvangar was not, in fact, the worst. The worst is when Marisa looks at her daughter, feeling Lyra's primal fear of her, and can't find another way to protect her except by hurting her even worse.
'Let us go,' Lyra whispers, half-asleep, because that's the thought that comes to her first when she regains consciousness. That's where they are at. Her own daughter hates her enough to beg for her freedom.
But I remember the day you were born, Marisa wants to say, blinking the raging tears away, as if it would change anything. I remember holding you, I remember loving you, I'm not as awful as you think. I'm not a monster. I love you. It's my way of loving you. She bites it right at her lips, crushing bitter words before they ever leave her mouth. Her maternal love is like barbed wire. Cuts both of them. She doesn't know how to stop.
Her heart falls silent for a fraction of a second every time Lyra looks at her with suffering, pleading eyes.
~ 7 ~
'We should have married, and brought her up ourselves.'
He blinks at the thought. She says something else, continues talking, and eventually, he manages to reply, but his mind is still caught. They should have. The should have, a relentless echo. There's a lot they should have done. They should have done everything. Her hair catch a billion tiny fires from the light, and she looks so tired, so pale and tired. He remembers the night they met, and how he thought, hungrily, joyfully: this is it. She's the one. He looks at Marisa now and still thinks the same, only with sudden doom. He wants to break something. He wants to touch her hair.
His beastly heart misses a beat, and it's like Stelmaria's claws. He looks at Marisa. He doesn't know how to say that she's right. Should-haves and what-ifs hang heavily in the air. Thorns everywhere. They can't untangle them.
~ 8 ~
Every second beat now, sometimes even every first. He thinks, he'll die. Crushing blows keep pouring down on his head and shoulders. No one can be that desperate and still alive.
Too many at once now. Heartbeats flooding out of him, and when Asriel gains enough consciouseness to understand that, he doesn't want them to go in vain. If anything, they should go to her.
'Marisa! Marisa!'
I loved you. I love you still. I'm scared. I was wrong. He doesn't care about his war anymore, nor about the angel trying to shake him down to rise and kill his daughter. Their daughter. He's just crying out her name. There's no more powerful an authority for him, than her name. He should have known that earlier.
Another beat lost. Young Mrs. Coulter laughs at his joke with her eyes, arm at her husband's elbow, beautiful hair he wants to dishevel gleam in the soft light, and he knows he's won. He knows he won't let go. He mustn't.
And for her, he doesn't.
~ 9 ~
She jumps. And it is all worth it, because, as a very wise man once told her, her life is, too, worth a mere one-tenth of her daughter's. Even less. Much less, if she's honest. Her heart falters.
One beat. She knew that abyss would find her from the day she held Lyra in her arms. She has no regrets.
Two beats. Forever falling, next to Asriel. Almost comforting. His hands are bloody and spasmed with effort. She touches them briefly as they fall.
Three beats. Young Asriel Belacqua sits across from her, and his eyes are piercing blue like she's never seen before. They will fight, she knows it even then. And she wants it anyway. In a way, they have been falling together ever since.
Four beats. Lyra's face. Her daemon holding out his paw. It allows one painful, shattering thrust into her heart. She wants to call Asriel's name to tell him that it's alright, that they did well, or just to feel his name on her tongue; but can't.
And, after that, no count is needed, because all heartbeats are lost and fall eternally around them.
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Sanchez & Scoresby
Chapter Two: Ma
Fandom: His Dark Materials
Wordcount: 4.5k
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, funeral
The Gyptians travel across the North in search of their missing children
Read on AO3
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m cold, Lee.” Kit bites out, her shoulders shuddering.
“Hell, Kit, I can’t control the weather.” Lee replies, and Kit pulls a hand out of a pocket to hit his arm with. She sidesteps so that she bumps into Lee and stays there as she walks, hoping to leech some of his body heat. Eli, sitting on the balloon as it’s dragged along, curls into a tighter ball as Hester shuffles closer to him.
“I’m not cold.” Lyra interjects.
“We’re from Texas, kiddo, we ain’t made for the cold.”
“Isn’t the wind cold up in the sky?”
“That’s a dry cold, the wind. Down here, it’s damp cold.”
“Why aren’t you up in the balloon now?”
“Savin’ it for when it’s needed.” Lee answers.
“Wouldn’t it be useful to have a view of what’s ahead?” Lyra asks. Pan hops up onto the folded-up balloon to nose around Eli’s head.
“We have.” Lee points upwards. Serafina Pekkela’s daemon, Kaisa, has been following them since they left Trollesund. Lee’s free fingers close around Kit’s wrist, “A witch’s daemon is a better eye in the sky than I’ll ever be. A witch would be even better.”
“Drop it, Lee.” Kit mutters.
“Mr Scoresby-” Lyra starts.
“Call me Lee.”
“We’re going to win this one, aren’t we? We’re going to get those children back?”
“Well, if I was a bettin’ man, I’d say no. And I am a bettin’ man. If I was Kit, I’d say yes because she’s stubborn. And I can tell by your face that you want me to say yes, so...yes.”
“You’re not an easy man to like, you know that, Lee?”
“So people tell me. But Hester likes me, Kit likes me. That’s something.”
“Hester don’t count, she don’t have a choice.” Eli mumbles, earning a hard stare from the hare.
“Why do you travel together, Miss Sanchez?” Lyra asks.
“Kit.” Kit corrects her.
“Kit.”
“We grew up together, kiddo. We were next-door-neighbours and our fathers were friends. Either we got on or we’d end up murdering each other, and he isn’t dead yet.”
“Hell, Kit, you’re makin’ me blush.” Lee says, in the hope it’ll make Kit smile, and it does.
“We left home together, been flyin’ ever since.”
“Why did you leave?” Lyra asks, and in a second she knows this was the wrong question to ask. They stop smiling and they break apart. Kit shoves her hands back into her pockets and Eli jumps down from the balloon’s sled.
“I’m going to go see if there’s any bread floatin’ around.” She announces before marching forward, her daemon bounding after her. Lee shakes his head.
“You ask a lotta questions, Lyra. They’re not always good ones.” It’s all he says before he takes off after Kit. She hears Lyra call an apology before Lee catches up with her.
***
Lee, of course and exactly as Kit expects, disappears the moment he’s needed to help put tents up, leaving Kit with a contraption neither she nor her daemon have ever understood. She’s trying to palm the task off to someone else, reaching Ma Costa and her elder son at the same moment Lyra does. Ma’s younger son, Billy, is one of the children taken by the Gobblers.
“Tony, look after the food.” Ma tells her son so she can turn her full attention to Lyra.
“I’ll burn it.” Tony tells her.
“I don’t care.”
“I’ll watch it.” Kit offers, crouching beside Tony and shoving the tent pack at him, “If you put up my tent. Food for shelter.” She takes cooking utensils from Ma and pokes at whatever stew is in the pot while Tony, grumbling to his daemon, marches away with the tent. Seal stew, probably, Kit thinks. Iorek had caught one earlier that day to use the blubber for armour polish and the Gyptians are not a wasteful people. Another advantage of helping Ma now is that Kit will be able to hear what Lyra’s saying to her, what she’s planning. Too many things in the world are revolving around this little girl for Kit to ignore.
“What do you think might be in this village?” Ma Costa asks the young girl.
“I’m not sure, but it might be some sort of ghost, I think. Something awful has happened there.” Lyra’s trying to explain as best she can. How she knows this, Kit has no idea...she’ll have to ask Farder Coram. He’s more likely to answer than John Faa.
“Why’s this ghost important?” Ma asks.
“I don’t know, but it might be a vital clue. It might help me find Roger and Billy.” Billy, Ma’s son. Roger, a kitchen boy from Oxford Lyra had known all her life. She’d told Kit and Lee all about Roger before she’d started asking questions.
“You’re asking me to trust you over-”
“No. No, I’m not. I’m asking you to trust this.” Lyra pulls out an odd, flat box that looks like it might be made of gold. The glint of it catches Kit’s attention, and Eli’s eyes follow it. Kit can understand what Ma Costa is saying. Lyra’s asking her to go against the person she trusts most, her leader. How this little box would sway her…
“You ask a lot. I need to think.”
***
Night falls quickly in the North. Tony, bless him, had done a good job with the tent, setting it next to where Ma and Lyra would be sleeping. Kit and Lee lean against their tent, a donated blanket around their shoulders as they pass a tin bowl of stew to each other between spoonfuls. Eli is curled up on the snow between Kit’s feet, and she can feel the chill of it on her back. Ma Costa and Lyra are lying on their stomachs in the mouth of their tent, talking to Serafina Pekkela’s daemon Kaisa.
“D’you know what an alethiometer is, Lee?” Kit speaks slowly, watching the fire crackling between the tents.
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Lyra’s got one. She talks about it, it’s what makes Coram and Faa trust her.” Kit explains. “Must be that little gold box she’s got…” Her voice trails off and her head tilts back a little.
“You’re thinkin’ too much, Kit. We’re here to get the kids, get paid and fly away.”
“I dunno, Lee. I gotta feelin’ about her. Lyra.”
“Like a premonition?”
“I don’t get premonitions, Lee.”
“Well, what kinda feeling?”
“There’s something about her. The Gyptians think she’s important. I think the witches do too.”
“The witches?” Lee asks as a weight tips onto his shoulder. Kit’s head.
“A witch wouldn’t send her daemon to tail us for days if we didn’t have something she wanted.”
“And you think that thing is Lyra?” Lee asks. He doesn’t get an answer. “Kit?” Her legs fall to the side, bumping into his. She’s fallen asleep. He lifts his hat off his head and places it over Kit’s face to prevent the light of the fire from waking her up and takes the empty tin bowl from her hand. When the aeronaut next looks at the fire, Ma Costa and Lyra have wriggled into their tent, as have many of the other Gyptians. Kaisa is still perched in the same place, his eyes fixed on the sleeping Kit.
***
The next day, as the Gyptians make their way up a snowless hill, the sky is a beautifully clear blue. Perfect flying weather. Lee and Kit are shouldering the balloon sled up the hill.
“Authority above, when are we gonna get a lunch?” Lee asks the clouds.
“You just had breakfast, Scoresby. Or did Lyra nick it again?”
“You’re a real comedian, you know that, Sanchez?”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.” Kit tells him.
“I’m just going to-”
“You’re just going to keep pushing the damn balloon, Lee Scoresby, you ain’t leavin’ me with it like you did yesterday.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“I knew your ma, that is a compliment.” Kit laughs. She watches Lyra, Lord Faa and Iorek talking as she and Lee pass with the balloon, but her gaze drifts past them to another well-respected Gyptian. “Eli, go and talk to Farder Coram, tell him I wanna speak with him when we make camp.”
“About that feeling?” Lee asks.
“Something like that.”
***
Kit takes perhaps a little too much pleasure in dropping the tent in Lee’s arms and marching towards Farder Coram. He smiles a little when he sees her, though there’s sadness in his eyes.
“What is it you wish to ask, child?”
“Lyra talks about an alethiometer. She says it’s what told her about this ghost in the fishing village. Thing is, Farder, I don’t rightly know what an alethiometer is and I’d like to find out.”
“I expected this. There were only ever six alethiometers made. The Magesterium has one, Lyra another. The whereabouts of the other four are unknown. An alethiometer is a truth-teller. There are...symbols around its circumference. You ask it a question and it answers using those symbols.”
“Then why is it so special that Lyra can understand it?”
“Alethiometers take a long time to understand, Miss Sanchez. Only a certain few can read them, and it takes years of study and isolation for the device to talk to them. Even then, hours are usually spent trying to decipher what the symbols mean. Lyra is special because she hasn’t done any of that study and she has no guide to it, but she can communicate with it perfectly.”
“I’m guessin’ no one’s ever done that before.” Kit pushes her hands into her pockets as her fingers grow icy again.
“You would be right to guess that.” Farder Coram nods.
“And that’s why y’all trust her so much.” Kit decides, “Why you’re letting her go to the village.”
“We can’t afford to turn all of the Gyptians around.”
“I understand, but she can’t go alone.”
“Iorek Byrnison is going with her.” Fard Coram is watching Kit expectantly, waiting for her judgement on this.
“Iorek’s the best protection she could have.” Kit nods, “We can hold until they return.”
“They’ll be leaving soon, I advise you say your goodbyes.” Farder Coram tells her, tapping his hat in farewell as he stamps through the snow away from her. From what Serafina Pekkela had told him the night before, Kit Sanchez was the next best thing to the armoured bear, though she hadn’t told him why.
Kit reaches Lyra and Iorek at the same time Lee does.
“What happened to the tent?” She asks, noting the ceramic mug in his hand.
“Tony’s doing it.”
“Tony did it yesterday!”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna miss this. Iorek’s first ride!” If Iorek could roll his eyes like a human, he would.
“I’m not heavy.” Lyra assures the bear.
“I’m not a horse.” Iorek counters. Lee is trying to disguise a laugh with his mug, but Iorek sees it.
“Kid, promise me this alethiometer thingy isn’t lying to you.” Lee says.
“It can’t. Tells the truth, don’t it, Lyra?” Kit cuts in, and Lyra nods.
“I trust it too.” Iorek agrees, outnumbering Lee’s doubts.
“Ghosts, I heard. You’re going to find a ghost?” He asks.
“Think so.” Lyra answers.
“Is that a sensible thing to do, look for ghosts?”
“I’ve never heard Lee Scoresby talk about being sensible before.” Iorek remarks, and this time it’s Kit that laughs. Lee laughs, but sarcastically, elbowing Kit.
“Kit?” Lyra asks, pulling the woman’s attention to her, “I’m sorry for asking questions.”
“Kiddo, you did nothing wrong, hear me? Ask as many questions as you like.” Kit pulls a yellow scarf from around her neck, “Now, you’re going to a fishing village. Be careful on the ice, I don’t want you fallin’ through.” Kit’s voice has hardened now. This isn’t just a suggestion. “And take this,” Kit hands her scarf to the girl, “Wrap it around your head. You’ll be able to see through it, but it’ll keep the cold and ice and stones out.”
“And don’t leave Iorek.” Lee adds, aiming a finger at Lyra, “There’s Tartars out there.”
“I will bring her back.” Iorek assures them, lifting a paw to help Lyra climb aboard. “I won’t be gentle.” He warns her.
“You two be good to each other, alright? Be careful.” Lee calls after them as Iorek pads away. Neither of them take their eyes off the bear. “You do like her, that was your favourite scarf. I got you that.”
“I’m not the only one going soft, Lee.” Kit points out quietly. Eli’s tail wraps around her ankle. Kit shakes her head. “Now, where is that sweater? I’ve been wearing it for three days but this morning it was gone…” Lee’s hand goes up to the back of his neck to try and hide the high neck of the jumper he’s wearing under his jacket, but Kit catches it, “Lee Scoresby, you-”
***
Kit pulls the sleeve of her newly-retrieved jumper over her hand to take a pot off the fire. It’s been a long, long time since she’s had eggs of any kind, and she’s rather looking forward to it.
“They’re just eggs, Kit. Boiled eggs.” Eli reminds her.
“Oh shush, you’re excited too.”
“Excited? Over eggs?”
“Yes, Eli, over eggs.” Kit tells him, pushing herself up to scoop the pair of eggs out of the pan. She drops them in the snow and rolls them around for a moment until they’re cool enough for her to pick up and chip away at. “I’m happy, I can be excited. I’m happy here. With Lee and Iorek and the Gyptians. And Lyra.” It sounds like she’s trying to justify something. There’s a niggling, familiar voice in the back of her head.
“It feels nice, don’t it? Having more than just Lee?”
“But that’s selfish…” The end of Kit’s sentence trails off. Eli lets the silence hang for a moment before he stretches out on the snow, wriggling contentedly.
“I like it here too, Kit. Ma is a good person. They’re all good people. Good pay, good food, a good cause and good people. You don’t have to feel bad for enjoying that.” Eli rolls over onto his back to stare up at the stars, but Kit has all but forgotten her boiled egg. The odd little fizzy feeling of excitement has dissipated. She feels guilty and Eli is trying to counteract that. Eli rolls back over, rubs his head into Kit’s hand. “Eat your eggs, Kit. Eggs are good too.”
Kit starts peeling at the shell of her egg again, her breath steaming in the cold air. Her nose feels like a marble of ice, and she shifts so that she sits on top of her feet. Around her, all the other Gyptians have settled down to their own dinners. She doesn’t know where Lee’s gone, and Lyra and Iorek are still gone. Kit is alone with her soul. Neither she or her daemon speak as Kit eats her hard-boiled eggs, but her eyes are burning with unshed tears.
Maybe an hour after Kit is finished eating, she’s still sitting in the same spot, her eyes still hot and stingy. Her eyes have been fixed on a distant tent for half an hour or more, but she doesn’t realise it. One of her feet has fallen asleep. The stumps where her right pinkie and left index fingers should be ache more than the rest of her, but she takes no notice. Takes no notice of anything until a new feeling washes over her. Something not unlike dread.
“Ma!” Kit is on her feet in a moment, stumbling towards where Ma Costa and Tony are huddled around their fire.
“Kit? Kit, have you been-”
“Is Lyra back yet?” Kit blurts.
“No, no, she-”
“Where’s Lord Faa? Where’s Kaisa?”
“Kit?” Hester’s voice. Hester. Relief for a brief moment, “Kit, what’s happened?” Hester asks, hopping closer to Eli. His ears are flat, his tail bushed out.
“Something’s wrong. I need to speak to Kaisa!” Kit yells the last part into the night, knowing that wherever the witch’s daemon is, he’ll hear her.
“Kit, what the hell-” Lee’s caught up with Hester.
“Something’s wrong. I don’t know, I don’t…” She can’t form the words. She hears the flap of wings. “Kaisa, tell me-”
“I feel it too, child.”
“Feel what, for star’s sake?” Lee demands as Ma rises to her feet.
“Something’s wrong, and it’s coming this way.”
A bird call pierces through the heavy, uncomfortable silence that had fallen, and all heads turn. Iorek is back. Lyra is back. And…
“Billy? Is that my Billy!” Ma’s already crying as a little boy who can’t be more than seven is helped down from Iorek’s back. “Where’s Ratter, where’s his daemon? Is that my Billy?” The boy wobbles when he’s set onto his feet. “Billy, where’s Ratter?” The boy falls as Kit’s heart drops. Billy Costa has no daemon.
Deafening silence fills Kit’s ears as Ma lifts her younger son, carries him into a tent. Her sobs are the only sound to be heard. Everyone else has been stuck dumb by the shock of it. Everyone but Lee. Lyra had tried to go after Ma and Tony, but he’d stopped her. Kit doesn’t hear what he says, doesn’t hear anything until Lyra speaks,
“He was...he was without his daemon. Like a ghost.” Lyra’s voice is brittle, as if she’s already been crying, “The alethiometer was right. It was like...like he wasn’t there. Like he couldn’t even hear me.” Lyra. Lyra is too young for this.
“This must be what they do, this is what they take.” Lee says. His voice is level, but Hester’s ears are quivering. Eli is standing stock-still, like his human.
“It’s horrible.” Lyra croaks out.
“It’s worse than death.” Kit says the words without thinking.
“Why would they take someone’s daemon?”
“It’s about control, isn’t it? Because if you can remove someone’s soul, you can do anything.” Lee explains, still calm while Kit’s shoulders are inching their way up to her ears, her hands balling into fists. That burning feeling behind her eyes is back. She doesn’t ever register Iorek shuffling away. “Hey. You did a brave thing, kid. A good thing. I am proud of you.” Lee tells her. This is what makes Kit turn. She crouches in front of Lyra, holding onto her hands.
“You did the right thing, Lyra. You found Billy. You will find Roger. Lee’s right to be proud of you. I am too. You did good. Now we’re going to get you into the tent and get you warmed up, alright?” Kit sniffs loudly, waits for Lyra to nod before she stands again. Kit keeps her hands on Lyra’s shoulder as she guides her away.
***
Lee doesn’t want to wake either of them up. Wishes he didn’t have to. Eli lies at Lyra’s feet, curled around stoat-formed Pan. He can’t see Lyra’s face, but Kit always looks at her most peaceful asleep. He knows that there are tear tracks on both of their faces. Kit had been near tears before Lyra had come back, but when Lee had asked why, all she’d said was, “Eggs.”
“Kit. Kit. C’mon, Kit.”
“I don’t want to.” Kit replies, her face screwing up.
“You gotta.”
“Shit.”
“Yep.”
Kit has never experienced a Gyptian funeral before, and she wishes she didn’t have to experience this one. Billy Costa had been seven years old. He didn’t stand a chance out there on his own. Lee and Kit stand, watching, waiting, as Lyra steps towards the pyre Billy’s little body has been laid on. Ma Costa watches the girl as she lifts the blanket, looks at the little boy’s face. Both of them stand as John Faa and Farder Coram approach them, Lyra turning to Ma to be held. Kit is close enough to hear the words exchanged between Lord Faa and Ma Costa.
“Now we know what terrible wickedness these people are capable of. Now we can see our duty plainer than ever. We have to fight.”
“We have to kill.”
Ma lets go of Lyra, who turns and shuffles slowly away from the pyre. When she reaches Kit and Lee, Kit’s arms are already open, pulling the girl close to her. At the touch, Lyra’s face crumples and everything she’d been holding onto since she had returned spills out in tears. Kit can’t remember the last time a child had hugged her, cried in front of her. Lyra can’t remember the last time she’d turned to an adult for this kind of comfort, this kind of release. Kit pulls her closer, her head bent over Lyra’s. She can feel her own scarf beneath her fingers, knows Eli is pushing himself against Lyra’s legs to support them.
“Ma’s right. Kill the buggers. They deserve it.” Kit’s words are harsh, her tone hard as her chin wobbles and tears spill over. Lee’s head rests against hers as his own arm goes around Lyra, a familiar gesture of comfort usually shared between himself and his daemon. The Gyptians have formed a semi-circle around the pyre, a semi-circle of solemn faces most likely holding back tears. Billy wasn’t just Ma’s son. He was a son to all of them.
After several minutes, Lyra breaks the little huddle to wipe angrily at her tears, as if she’s ashamed of them. She sandwiches herself in between Lee and Kit to watch Ma light the pyre as everyone pulls their hats off, the universal symbol of respect at a funeral. Ma breaks down into sobs, has to lean on Tony as all the Gyptians around Lee, Lyra and Kit start to hum the same tune. None of them know the words, so the three of them stand in silence. This is not how funerals are done in Texas. Lyra is as stiff as the snow around them, refusing to show the weakness she sees crying to be. Unbeknownst to her, the adults either side of her are doing the same thing.
No one moves until the fire dies. Lyra is almost dropping from exhausting, but she’s fighting sleep. Eli picks up stoat-formed Pan as gently as if he were his own kitten as Lee wraps an arm around Kit, resting a hand on Lyra’s shoulder. In the tent, Lyra sits between them. Hester hops to the mouth of the tent to keep some kind of watch. Lyra’s head falls onto Lee’s shoulder, and Kit’s hand goes to the girl’s hair. There’s silence for what feels like too long.
“Once upon a time, there was a man who lived on the moon.” Kit blurts. Lee frowns at her, confused, but Lyra doesn’t move. Kit repeats herself, “Once upon a time, there was a man who lived on the moon.”
“He didn’t always live on the moon. He used to live on Earth, but on Earth he had no family, no friends. He was lonely. And every night he would look up at the moon and think to himself, If I’m lonely down here, there must be people lonely up there. The man worked and worked and built a special blimp that he could sail through the clouds and past the stars to land on the moon…”
By the time Kit is halfway through the story, Lyra has slid down onto the floor, asleep. Kit keeps going, but falters at a certain point and looks to Lee, who had been watching her since Lyra fell asleep.
“Man on the moon. Not quite how Ma used to tell it.” He says after a moment.
“I couldn’t remember all the words.”
“You didn’t give it an ending.”
“We never stayed awake long enough for an ending.”
“True.” Lee hesitates before asking, “Since when did you like kids enough to tell ‘em bedtime stories?”
“Since when did you?” Kit counters pointedly, but then she takes her hand away from Lyra’s hair. “I know. This is just another job worth far more than the gold they’re givin’ us. It’s not like I’m getting attached or anything-”
“No. No, Kit, I don’t think it is.” Lee interrupts, and Kit frowns at him. “Whatever this is...it is so much bigger than us. I know we like to tease the Magesterium, but this...this is fightin’ ‘em head-on.”
“They deserve it, Lee. What they’re doin’,” Kit doesn’t want to have to say it again, “it ain’t right.”
“That’s true too.” Is all Lee says. Words aren’t really needed beyond that point. They’re thinking with the same mind. This is a fight they’ll see through to the end.
***
Lyra wakes up at the sound of Pan’s voice. Her eyes open to see Kit’s face. For the first time since she’d met her, Kit’s brow isn’t furrowed. She looks at peace, one of her hands reaching out over Lyra’s head. Lyra turns her head to see Lee still asleep too, though he’s wriggled halfway out of his blanket.
“I heard something, Lyra.” Pan reminds her. Whatever it was, it’s got him worked up. Lyra crawls out of the tent and pulls her hat on. She wanders towards where a tin teapot still dangles over a dead fire, but she doesn’t see anything. Pulling her gloves on, Lyra turns in a circle. At least, she starts to turn. She stops when she notices a man lying on the ground, and in an instant knows he’s dead. She registers some kind of noise behind her, but she can’t move. Something heavy slams into her head, and Lyra doesn’t know anything anymore.
A few hours later, the breeze through the still-open flap of the tent gets too cold for Kit to ignore anymore. Lee had pulled off her blanket and covered his head with it a while ago, and she’s been getting colder and colder since. She registers that Lyra is no longer lying in the space between herself and her friend, and mutters.
“Gee, Lyra, thanks for closin’ door after yourself.” Kit’s words come out fluffy, not fully formed. She reaches out, pulls the flap shut and tugs her blanket off Lee, shuffling closer to him in an effort to find more warmth. She’s in that odd limbo where her eyes are too heavy to keep open but she isn’t fully asleep when Eli sticks his head out under the now-closed flap of the tent.
“Kit!”
“Wha? Eli, ‘s too early.”
“There’re bodies.”
“Bodies?!” Kit sits up as she asks the question, but Eli’s already wiggled out of the tent. Kit can feel the cold of the snow on her feet. She pokes Lee’s shoulder. Eli comes back, a red glove in his mouth. Lyra’s glove. “No. Lee. Lee!”
“‘M asleep.”
“Lyra’s gone.”
“Huh?”
“Lyra’s gone. Eli says there are bodies outside.”
“Kit, what’re you-” Kit huffs and rips the tent open, crawling out into the snow without her outerlayers. Eli’s right. Directly across from their tent is a dead Gyptian man. Some other Gyptians are awake, crowding around the body. His wife is crying. The words Tartar and Gobbler are being thrown around. Kit reaches back and pulls at Lee’s foot.
“Lee, the Tartars found us.” She tells him. He uses her shoulder to pull himself upright, his face sticking out of the tent next to hers. A Gyptian sees them then, calls out to them,
“Where’s the girl?”
Kit knows the answer. It’s a terrible answer. But if the Tartars have been here...
“Bolvanger.”
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