The Queen and the Mage

by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  Scylla limped across the floor to her chair and sank into it.

  “How did it go with feeding the children?” asked Minda. She paused her needlework. She was shortening a pair of leggings for Prince Leon, sitting next to the window for better lighting. Out on the roof garden, Leon was playing with Jay’s dogs while Axit darned the toe of a woolen sock.

  “Oh, quite well, Minda! This is the third time, as you know, and some of them spoke to the chancellor. They are still fearful, but our little tree-climber turned up again, and she demanded a comb.”

  “A comb?”

  “Her hair is matted, and she wants a comb,” said Scylla. “Also, she says two of the village boys are in a shack along with other children, but have ‘no ma or pa’… I quote. The chancellor will make some inquiries. They may be suitable to send to Zara’s village. The girl with the rats on her shoulders may not be suitable.”

  “I am sure you’re right. I would look askance at rats on anyone’s shoulders.”

  “The small child calls herself River. I have invited her here tomorrow and told Mako to inform the soldiers.”

  “Goodness,” Minda said lightly, looking up from her sewing. “How do you plan to entertain her?”

  “She wants a comb. I do not know if she will turn up,” said Scylla. “Or whether she will bring the trellets with her when she does!”

  “Good Goddess,” said Sorrell, who was lying on the bed behind the reed screen. “There is never a dull moment in this castle!”

  Scylla rested her head against the back of her chair. “Spoken truthfully! Where is Jay this evening? He cannot have gone home if his dogs are still here… I hope!”

  “He is tending the pony and cleaning the harness. He will be back for dinner, as the chancellor wants him to explain what happened in a field. I did not quite understand.”

  “Oh?” said Scylla with interest. “Well, you are not alone, Minda—I don’t believe anyone quite understood. I hope he will enlighten us this evening!”

  “I am not hungry.”

  The boy Jay sat at the table, untouched food in front of him. He eyed the members of the War Council doubtfully.

  Queen Scylla was sipping tea and contemplating whether her stomach would tolerate dinner after the day’s jostling in saddle and carriage. So far she saw nothing to tempt her. The chancellor and the others had not allowed the evening feast to grow cold.

  “Jay, the Council merely wants to hear your report on what happened. I have questioned the two soldiers. They say they do not know what happened and they cannot give any details beyond starting towards the stream and seeing an ancient tree nearby.” Mako eyed the boy moodily while he spread butter on fresh bread.

  “There was an ancient tree,” Jay agreed after a moment, nodding. “Very ancient and gnarled. The branches hung down over the stream and the trunk was wider than even you and these two captains together could reach around. Even the roots were gnarled and old.”

  “And yet, when my soldiers rode up the crest of the hill to search, they said there was no stream, just a wide pasture and the one ancient tree. I think they would have mentioned the stream, don’t you?”

  Jay gave a helpless shrug. “Why don’t you ask Captain Coltic? He was there.”

  Mako’s glance slid to Coltic, who was busy with a large portion of chicken pot pie and refused to raise his eyes. “It is true, I have not asked him for an explanation yet. I want to hear yours.”

  “I think you are afraid to ask him,” said Jay stubbornly, his lower lip poking out.

  “Are you afraid to ask him, Chancellor?” Scylla said into the ensuing silence as Mako’s cheeks reddened.

  He snapped, “Are you, Princess? You sat in the carriage with the boy, and Captain Coltic rode next to you all the way back to the castle. Did you not ask either of them what happened?”

  She glared back. “I am not sure I want to know. Sergeant Brit said the hills are strange, and sometimes…”

  “Sometimes the veil is thin,” Coltic spoke up, as he had earlier on the roadside with the wind rustling the leaves. “Remember, I am the son of a very accomplished wizard… and a sorcerer, of sorts.”

  Jay recoiled in shock. “You are a sorcerer?”

  “I am. I cannot say I entirely regret it. Although there have been times I did.”

  “Did you not listen at your door last night, Jay?” Renold spoke up with a grin. “You would know the whole story!”

  “Jay does not listen at doors. Captain Renold, do not tease him!” Minda said, giving the boy a sympathetic glance.

  “The veil was thin,” Jay agreed grimly, ignoring Renold. “We walked down toward the stream to water the horses and… everything changed.”

  “They happened upon a gathering,” Coltic said. “If they went back, they would not chance upon it again… at least, not likely.”

  “Not likely!” Mako echoed. He stopped eating. “What did they happen upon?”

  “Well, those hills are strange. There is a reason Zara’s village and the Goddess’ spring are there… or perhaps the spring attracted the gathering there. I do not know.”

  “Would we see the stream and the tree next time? Or the empty pasture?” Mako asked.

  Coltic grinned. “I will let you know the next time we pass by! I do not recommend sending anyone else to that particular stream to water the horses… although it may be completely safe. It was a real stream the first time you traveled to Zara’s village, was it not?”

  Jay was still staring at him. “Who was the other man who came to get us?”

  “Brit’s pa,” said Mako.

  Coltic said, “He is at ease in those hills. I am not sure what exactly he is... Can you pass me some of that salad?” he asked Sorrell.

  “It was me they wanted to see… all of them,” Jay said bitterly.

  “Who?” asked Mako.

  “That gathering. Some of them were very strange. Others were almost like us. The Goddess herself was there. She looked like you, Princess.”

  “I hope you are not implying I am the Goddess, Jay, because I am not!” Scylla snapped.

  “Oh, no, you are not, but she looks like you, Princess. But taller. She liked it that you went to her springs.”

  No one was eating now. Mako stared at Jay. Coltic was leaning back, contemplating the middle distance as if he were elsewhere.

  “It was a court we were in,” said Jay, looking deeply troubled. “Inside the hill… or maybe a mountain, I think. We came upon them while they were holding a court… or something. They seized the soldiers and blinded them. They talked to me. Many of them are cold… they do not care about us—you giants, they call us. Some of them wanted to leave us free to kill and be killed… they wanted to watch for entertainment and see who lived to carry on. But others didn’t. Some even said they would not set us free… the soldiers and I would wander lost forever. It depended on what I said as to how they decided.”

  After a moment’s silence, Minda asked gently, “What did you say?”

  “I don’t remember. That man and the captain came along and led us back over the hill.” He glared around the table. “I do not care what any of you think. That’s what happened. Can I go back home tomorrow? I will take the dogs and go back home!”

  “I suggest you wait until Orwen comes back,” said Minda, with a worried frown. “I need to stay here and Orwen is in Gryor as of tonight, I believe. I think for your safety you should stay here.”

  Jay’s lip stuck out mutinously. Then his expression changed, as if he had remembered something. He looked at Scylla. “They said they like your raven’s wing, Princess. They said to tell you… when you go into battle, leave your raven’s wing streaming free.”

  Scylla said incredulously. “Into battle? I shall not go into battle!”

  Jay was still looking at her, nodding slowly. “Into battle. I saw the vision… upon a white horse, with your raven’s wing streaming free!”

  “Curses!” said the queen violently. “Take your food and those beggin
g dogs and go to bed, Jay! I have heard enough! You may carry on without me, Council!” She put down her empty cup with a thump, seized her sword stick and hobbled off to the alcove where she flung the curtain closed and went to bed.

  The Gathering was in assembly and yet not linked to time or space… the court itself in session, but where? And when? And why?

  Somewhere in the hills, linked between the earthen kingdoms and another place veiled and unnamed, beings gathered… some resembling the giants but smaller, some resembling other creatures… some mere shivers upon the harp of the unseen wind… and representatives of other from different times and different realms… elsewhere.

  Keet the trellet perched in the knotted branches of an ancient tree with more of his kind, their piercing eyes questing and their sharp voices kept to whispers here. Lying nearby were a few of the green forest cats and other creatures not often seen by the citizens of the realms… shadowy black wolves with narrow silver eyes, slender almost-deer with wings tucked tightly to their spotted backs, and thin, shifting shapes only seen if one did not look directly at them. The presence of the boy and two soldiers was but a memory filtering through, there and gone—and having made no real difference.

  “That boy has a pure heart… he is a pure soul… but the soldiers with him were dust—they did not matter.”

  “We did not injure them even though they stumbled into our Gathering, the foolish giants. We could have left them wandering blindly, but we set them free and the boy too.” Titters of laughter echoed through the Gathering like the echoes of wind through the harp strings.

  “Only because the hill wizard came to get them, and the other sorcerer too… the one that’s rusty and impaired. Him!… the one at the spring.”

  “Ah, yes, but we could have kept them!” We could have kept them! We could have set them to wandering forever, like shifting grains of sand!

  “Ahhh,” came the sighing question, repeated yet again. “To ignore the giants’ troubles or not? To assist or not assist?”

  “Did we not already assist when the Queen of Rellant was in mortal danger? We sent the trellet and the forest cat.”

  Have we not done enough? How much more should we do?

  “To lose her would have been a terrible blow, terrible indeed!”

  There is a much larger battle coming and all will feel the sting of it. We have already passed that warning on to the giants themselves. Can we help it if they do not hear?… if they cannot do what they need to do?… if they lose heart? We have sent a message back to her with the boy… when you go into battle, Queen Scylla, go with your raven’s wing streaming free!

  “Time to step back and watch,” some others whispered avidly. “The giants can carry on. So entertaining…!”

  We are diminished by the giants. Their disinterest diminishes our strength… they do not care! Why should we care about them?

  It was beaten out of them… the ancient ways, and the goddess; beaten out of them by those who took over after…

  … after the great battles among the wizards, the sorcerers and the other worlds…

  … the Time of Trouble…

  The gods and kings and priests ended it to stop the destruction of the giants’ world… the kingdoms of Rellant and Gryor and the rest… such beautiful realms!

  “We were just as bad as all the others… as some are growing now to be… we were as bad—and worse!” Titters began and spread into echoing laughter.

  “Let us see how it begins again… let us watch the battles!”

  No… no… do you not remember the discord, the chaos…

  Do you not remember how they and we… all together we almost destroyed everything… everything… every thing!

  It will not go so far… They will not all die. Just a purge. The multitudes will be purged, and the lucky will survive!

  “But who all will be purged?”

  The Goddess in her leafy green gown and cascading pink flowers sighed. The soft wind of her sigh swirled into every corner of the Gathering and beyond. “I love my people, clumsy giants that they are, the stumbling humans. Is it not wonderful that the kingdom has opened its eyes to see the springs again? Many of them never stopped worshipping the old ways. I have seen it throughout the seasons… I have heard their whispers. And their awareness of us strengthens me, strengthens us, makes us more vigorous. The boy’s heart is pure, and the queen is not far behind. I, as their Goddess, breathe in and out with them… their lands, their villages, their pastures, their forests, and the springs I inhabit. It does not take much to encourage their goodness and their delights. How wonderful to see my people prosper and grow!”

  What about the little tree-dwelling child, the feral one? She, who could perhaps learn to be powerful… even tomorrow she could fall from a tree and die!

  “Who would want to see that bright spark lost, dead and blowing away like ashes, her tiny bones cracked and white and her fine skin rotting to dust? The brilliance extinguished? Until the stars line up for the birth of another like her… they are so few and far between!”

  We sent her trellets! Did we not?

  “They were young and silly trellets… you sent them because they were mischievous themselves and terrible time-wasters. Because you wanted rid of them!”

  Nevertheless, we sent them and they are carrying out tasks—whatever tasks they have found to do. We do not tell them what to do!

  “The tree-dwelling child now holds an amulet that belonged to the good witch Theoria. Do you remember her? Gone now, long gone like a droplet of water, but do you not remember Theoria, the good witch?”

  We still see her sometimes! She walks the hills…

  The veil is thin from both sides. Let us breathe life into the goodness and tweak just those few moments they need! There is almost no difference to us. Barely any disruption to the green earthen world… just the slightest veil away… like a spider web stretching from here to there!

  The kinglet, Joff of Gryor?… he is crazed. He is ruined, twisted, vicious. Not worthy! Helping him will help no one! We do not want to help him, do we?

  Do we not?

  We do not!

  He may not be the best, but he is not the end of it. We have looked ahead… can you not see that his life as king is not important? He is not the prize; he is not the goal; he is not the end of it all.

  There is a lost prince skulking in the shadows, another kinglet, but he is bent on revenge. We dislike vengeance!

  He is young—if he survives, he will grow. And there is the other princess, the ruined one. His heart, like hers, may become wiser. They may become great souls—they already show signs of it. I see a coming together, a merging goodness… I see joy ahead and a better path.

  We do not like vindictiveness—we will not support it!

  The thirst for revenge will wash away… there is so much more ahead.

  Woliff and his fellow sorcerer are journeying even now upon the sea. They return to their castle soon to continue their evil ways and foolish, selfish ambitions.

  Woliff is the boil upon one’s ass, the wart upon one’s heel, the plague in one’s lungs, the spores of a fungus!

  He is the unnatural herb in the pot… he is evil embodied… he and his sorcerer are the spreading wickedness that they incite but cannot contain.

  Woliff thinks he has control but see—even now—how his control is washing away, leaching away, oozing away! Is it too late for him? Perhaps it is!

  There is an essence. There is a moment. There is one lesser tweak that may or may not do the trick.

  Can you see it?

  We see one small moment. We see where one could pluck a note or two upon the harp of the world… one that could change the song from confusion to sweetness, to the soaring voices of angels! Or perhaps just from discord to the beginnings of a new order…

  Just one pluck upon the strings of the puppet king and the rest we leave to… them! It all hangs in the balance… but what if he fails?

  Can we? Should we? The veil
is so very fine—do not tear it!

  Send the trellet again—send him to the puppet king! He can go with the forest cat again, for he has lost his arm and cannot travel on the back of the great white swan. Trellet, will you go?

  Among the limbs of the ancient tree, Keet started violently, and a scream burst from him. “I? What can I accomplish now, for a vicious madman without kindness? This is not the lost and timid princess… this is not the great Queen Scylla who saved my life as I saved hers. I shall be killed, crushed, pulled limb from limb!”

  “Do not linger… do not flit within reach. Merely remind him that he can be king—give him the means to break free!”

  “I? How?” The trellet’s sharp teeth chattered in distress. “How shall I do that?”

  All he needs is the idea... the thought. Is that not so? We leave it to you, trellet. Do your best, you and the forest feline. Give the fettered kinglet the vision he needs… allow him to break free!

  The olive-green cat, who had been half-asleep, sat up and yawned. He stretched languidly and tilted his head toward the twisted branches of the ancient tree. “Mrrrrr? Are you coming, trellet?”

  “Eeee!” shrieked Keet, beside himself. “Eeee! How will I find this terrible young man, and what will I say?”

  We have heard that he is restless and that he goes hunting at night in the surrounding countryside. He will not be hard to find…

  “Are you coming, trellet?” the cat repeated as he sprang to his feet.

  “Maybe I won’t… maybe I will!” The stick man shook with impotent rage but left the tree and skittered to the shoulders of his mount. “I go to my death, a martyr to the Goddess and not just my arm this time—goodbye, my friends… goodbye!”

  9

  Orwen sat at dinner at the Western Star Inn, the only guest in the elegant dining room. They had kept a room for him but, as most of the rooms were vacant, it did not seem a great sacrifice.