by Kim Wilkins
Withowind shook her head. ‘I want to see you tell them they’re staying.’
Bluebell turned and ran back down to the camp, waving her arms. ‘Hold up, hold up,’ she said. ‘We are staying. I have struck a deal with the giants. When we leave, it will be in two days, with them sailing alongside us. Keep up the tents, empty the longboat. We are staying.’
She found Ash and pulled her close. ‘Whatever you have to do. Whatever the giants have told you. Have it done within two days.’
‘I’m –’
‘I know you’re keeping secrets with them. I don’t mind. The only thing that matters is expelling the raiders from Blicstowe. I’m going with Withowind now for the second test.’
Ash nodded. ‘Good luck.’
Bluebell exhaled a long breath. ‘It’s a test of the mind. I wish you could take it for me.’
‘You are smarter than you think you are,’ Ash said, lightly punching Bluebell’s arm.
Bluebell smiled wryly. ‘Let’s hope they do not ask me to spell.’
She loped back to Withowind and together they took the overland route to the giants’ hall.
Bluebell was made to wait alone in the entry chamber, sitting on a bench with her elbows resting on her spread knees. Perhaps, after all of this, when Blicstowe was safely in her hands again and she knew those she loved were safe, perhaps she would find a tutor to teach her to read. All the trimartyr kings, like Tolan and Wengest, could read and write. She did not like it. She did not like the way they believed that laws written down had more weight than those passed down through centuries. She did not like how they used written words as a tool to tie people up in their religious rules and observances. The simplest scribbled sentence could snare the weak.
But perhaps she would learn anyway. Because in this moment, she would rather face another army of undead skeletons than have to face whatever the second test would bring.
One of the doors opened, and Cammoc and Nepsed stood there. Her least favourite of the giants. They thought she was stupid.
‘Come in,’ Cammoc said to her.
‘It is time,’ Nepsed added.
Bluebell rose and followed them into the chamber, one she had not seen before. The facing wall was lined with shelves, and in each shelf lay piles and rolls of vellum. She could see ink markings on them and her gut clenched.
Nepsed motioned to the wall. ‘I see you are impressed with our histories.’
‘Histories?’
‘These writings have been kept here for centuries.’
‘A lot of calves had to die for those histories,’ Bluebell said.
Cammoc’s mouth crooked up at the corner. ‘We are not going to make you read anything,’ he said, beckoning her over to a wide stone slab in the middle of the room. It was black and polished almost to a mirror finish. Cammoc sat cross-legged behind it. Bluebell paused for a moment, unsure, then walked over and sat down.
‘What is this?’ she asked.
Cammoc passed his hand over the surface and thousands of points of light burst into life across the slab. Blue-white, bright but not blinding, like glow-worms.
Nepsed closed the door, shutting out any other light. The corners of the room were black.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
Bluebell glanced at her face, softly lit from beneath. ‘Yes.’
Nepsed passed her hand over the surface of the slab again, and the points of light reordered themselves. ‘Here,’ she said, running two fingers down the black mirror to draw a waving line of pale blue, ‘is the river. And here,’ she added, reaching across to use both hands to create an untidy swirl, ‘is the swamp.’ Then with a flick of her hand, hundreds of the lights assembled between her river and her swamp, stretching all the way across the distance. ‘This army has invaded your lands. You see how they protect their flanks? How do you defeat them?’
A weight lifted off Bluebell’s shoulders. War strategy. No reading.
Then, remembering the many long and tortured hours she had spent trying to puzzle out how to recover Blicstowe, she became more sober.
‘Do you run off and find some giants?’ Cammoc asked, almost as though reading her thoughts.
Bluebell shot him a look of irritation, though it was probably too dark for him to see properly. She returned her eyes to the glowing map, aware that she would not have any help from the giants if she did not get this right. The room fell silent. The dark seemed to muffle any noise, so that Bluebell could hear clearly the slow thud of her pulse. ‘I bring down three columns from the north,’ she said, pointing to the map. ‘Three separate routes. I send my less experienced men swampside, my more experienced to the riverbank. The third column I deploy behind the invaders, keep pressure on their line. I want to break them at the river and force them back towards the marshes, where they cannot run fast enough to escape.’
Nepsed considered her in the dark. ‘You’re sure?’
Bluebell nodded once. ‘I’m sure.’
Nepsed passed her hand over the map, and the lights began to move. Bluebell watched as her army poured down on either side of the invaders. But then the invading army deployed before her army could strike, concentrating their effort on the weaker side who had come down by the swamp.
‘What now?’ Nepsed asked, as lights began to wink out.
Bluebell watched in horror as her weaker men became outnumbered.
‘Do you send more to the swamp?’
Bluebell took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She imagined herself on the ground, not up here as a god. She could taste blood, smell the battle dust. If she sent her good men to the swamp …
‘No,’ she said, decisively, opening her eyes. ‘I send the third column to the river.’
‘To the river?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not the swamp where your men are dying?’
‘I send them to the river.’
Nepsed nodded and moved her hand again. Pinpoints of light moved from behind the invaders to the river. The lights intensified as the fighting grew fierce. The enemy began to crumble, the corner of the army gave way and then the whole east flank. They were driven back to the west, towards the swamp. Bluebell’s army outflanked them, contained them, forced them into the marshes where their movements slowed. One by one, the invaders’ lights winked out.
‘Well done, Queen Bluebell.’ Cammoc leaned forward now, sweeping his arms across the table and sending it back to gleaming black. ‘My turn,’ he said, drawing with the blue-white lights. ‘Here, on one side of the bridge is the enemy. On the other, your army, who have come upon them by surprise. Neither army expected to see each other, though you are equally matched in size and strength. Only one bridge lies across the river. What do you do?’
‘I send my army across the bridge,’ she said. ‘Obviously.’
The lights began to move. ‘Ah,’ Cammoc said, ‘but they have set upon the bridge their finest two warriors. It’s a choke point.’ One by one the lights met the choke point and extinguished. ‘One warrior uses his axe to mow them down, the other has a shield in each hand to deflect arrows.’
Bluebell’s memory stirred. This was a real battle, one she had learned about. ‘This is the Battle of Hawkshead Bridge,’ she said. ‘My grandfather won there.’
Neither Cammoc nor Nepsed spoke.
‘I send a warrior into the water in a half-barrel,’ she said, reciting the famous story. ‘He gets under the bridge and spears the shieldman. Then my army forces back the other warrior, pours onto the riverbank, locks shields, and charges.’
Cammoc made the moves happen on the slab. As she had predicted, the enemy army was quickly outflanked.
‘The other battle, the first one,’ she said. ‘Was that my great-grandfather? The Battle of Mabington?’
‘This isn’t a history test,’ Nepsed answered. She wiped the slab clear and set up a new challenge. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘is your army.’ The pinpoints rose next to a winding river. ‘You have advance warning that the other army is com
ing.’
As Bluebell watched, a group of lights came up the river. ‘In a ship,’ Bluebell said. ‘We were waiting for them.’
‘Yes, you were there, weren’t you?’ Cammoc said, as the opposing army – they were raiders – left their longboats and assembled on the opposite bank.
‘Their leader calls for a levy. He says, “If you pay me in gold and silver, we will leave your people be.” Your leader calls back …’
Bluebell repeated the line at the same time as Cammoc, ‘“We will pay you in blood and broken bones.”’ Her father had said those words at the Battle of Bald Marsh, which had been Bluebell’s first battle.
‘The river is tidal,’ Nepsed took over. ‘The water level is falling low. Soon, the causeway will open, a natural choke point. If they try to come across, your army will obliterate them.’
‘But your enemy’s leader –’
‘Asvald,’ Bluebell interrupted. ‘Hakon’s father. He taunted my own father, Æthlric. He said that such an easy victory would be cowardly, beneath the king of Ælmesse. That Æthlric should let the causeway drain, and allow the raiders across and then do battle.’
Cammoc smiled in the dark. ‘What do you do?’
Bluebell concentrated on the lights in front of her. Æthlric had let them cross and then his army had won.
But at such a cost; a cost that nobody ever spoke of, for Æthlric would not hear of it. They had come away the victors, so what was there to speak of? The battle had dragged on for over an hour, ugly and bloody; Bluebell had nearly lost her own life, had Father not saved her. The truth was that Æthlric’s pride had consigned many young warriors to death, but Æthlric never admitted it. History erased his terrible decision.
‘Bluebell?’ Nepsed prompted.
‘I do not let them cross,’ Bluebell said, even though it was speaking against her father’s reputation. ‘I use the choke point. I wipe them out.’
Cammoc nodded and moved his hands. The lights fell into motion. Concentrated, streaming narrowly across the causeway. All of them winking out as they met Bluebell’s army. It was over so quickly.
‘I suppose we can all make mistakes,’ Nepsed said, her hands clearing the slab and setting up a new puzzle. The circles of cities, the swirls of forests. ‘Last one. We have arrived in the present, Bluebell.’
Bluebell’s stomach clenched. ‘The Fall of Blicstowe,’ she murmured.
‘An army raids the villages from the forest, but they cannot be seen or counted.’ Lights pulsed on and off slowly in the forest to the north. ‘Do you send men?’
‘No,’ Bluebell said firmly.
‘Well.’ Nepsed tapped the slab, and from the north several hundred dots came to life and poured down on Æcstede. ‘Æcstede falls. Now you have raiders in Ælmesse, on your doorstep, well provisioned. Your citizens wonder why you have not come.’
‘This is ridiculous.’
Nepsed tapped the slab again, and this time points of light appeared from the south. ‘They are good sailors, the raiders, and hungry to do harm. Look, now. Delgar falls.’ The light that represented the southern village faded. ‘You are surrounded now.’
‘Yes, but I still have my city.’
Nepsed tapped. The armies from north and south converged towards Blicstowe. ‘What now?’ she asked.
‘I hold.’
‘Under siege?’
‘Blicstowe will not fall.’
‘It is nearly winter, and they are hardy.’
‘Blicstowe will not fall.’
Nepsed and Cammoc glanced at each other, then Cammoc leaned across and wiped the slab so all went dark. ‘Willow would have taken it, one way or another, do you understand? Once she had struck a deal with Rathcruick, there was no way for you to hold on.’
‘If I had been there …’
‘You might have died too.’
‘I am stronger than her. I rule through love not fear –’
Nepsed interrupted. ‘Willow has … help.’
‘Help? Hakon? He’s a half-blind moron.’
‘Maava.’
Bluebell snorted. ‘Maava is not real.’
Nepsed tapped the slab and all the lights came back. Swarms of blue-white dots all over Blicstowe. Slowly, its light went dim. ‘Blicstowe falls,’ she said. ‘If Maava was real, would he not help Willow? Nobody has worshipped him more fervently.’
Bluebell watched the lights flicker out. She thought about Snowy. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe Blicstowe would have fallen. If Sighere had been there. If Gytha hadn’t made such a terrible decision. If I had been more wary of Rathcruick. I could have prevented it.’
Cammoc and Nepsed fell silent for a few moments, and Bluebell had the distinct impression they were speaking to each other without words.
‘We will never know,’ Cammoc said at last, with a resigned tone. ‘We have only the life that we live, not the one we imagine.’
Bluebell sat for a few moments, looking at the slab. Slowly, it returned to smooth black. She looked up. ‘So did I pass the test?’
‘Three out of four,’ Nepsed said. ‘That is close enough.’
Bluebell rose and held up a finger. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow. Last test. Then we go home.’
Cammoc was ahead of her, pulling open the door and gesturing her out into the firelit chamber. A narrow shaft of light from the top of the stairs fell on the scene. ‘Withowind will come for you,’ he said.
Bluebell took the stairs two at a time, and emerged into the autumn morning. Daylight was bright after so long in the underground chamber. The weather had turned miserable and rain lay in puddles on the ground. Leaden sky, moisture thick in the air, a chill breeze with a foul edge of old seaweed on it. She wanted to clear her head before she returned to the camp, so sat on the damp rock and tried to clear her mind of the maps of blue-white dots, the image of lights winking out all over her kingdom.
Whatever you have to do. Whatever the giants have told you. Have it done within two days.
Ash watched Bluebell leave for her second test, then turned to the beach to see the company unpacking the boat. Her stomach swirled. She was being called to something, but she did not know what. All she knew was that if she returned to the house, the one where she had found the body, it would start to become clear.
But she was frightened. The image of the woman’s corpse, hands crossed in front of her, would not leave her mind. She had died alone. Ash feared a lonely death.
She pulled on her shoes and laced on a cloak, then took a staff to help her navigate the rocky terrain. Weather moved in. Here on the islands, clouds arrived suddenly, building up over the wild ocean and blowing in while her back was turned. Ash made her way towards the house in the hollow.
From the hill it looked normal this time, not surrounded by pulsing mist. She made her way down the slope and opened the door. Inside smelled faintly of seaweed and dust. Ash sat at the cold hearth and tried to imagine what this little house would be like with a fire. As she thought it, the fire came to life in the dead ashes. At the same moment, a shower of rain moved overhead and was gone. Then behind it, perhaps ten seconds later, a monstrous downpour thundered on the roof, sending drops spitting through the smoke hole and sizzling onto the fire.
Ash hunched forward, arms encircling her knees, the firelight warm on her face. Breakfast had been postponed while the camp was packed up, so she hadn’t eaten and her stomach growled loudly. She listened for a long time to the rain, wondering what she was doing here but sure, at the same time, that it was here she was meant to be.
That somehow this house was her home.
But she did not want it to be. She wanted her bowerhouse at Blicstowe to be her home, close to Bluebell and Sighere.
Yet she could not shake the feeling that she and this house belonged to each other, and that frightened her.
Ash waited for the rain to pass, then went outside and trudged back up the hill. The giants had told her that next time she saw the white hall she was to go
in, but they hadn’t said what to do if the white hall didn’t appear. On the crest, she turned back. It was mizzling again; she would be soaked by the time she returned to camp. The mist was back, thick and grainy, swelling and contracting almost as though it were breathing.
Ash took a few tentative steps down the hill to the edge of the mist, reached out her fingers to touch it. It seemed to gather and suck at her fingertips. Taking a deep breath, she stepped in.
At once, the sounds around her changed. The mournful drizzle, the sea wind, the gulls, quieted as though a blanket had been thrown between her and them. She had to strain to hear them. In front of her, the house had disappeared from the hollow. Instead there was only green grass, grey rocks. She turned her eyes to the sky, but there wasn’t a sky. Instead, there was a diffuse yellow-white light that gave a sulphurous glow to everything. She turned slowly, all the way around. The landscape had not changed; but she was not on the island any more. At least, not the same island.
Her heart bumped hard in her chest. She wanted to walk backwards, out of the mist, back to the real world. She was half-turned to do exactly that when a distant voice speared across the land.
‘Ash!’
Ash froze, her gaze searching for the source of the voice. It came from the other side of the hollow, where the hill went up to the clifftop.
She realised she was holding her breath. Staff in her hand, Ash began the journey across to the cliff. As she did, she noted that it was not simply the light and the sounds that were different here from the real island. Her own footsteps were lighter, easier, as though she weighed half as much. Nor could she see any wildlife: no gulls, no rats, not even a grasshopper or a fly. Even the trees did not look quite real, though she could not say specifically why. They had bark, branches, leaves … but there was a symmetry about them that was too studied for them to be real. She stopped at one point to place her hand on a narrow, bent trunk. It felt precisely like a real tree, but when she pulled her fingers away she was sure she heard it sigh, almost musically.