by Shannon Hale
She stopped at the stables near the east gates and had a stable-hand saddle for her a sweet gray mare named Merry. Being a queen’s maiden did have some advantages.
She had nowhere in particular to go, so she gave Merry free rein and let the wind whip at her skin. The sky kept to itself, cloudy and dim. The low hills were nearly colorless and clenched with a hard crust of snow. The absence of life was exhilarating, and Enna squeezed Merry’s middle a little tighter and rode on.
The sun lowered faster than she had expected, and the land filled with that ghostly gray light that could slip into black without warning. She turned the mare back northwest, fairly sure that was where she had left Ostekin, and started a trot back.
Minutes later, the breeze was pushed aside by a wind from the north, and this one brought snow.
Gusts of wet wind pushed her around and washed the horizon in streaks of gray. Enna tied the ends of her headscarf under her chin for warmth. The sun had left completely now, and the snow seemed endless. She could see no farther than a few paces in any direction. Enna shook her head at the bewildering, pale landscape and banged her fist on the saddle.
“Curse you, Enna,” she said with chattering teeth. “I curse you up and down, stupid girl.”
There was no point in trying to find her way in this weather. She walked Merry away from the wind, scanning for shelter. The night deepened.
Sometime later, she brushed snowflakes from her eyelashes and squinted into the storm at a point of orange. Fire. She could not feel its heat from there, disrupted by snow and wind. Cautiously she moved closer, hoping to catch sight of any person before she was seen herself. If it were not for the wind, she was sure she could have already felt their heat. Closer, she spotted a tent and three horses in a curve of hill protected by a few scrub trees. A camp. But of whom? Closer. A figure hunched up against the wind moved around the perimeter of the camp. A guard. She waited until he walked to the far side of the little camp, then she moved in closer still.
The tent was white. None of the tents of Ostekin were white. But perhaps, she hoped, perhaps the Bayern scouts used such. Then a man opened the tent flap and moved into the light of the fire. Pale hair. Blue jacket.
“Tiran,” she whispered.
She kept her eyes on the man by the fire and slowly backed Merry away.
“Spy!”
A shout from beside her. She jerked the reins and tried to gallop away, but the guard had come upon her unawares, and he stood now at the mare’s head, gripping her bridle. He yelled to his companions. The man at the fire leaped forward, and another emerged from the tent gripping a spear.
Enna wrenched at Merry’s reins. The mare whinnied and lifted onto her back legs, but the guard did not let go. He pulled her closer to the camp. The other two were almost upon her.
For a moment, the wind was breathless. It created a pocket of stillness inside the constant howling. Enna could at last feel a band of heat from the fire, and wisps from the mare and the Tiran guard, touching her face and hands. Frantically she grabbed at it, pulled it inside her chest, felt the burn, and sent it tearing into the tent. In the flash of yellow light, the two running guards faltered and looked behind them by the tent for another foe. The guard’s grip on Merry’s bridle loosened. Enna booted the man in the head, steered Merry away from the camp, and kicked her into a gallop.
Chapter 7
Snow stung her eyes and cheeks. She could not hear anything but wind. Sometimes she looked behind her for pursuing horsemen, but soon the storm made it impossible to know which direction was behind.
She rode low, her face near Merry’s neck, stunned as much by her heedless fire lighting as her near capture. Her hands were numb, her body ached. When at last the winds died and the sky cleared, Enna walked Merry until the distant fires of Ostekin directed her home. She entered its gates just after dawn.
Enna let a stable-hand help her dismount. When her feet touched earth, she gripped his shoulder and nearly crumpled to the ground.
“Long ride.” He was looking over the mare’s sweat-streaked neck with disapproval.
“I got lost,” Enna said vaguely, and made for the town center. Walking on her own legs felt at once unbelievably refreshing and dreadfully painful.
She slowed her walk as she passed the councilman’s house. Inside was her cot, and the idea of rest made her feel dreamy. Inside, too, was Isi. Enna imagined telling Isi at last about the vellum, and the uncomfortable heat last night when the prisoner made her angry, and her quickness in the snowstorm to use the fire to escape. Isi would probably understand, and she might even start working on how to erase what Enna had learned. Enna remembered now that Isi had not known of a way to erase such knowledge from Leifer but had wondered if those fire worshippers in Yasid might.
A door swung open to emit a messenger, and Enna caught sight of Isi sitting in the back room with Geric, deep in talk. No, it was not fair to burden Isi with this now. In comparison with war and the death of the king, Enna’s concerns seemed a mild matter.
Instead, Enna turned from the town center and wove through the brown tents and roped-off fighting rings to find Finn. The army was organized by hundred-bands, the smaller villages and three Forest areas offering only one each, the larger towns supplying several. The hundred-bands camped together, so she followed the painted shields until she started seeing those painted with twin pines—one green, one yellow. The yellow tree was meant to honor Isi, the yellow lady, for convincing the king to recognize the Forest boys as citizens and soldiers in the first place. But just then, Enna realized it looked like a tree aflame.
Finn sat at the mouth of a tent, attaching an iron head to his javelin. She felt suddenly nervous to confess to him her secret, though she felt she should tell someone. He had always been a good listener, and she had missed their closeness these last weeks.
Before Finn, a couple of Forest lads sparred in a rope circle. The chief of their hundred-band called out, “Watch the left side! Lift up your shield!”
“Hello, Finn.”
Finn glanced up, and at seeing her, a painful smile tightened his mouth.
“Hello, Enna. I’m just about to spar.”
She sat beside him. “We haven’t spoken in a while, and I thought we’d—”
“Mm-hm,” he said as though he had not heard her, then put down his javelin and stood.
“Oh,” said Enna.
Finn ducked under the rope of the fighting ring without a look back. “I’ll relieve one,” he said to the fight master.
A short boy about Finn’s age nodded, too out of breath to speak, and exited the ring. He smiled when he saw Enna and sat beside her.
“How’s it, Razo?” she said. Despite her exhaustion and the slight trembling that still shook her deep inside, she could not help but smile whenever she saw Razo. His unkempt hair stood nearly straight on his head, and his expressive face could never hide his current mood, which generally seemed to be either amused or confused.
She waited for him to get back his speaking breath and watched Finn in the rope ring. He fought with great energy, rushing his opponent and knocking him to the ground. Once he looked back to see if Enna watched, then turned away again just as quickly.
“He’s getting better,” said Enna.
“Who, Finn? No question.” Razo tried to wipe the sweat from his brow on her shoulder, and she shoved him away.
“He practice much?”
Razo nodded, wiping his face on his already filthy tunic. It left a brown smear. “The most. It’s scary to face him. He looks like he’s going to pound you into the ground, and then afterwards you see he’s not angry at all, just serious. Remember how he used to be?”
“Seems like the ‘used to be’ was only a few weeks ago,” said Enna.
Finn was relentless and focused. Though his gestures seemed rough, his attacks were fierce, and Enna thought he looked natural swinging a sword.
“Why didn’t you two ever . . . ” Razo gestured back and forth from the fi
ghting Finn to Enna at his side.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be dumb, Enna-girl. I know there used to be something there.”
“There was not, you dope. Finn and I’ve been good friends, but he never pursued me.”
“Ah, get off,” he said. “I pursued pretty, pretty Bettin from Sprucegrove to Longpines, and that didn’t keep her from marrying that impostor Offo.”
“Razo, we’re talking about me and Finn. A snake and a hare.”
“Does that look like a hare to you?”
Enna watched as Finn attacked a fresh opponent, hammering the boy’s shield until he cried halt.
“He’s . . . changing, isn’t he? I don’t know what to think of him.”
“It’s the war,” Razo said matter-of-factly. “It’s getting all of us, including you. Your forehead’s always knotted up and worried now, like I haven’t seen since I had you completely and utterly convinced that your hen had a crazy chicken disease.”
Enna laughed. At the sound, Finn turned and looked. His opponent used the opening to throw himself against his shield, and Finn tumbled to the ground. Angrily, he stood and rushed in return, pounding his sword against the other’s until the training master shouted, “Match!”
“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen him like this,” Enna continued. “Do you think he’s just trying to . . . impress someone?”
“Absolutely,” said Razo. “You know, Finn’s got a girl now.”
“Finn’s got a what? What do you mean?”
Razo jerked his head toward a slim girl leaning against a fence post. She was completely absorbed in the sparring, half a smile forgotten on her lips.
“Hesel?” Enna said with unconcealed wonder. “Finn and Hesel?”
“So it would seem,” said Razo.
“But, but, she’s not even a Forest girl, and she’s too skinny.”
“She’s Captain Monulf’s niece, and not bad to look at, and a pretty good cook besides.”
“Ha.” Enna smugly remembered seeing her once in the councilman’s house overcook a loaf of bread. “Pretty and a captain’s niece is scarcely a recipe for Finn’s true love.”
Razo gave her a toothy smile. “Are you jealous, then, Enna-girl?”
Enna glared back. “Don’t be daft, Razo. I’m just thinking that a town girl’s hardly what Finn needs.”
“Match,” said the fight master.
Finn knocked sword tips with his opponent in friendly dismissal and left the ring. Enna looked to where Hesel had been standing. She was gone, too.
A page tapped Enna’s shoulder and told her the yellow lady wanted her for council in the public building, and she stood to go.
“Come see us again,” said Razo. “When Finn’s in a better mood.”
“Wait,” she said. Razo turned and waited for her to speak. And she wanted to. Yesterday she had nearly lost control, and that frightened her. She needed to tell someone what was happening inside her, someone who would not judge, who could help. She did not want to bother Isi, and it seemed Finn was past his listening stage. Could she tell Razo?
His face was young and boyish, but he had an arrowhead-shaped scar on one cheek and another peering out from the neck of his tunic. Those had been frightening injuries, but she remembered he had never been concerned about them. When he first received his javelin and shield from the king, he had wept openly. He was the least threatening, most ridiculous, and impossibly likable person she knew. So much like Leifer.
“I, uh, I’ll see you around,” was all she could say.
Razo snorted. “Sure.” He started to leave, then turned back to her. “Enna, don’t you breathe a word to Offo on what I said about Bettin. I know I’m hopeless, but I’ll never love a soul besides Bettin and I’ll die alone.”
She sighed. “Your head’s all full of silliness, saying things like ‘I’ll die alone.’ You and Finn, you’re still just little boys.”
The public building was a single-story, one-room structure with the only glass windows in the town, and today it was surrounded by soldiers. The door ward let her pass. Inside, several small tables sat touching to form a larger, oddly rectangular one in the center of the room. Geric, Isi, Thiaddag the prime minister, and the two chief captains in the region, Talone and Monulf, sat at the table. Several other captains stood behind them. Isi and Talone were conversing quietly. Enna remembered that they were compatriots, Talone having accompanied Isi on her journey from her birth kingdom of Kildenree. He had stayed in Bayern as her personal protector and, later, as the captain of Bayern’s Own, the king’s personal hundred-band.
When Enna approached, Talone nodded to her and took his seat by Monulf.
“What’s happening?” asked Enna.
“War council with Tira,” said Isi. “A messenger came from their camp at Eylbold yesterday morning. We’re all a bit nervous. I could use you beside me.”
“Yes, of course. Have you . . . are you all right?” Enna just then noticed how calm Isi looked. “You seem different.”
“You noticed?” Isi smiled. “I must normally be pretty agitated. A physician gave me a rather bitter tea. It makes me drowsy, but at least I slept last night. And it dulls me, I guess. I hear most of the news that comes to me on scraps of wind, but not so loudly. I didn’t know you had entered the room until just before I saw you.”
Hoofbeats and voices outside quieted the room. Everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter. Enna took her place standing behind Isi’s chair. It was her usual position and a place of honor, but exhaustion made her legs feel loose, and she grabbed the back of Isi’s chair for support. Moments later, the Tiran delegation entered. Most wore blue jackets and leather piecemeal vests and carried short spears. Enna stared at them openly, glaring whenever one caught her eye. The leader seemed to be a gray-haired captain named Tiedan. Enna had heard that the Tiran royalty did not enter battle, and their women stayed home.
After stiff formalities, Tiedan and Geric spoke almost exclusively, and Enna wondered why everyone else was needed there at all. She found herself not paying much attention to the talk, instead looking over the Tiran men and thinking about the battle of Ostekin Fields, of the soldiers who had been killed, of Leifer. A log in the hearth cracked, a noise as loud and distinct as a word. Enna felt herself begin to sweat.
Geric was speaking. “I think it wise to remember that this is not just an issue of land. It’s people. The people you attacked in those villages and towns are Bayern.”
“For now,” said Tiedan. “Once they were Tiran. They can be again.”
“You don’t know that.” Geric rubbed his eyes. “You say that, but you have no proof, nor does that fact live in the memories of my people.”
Enna was not sure if the fierceness of Tiedan’s speech meant he was angry or if it was just the effect of his rigid, pronounced accent. “The facts reside in more than memories. The facts embed themselves in our very natures. Look at your people, all with dark hair, most with dark eyes. Farther south in Bayern the people begin to have lighter hair—almost like us.”
“But Captain Tiedan, that doesn’t mean—”
Tiedan interrupted Geric. “And how is it that we speak the same language? I hear that lands farther south and east speak barbaric tongues. Clearly Bayern was born from Tira.”
Bayern born from Tira. The thought made Enna scowl. She narrowed her eyes at the captain called Tiedan and hoped he would notice.
“You make no sense, sir.” Geric was fighting anger. “And even if we agreed that, yes, once long ago, before memory, our people were one, that doesn’t justify your butchery of this people! In truth, it makes your aggression even more senseless.”
Tiedan chuckled and then spoke in a low, growling voice. “Then how, pray tell us, sir, do you justify the butcheries your grandfathers committed against Tira?”
Enna had a sudden and powerful conviction that she could set the room on fire. All the deadwood of the walls, tables, and floors would burn beautifully. All those living bo
dies and the hearth fire were just oozing heat into the room. She could with a thought bring the heat inside her, feel it change, and thrust it out again. The realization made her shiver.
She took a deep breath and focused on the cool sounds of a winter breeze whistling in the chimney. How could such a thought enter her mind?
“If this is just about revenge,” said Geric, “then feel fulfilled and go home. You’ve killed the king, you’ve killed a goodly number of Bayern soldiers. Those who attacked you in the past are dead, and now so are many of their children. Let it end here.”
Enna wiped her brow. All those people in one small space, all generating heat. Isi shifted in her chair. Enna noticed that Isi had wrapped her yellow hair in a Forest woman’s headscarf, and her face was down. Many times Geric had begged Isi not to draw attention, afraid as he was that the Tiran would recognize her as the wind worker of the first battle and target her. Enna squeezed Isi’s shoulder. Isi reached up and touched Enna’s hand. Her cool fingers felt comforting and familiar.
“If your only solution for peace is keeping the towns you’ve taken,” Geric was saying, “then I can’t accept. We won’t abandon our people. We’re willing to discuss compromise, but ultimately it must include peace for all of Bayern.”
“Sileph, first rank. Allow me a question, sir.” A new Tiran captain spoke up. His hair was the lighter brown of lowland soil, his aspect confident but unassuming. He spoke properly, but with a casual arrogance, as though he knew he would not be denied. Tiedan acknowledged his request.
“King,” said Sileph, stating the title with neither courtesy nor mockery, “you say you are here for peace, and yet on the eve of these talks you send your witchery to attack a camp of Tiran men.”
There was a stir among the Bayern. Geric glanced at Talone and Monulf to see both offer slight shakes of their heads. Enna squinted at the soldier called Sileph. Had he been among the three last night in the storm? Even if he had, surely he could not know her face.