Sister O, why do I become so frozen with fear that I can hardly act when it matters most? Why am I so weak? I did not want to go down there; I did not want to face what was happening on the other side of the barricade. I wanted to turn around, sneak into the forest, crawl in under a dense spruce and never move again. But I forced myself to edge forward. I crept right up to the barricade. The Queen had dismounted and left her horse and the soldier to their fate. He did not dare raise his hand to the Queen, though he had undoubtedly been given orders to prevent her from getting through. She began climbing the hillside to get round and down on the other side. I climbed up the barricade itself, which no one was bothering to guard any more. I had been involved in its construction. I knew how to get up. Once on top, I crouched on the highest log and rested for the briefest of moments, with eyes closed and a pounding heart. Then I opened my eyes.
The soldiers were galloping through the crowds of people—my people—and swinging their swords indiscriminately. Their horses reared and kicked. I saw the nádor, riding around in his black mantle, joining in the violence with a cold composure. I saw people huddled on the ground, and people with clubs and axes offering resistance.
I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
I saw no children.
They had got them to safety. Or they were hidden inside the cabins.
I saw very few elderly people. Perhaps they were with the children.
Women and men were fighting side by side against the soldiers.
Some of the soldiers were striking with the broad side of their swords. They were trying to drive the Rovasians out of the valley. Clusters of people were already fleeing up the hill to avoid the sword blows and horse kicks. But other soldiers were not as scrupulous. They were using their sword’s edge. I saw people fall to the ground and not move again. Red-coloured snow. The soldiers were pressing the Rovasian folk hard. Step by step they were being driven to the very edge of their own valley. If we left now, we would lose it for ever. The nádor would not leave the valley until the last silverwood had fallen. A female figure lay face down in the snow. I could not see who it was, but what did it matter? She was my sister, my friend, my neighbour, my niece, the daughter I would never have.
I sat up. Then I saw it. The door. The door of the Crone stood beside me, shining in the bright winter sun. It exerted the same force on me as it always does. The same lure mixed with terror. It reeked of blood and death. The voice of the Crone muttered through the cracks.
“I do not want to,” I whispered. “No more death.”
I wiped my tears away with my glove and stood up. The wind took hold of my red mantle and spread it out behind me, like a burning flag. Everybody turned to look. Soldiers and Rovasians. They came to a standstill. Some of the Rovasians fell to their knees. The wind whipped my hair into my eyes. I did not want to open the door, not even in that moment, Sister. There is no shortage of death, pain and sorrow in the world. There is no need for any more.
But it was not my choice to make. I turned to face the door. I reached out my hand. Then I looked at it more closely.
It was not the same door.
This door was made not of silver, but of snow-white silverwood.
Otherwise it looked the same, with the same handle in the shape of a snake with onyx eyes; but this door was carved entirely from rock-hard, ever-white silverwood, grown from Rovasian soil. I have been so blind, Sister O. So foolish. I thought that the Crone’s power could only flow in one direction. As if she were so straightforward, so weak! As if death were so simple.
I pulled off my glove and ran my fingers over the handle. The valley held its breath. Then I turned the handle and threw the door wide open.
They came surging out like a raging gale. All the ones we were fighting for. Beautiful and strong and enraged, they flooded out through the door of the dead, appearing as they did in life, so that we could recognize them. At the forefront was Mother. My heart swelled. I drew the sword from its scabbard and threw it to her, and she caught it mid-air. She raised it high and led the dead down into the valley.
The departed souls of Rovas had returned for revenge. The soldiers and Urundians screamed and fled in wild panic. They were struck by abject horror that clawed and ripped at their minds, filling them with darkness and fear. They collapsed in the snow with swords and hands flailing. I saw soldiers claw themselves in the face, or vomit in fear. To them our dead appeared as terrible phantoms with burning eyes and curved claws, with one sole desire: to tear them apart and drag their souls into death. That is how the Queen described it to me later.
Fools. This was the door of the dead, through which no living person could pass. The ghosts continued to flow out through the door I had opened, thousands of them, generation after generation, united in their intention to defend their descendants and their sacred ground.
Horses bolted, some with their riders still on their backs and others with empty saddles. Mother swung her sword, and it was no phantom object—she drew real blood. The Rovasians drew back to the sides, and now it was the soldiers who were driven up the hill and out of the valley. I saw the dead give up pursuit a short distance up the hill. They were probably unable to leave the burial grove. But the soldiers did not stop running and did not look back. The nádor had lost his horse, and Mother showed him no mercy as she made her sword dance. He screamed for mercy, but she had no intention of being merciful. She knew how to brandish a sword, I saw. She used it well. It was not the first time she had raised it against an enemy.
“Halt!”
A clear, though trembling, voice sounded over the din. The Queen, who had somehow lost her mantle, rushed forth towards the army of the dead. She knelt before Mother and held out her hands. The nádor was lying on his side in the snow with blood running from his cheeks and ears, his mouth wide open in a silent scream.
“We do not deserve your mercy, yet I beg for it.” The Queen could not look Mother in the eye, but her posture was proud. “I am their Queen, not yours. Yours cannot be seen by the eyes of the living. But as Queen I beg for your mercy. I swear that no one shall lift an axe against your burial trees without punishment, as long as the realm of Urundien stands, and as long as law-abiding monarchs reign. And no one other than the people of Rovas shall be permitted to set foot on this land.”
The army of ghosts had stilled. The last of the soldiers had clambered out of the valley and fled, and only the nádor and Queen remained. A guttural noise came from the nádor, as though torn from his chest against his will. The people of Rovas stood quietly, waiting.
Mother extended her sword to the Queen. Without hesitation the Queen sliced her palm along the edge. Red drops dripped onto the white snow.
“I swear by my royal blood,” said the Queen.
“We have heard and we bear witness,” I announced, and turned to my people. “Hear the words and promise of the Sovereign of Urundien.”
“We hear and bear witness,” replied the men and women gathered under the trees.
Mother bowed shortly and turned around. The crowds of ghosts left the Queen and nádor there on the hillside, one on her knees, the other beaten and pitiful on the ground. Then the dead turned to us, and sought out their relatives. They offered no embraces, and no words. Yet the living were able to say their final words, the unspoken words that had burdened their hearts, and caused so many sleepless nights and such sorrow. I saw my grandmother holding a little bundle in her arms. It was a baby, whom she carried to my sister. Through tears, Náraes whispered tender words into his ear.
Gradually the dead began to return through the door that I held open for them. Several of them greeted me with a nod or a short bow. Suddenly I became aware of someone standing next to me and I looked down.
It was Anner. My beloved little sister. She looked just as I remembered her, and yet different. She was… more. Bigger. More beautiful. She was not really my sister any more. She said nothing, for the dead have no voice in the mortal realm. But a warmth and joy fl
ooded my breast that left me feeling lighter and more blessed than ever before. All the guilt I had once felt for her death dissolved and disappeared.
Mother was the last to walk through the door. She stopped and passed me her sword. It was heavy and solid in my hand.
I had no words to say to Mother, for everything had already been said. Neither did I feel the need to hear anything from her, for she had also said it all. But I felt her love. It was just as strong as when she was alive.
I feel it still.
I leant my forehead against the door frame and whispered a few words to the Crone before closing the door, softly and with care.
And so it was done.
Your novice,
MARESI
Dear Jai and Ennike Rose,
It is all over now, but my work continues nevertheless. The first tasks were to bury the fallen and care for the injured. Many were injured, some badly. They had taken sword blows to the head or face, resulting in broken noses, cracked and bleeding skulls, peeling skin and sliced fingers from their attempts to defend themselves. Horse kicks had caused nasty bruises as well. I have never been so grateful for all that Sister Nar taught me about healing, and sewing together wounds, and setting bones straight, and which herbs and plants protect against traumatic fever, and so forth. I was run off my feet from early to late and still did not manage to see to everybody.
We counted thirty-one killed. Our village has lost Máros, my childhood playmate.
There was a certain bashfulness between me and Kárun after my declaration of love. He spoke even less than before, and said nothing about my revelation. But he never left my side. He made sure that I ate at least one meal a day. He forced me to sleep for at least part of the night, when I was determined not to leave the injured even for a moment. He made sure that not everybody came to me with their worries, by establishing groups to help those in need, whether it concerned wounds, food, lost family members, settling disputes, or journeys home. He made sure that I was free to care for the severely injured, and nothing else. I did not work alone; there were many knowledgeable men and women to help me. But they all turned to me for the final decisions.
When I was reeling from exhaustion, Kárun’s hand was there at once to support me. When I was reduced to tears from hunger and lack of sleep, he made sure that I sat down and ate some food. And when dark memories and thoughts hounded me and prevented me from sleeping, he noticed and took to lying beside me, at a respectful distance but close enough that I could reach out a hand to hold his if I wanted. It was the only way I could get to sleep. It was like having you in bed next to me, Jai—the comfort of knowing that I was not alone. Yet, it was also very different. Because as I lay there feeling his big, rough hand in mine, I wondered whether he loves me as I love him. His actions said he did. But he said nothing to confirm it.
* * *
When everybody started leaving the burial grove to return to their homes, Queen Voranne rode to see me, in person, as if I were royalty. She asked to speak to me in one of the log cabins where I was treating the worst wounded.
“Is there anything more I can do for your people?” she asked very directly, and pulled off her gloves. She was dressed just as she was when I last saw her, in her black mantle and with a white fur hat over her dark hair. Those who were able bent to kneel as she entered, but she hastily gestured to them that there was no need.
“No, Your Majesty. You have already done so much by providing all the food and bandages. Everybody is out of danger now, and they only need to recover enough to get home.”
“When do you think that shall be?” she asked, and slapped her gloves against her palm.
I wiped my hands on the apron Náraes had lent me. “Hard to say. That man over there has a crushed kneecap, and his village is—”
“I shall loan out my horses,” the Queen interrupted. “Those able to ride can do so, with my soldiers to escort them. Mine, not the nádor’s. I shall organize carts for those unable to ride. Maresi Enresdaughter, these people no longer need you, but I do.”
“Your Majesty?”
“You must come with me to Kandfall. I require someone to help me examine the nádor’s accounts of collected taxes. I must have proof of his deceit. I need no more incriminating evidence against his character, seeing as he led an attack against the very people it is his duty to protect, against my express wishes, and intended to destroy woodland in a valley he knew to be sacred. He has already been escorted to Irindibul and awaits trial. But in order to correct the future taxes I must see what he has done. For this I need you. And then we must draw up new guidelines for how Rovas shall be governed and taxed in the future. I am not overly pleased about your school, for one thing. We have much to discuss. My time in Rovas is running out, for whenever I leave Irindibul I always have a great big mess of loose ends awaiting me on my return.”
When she mentioned the school I had no choice but to agree. I will do anything to defend it, my sisters. Anything.
I packed my few possessions that evening, and the following morning some of the Queen’s own soldiers came with horses and carts for the wounded. I would have rather stayed with several of the more serious cases, but even they were getting impatient and wanted to return home. I hope all the injured survived. I gave detailed instructions for how to care for them. But the journey home is long for many of them, and the nights have been cold. Only ten or so people remained in the camp: the injured and their families. My own family had already returned to Sáru with the other villagers. Father did not want to leave me, but I insisted. The farm needs Father and Akios more than I do now. Besides, Akios was among the injured, did I mention that? He had several broken bones in his left hand, and I wanted him to go home and rest properly. Marget received a nasty scratch along her right cheek. It might leave a scar, but I bandaged it well enough that she will not suffer from traumatic fever, at least. Náraes and Jannarl came out unscathed, and they were among the first to leave with their daughters.
The only person left from Jóla or Sáru was Kárun.
On the morning of my departure, a soldier brought me a horse in fine saddlery and bowed low. I turned around and there was Kárun, close by, just as he had been the whole time.
“So you’re leaving me now,” he said.
His eyes were filled with sorrow, and he met my gaze openly, as he always does, but I could see that it was difficult for him. I gave the horse a pat and asked the soldier to wait, then went over to Kárun. He stood there in his leather waistcoat, with those broad shoulders that
I have to stop myself from reaching out and touching. He was wearing the gloves I had given him, as usual. I had made no plan of what to say. I was unaware that I had come to a decision. But standing there before him, about to ride away with the Queen, I knew exactly what I wanted. I knew what to say. And despite all the help he had given me, I had no idea how he would respond.
I took both his hands and looked him in the eye, and my stomach lurched as it does every time I look at him or touch him.
“Yes, I am leaving you now, Kárun Eiminsson. But if you want, I will never leave your side again.”
I held my breath. I needed an answer before I left.
He squeezed my hands in his.
I took a deep breath and felt tears well in my eyes.
“If you will have me, I am yours, Kárun.”
“If I will?” He pulled me close and held me tight. “Of course I will, Maresi. I want nothing else. It is what I have wanted since the first time I saw you, beside your brother, with your unbound hair like a shining crown. But I am a humble woodcutter. I have nothing to offer you.” His eyes were wild. Hungry.
“I need nothing,” I whispered. “Only you.”
And then, my dearest Jai and beloved Ennike Rose, he kissed me.
MARESI
Venerable Sister O,
I have just returned from another council with the Queen. I have been here in the nádor’s castle for ten days now, and every day the Queen and I
have sat bent over scrolls and books filled with columns of numbers. The nádor has been receiving taxes which in some years accounted for almost half of everything produced by the people of Rovas, while sending less than one-tenth to the Crown. He has lived a life of luxury with expensive tapestries, rugs and silk bedsheets, and a table more opulent than the Queen’s own. The Queen has already begun to sell the more costly items in order to fill the nádor’s coffers with ready money. “To buy seed for the farmers who need it in spring,” she says. The Queen is to appoint a new nádor as soon as she has returned to Irindibul, but it will take time to find the right person, and even longer before he arrives in Rovas. The Queen is leaving one of her ladies-in-waiting, Talrana, here to make sure that everything runs smoothly in the meantime.
“I would gladly appoint her as nádor,” said the Queen late one evening when we had been staring at columns of numbers for half an eternity. “She is practical and intelligent, and would certainly cause no trouble, at least.” She sighed and sipped some wine, which was always available on the table. She drinks a great deal of wine, the Queen. Personally I find it makes the figures harder to understand, so I have asked for malt drink or soured skimmed milk instead. The Queen says that the latter is an abomination, but always makes sure there is a chilled container of milk for me. “But alas it cannot be. I cannot incur as many enemies as such an appointment would entail.”
“Whomever you appoint as nádor, I think it would be wise if he were unmarried, but willing to marry a woman from Rovas,” I said.
I have become better at offering uninvited opinions. The Queen specified that I should do so, which I suppose means that they are all invited. It was difficult at first, but she always listens carefully to my suggestions, whatever they may be. Sometimes she gets annoyed, but she takes me seriously.
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