Alanna drew a deep breath. “I’m a girl,” she said bluntly. “My—my real name is Alanna. I come from Trebond, and Lord Thom is really my twin brother.”
Gary drew his horse up abruptly, staring at her. “That’s not funny!”
Alanna drew her gaze off the back of Moonlight’s neck, where she had fixed it. “Of course it’s not funny; it’s the truth!”
“Where are your breasts?” he demanded.
Alanna blushed. “I bind them flat with a special corset I wear.”
“But when you bathe—” Gary stopped and whistled. “None of us have ever seen you bathe. Or swim, for that matter!”
“That’s right.”
Gary tugged his mustache, deep in thought. “Who else knows?” he asked softly.
Alanna swallowed hard. He didn’t seem to be angry. “Jonathan. George and Mistress Cooper. Coram, my brother Thom. The healing woman at Trebond. Faithful.” She petted the cat riding in his special cup on Moonlight’s saddle.
For several long moments she could only hear the birds and the forest animals around them. Gary’s face was unreadable, but knowing him as she did, she guessed he was putting together all the odds and ends that had puzzled him about her through the years. Suddenly a broad smile broke across Gary’s face, and his eyes crinkled up with merriment. “Oh, I can’t wait to see their faces!” he whooped as he burst into laughter.
“Anyone in particular?” Alanna wanted to know, puzzled by his amusement. Jonathan had said Gary would react this way, but it hadn’t seemed possible to her.
“Everyone,” the knight gasped, wiping his streaming eyes. “Just—everyone!”
He continued to laugh as they rode and talked, Alanna explaining everything to him (with the exception of the love she shared with Jonathan). He was amused and delighted about all of it, and happy to be involved.
“Of course I’ll instruct when you take the Sacramental Bath. I’d be insulted if you asked anyone else,” he informed her over their picnic lunch. “Wait a minute! Your squire—have you picked anyone?”
Alanna shook her head. “I talked it over with your father, and he agreed that it would be a waste of time for me to pick someone when I plan to leave right after Midwinter.”
“Right after you tell them who you are, you mean.”
Alanna nodded. “A squire couldn’t go with me in any case, even if the truth weren’t to come out.”
Gary cocked an eyebrow at her. “Surely you don’t think they’ll be glad to be rid of you when they find out the truth.”
“Won’t they?”
Duke Gareth’s son was no fool. “Some will,” he said finally. “Those who don’t know you well almost certainly will feel that way. But your friends? I think you’re being too harsh on them.” He sprang up, helping her pack their saddlebags once again. “Oh, I can’t wait!”
Jon was relieved, and jealous, when he saw Alanna and Gary that night at dinner, smiling and relaxed. They quickly told him what happened. It gave all three of them something to talk about—and laugh over in secret—during the long summer. Those talks were good for Alanna. So used to seeing her masquerade as a life-or-death matter, she had never learned to laugh about it. Gary, Jonathan, and George proceeded to teach her, and she gathered new insights about what she had done and about those closest to her from them. Somehow the prospect of telling the truth seemed less terrifying as a result.
To everyone who knew her, Alanna seemed to change in the months between her eighteenth birthday and Midwinter Festival. She was still attentive in her classes, performing her duties perfectly, but it was obvious her thoughts were elsewhere. She often sneaked into the city in disguise, going to the Temple of the Great Mother Goddess to meditate. She had a good many things to ponder—Jon, George, Thom, Duke Roger, the proper time to tell the king and queen the truth—but chief on her mind was the iron door of the Chamber of the Ordeal. What she feared there, or why, she was never quite certain. She only knew that for the first time in her life she wished she could grab time and hold on to it, keeping it from going forward. Even the thought that she might pass the Ordeal and leave on her adventures gave her no pleasure. She had learned to love the palace and the people who lived there and she knew she would miss them. In fact, she was no longer positive she wanted to go.
“So don’t leave,” Myles advised when she mentioned it to him. “Most young knights fight in the service of the Realm after they get their shields. Certainly Duke Gareth and His Majesty will be more than happy to have you stay.”
Alanna shook her head. The only thing she still looked forward to was the relief of telling everyone who she was.
She got up and hugged her shaggy friend impulsively. “I love you, Myles,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “I’ll come often, I promise.”
Myles patted her back gently and offered her his handkerchief. “I know you will. I may not know much, but that I do know.”
George watched her pace his chambers, his hazel eyes unreadable. “You’re only wearin’ youself out,” he pointed out practically. “How will you be stayin’ awake all night if you tire yourself in the afternoon?”
Alanna wiped her hand over her sweating face. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared in my life, George.”
“Not when you fought the Ysandir? Or when you almost drowned while skating?” She shook her head, fingering the ember at her throat. “Not when you faced Dain, or the Tusaine knight attackin’you?”
“No. Don’t you see? I could fight them. Dealing with something I can’t see, something I know nothing about—” Alanna boosted Faithful up to her shoulder and went over to the window, staring out at the city. “I can’t do anything except let it happen. That—that isn’t the way I do things, George. You of all people should know that.”
“Here.” The thief pressed a glass of brandy into her hand, sipping from one he had poured himself. “I’ve been keepin’ this bottle by special. And what’s more special than now, the day before your Ordeal? Drink up, lass.”
Alanna obeyed, savoring the brandy’s rich taste. “This is really good!” she approved. “Normally I just drink this stuff to clear my head, but—this is quite pleasant. You didn’t steal it, did you?” she demanded, as suspicious as ever.
Faithful jumped down from her shoulder as George laughed outright. “Would I serve you or Jon stolen goods?” he asked. “No, don’t answer me. Look. There’s the tax stamp on it, as clear as day. Vintages like this are better than gold, and better watched.”
Alanna yawned. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, George.” She yawned again, and again. “So sleepy …” She looked at her friend through rapidly closing eyes. “You—you drugged it!” she accused.
George caught her as she sagged, her eyelids fluttering shut. “Did you really think I’d let you fret yourself sick, with such an important night ahead of you?” he asked softly. Alanna muttered and stirred, sound asleep. George scooped her up and carried her to his bedroom, placing her gently on his bed. “You knew,” he commented to Faithful as the cat leaped up beside Alanna. “Why didn’t you warn her I was puttin’ a little extra in the brandy?”
The cat switched his tail. Cover her up well, he advised George. She gets cold easily.
The thief laughed and obeyed before joining Gary, Raoul, and Jonathan downstairs.
George returned Alanna to the palace just after sunset, where the ritual of Midwinter and of the Ordeal caught her up at last, leaving her only enough time to worry about doing everything properly. She ate lightly; if Myles hadn’t stood over her for every bite, she would have eaten nothing at all. Then she changed into the white garments she would wear in the Chamber of the Ordeal. Shortly after the eighth hour was cried, Jonathan and Gary came to escort her to the baths.
As Alanna splashed in the unheated water, her friends waited in a nearby chamber, talking quietly.
“I wish this was over,” Jonathan announced, listening to Alanna.
Gary looked at Jonathan’s face and poured his
cousin a glass of wine. “Relax, will you? We survived the Ordeal.”
“Barely.” Jonathan drained his glass.
“Barely, perhaps, but we survived. She will, too. And remember this: We’re taught that the magic of the Chamber can’t be influenced by anything. When she passes the Ordeal, no one will be able to say she didn’t earn her shield, whether she’s a girl or not.”
Alanna emerged from the bath, dried and dressed. She was a little pale, Gary noticed, but otherwise calm. “Are you prepared to be instructed?” he asked formally.
Alanna licked dry lips. This was where it began. “I am,” she whispered.
“If you survive the Ordeal of Knighthood,” Jonathan said, using the words required by the ritual, “you will be a Knight of the Realm. You will be sworn to protect those weaker than you, to obey your overlord, to live in a way that honors your kingdom and your gods.”
“To wear the shield of a knight is an important thing,” Gary went on. “It means you may not ignore a cry for help. It means that rich and poor, young and old, male and female may look to you for rescue, and you cannot deny them.”
“You are bound to uphold the law,” Jonathan said. “You may not look away from wrongdoing. You may not help anyone to break the law of the land, and you must prevent the breaking of the law at all times, in all cases.”
“You are bound to your honor and your word,” Gary reminded her. “Act in such a way that when you face the Dark God you need not be ashamed.”
“You have learned the laws of Chivalry,” Jonathan continued. “Keep them in your heart. Use them as your guides when things are their darkest. They will not fail you if you interpret them with humanity and kindness. A knight is gentle. A knight’s first duty is to understand.”
Alanna listened carefully. None of this was new, but tonight it had more meaning than it ever had before. Tonight she would hold vigil in the chapel outside the Chamber of the Ordeal—the first step toward proving herself finally worthy of a knight’s shield. And tomorrow?
I’ll think about tomorrow tomorrow, she told herself firmly.
Gary and Jon took her to the Chapel of the Ordeal, stopping only to remind her that she could not utter a sound between that point and the time when she stepped out of the Chamber the next day. Gary patted her on the shoulder, and Jonathan kissed her cheek. Then they were gone, and she was alone in the Chapel, looking at the heavy iron door leading to the Chamber. Four years ago she had knelt here beside Jonathan, watching his face and wondering what he was thinking. Now it was her turn, and she still had no idea of what his thoughts had been that night. Was his heart beating too fast, as hers did now? Had he been scared? This not being able to talk was hard. There was nothing a would-be knight could do but think.
After a while her thoughts drifted. Coram had arrived two nights ago. They had remained up for the better part of the night while he gave her his last report as steward of Trebond. Now young Armen had the dubious joy of that post, and Alanna’s old friend was looking forward to being on the road with her. She was proud that her first teacher had been impressed by how far she had come in four years. Alanna refused his compliments, pointing out that if she had done well, it was because he had taught her well. The remainder of the night had been spent poring over maps, deciding where they would go in search of adventure. Alanna smiled a little sadly to herself.
Funny, she thought. It used to be I couldn’t wait to go. And now that the time to leave is here, I only want to stay. Why can’t I be happy—or at least, why can’t I make up my mind?
Where was Thom? He had planned to be at the palace by Midwinter Festival, but so far there was no sign of him. Had he forgotten her in pursuit of some weird old spell? In some ways he reminded her of their father, who had spent much of his life in a scholarly dream.
She let her thoughts roam. Touching the ember-stone she remembered the dark night she had met the Great Goddess. Why had the Mother given her the stone? Was it a weapon, or a keepsake?
She thought of Jonathan. Marrying him wouldn’t be so bad, someday, she realized. Yet that was impossible; he had to marry for the good of Tortall. And certainly she didn’t want to marry now; she had too much to do!
Duke Roger. So many strange things had happened over the years that forced her to wonder what he was doing. And yet she had never pursued her suspicions very far—why not? Was she simply jealous of Jonathan’s colorful relative and of the hold Roger had over people? Or did she have real cause to think he meant her prince ill? The Goddess had tried to warn her, in a very subtle way. Did the gods want Alanna to confront Roger?
And with what? she thought rebelliously. I have no proof against him, and no way to obtain proof. I would lose everything—honor, reputation, friends, perhaps even my life—if I accused Roger without solid evidence in my hands. I hope the gods don’t think I’m that reckless—or that stupid!
Suddenly she blinked. Light was touching the high windows of the Chapel, and the dark-robed priests were filing into the room. One touched her shoulder, pointing to the heavy iron door. It was time for the Ordeal.
Alanna got up stiffly, wincing at the pain in her knees. Where had the night gone? Rubbing her shoulders and grimacing, she followed the silent priest to the front of the Chapel. Her attention fixed on the men unbarring the door of the Chamber, until that was all she saw. Her heart pounding furiously, her mouth dry, she did not realize that behind her the Chapel was filling with her friends.
Silently the door to the Chamber of the Ordeal swung open. Swallowing hard, Alanna braced her shoulders and walked inside. Swiftly the priests closed the door, leaving her in total darkness, just as she had so often dreamed.
She blinked, letting her eyes get used to the light inside the Chamber. Oddly enough, there was light, although there were no torches or windows. It was ghostly, but it was there. Hope flared up in her heart. Perhaps she would be all right.
She was in a small stone room. It was completely bare of furnishings or fixtures. There were no doors or windows, no way anything could enter, and Alanna was beginning to wonder if this were some kind of joke when the first blast of icy wind knocked her to her knees. Alanna hugged herself, her teeth chattering, her clothes no protection at all. I wish I was dressed for this, she thought, forcing down the panic that washed over her whenever she was too cold.
The harsh wind whipped through her, forcing her down again every time she tried to stand, numbing her hands and feet. Alanna tried to move about, slapping herself to get warm, but the wind pushed her flat against the floor, making it almost impossible to move. She fought it with all her strength, her lower lip gripped between her teeth. She even forgot her fear; the only important thing now was to stay alive.
Suddenly she heard voices. The wind stopped as abruptly as it began.
The voices rose, begging Alanna to help them, to rescue them from the Dark God. She recognized them: her father, Big Thor, boys who had died during the Sweating Sickness, men who were killed fighting Tusaine. Tears rolled down her cheeks; she wanted to help them, but there was just no way that she could. They belonged to the Dark God now. As much as she hated it, she was helpless.
The voices stopped.
Alanna stood, slowly, feeling herself tremble. What next?
Something in the corner behind her clicked. Alanna spun and quickly bit her fist to keep from screaming. She must not cry out! But how was she expected to stay silent when a spider the size of a horse advanced on her? She hated spiders!
Backing into a corner, she gritted her teeth together so hard they hurt. The spider came on, clicking hungrily. It brushed her with a long, hairy foreleg …
And then she was drowning, just as she nearly had drowned when she was five and again last winter, when someone salted the ice on the skating pond. Not for the first time she wondered if she had been meant to drown beneath that weakened ice. She could not forget Alex had been there once again, and Alex had challenged her to skate. Odd thoughts to have when you’re drowning, I suppose, she muse
d as she fought her way up. Her strength was running out, and even the discovery that she couldn’t reach the surface resulted in nothing more than exhausted dismay.
No, she thought. I won’t cry out. I’ll die if I have to, but I won’t cry out.
The ocean was gone. Alanna knelt on the Chamber floor, taking huge breaths of air as silently as she could and wondered what would happen next. Her skin and clothes were completely dry.
Nothing happened. Alanna waited, not quite cringing, afraid that whatever this demon-place threw at her would be worse than anything that had gone before. Finally she began to pace, rubbing her arms. She was still very cold. Cold, being helpless against death, spiders, drowning; the Chamber made her live vividly with everything she most feared. Was that what the Ordeal was about, making would-be knights face their fears?
She sneezed and looked up. The air was humming with power, and a pale blotch was spreading against one stone wall. It was filled with colors and shapes, but they did not resolve into the picture they seemed to form. Alanna narrowed her eyes to see if they would come into focus, but the picture remained hazy. Something told her it was important—even vital—for her to see that vision clearly, no matter what the cost. She strained against the haze, reaching out toward the wall. Her hands hit something solid, almost clothlike, keeping her from the vision. Alanna gritted her teeth and gripped the invisible stuff in her hands, feeling fine threads cut into her palms as she tried to tear a hole through which she could see. Sweat poured down her cheeks, and she forgot how cold she was as her fingers found some invisible opening. She tugged hard, the sinews in her arms cramping with the effort.
A barrier in front of her—magical or real, she had no way of knowing—gave way, and she feel forward onto her knees. The picture on the wall was clear, too clear.
A triumphant, smiling Roger stood beside Jonathan’s bed. Alanna’s prince lay on it, his hands crossed on his chest, and a crown on his head. Jon was whiter than marble, the white of death. Laughing soundlessly, Roger took the crown from Jonathan’s head and put it on his own.
In the Hand of the Goddess Page 13