The Beatryce Prophecy

by Kate DiCamillo

  Jack Dory, the sword in his hands, thought that he would like, now, to come upon that black-bearded robber who had killed his parents.

  He thought, too, that he would like to meet whoever had taken Beatryce.

  Yes, Jack Dory and his sword would like to meet them all.

  What does it mean to be brave?

  This was a question that Brother Edik asked himself as he walked through the dark woods with Jack Dory and Cannoc and Answelica.

  To be brave is to not turn away.

  To be brave is to go forward.

  To be brave is to love.

  Brother Edik was not turning away. He was going forward.

  And he loved. This, Brother Edik could do—did do—best of all.

  Still, he could not keep himself from trembling.

  And he could not stop the words of the prophecy from tumbling through his mind:

  A girl child

  unseat a king

  great change.

  It was, to him, deeply unsettling and deeply moving to find that these words of his were true.

  Cannoc walked beside Brother Edik; ahead of them was Jack Dory—the sword in his hands and the goat beside him. Brother Edik thought it was possible that Answelica was even more dangerous than the sword.

  It was a comfort to have her walking out front.

  If you had told Brother Edik a short time ago that he would be walking through the woods behind a demon goat, that he would be following a boy with a sword, that he would be walking beside a man who had once been king, Brother Edik would have believed none of it.

  Where, Brother Edik wondered, was the prophecy for all of this?

  He put his hands in the pocket of his robe and found the maple candies. He had forgotten to give them to Beatryce. He took hold of a candy in the shape of a leaf and thought, Beatryce, we are coming for you. I am bringing you something sweet. And you, in turn, must tell me the story of the mermaid. You must teach Jack Dory to read.

  You promised, Beatryce.

  And I promise: we are coming for you.

  He sent this message to her over the trees of the dark woods, across the fields blooming with elderhist, and up to the lightening sky. He sent the message all the way to the castle of the king.

  Beatryce, we are coming for you.

  She was in a cell in a dungeon.

  She was no longer wrapped in the cloak, but she might as well have been; it was that dark in the cell.

  Her head itched. Before they had all gone to sleep in Cannoc’s tree, Brother Edik had told her that this was because her hair was growing back. Were those the last words Brother Edik had spoken to her? And if so, why could they not have been more important words?

  She remembered, suddenly, being in the tower room.

  Her mother was at the spinning wheel, and Beatryce was at her feet, bent over the tutor’s book about the king who had been turned into a wolf. She was reading the story to her mother, and her mother was nodding, smiling, spinning.

  The small room was filled with light.

  “It is very good, Beatryce,” said her mother. “It is a good story, and you read it wonderfully well. But remember, if someone outside of this house were ever to ask you if you could read or write, you must say that you cannot. You must never admit to what you can do. There may well come a day when things will be different and you can claim your powers. But for now we must be careful. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Beatryce had said.

  Although she had not, truly, understood.

  But her mother had understood. Her mother had known.

  Her mother.

  Where was she?

  The dream of the long hallway and the empty tower room and the blackbird sitting in the window blew through her.

  He has taken her.

  “Do not think of it,” she said aloud to herself.

  What, then, to think of?

  Answelica. Her head like a rock. Her eyes like planets. Her great and ferocious love.

  Surely, the goat was on her way. Surely, they were all on their way to her.

  Beatryce wrapped her arms around her legs to warm herself. It was cold, very cold.

  She felt as though the darkness were trying to swallow her up.

  She must not allow that to happen. She must stay herself.

  “You promised me the story of my mermaid,” Brother Edik had said to her.

  “Very well, Brother Edik,” she said aloud. “I will tell you the story of the mermaid.”

  And so she went back to the words she had written in that other darkness—the darkness of the soldier’s room at the inn.

  Once, there was a mermaid.

  “Once, there was a mermaid.”

  Those were the words that Beatryce of Abelard said to herself in the dungeon, in the castle of the king.

  She let the words of the story rise up as if they were already written on the pages of a book. She made believe that she was reading the words aloud, telling a story to someone she loved in a room filled with light.

  Once, there was a mermaid.

  It was late morning when they came upon the black-bearded robber.

  He dropped from a tree in front of Jack Dory. The knife was between his teeth.

  He said, “I’ll take that pretty sword.”

  But the words were hardly out of his mouth before Answelica lowered her head and sent the robber flying through the air with such force that the knife fell from his mouth and went flying, too.

  When the robber landed, the goat stood over him. She showed him her terrible teeth. She bit him in the arm. And then she danced from hoof to hoof, waiting for the man to stand up so that she could send him flying again.

  Jack Dory would have laughed at it all, but there was nothing to laugh about.

  He knew this man.

  This was the one who had killed his parents. How often had he dreamed of that black beard and bright knife? How many times had he longed to be face-to-face with the man and exact his revenge?

  Jack Dory went and stood beside the dancing goat. He put the tip of his sword at the man’s throat.

  “Do not,” came Cannoc’s voice.

  “This one,” said Jack Dory. “He is the one who killed my mother and my father.” His voice shook. “I see him every night in my dreams, and now I will kill him and see him no more.”

  “Killing him will not banish him from your dreams,” said Cannoc. “I can assure you of that. Think on who you are, Jack Dory.”

  “I’m thinking on it,” said Jack Dory. “I am well and truly thinking on it.”

  His heart stuttered. The goat danced. Jack Dory kept the tip of the sword on the man’s neck.

  Cannoc bent down and picked up the robber’s knife. He held it out so that Jack Dory could see it. “Here is the man’s knife,” said Cannoc. “He is nothing without it.”

  Jack Dory looked at the knife, and then he looked back again into the robber’s face. He pressed the tip of the sword harder against the man’s throat.

  Answelica made a high, impatient noise. She moved from hoof to hoof. She displayed her terrible teeth.

  “Come, come,” she seemed to say. “There is no time to waste on revenge. We must find her.”

  Jack Dory wondered when it was that he had started to hear what the goat was thinking.

  It was troublesome, having goat thoughts in his head.

  Again, he pressed the sword deeper. The world narrowed to nothing but Jack Dory and the sword and the robber’s neck.

  “Go on and do it,” said the robber through gritted teeth. “I don’t care.”

  Jack Dory looked away from the man. He bent his head back. Up high in the sky, beyond the trees, beyond the dark woods and the robber and the sword and the goat and the knife, the sun was shining.

  Jack Dory kept his sword where it was. He felt the sun warm on his face. The bee buzzed around his head.

  If he moved his fingers just so, he could feel the letter engraved upon the hilt of the sword. It was an E. H
e had not known that, and now he did know it.

  The letter E.

  Letters.

  Letters that became words. Words that became stories. Stories that told what had happened, what would happen.

  The bee buzzed louder.

  Bee, which began with the letter B. And then what? What letters came next?

  “How is it that you spell the word bee?” Jack Dory asked, his face still tilted up to the sun.

  “What?” said the robber.

  “It begins with the letter B,” said Brother Edik.

  “Aye,” said Jack Dory. “That I know. And then what?”

  “The B is followed by an E and then another E,” said Brother Edik. His voice was calm, certain.

  “B-E-E, is it?” said Jack Dory.

  “It is,” said Brother Edik.

  Answelica made another noise of impatience.

  “The letters are put together to form words,” said Jack Dory, “and the words name the things of the world.”

  “Yes,” said Brother Edik.

  Jack Dory closed his eyes and opened them again. He lowered his head and looked down at the robber.

  “You killed my parents,” said Jack Dory.

  “If you say I did,” said the man. He smiled.

  “Stand up,” said Jack Dory.

  The robber rose slowly to his feet. Jack Dory kept his sword at the man’s neck all the while.

  “You,” said Jack Dory, “are nothing. You are only someone who takes.”

  The robber grinned. “Just as you say. Wasn’t it me who took the soldier to your little friend?”

  Beside Jack Dory, the goat tensed up, held still.

  “A soldier of the king?” said Jack Dory.

  “Who else?” said the robber.

  “Forget him, boy,” Jack Dory heard Answelica say. “It is as I said. All that matters now is that we find her.”

  Jack Dory spat at the man’s feet. He said, “It makes no difference to me whether you live or die. None at all.” He lowered the sword. His arm ached from holding it out before him.

  Cannoc handed Jack Dory the robber’s knife. “Come,” he said.

  “Now!” said the goat.

  Jack Dory slid the knife into his belt. He turned his back on the robber and walked away.

  The boy followed the goat.

  Cannoc and Brother Edik followed the boy.

  And a bee buzzed happily, approvingly, around Jack Dory’s head as he walked forward, away.

  A man came to Beatryce in the dungeon. He was carrying a candle and dressed in a black cloak. He smelled of cloves and rancid oil.

  “I am counselor to the king,” he said. “You will stand.”

  Beatryce slowly stood. She was glad, so glad, to see the candle, to see the little bit of light.

  “So,” said the counselor. “Here, then, is Beatryce, Beatryce of Abelard.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “The one of whom the prophecies speak.”

  “Yes,” she said again. She stood straighter.

  “Proud, are you?” said the counselor. “Prophecies mean nothing, my child. They are nothing but shiny baubles, bright distractions, pretty words used to manipulate kings and comfort fools.”

  The man’s voice was familiar to her. Why?

  The counselor held the candle in such a way that it illuminated her face and not his own.

  “Who are you?” she said. She wrapped her hands around the bars of the cell. She tried to see the counselor’s face.

  “Ah. You are remembering, I see. You are recalling. Yes. It will come to you, I’m sure. In the meantime, what if I were to tell you a story?”

  She said nothing.

  “The story begins this way: Once, there was a learned man, and one fine day, he came to a castle perched on the edge of a sea. The man had been called to the castle to tutor the three children of a nobleman. The nobleman had died fighting in some war, for some cause or another. Who knows what it was.

  “So. The learned man came to the castle to teach this man’s children. And you can imagine the man’s surprise when he found that the eldest of the three was a girl and that he was expected to tutor her as well.

  “ ‘I cannot teach a girl,’ said the learned man. ‘It is against the law.’

  “ ‘I wish her to be educated,’ said the noblewoman. ‘And her father agreed with my wishes.’

  “Well, the learned man was so bewitched by the beauty and charms of this woman that he did as she asked. He broke the law. He taught the girl to read and write. She learned very quickly.”

  “Do not tell me any more,” said Beatryce. “I do not want to hear.”

  “You will listen to what I tell you, Beatryce of Abelard. You will listen to all of it. So. The learned man fell in love with the nobleman’s wife. He offered himself to her. But she would not accept his love.

  “You see, this woman had a twisted notion in her head that one day her children might rule the kingdom—yes, that even her daughter might be in a position of power. She told the learned man this and he laughed at her. Most likely, she assumed that because he was not of noble birth, he would never understand the duties of lineage and power. She dismissed him. He went away from Castle Abelard.”

  The counselor now held the candle up close to his face so that she could see it. He smiled.

  “Yes,” he said. “You know me, Beatryce. You know me well. I am the one who taught you to read. I am the one who was sent away from you. But no matter. It has all turned out quite well. In spite of the fact that I am not of noble birth, I have made my way to the halls of power.

  “I am a maker of destinies. I made a king. This king was nobody. Do you know how many youngest sons of youngest sons there are? But I made the prophecy come true. I made him king, and now I control him, which means I control everything. Do you understand?”

  She did understand. And she was terrified. But she stood straight and true and said, “I would like to see this king.”

  The counselor laughed, and the sudden gust of air from his mouth made the candle flame flicker. “You would like to see the king.”

  “Yes,” said Beatryce.

  “And what of your mother? Would you like to see her as well?”

  Beatryce felt her heart fall to her toes. The long hallway flashed through her mind, and then came the empty tower room and the blackbird turning to look at her and saying, “He has taken her.”

  “Where is she?” she whispered. “Where is my mother?”

  “All in good time, Beatryce. First, I will go and have a word with the king. I will let him know that you have safely arrived. He has been waiting for you.”

  The counselor blew out the candle, and the darkness returned full force.

  “You see how it is,” he said. “You see who is in charge here. It is not you. It is no longer you. Or your mother.”

  He has taken her.

  “But where?” she said aloud. “Where has he taken her? Where is she?”

  Her heart was beating very fast. Was the prophecy true? Was it about her at all? Was it nothing but pretty words?

  She could not think about it anymore, any of it, or she would go mad.

  Once, there was a mermaid.

  The story. That is what she must do. She must write the story. But she could not write it. There was nothing to write with, and it was too dark to write, in any case.

  She sat on the floor of the dungeon with her hands in her lap and the dark all around her, and she thought, I will tell this story nonetheless. No one can stop me from telling this story.

  Once, there was a mermaid, and everywhere she went, she was attended by seahorses.

  The seahorses combed the mermaid’s long hair. They whispered her seahorse stories and sang her seahorse songs in their high-pitched seahorse voices. The stories were strange stories and the songs were strange songs, but they pleased the mermaid. She swam through the sea attended by seahorses and was never alone.

  “Do not go too far,” said the mermaid’
s mother. “Listen to the advice of the seahorses. And if you go above water, do not stay there for long.”

  “Yes,” said the mermaid. “I promise.”

  But sometimes, even though the seahorses advised against it most strenuously, the mermaid went out of the water and sat upon a large rock for a very long time. She stared at the sky.

  She liked to do this most at day’s end, when the rock was still warm and she could watch as the sun set and the stars appeared.

  The seahorses stayed in the water. They were not pleased. They swam around the rock, muttering their dark warnings and occasionally breaking into song.

  There was one old seahorse who had lost an eye in some long-ago seahorse war. His name was Morelich, and his voice was loudest of all.

  “Very wrong,” he said. “Most dangerous. Descend, descend. Return to the water. Return.”

  The mermaid ignored him. She ignored all of them. She looked up at the sky and then down at her tail, which shone magnificently in the light.

  Her tail was scaled, of course, as all mermaid tails are.

  But this mermaid’s tail was also different. It was encrusted with jewels—sapphires and pearls, rubies and diamonds—and because of this, when the mermaid sat on the rock, she shone so brightly that it looked as if everything around her had been set on fire.

  What was the mermaid’s name?

  Rosellyn.

  Her name was Rosellyn.

  This was the beginning of the story.

  Beatryce said the words aloud until she had them just as she wanted them.

  When she fell silent, she heard something scuttling about in the darkness, and something dripping, and sometimes, too, from what seemed like very far away, the sound of weeping, the sound of some great sorrow.

  We are close now,” said Cannoc.

  He fell back and let Answelica and Jack Dory take the lead again.

  As they neared the castle, Cannoc changed. His shoulders became rounded, his face more lined. He did not laugh.