The moon shone brilliantly down on the white breast of the snow, and the stars gleamed in the blackness of the sky like the most perfect of diamonds on sable velvet. And she wondered, as she looked out at it, if she was becoming as cold and unfeeling as that landscape.
Because tonight, she had had three major tasks to deal with. The first had actually involved working against The Tradition to save the lives of those two tiny children. The Tradition had another end to their story—exhausted and in tears, they should have gone to sleep in each others’ arms and died out there, to be covered by leaves. Gerda’s plight in the hands of the robber band was a terrifying one for any young woman; when Aleksia had banished her image, Gerda’s expression of fear and grief should have melted a stone. And as for the Tyrant—there she was juggling life and death on a massive scale. Any sensible person would have been shaking with trepidation.
Instead, she had been unmoved. All that had excited her had been the need to find a clever solution, to outwit The Tradition and win the game. She had not been afraid for the children, in tears of sympathy for Gerda, or angry at the Tyrant.
And now, she was only tired. Not triumphant, only satisfied, as having done a good day’s work.
Was she slowly becoming as locked in ice, emotionally speaking, as that perpetually frozen landscape?
She shivered and dropped the curtain over the window.
Perhaps before she went to bed, it would be wise to try to find some way of looking in on the Sammi. Even if she could not contact one of the Shaman, or Wizards, perhaps she could watch him. It did not matter what kingdom you were in, people brought their magicians information.
Perhaps by seeing a Wizard who was involved with the lives of his people she could reconnect with real life herself.
The difficulty, of course, was to find someone in the first place. To watch, she needed to have a reflective surface, and Mages that were aware of mirror-magic kept such things covered or dulled. Still…
Wonder-smiths. The Sammi have magicians called Wonder-smiths. And no smith worthy of his forge is going to turn out dull blades.
So that would be what she would look for. The reflective surface of a weapon, in the possession of one who could make it more, much more, than just a weapon.
As it happened, she found exactly what she was looking for far sooner than she had expected.
CHAPTER 4
THEY WERE BROTHERS, AND THEIR NAMES WERE ILMARI and Lemminkal. Lemminkal was the elder of the two, though neither was young. It was Ilmari who was the smith, and Aleksia first saw him in his forge, stripped to the waist, corded muscles giving lie to the gray in his hair and beard as he labored over a—
Scythe. Not an ax, not a sword, but that most humble of farmer’s tools, putting as much effort and magic into it as she would have expected of a warrior’s prized weapon. Which was interesting.
She learned their names and that they were brothers when the elder entered the forge to check on his brother’s progress. There was only the briefest of exchanges; the elder brother, looking not particularly impressive in the simplest of woolen tunics and breeches, finished with a wise waggle of his head, and the comment, “That stream has been overfished, brother Ilmari,” and took himself off.
Ilmari only grunted and went back to his work.
But then she chuckled when the purchaser of the scythe came to the forge; it was clear why Ilmari had taken such trouble over it.
“Greetings, Ilmari.” The voice was pleasant, if a trifle high-pitched. The owner of the voice was not exactly what Aleksia had expected from so breathy a tone. Instead of being petite and fluttery, the woman in question was exceedingly buxom, sturdy and had languid eyes that held a great deal of warmth in them. The full lips echoed that warmth with a half smile. But the hands that reached for the scythe were strong and no strangers to hard work.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, examining the implement with pleasure. “A masterwork, for certain. And the magic you bound to it?”
“As you asked. It will never cut flesh, it will never need sharpening until it is taken from the field, and whoever uses it will tire much slower. I could not make it so that the wielder never tired—”
“No more than you could make it so that it never, ever needed sharpening,” the woman agreed, nodding. “That would be unnatural. But this will help my brother do a man’s work until he gets a man’s height, and he and I can keep the farm until he grows into our late father’s place.”
“There are many who would help you with that, Maari,” Ilmari began, coaxingly, with a glint in his eye. “Many who would help you for the sake of a friendly—”
“Oh, and you mean yourself, Ilmari?” The young woman chuckled. “Nay, nay, Wonder-smith. You know nothing of farming and care less. You would trample half the corn instead of cutting it. Your shocks would come undone and the grain would rot on the ground before it dried. Stick to your forge, Ilmari. Stick to your runes, and my brother and I shall stick to ours. Now, tell me what I owe you for this.”
“Three silver coins, or a bargain.” Ilmari hesitated before setting the price, and little wonder; most people in a small village wouldn’t see that much money in hard currency in the course of a year. And indeed, the girl bit her lip, and in her anxiety, betrayed her youth. Aleksia reckoned her no more than sixteen or seventeen.
“That’s half my dower—” she said, as if to herself.
“But I would readily make you another bargain, Maari.” The coaxing tone was back in the man’s voice, and the gleam in his eyes told as clearly as speech just what sort of a bargain he would like to make. “For so good a friend and neighbor, things need not come to money between us—”
“And for the dear friend of my father, who has been like a father to me and my brother, and a respected elder of our village, I would have it no other way. Cheap at the price to keep my brother safe and the farm in our hands.” Maari did not need to say anything more, and the man flushed a little. Properly, too, in Aleksia’s estimation.
And yet, she had said it with such politeness that there was nothing the man could do but graciously take the three coins she told over into his hand, and accept her thanks and let her go.
Aleksia chuckled as he swore a little and kicked at the floor. Outfoxed! well there it was, even a wonder-smith and a magician could be tripped up by his own desires and find himself making a fool of himself in front of a clever girl.
She watched him as he crossly banked the fire, then pulled on a tunic, like his brother’s—plain and somewhat the worse for wear, clearly in need of a woman’s hand. So these were bachelor fellows, then? Not surprising that he was making a fool of himself over a girl a third of his age. Or perhaps not a third his age, but surely less than half. A man without a wife could delude himself into thinking there was no gray in his hair and beard, that he was the same fellow he’d been twenty or thirty years ago. A man with children about him that were the age of this young maiden had no such delusions. And besides, he would be far too busy keeping close watch on his own young maidens, eyeing old rakes and impetuous young bucks with equal disfavor, to have the leisure to go making a fool of himself in the first place.
Lemminkal came in again just as Ilmari finished shutting the forge for the night. He was trailed by a handsome fellow who was the right age for the departed maiden. Ilmari saluted them both with ill grace, and Lemminkal laughed.
“And what did I tell you, brother? That stream’s been overfished. You should be casting your hook for a tasty big salmon, not chasing after the slim little minnows.”
“Bah,” Ilmari said, as the younger man chuckled. “And I suppose that’s to leave the stream for your apprentice!”
“Not I!” The young man laughed. “Oh, no, I have the sweetest girl in the world waiting for me at home, and compared to her, your pretty caller is a candle to a star.”
“Well I’d liefer have a candle than a star,” Ilmari grumbled. “It’s of more use.”
The three men went out, and Aleksia searc
hed for another reflective surface near them, so she could continue her observation.
She quickly realized that there were not many in the home of a pair of bachelors…No polished ornaments. No mirrors—not that she expected glass, so expensive and so fragile, in such a place. But no polished metal, either, no shiny pots, the housewife’s pride.
No wonder Ilmari thinks he is still a handsome young dog. I doubt he has seen his reflection in years.
Finally, though, she did find a reflective surface—the water in a barrel somewhere near the fire. She got a most unedifying view of the ceiling of the place, but at least she could listen.
She had often wondered what Witches and Wizards and Godmothers talked about when they sat around their own fires of a night. She discovered that it was of very little use to her. The young man—Veikko—spoke of the doings of the village at some length, while the older men commented, Ilmari with a touch of good-natured mocking. At least, she thought it was good-natured. Lemminkal asked how Ilmari’s commissions were coming, cautioning him that Winter was coming and his patrons would be ill-pleased if their tools and weapons did not leave with the last trader.
“Well enough, old woman,” Ilmari said, his tone a trifle peevish. “I take but one extra bit of work, and you pester me as if you thought I was falling behind.”
“Because you took it and put all else aside, with the hope of trading it for a Winter between the maid’s thighs,” Lemminkal said bluntly, while the young Veikko made a choking sound. “That may well keep you warm, but it does nothing to pay for our bread to be baked, nor for any of our Winter provisions. So unless you plan to learn how to bake and make cheese, I think I’ve a right to act like an old woman where the money is concerned!”
“Oh, give over!” Ilmari snapped. “Here!” There was the sound of coins being slapped down on the table. “She paid me in her dower money and there is an end to it! And I have but the ax to finish, and that will be done well before the last peddler leaves! And what was I to do? Tell her no, and let that half-grown boy cut himself to ribbons with a scythe he’s too young to swing? The corn won’t wait, but that ax can. I wouldn’t have turned her away, if she’d been harelipped and cross-eyed and hadn’t two coppers to clink together, Lemminkal. Though she’ll never know what sort of bargain she got for her three silvers. Kings would pay for what I gave her.”
There was silence for a moment. “I beg your pardon, brother,” Lemminkal said, humbly. “Here I thought—”
“Oh, it was on my mind,” Ilmari grumbled. “I’m a man after all, and she’s a toothsome creature. But she would have none of my hinting, and told me how she could not give an honored elder of the village less than his due. Good luck! Talking about me as if I was her grandsire! Well, she’s paid, and they’ll get their harvest in, and in good time, and maybe a bit more.”
“And what did you do for her, brother mine?” Lemminkal asked.
“I put her father’s strength and skill into the scythe, that’s what,” Ilmari said with satisfaction. “After all, he’s hardly using it in Tuonela. There’s no harvesting nor planting across the river of death. And I put in it what she asked for, that the lad not feel he’s weary until day’s end and time to put the tools down.”
“Hakkinnen was a champion in the field,” Lemminkal mused. “They say in the village, he could get more harvested in a day than most men in two.”
“And well if the boy can. He can hire himself out to some of the other farmers in exchange for woodcutting and other work. As he grows into that scythe, the magic will fade, as it should. Eventually, the skill and strength will be all his.” Aleksia could hear the pride in the smith’s voice. And no wonder; that was a tricky bit of magic. It was one thing to put magic into an object. It was quite another to get it to recognize when it wasn’t needed anymore. “I learned my lesson with that damned hand-mill, brother. Never again will I make a thing that never fails, never fades. Bad enough that the hand-mill attracted the attention of half the black sorcerers in the North. Worse that it became a bone of contention that nearly destroyed a family. But worst of all—to keep it grinding what was asked of it nearly drained people to death!”
“That was a bad business,” Lemminkal agreed. “But you were young.”
Ilmari snorted. “And an idiot. Enough, I haven’t had my supper, and neither have you. Who brought us what today?”
There was no talk then, as the three men fell on their food like starving wolves, and with little more than grunts of satisfaction. And then, it seemed, they were minded to go straight to sleep. She broke her spell with a shrug. Perhaps something would turn up another day.
* * *
The deer were hitched and waiting, and Aleksia was dressed in her most impressive of Snow Queen gowns. She watched the preparations out of her window, readying the strongest of the All Paths Are One spell in her mind. She would otherwise have a very long way to go. And if only this was to be a pleasure trip! But alas…
This was a christening. She would be the only Godmother there. There was no reason for any evil Witches, wicked queens, dark Sorceresses to turn up, either. No, the reason she was going was an entirely ordinary one.
She was going to intimidate the stuffing out of King Bjorn of Eisland’s Court. And the King, too.
“All is in readiness, Godmother,” said the Brownie Rosemary from behind her. And with a sigh, Aleksia went out into the bitter air that was held away from her by a spell, and with her driver’s aid, stepped up and into her sleigh. As they drove out of her gates and over the pristine snowfields, she called up the spell she had ready. She had to wait until they were off the mountain and down among the trees for it to work, of course—you couldn’t have the spell without a path for it to work on. And every Godmother as far away as Elena would know she was using it, too—it was very powerful magic—to twist space—and that sort of thing echoed and echoed again for anyone with the talent to recognize it.
Which, now that she came to think of it, meant that this false Snow Queen was not using Godmotherly magics much. Aleksia would know if she was. Elena would know. And that, of course, was how Elena knew that it wasn’t Aleksia working mischief among the Sammi, for Aleksia hadn’t used this magic for herself in a very long time. Not since she last visited her sister. As for using it to further or thwart The Tradition, every time she did that she wrote it down in her Commonplace Book, and any Godmother who cared to could have a copy of that just by telling her library to get it.
Aleksia chuckled wryly to herself as the sleigh entered the forest and she let the spell run free before her. Trust, but verify. She had no doubt Elena was doing just that. Well, good. Someone needed to. Godmothers rarely went to the bad, but it wasn’t impossible, and Aleksia had very little peer supervision up here.
The journey was not instantaneous, so she had plenty of time to review everything she had done to get to the bottom of the mystery. If, indeed, there really was a mystery. She was beginning to doubt it. It was entirely possible that the Snow Queen had gotten the reputation as some sort of man-eating myth among the Sammi, and that what Elena had heard was nothing more than The Tradition putting force behind the myth. One day it might create a false Snow Queen—after enough people believed in the creature. But right now, it might well be only distorted echoes of her true deed coming back as some sort of hobgoblin tales.
Certainly there was no sign that the three Sammi magicians had heard anything about it, and they were the most likely to do so. It was clear from what she had seen and heard that people came to them from leagues and leagues around for the brothers to handle any magical difficulty, and Lemminkal was seizing on these pleas for help to further train his apprentice, Veikko. Already, since she had been eavesdropping on them, they had gotten rid of a troll, taken down a boar the size of a horse and gotten rid of a cursed talisman. If there had been a false Snow Queen out there stealing away young men, they would have heard about it by now. And they would have gone out to do something about it. Instead, they were doing what e
very other Sammi was doing at this moment—preparing for Winter.
She reluctantly concluded, as the sleigh came within sight of the King’s Palace, that she was wasting her time watching and listening to them. Reluctantly, because she was enjoying being the secret member of their household. Listening to them gave her a sense of camaraderie, as if she really was there in person. She liked them all, and despite his flaws—and there were many—she very much liked Ilmari. He had a good heart, and a care to the people who depended on him and his brother for protection. She wished he was a little less boastful and a great deal less lecherous, but he really did not have any malice in him, and when he cared to be, he was witty, amusing and altogether good company.
Still, the illusion that she was part of their circle was just that, an illusion, and since they had proved of no use to her, it was time to give over her watch on them and turn her attention to other sources of information.
Just as she came to that conclusion, the sleigh arrived at the main entrance to the Palace. She descended from her sleigh, the personification of icy dignity, and was met by an honor guard of four of the King’s personal bodyguards. They looked very festive in new red-wool uniforms, with the King’s arms embroidered across their tabards.
As she passed through the crowd, people pulled away to give her room to pass, conversations chilled and people avoided her icy glare. It was as she had thought. The King was up to no good.
Now, when The Tradition forced something upon someone, it was not always full of magic and wonder, and it was not always good. Often enough it could be as vicious and sordid as an evil stepmother wanting to be rid of her husband’s children so her own could take their place in his care and affections.
A Tale of the Five Hundred Kingdoms, Volume 2 Page 37