by Shannon Hale
“Who do you think it could be?” asked Marda, stepping closer to Miri as soon as she approached. Even in a large group, Marda felt anxious standing alone.
“I don’t know,” said Esa, “but my ma says a surprise from a lowlander is a snake in a box.”
Esa was slender, though not as small as Miri, and shared the same tawny hair with her brother, Peder. She was eyeing the wagon, her face scrunched suspiciously. Marda nodded. Doter, Esa and Peder’s mother, was known for her wise sayings.
“A surprise,” said Frid. She had shoulder-length black hair and an expression of near constant wonderment. Though only sixteen, she was nearly as broad-shouldered and thick-armed as any of her six big brothers. “Who could it be? Some rich trader?”
One of the traders looked their way with a patronizing smile. “Clearly, it’s a messenger from the king.”
“The king?” Miri felt herself gawk like a coarse mountain girl, but she could not help it. No one from the king had been to the mountain in her lifetime.
“They’re probably here to declare Mount Eskel the new capital of Danland,” said the trader.
“The royal palace will fit nicely in the quarry,” said the second trader.
“Really?” Frid asked, and both traders snickered. Miri glared at them but did not speak up, afraid of sounding ignorant herself.
Another trumpet blared, and a brightly dressed man stood on the driver’s bench and yelled in a high, strained voice, “I call your ears to hearken the chief delegate of Danland.”
A delicate man with a short, pointed beard emerged from the carriage, squinting in the sunlight that reflected off the white walls of the old quarry. As he took in the sight of the crowd, his squint became a pronounced frown.
“Lords and ladies of . . .” He stopped and laughed, sharing some private joke with himself. “People of Mount Eskel. As your territory has no delegate at court to report to you, His Majesty the king sent me to deliver you this news.” A breeze tapped his hat’s long yellow feather against his brow. He pushed it away. Some of the younger village boys laughed.
“This past summer, the priests of the creator god took council on the birthday of the prince. They read the omens and divined the home of his future bride. All the signs indicated Mount Eskel.”
The chief delegate paused, seemingly waiting for a response, though what kind Miri had no notion. A cheer? A boo? He sighed, and his voice went higher.
“Are you so remote that you don’t know the customs of your own people?”
Miri wished that she could shout out just the right answer, but like her neighbors, she was silent.
A few traders chuckled.
“This has long been a Danlander custom,” said the chief delegate, pushing the wind-beaten feather away from his face. “After days of fasting and supplication, the priests perform a rite to divine which city or town is the home of the future princess. Then the prince meets all the noble daughters of that place and chooses his bride. You may be certain that the pronouncement of Mount Eskel shocked many Danlanders, but who are we to argue with the priests of the creator god?”
From the tightness of his tone, Miri guessed that he had indeed tried to argue with the priests of the creator god and failed.
“As is the tradition, the king commanded an academy be created for the purpose of preparing the potential young ladies. Though law dictates the academy be formed in the chosen town, your village does not”—he squinted and looked around—“indeed, does not have any buildings of appropriate size for such an undertaking. Given these circumstances, the priests agreed the academy could be lodged in the old stone minister’s house near the mountain pass. The king’s servants are even now preparing it for use.” The wind tapped the feather on his cheek. He swatted it like a bee.
“On the morrow, all the girls in this village aged twelve to seventeen are ordered to the academy to prepare themselves to meet the prince. One year from now the prince will ascend the mountain and attend the academy’s ball. He himself will select his bride from among the girls of the academy. So let you prepare.”
The updraft thrust the feather into his eye. He tore it from his hat and threw it at the ground, but the wind snatched it up and sent it flying out from the village, over the cliff, and away. The chief delegate was back in his carriage before the feather was out of sight.
“Snake in a box,” said Miri.
n
Chapter Two
nWater in the porridge
And more salt in the gruel
Doesn’t make a belly
Full, not a bellyful
n
Let’s do what we came for,” shouted a trader.
His voice was an invitation to break the silence. Even such strange news could not delay the most important trading of the year.
“Enrik!” Miri jogged to the trader she had dealt with for the past two years. He was lank and pale, and the way he looked down his thin nose at her reminded Miri of a bird that had gone too long without a grub.
Enrik drove his wagon to the stack of finished stones that represented her family’s portion of the past three months’ work. Miri pointed out the unusually large size of one block and the quality of the silver grain in others, all the while eyeing the contents of his wagon and calculating how much food her family would need to get through the winter.
“These stones are easily worth your haul,” said Miri, trying her best to mimic Doter’s warm, solid tone of voice. No one ever argued with Esa and Peder’s ma. “But to be nice, I’ll trade our stones for everything in your wagon except one barrel of wheat, one bag of lentils, and a crate of salt fish, so long as you include that pot of honey.”
Enrik clicked his tongue. “Little Miri, your village is lucky any traders come all this way just for stone. I’ll give you half of what you asked.”
“Half? You’re joking.”
“Look around,” he said. “Haven’t you noticed fewer wagons this year? Other traders hauled supplies to the academy instead of to your village. Besides, your pa won’t need so much with you and your sister gone.”
Miri folded her arms. “This academy business is just a trick to cheat us, isn’t it? I knew it had to be something sneaky because no lowlander is going to make a girl from Mount Eskel into royalty.”
“After the news of the academy, no family with eligible girls is going to barter for any better, so you’d best take my offer before I drive away.”
Sounds of frustrated conversations blew around the town center. Peder’s ma was red-faced and yelling, and Frid’s ma looked ready to hit someone.
“But I . . . I wanted . . .” She had visualized coming home triumphant with a load fit to feed two families.
“But I wanted . . . ,” Enrik mimicked her in a squeaky voice. “Now don’t let your chin get to quivering. I’ll give you the honey, just because someday you might be my queen.”
That made him laugh. As long as she got to bring home some honey, Miri did not mind his laugh. Not much, anyway.
Enrik drove to her house and helped her unload, at least. It gave Miri a chance to take some pleasure in how often he stumbled and tripped on the stony turf.
Miri’s house was built of rubble rock, the plain gray stone the quarriers pulled out of the earth to uncover linder. The back of her house leaned against the sheer wall of a dead quarry, the one of her father’s childhood that had offered linder with soft blue streaks. Linder and rubble rock debris piled as high as the windowsills.
Miri busied herself around the house all afternoon, sorting and storing their winter supplies, shying away from the thought that it would not be enough to see the three of them through winter. They could eat many of the rabbits and perhaps kill a goat, but that loss would make things even tighter the next winter and the next. Stupid, cheating lowlanders.
Wh
en the sunlight streaking through her shutters was orange and hazy, the sound of pounding began to falter. By the time her pa and Marda opened the door, it was night. Miri had ready pork, oat, and onion stew, with fresh cabbage to celebrate a trading day.
“Evening, Miri,” said her pa, kissing the top of her head.
“I got Enrik to give us a pot of honey,” said Miri.
Marda and Pa hummed over her small triumph, but the poor trading and strange news of the academy were on their minds, and no one was able to pretend cheeriness, even over honey.
“I’m not going,” said Miri as she prodded her chilling stew. “Are you, Marda?”
Marda shrugged.
“They think the village could do without half the girls?” said Miri. “Who’d help you in the quarry with Marda gone? And without me, who would do all the housework and tend the rabbits and the goats and all the things that I do?” She bit half her lip and looked at the fire. “What do you think, Pa?”
Her father rubbed a callused finger over the rough grain of the table. Miri held still as a rabbit listening.
“I’d miss my girls,” he said.
Miri exhaled. He was on their side, and he would not let the lowlanders take her away from home. Even so, she found it difficult to finish dinner. She hummed to herself a song about tomorrows.
n
Chapter Three
Tomorrow’s a red flush in the western sky
Tomorrow’s a black hush in the middle night
Tomorrow swears the truth of now, now, and now
In the trembling blue gasp of the morning light
n
Before dawn, Miri woke to trumpeting. The same sound that in the day had been curious and even comical was now unsettling. Before she could stand, her pa was at the door, and what he saw made him frown.
Miri’s first thought was bandits, but why would they attack Mount Eskel? Every villager knew the story of the last bandit attack, before Miri was born, when the exhausted outlaws had finally reached the village at the top of the mountain only to find little worth stealing and a horde of men and women made strong by years in the quarry. The bandits had run off with empty hands and a few more bruises and had never returned.
“What is it, Pa?” asked Miri.
“Soldiers.”
Miri stood behind him and peered under his lifted arm. She could see pairs of torch-bearing soldiers all over the village. Two approached their door, their faces visible by torchlight—one was older than her pa, tall, with a hard face, and the other seemed but a boy dressed up.
“We’ve come to collect your girls,” said the older soldier. He checked a thin wood board burned with marks that Miri did not understand. “Marda and Miri.”
Marda was standing on the other side of their pa now. He put his arms around both their shoulders.
The soldier squinted at Miri. “How old are you, girl?”
“Fourteen,” she said, glaring.
“Are you certain? You look—”
“I’m fourteen.”
The young soldier smirked at his companion. “Must be the thin mountain air.”
“And what about you?” The older soldier turned his doubtful gaze to Marda.
“I’ll be eighteen in the third month.”
He smacked his lips together. “Just missed it, then. The prince will be eighteen in the fifth month of this year, and no girl older than the prince is allowed. We’ll just be taking Miri.”
The soldiers shifted their feet in the rock debris. Miri looked up at her pa.
“No,” Pa said at last.
The younger soldier snorted and looked at his companion.
“I thought you were joking when you said they might resist. ‘No,’ he says, as though it’s his choice.” He leaned forward and laughed.
Miri laughed back loudly in the young soldier’s face, surprising him into silence. She could not stand to have a lowlander mock her pa.
“What a good joke, a boy pretending to be a soldier,” said Miri. “But isn’t it awfully early for you to be away from your ma?”
He glared. “I’m seventeen and—”
“Are you really? That muggy lowlander air does stunt a thing, doesn’t it?”
The young soldier started forward as if he would strike Miri, but her pa stepped in front of her, and the older soldier knocked back his companion and whispered angrily into his ear. Miri had enjoyed returning the insult, but now she felt cold and tired. She leaned closer to her pa and hoped she would not cry.
“Sir,” said the older soldier courteously, “we are here to escort the girls safely to the academy. These are the king’s orders. We mean no harm, but I do have instructions to take any resisters directly to the capital.”
Miri stared, wishing the soldier would take it back. “Pa, I don’t want you arrested,” she whispered.
“Laren!” one of the village men, Os, called out to their father. “Come on, we’re meeting.”
The soldiers followed them to the village center. While the adults and soldiers conversed, Miri and Marda stood in a huddle of other village girls and boys, watching and waiting for a decision. The adults argued with the soldiers, who in turn tried to calm everyone and make assurances that their girls would be safe, well cared for, and as near as a three-hour walk.
“But how will we manage without the girls to help in the quarry?” asked Frid’s ma.
Of course no one asked, “How will we manage without Miri?” She folded her skinny arms and looked away.
They argued about needing the girls, the shorter food supply that winter, the threat of arrest, and the unknown future the girls would meet at the academy. The soldiers continued to answer questions and claim that attending the academy was an honor, not a punishment. Miri saw Os ask her father a question, and after a thoughtful pause, her father nodded agreement. Miri felt chills.
“Girls, come on over,” Os shouted.
The girls stepped away from the boys and made their way to the gathering of adults. Miri noticed that Marda stayed behind.
“Girls.” Os looked them over and rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. Though he was large and was known for his temper, there was a softness in his eyes. “We’ve all agreed that the best thing is for you to attend the lowlander academy.” Sighs and moans rippled through the crowd. “Now don’t worry. I believe these soldiers that all will be well with you. We want you to study hard and do your best and be respectful when you should. Go gather your things and don’t drag your feet. Show these lowlanders the strength of Mount Eskel.”
Suddenly Peder was beside her. “Are you going?” he asked.
“Yes, I guess. I don’t know.” She shook her head, trying to rattle her thoughts straight. “Are you? I mean, of course you’re not—you’re a boy. I meant to ask, do you wish I weren’t? Never mind.”
His mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. “You want me to say that I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you. Who else can make a mess of everything?”
Walking away, Miri wished she could undo her words and instead say something nice, something sincere. She had turned to go back when she saw that he was talking with Bena and Liana.
Marda returned from their house with a bundle of clothes and a bag of food for Miri, and Pa pulled them both into his arms. Miri sank into his chest, his body blocking the light of torches and the sound of good-byes. Surely his embrace meant that he loved her, though he did not say it. Surely he would miss her. But Miri could not help wondering how he would react if Marda, the daughter who worked by his side, were going to the academy. Would he have protested more? Would he have refused then?
Say that you’d miss me too much, she thought. Make me stay.
He only hugged her tight.
Miri felt torn in half, like a
n old shirt made into rags. How could she bear to leave her family and walk into some lowlander unknown? And how could she bear to admit that her pa did not care if she stayed?
Her father’s arms relaxed, and she pulled away. The noise of gravel underfoot said that most of the girls were already on the road.
“I guess I should get on,” she said.
Marda gave her a last hug. Pa only nodded. Miri took her time walking away in case he called out for her to come back.
Just before leaving the village, Miri paused to look back. Four dozen houses leaned against the stripped walls of a dead quarry. At the edge of the village stood the stone chapel, its ancient wood door carved with the story of the creator god first speaking to people. The sky was rust and yellow in the east, illuminating the village as though by firelight.
She could see the hilltop where she spent afternoons with the goats and surprised herself by feeling a tiny flash of relief that she would not sit there today, watching the quarriers work below. The crunching noise of the girls on the march beckoned her with a promise of something different, a place to go, a chance to move forward.
“Hurry on,” said a soldier bringing up the rear, and Miri complied.
The girls had drifted into small groups as they walked, and Miri was unsure which to join. For the past few years, all her childhood friends had begun to work in the quarry, and Miri had grown used to solitude in her house and on the hilltop with the goats. Around others, Marda was usually by her side.
Ahead walked Esa and Frid, and Miri jogged to catch up. Though Esa had no use of her left arm since a childhood accident, she still worked in the quarry when need was great, and Frid performed even the most difficult quarry tasks. Miri thought they were marvelous. If they thought Miri a burden on the rest of the village, as she had often feared, then she would never let them see she cared.
Despite her uncertainty, Miri took Esa’s hand. Village girls always held hands while walking. Doter, Esa’s mother, had once said it was an old custom meant to keep them from slipping off cliffs, though Miri had felt as safe as a goat scampering alone around Mount Eskel since she was five.