by Shannon Hale
“The prince might choose someone else, Katar,” said Bena. “I’d not thought much about him until last night I realized how dull all the village boys are. I’ll bet a prince is interesting.”
Liana nodded, ever echoing Bena’s opinion. Miri wondered what Peder did last night to lose their interest so decisively. She imagined a spot on her cheek warmer than the rest.
“Miri fancies herself the one he’ll choose,” said Bena. “That’s why she studies so hard, but she’s too proud to admit it.”
“How can you want to marry someone you’ve never met?” said Miri.
“What if you meet him and do like him, Miri?” Esa asked. “What if we all do?”
Frid frowned as though she thought that unlikely. Katar smirked, Bena stared at the morning stars, and three of the younger girls whispered to one another. Miri tried to keep her face unreadable. She had already fallen in love with the house in the painting, but after last night, the idea of Peder was too near and too full of hope to imagine marrying a prince.
“What’s his name, anyway?” asked Gerti, settling her kettle in the coals.
“Steffan,” said Britta.
“How did you know that?” asked Liana.
Britta shrugged. “Everyone knows down there.”
“Everyone knows down there,” said Katar in a high, mocking voice.
Britta blushed.
“Well done,” said Miri, jumping in to save her friend. “So it’s Steffan. Hm, sounds feeble to me. Bet he can’t toss a pebble five paces.”
Frid gasped, then roared with such laughter that it seemed nothing had struck her as so funny as the thought that someone would not be able to toss a pebble five paces. Miri half chuckled as well but felt uncomfortable laughing at her own joke, especially as no one else seemed to find it amusing at all.
“It doesn’t matter if any of us fall in love with the prince,” said Katar. “We should still return to the academy.”
“I didn’t realize how important the lowlanders considered the academy until we studied Danlander political structure,” said Esa. “Before, I didn’t know what a chief delegate was or why it was significant that he himself came to Mount Eskel with the news.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Gerti’s friend Jetar.
“Every province of Danland has a delegate,” said Katar, yawning to show that she thought Jetar’s ignorance very boring. “Every delegate represents them at court, and the chief delegate is head of them all. Second only to the king. He must’ve been pretty annoyed that we didn’t realize how important he was.”
Miri nodded with mock seriousness. “Ah yes, I remember well his marvelous feathered hat.”
“No wonder lowlanders don’t think of us as being true Danlanders,” said Esa, “since Mount Eskel is just a territory.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have run away,” said Gerti. “If the academy is that important, if we’re that important . . .”
“And remember the lesson on Danlander Law?” said Katar. “And the punishments for disobeying the king?”
Frid folded her arms. “They might try to haul our fathers to Asland.”
“We could get our parents to talk to Olana and explain . . . ,” said Gerti.
“I think Olana might respect us more if we made things right on our own,” said Esa. Her voice softened. “And I’d like to return. Even if I’ll never be a princess, I’d like to learn more.”
Miri rose to her feet with an idea. “If one of us really will be the princess, how can Olana push us around? She might be sticking her future queen in the closet to snuggle with a rat.”
Katar scrunched her lips. “That is something to bargain with.”
“Let’s go back and show her we’re smarter than she thinks.” Miri paced with excitement. “Olana didn’t spend much time on Diplomacy, but we learned enough to come up with a decent plan.”
Bena rolled her eyes. “You think we can just hop into her lap, spout a bunch of Diplomacy rules, and that will make everything all better?”
“I wish I’d known the rules for Diplomacy that day Olana gave me a palm lashing,” said Miri. “I think I could’ve argued my way out of it. It might be fun to try.”
“Yes, and Miri should be the one to speak for us,” said Gerti, patting her shoulder.
Katar, Bena, and Liana talked over one another, saying that one of the older girls should do it, that the matter was too delicate to leave to Miri.
“She’s the one who got us in trouble before,” said Bena.
Esa shrugged. “Olana said Miri scored best at the exam. And besides, using Diplomacy was her idea.”
Britta and a few other girls voiced their support as well.
“It was Miri’s idea,” Frid said simply, and the disputing ceased. Frid’s large, brawny family could eat a village’s winter food supply and still feel hungry, yet they always donated some of their cut linder to smaller families, without fuss and without thanks. Even Bena would not argue with Frid.
Miri only nodded, but she felt like shouting. They trusted her. It gave her hope that at the academy, far from the quarry, she might have a chance to be as useful as everyone else.
By the time dawn put an orange haze around Mount Eskel’s crown, they had informed the other academy girls of their plan and returned home to spend the rest day with their families.
After their morning visit to the chapel, Miri’s family stayed around the house doing idle chores. Marda and Pa wanted to know everything she had learned, and Miri did not need to wait for their questions to tell them.
Their house had a dirt floor, so she took them on a walk just beyond the village. They sat on a large linder block marred with a crack through its center, and Miri spoke to them in quarry-speech, at first just Take care, then a memory of the three of them roasting apples at the hearth while a winter storm thundered outside.
“Quarry-speech is just for the quarry,” said Pa.
“I think it takes linder to work, not the quarry,” said Miri.
Pa’s cheeks wrinkled in a smile as though he thought she were making a joke. “Now what use would it be anywhere else?”
“Well, I think you can communicate more than just the quarry warnings. I guess you could say almost anything, as long as there’s a memory that fits it.”
Pa frowned, not understanding. Miri’s heart sank. She had paced with impatience to come home and tell her father about Commerce and quarry-speaking. Now she asked herself what she had truly expected. That he would throw her in the air and declare she was smarter than he had thought and worthy to work by his side?
“I guess it wouldn’t be interesting to a quarrier,” said Miri. “I guess it’s just interesting to me. Never mind.”
“Can Britta hear it?” asked Marda.
“No,” said Miri. “I don’t think any lowlanders can.”
Marda was staring off toward the quarry, and she began to sing a chiseling song. “‘Mud in the stream, and earth in the air. Clay in my ears, and stone in my stare. Grit on my tongue, and dust in my hair. Inside and out, mountain everywhere.’ I was just thinking, Pa, if lowlanders can’t hear quarry-speech and it works with linder . . .”
Their father nodded. “Linder’s in our blood and bones.”
“You think it works for us because we live around linder?” asked Miri.
“And drink it and breathe it, all our lives.” Marda ducked her head as if she wanted to be silent, but clearly the idea fascinated her, and she continued. “If it works around linder, and mountain folk have linder inside us . . . maybe linder shapes quarry-speech in the way that cupping your hands around your mouth makes your voice louder. Or maybe quarry-speech travels through linder like sound through air, and the more linder the louder it is. Our memories move through linder, whether in the mountain or in a person.”
Miri st
ared at Marda. “You’re smart,” she said.
Marda shook her head and clamped her mouth shut.
Before the academy, Miri never had cause to wonder if a person was head smart or not. It seemed everyone was clever at something—there were those who were best at picking out the right fissure for prying a block of linder free and those who were best at making cheese or tanning hides, beating drums, or tossing stones. Now, smart meant to Miri the talent to think around a new problem and to learn new things.
And Marda was smart. It was injustice and not luck at all that made Marda three months too old to attend the academy. And not just Marda—what about the younger girls? And all the boys?
“I wish you could attend the academy,” said Miri.
Marda shrugged, and the last hope in her expression hinted that she had daydreamed about the academy on many a winter night.
Pa seemed to sense that sadness had crept in, so he ushered them back home to make oat biscuits for the last of the winter honey, saying, “A little honey can cheer the gloom out of bones and stones.”
As they celebrated over biscuits, Miri joked and laughed despite her father’s disappointing reaction, but her thoughts kept returning to Marda. She had never imagined that her sister yearned to be at the academy, perhaps as much as Miri longed to be welcome in the quarry. Miri snuck Marda an extra helping of honey when her back was turned and wished she could think of something that would make it right.
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Chapter Thirteen
All I know are
Scraps, flakes, chips, rocks
All below are
Stones, shards, bits, dross
n
The next morning the girls walked back to the academy. This time no soldiers pressed them from behind, but Miri guessed she was not the only one feeling jittery. They talked over their Diplomacy strategy, and many of the girls offered ideas. Frid and other sixteen-year-olds were vocal and supportive, but Bena refused to speak again after she declared that Miri would fail, and Katar stayed in her usual spot alone at the head of the group.
When they arrived at the academy, the girls arranged themselves before the steps in a straight line. Miri could see Knut peering through a window.
In the silence of waiting, Miri became aware of the jagged rocks poking through her boot soles. They had already been thin when they had been Marda’s, and now they were . . . Miri tried to think of a word that was thinner than “thin.” She wanted to hop around or say something funny to relieve the nervous tension, but she was the diplomat and thought she had better appear respectable.
Finally Olana emerged, fists on her hips. The two soldiers stood behind her.
Miri brought to mind the first rule of diplomatic negotiations: State the problem. “We know we are not welcome inside,” she said.
Olana blinked. That was not what she had been expecting to hear.
“We left without your permission and violated your authority,” said Miri. The second rule: Admit your own error. “That was wrong.”
Frid shuffled her feet nervously. Miri knew the girls had not been expecting to concede fault, but she was not confident she could be convincing without help from the rules of Diplomacy. Besides, she wanted Olana to see that they had listened and learned.
“You kept us from our families, punished us for unfair reasons, and treated us like criminals. That was also wrong. We’re here now, willing to forget our mutual offenses and start over. Here are our terms.”
Olana blinked rapidly, a sign that her composure had slipped. Miri felt encouraged. She reviewed the other rules: State the error of the other party. Done. Propose specific compromises and end with Invite mutual acceptance. She hoped she was not forgetting anything.
“For each rest day, we will be allowed to return home to our families and attend chapel, leaving in the late afternoon and then returning by rest day evening. When traders come, we will return home for one week to help barter, haul stone, and work in our homes. Rule breaking may be punished with a missed meal, but no one will be hit, locked in a closet, or grounded from a return home.”
Olana clicked her tongue to show that she was not impressed. “I have a steep task to turn twenty mountain girls into presentable ladies. These measures are the only way I can keep you in line.”
Miri nodded. “Perhaps they were, but no longer. As part of these new terms, we will vow to focus on our studies, respect your authority, and obey all reasonable rules.” Just one more: Illustrate the negative outcome of refusal and positive of acceptance. “If you don’t agree to this, whichever of us the prince chooses will report your bad behavior and demand of him that you serve the rest of your days in some outlying territory of Danland even more distasteful to you than Mount Eskel.”
“A swamp,” Britta whispered. Miri nodded. She had read about a territory that was swampland—smelly, sticky with mud, and poorer than the mountains.
“Such as a swamp,” said Miri.
Olana cringed visibly.
“And if you live by these terms and treat us as you would treat noblemen’s daughters, whichever one of us chosen as the princess will commend your teaching and see you get comfortable work tutoring in Asland.
“As well, we request the dismissal of the soldiers. Their only purpose seems to be to intimidate us, so they should go home to Asland when the traders come again in a few weeks.”
Olana arched one eyebrow. “In this very class we’ve read of bandits who rove the isolated territories of Danland. What will we do if they decide they like the look of Mount Eskel?”
Frid chuckled and the girls exchanged smiles. The tale of defeated bandits was a staple at spring holiday.
“Bandits did attack our village before I was born,” said Katar, jumping in. “You may have noticed there’s nothing to steal, except linder blocks too heavy for bandits to easily haul. And when they saw that every quarry man was twice their size and wielding mallets and pickaxes, it didn’t take much to run them off the mountain. They won’t return.”
“I see,” said Olana.
“We accept these terms and invite you to do the same,” said Miri, waiting for Olana to respond. The silence poked at Miri’s confidence, and she shifted her feet in the rock debris and tried not to squirm under the weight of Olana’s hesitation. “Um, so do you?”
“Do I accept these terms?” Olana pulled long each vowel sound, an effect that had always made Miri cold for what she would do next. “I’ll go ponder the matter, and I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Olana was turning away when Katar spoke.
“If forced to wait long, we’re likely to return to the village. At that point you would have a long walk to make before telling us your decision. That will prove time lost on our studies, and if we’re not presentable when the prince arrives, it will reflect badly on our tutor.”
Miri frowned. She had forgotten Assert a deadline for acceptance.
A slow smile crept from one corner of Olana’s mouth to the other. Some of the girls looked at one another, uneasy at what such a reaction could mean.
Then, unexpectedly, Olana applauded.
“I am impressed,” said Olana. “I hadn’t expected as much from mountain girls.”
“We may be mountain girls,” said Britta, “but we’re also Danlanders.”
“Indeed,” said Olana. “This has been a very good demonstration of Diplomacy. Let’s return to our studies and see if we can’t get you to the same level in every subject. Your terms are accepted.” She entered the building.
Several of the girls exhaled at once, and the sound made them laugh.
“Olana might be a good sort after all,” said Frid with some surprise.
“We had her by the hair,” said Miri. “She had no choice.”
Miri caught up with Katar on the academy steps. “I’m glad
you spoke up or we could still be standing out here waiting.”
Katar cut her eyes at Miri. “I’m a better diplomat than you and everyone knows it. It should’ve been me talking. Too bad for you that academy princess isn’t based on who everyone likes best.” She pinched Miri’s arm and stomped up the steps.
Miri rubbed her arm and rolled her eyes at Britta.
“She is a sour one,” said Britta.
Esa nodded. “And not worth the trouble. Katar’s a thornbush protecting a hare that’s too skinny to eat.”
The morning after returning to the academy, Miri arose before the others, stretched, and leaned against the window to watch the sun rise. The fade to day happened so gradually, Miri was surprised when she noticed it was light enough to see the stones littering the ground outside, rough with bites of morning frost. Only after the other girls were stirring and she was about to follow them to the dining hall did she look down.
On the outside of the windowsill was a piece of linder as long as her open hand, the kind streaked with pale pink veins. It was carved in the likeness of a hawk, sharp eyes, curved beak, wings outstretched. Miri now noticed footprints in the soft mud around the house leading up to the window, then turning and heading back toward the village until they disappeared into the rocks of the roadway.
She remembered how Peder had called her a hawk, always staring at the sky, at the mountain view, or out the window toward the village. She smiled to realize he guessed that she would be at the window, that she would see it first and know it was for her.
“I’m his best friend,” she sang to the window, sang down into her toes, and out perhaps for the whole world to hear. For the moment, she did not care who knew the secret that made her chest tight and her head as light as seeding weeds in a breeze. I’m his best friend.
n
Chapter Fourteen
She’s as lovely as a girl with flowers in her hair
The mountain, my lady
She’s as bright as spring sun drying rain from the air
Mount Eskel, my lady
n