The Kingdom of Back

by Marie Lu

  “The castle on the hill,” I whispered.

  A massive jungle of black thorns grew on either side of the river, unbreakable and unrelenting, a wall separating man from forest. No lights flickered in the villages. They were abandoned and empty. On the hilltop, the castle loomed, its dark stones decaying, and just as in the story I’d told Woferl on his sickbed, dark phantom figures floated around the castle’s tallest tower, their wispy trails visible even from here.

  “I wanted you to see the full expanse of our world,” Hyacinth said when I looked expectantly at him. “It was not always so. The kingdom was once prosperous, in harmony with the land around it. After the queen’s death, though, the king ordered the thorns grown around the river and cut it off from the kingdom within.”

  I looked down to see the guard towers dotting the length of the river. They looked long abandoned, just as the villages had been, their turrets overgrown with thorns and black ivy. In the river itself swam something enormous and sinister, its fins billowing out of the dark water.

  “You are the lost prince,” I said, turning to him.

  His eyes had a faraway look now as he stared at the castle. “Over time, I have grown up with the faeries, and each year I spend with them, I become more like them.”

  “Do the thorns keep you away from the castle?”

  “The thorns and the river,” he replied sadly. “That is what I need your help with. There is an old sword so sharp that it can cut away the thorns around the castle. This sword can only be found in an estate”—here he paused to point out a house in a crescent-shaped clearing in the woods—“where a great ogre lives. He wears nothing but black, so he blends into the shadows, and if he finds you stealing his sword, he will slay you where you stand.”

  I looked at him in horror. “An ogre?” I asked. “You expect me to get past such a creature?”

  “You survived the Queen of the Night, didn’t you?” Hyacinth looked at me with his glowing eyes. “I have tried to reach the sword before, but the ogre has a particular nose for those of us from within the Kingdom of Back. He can smell the wind and night on me. You, though, are from another world, and he cannot recognize the scent of that world on you.”

  I turned my attention back to the house in the clearing. Ivy draped its walls, while a puff of smoke floated lazily up from the home’s chimney. Not a single light glowed from the windows. I tried to imagine what the ogre would look like when he turned his eyes down toward me.

  “We have a bargain,” Hyacinth said to me as he tilted his head. “Can I trust you?”

  I nodded. “I will do it.”

  He smiled at me warmly. As he did, a breeze picked up, combing its delicate fingers through my hair before it turned to blow in the direction of the ogre’s home.

  “The west wind will carry you there,” he said to me. “The ogre sleeps very soundly, and if you keep your wits about you, you will find the sword without waking him and return on the wind’s back before he is any wiser.”

  I tucked my nightgown tightly under my legs as the wind blew harder, the breeze turning into a gust until it finally lifted me from the clouds. I wanted to cry out, but all I could do was look back once at Hyacinth before the wind bore me away from the sky and swept me downward across the nightscape.

  The ogre’s house was so quiet that the wind dropping me in the silver clearing sounded deafening to my ears. I crept toward the entrance, my heart pounding. The door itself was slightly ajar, as if the ogre knew that there was no one in the kingdom who would dare steal from him. Still, I stood there, unable for a moment to will myself to do it. What if I went in and never returned? Why would Hyacinth trust me with such a task?

  But then I remembered the warmth of his smile, the promise between us. If I completed this task, I would have only one more to finish my end of the bargain. It would bring me that much closer to Hyacinth fulfilling my wish.

  The world around me seemed to surge in response to my battling thoughts. I turned sideways, barely slipping through the open door, and disappeared into the shadows inside the house.

  The home was a wreck. Broken things littered the lower floor: the seat of a large stool; the shattered porcelain from a former cup; an enormous table missing half of one leg, as if it had been chopped clean off. Cobwebs draped the inside of the fireplace, the wood in it layered with dust. A half-eaten loaf of hard bread sat on the kitchen counter. Even a rat had decided the bread was not worth taking, a few half-hearted nibbles visible on the edge of the crust.

  There was no sword to be seen anywhere.

  A gentle snore from the upper floor sent a tremor through me. I hurried into the shadows by the stairs before looking up. The steps were each twice as tall as the ones I knew in our home along the Getreidegasse, their middles sagging as if used to bearing a great weight. I waited until the snores were even. Then I climbed up the steps, one at a time.

  They led into a bedchamber strewn with old clothes, open drawers, and discarded armor.

  I could hardly see anything in the darkness, except for a shapeless mass lying in the enormous canopy bed, obscured behind translucent black drapes. From inside it came the snores, each so loud that it seemed to rattle the floorboards.

  The sword. I looked at each discarded piece of armor on the ground. A breastplate, covered in old grime. A dented armguard, a shield emblazoned with a magnificent burning sun on its rusted surface. A forgotten belt, the scabbard at its side empty.

  What if Hyacinth was wrong, and there was no sword here at all?

  A particularly loud snore made me jump and whirl to face the bed. The figure behind its drapes stirred, rolling onto its side with a sigh that sounded half-labored, half-mournful, a sound full of tears. The creature was enormous, a fearsome shadow in the night that blocked out the moon.

  As it moved, something metal glinted in the dim light. It was the sword, its hilt in the ogre’s massive clutches, steel still sharp enough to cut a line in the bed’s sheets.

  The ogre suddenly gasped, and I ducked to the floor, certain he’d awakened and seen me crouching here. He asked a question I couldn’t understand, then continued muttering to himself without waiting for an answer.

  A dream. As he shifted again, he let out another strangled gasp and sighed.

  “I’ve searched for years,” he muttered this time, and in his voice was a song of mourning, the ache for summer when winter has already settled in. “Where are you?”

  Hyacinth had been afraid of this ogre, and so was I, but even monsters must dream of fears and wants, and the sadness in his voice drew me closer. Now I could see the faint outline of his face in the night. What I’d imagined as the jutting jaw and ivory fangs of a beast, I now saw was a thick beard, aged and unkempt.

  “Where are you?” he repeated.

  Something told me I should answer, so I did. “Here,” I whispered.

  He stilled, then turned his closed eyes toward the window, in my direction. I froze. “I heard you,” he said, wonder seeping into his voice. His lips, hidden beneath that hard beard, tilted into a hopeful smile. “There you are! Are you near the trees?”

  I crept silently around his bed until I was on his other side. “Yes, near the tree line,” I answered.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed, and turned to face me again, still asleep, his hands shifting against the sword’s hilt. His fingers twitched. “Are you safe?”

  Who was he searching for, I wonder? I cleared my throat, then dared to step closer. “I am safe,” I replied, “although there is a great beast here, right across the river! Lend me your sword, so that I may fend him off.”

  The smile wavered, and the ogre’s brows knotted. He hesitated, his grip still tight on the sword’s hilt. “It is very heavy. Will you be able to wield it?”

  “I can,” I said, creeping closer. I stood right at the edge of the black drapes now, my hands poised near his. From here, I could see
all the sword’s details, its red pommel stone and the fine curls of writing etched into its blade. “You will just need to throw it a bit farther.”

  He murmured again, his voice too low for me to catch. Then, suddenly, his fingers loosened against the hilt.

  Now. With a surge of strength borne of panic, I reached past the drapes and toward the hilt, my hands grasping it right as his hands started to close around it again.

  “What is this?” he grumbled, his brows knotting deeper above his eyes.

  I yanked the sword out of his loose grip before he could move again. The weight of it surprised me, and instead of pulling it to me, I stumbled and dropped the blade with a loud clatter on the floor.

  The ogre startled, stiffened, and grew quiet. His eyes fluttered open.

  I did not hesitate. I scrambled forward and hoisted the blade with both hands, then half ran, half stumbled toward the stairs. Behind me, I heard the bed groan as the ogre shot up and let out an angry snarl.

  “What are you doing in my house?” he growled.

  I didn’t look back. I rushed down the stairs, the blade bouncing heavily at my side, my arms already aching from carrying it. Heavy footsteps landed one after the other behind me. The door was wide-open now, blown askew by the wind, and I struggled to move faster.

  A hand landed on my shoulder, yanking me backward. I cried out in terror.

  “There you are, thief,” he said.

  I shut my eyes tight and tried desperately to pull away.

  A great wind surged underneath me then, and when I opened my eyes, I saw every window in the house blow open, the ogre falling backward as the west wind came to my aid. It carried me up into its embrace again, and then, as I clutched the sword closer to me, it lifted me out through the door and up into the sky.

  A strangled cry of fury came from the ogre as he raced out into the clearing. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw him standing there, his figure growing steadily smaller, his face turned toward me in shock and rage, the woods and river and land around him turning back into blankets of darkness and silver ribbons. I trembled all over. The sword in my hands glinted in the night, reflecting starlight as the wind carried me up, up, back up to the clouds where Hyacinth waited.

  His eyes brightened in delight when he saw me. “How brave you are, my Fräulein!” he said, taking me into his arms and kissing my hands. He marveled at the sword. “Very well done.”

  I smiled, but the memory of the ogre’s dream lingered like a ghost in my mind, keeping me from feeling pleased. “Do you know anything about the ogre?” I asked Hyacinth as he ran a long finger down the sword’s blade.

  “Oh?” Hyacinth said idly.

  I told him about the ogre’s dream, the way he stirred and startled and called out in fear. “Who was he searching for, that he wanted to find so badly?” I said.

  Hyacinth’s glowing eyes found mine, and for a moment, he straightened, touching my chin once. “The ogre hungers for flesh,” he explained in his wild, gentle voice. “He hunted the kingdom’s villagers, when they still lived here. All feared him. The ogre was surely dreaming of his hunt, and how to devour it.” He shook his head. “It’s a terrible thing to talk about. Let’s keep it between us, Fräulein.”

  I thought about the way the ogre had tossed me his sword when I seemed in distress. It was not the response of a hunter to his prey. Still, I nodded and said nothing. Hyacinth was pleased, and I had fulfilled another part of my side of our bargain. Neither the grief of an ogre nor the crown emblazoned on his shield was something I was here to dwell on.

  THE BOY IN FRANKFURT

  When I slowly stirred out of my sleep the next morning, Woferl was already awake.

  I turned against my pillow to see my brother’s eyes open, tentatively studying the ceiling. For a moment, I watched him. The sobs of the ogre still seemed to tremble in the air around me. I wondered whether Woferl could hear him, but he said nothing. In fact, he looked dazed, as if he had spent his night tossing and turning.

  When he saw me looking at him, he reached out and squeezed my arm with his little hand. “Am I awake?” he said to me in an urgent whisper.

  His question made me blink. I pushed his curls away from his forehead. His skin was not hot, but his eyes seemed fever-bright, as if he was still not entirely here. “Yes, Woferl, of course,” I reassured him, and put an arm around his shoulders. “Why are you trembling?”

  He didn’t say. Instead, he scooted closer to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. There he stayed for a quiet moment, slowly coming out of whatever dream must have had him in its throes.

  I wanted to ask him if he had dreamed of Hyacinth, and I wondered whether I should tell him about my dream. But he seemed so quiet this morning that I didn’t have the heart to frighten him with stories of an ogre. In the air, the sobs from another world still echoed, along with the whispers of a princeling.

  Let’s keep it between us, Fräulein.

  So I let the silence linger until Woferl finally straightened, recovered, and crawled out of bed.

  “It is time for me to write,” he said as he went. His voice had shifted from one of frightened urgency to determined focus. His fingers were already in motion, as if resting against clavier keys. “I’ve thought of the perfect introduction for my sonata.”

  I watched him go. Underneath my pillow, my pendant felt cold and unused. Something stirred in the base of my chest, a strange, ominous rhythm. I could not shake the feeling that there was something in all of this that I didn’t quite understand. That there was something Hyacinth was not telling me.

  * * *

  When summer arrived and Salzburg finally shook the cold from her fingertips, Woferl had recovered enough so that Papa could have us resume our tours. This time he had no plans for us to hurry back home after only a couple of months. We would head to Germany, then to France and England and perhaps more, if we were successful. It was a trip that could stretch for years.

  When I asked Mama how long we would be gone, she only smiled reassuringly at me and patted my cheek. “You will have an excellent time on these adventures, Nannerl,” she said. “Aren’t you looking forward to it?”

  “I am,” I replied. And I was. My bones had grown restless, and my music ached to be heard again.

  But the same nagging feeling I’d had the morning after my dream of the ogre still lingered with me. Hyacinth had not appeared to me again since then, weeks ago. I wrote my music and waited for him. Beside me, Woferl composed reams and reams of new work. He would hand them to Papa, would beam as my father beamed. I’d look on, and then hide my music in my drawer.

  Woferl did not ask me about Hyacinth. So I began to wonder if the princeling was appearing separately to Woferl. Would he do such a thing? Was Hyacinth only my guardian, or did he have others to whom he made secret promises?

  There was also another reason for my uneasiness. My monthly courses had arrived.

  The first time it happened was at a Wasserburg inn, and the blood had startled me so much that I wept. Mama tried to console me, helping me change out of my stained petticoat and undergarments, sending a maid out into Wasserburg to buy new clothes. She fussed over me and brushed my hair, helped me bathe, did not comment on the fish I let sit on my dinner plate, and sang to me in bed.

  “The pain will pass in several days,” she told me. “Don’t be afraid. I am delighted for you.”

  I liked to see my mother happy, so I smiled for her. “I’m not afraid, Mama,” I said. Neither of us talked about how I could no longer pretend I was anything but a girl slowly becoming a woman, that it was a reminder of my dwindling years performing before the public.

  By the time we left for the small town of Biberich, I’d begun to notice small changes in my body. When Mama helped me dress in the mornings, the lacing of my clothes cut my breath shorter than usual. The inner bone of the bodice pressed harder against my breas
ts. My cheekbones looked more pronounced, and something about my face made my eyes look larger than I remembered them, dark ponds set in snow. I had also grown taller. Mama had to fix my dresses twice in the course of six months.

  My father’s past words stayed with me. The older we were, the less magnificent we seemed. The approach of my eighteenth birthday, the end of my years as a child prodigy, suddenly seemed very close.

  We traveled through the summer, stopping throughout Germany at Biberich, and then Wiesbaden, and then Kostheim. Our days became a blur of inns. The Three Moors. The Golden Wheel. The Giant. The Red House. Spectators would crowd into the inns’ main rooms, jostling one another in order to see us. We performed at palaces whenever we secured an invitation. Newspaper headlines followed us as we went. The Mozart children will perform tonight, they’d always say. Look how young they are. Look at their skill.

  Our travels continued and at some point, I could no longer remember which town we had come from or even which we were currently staying in. At night, I lay awake in bed and tried to imagine what our trip looked like from the clouds in the Kingdom of Back, whether we resembled the tiny villages in the snow or the troops rippling across the battlefield. I wondered what flaws the kingdom’s mirrored world showed about us.

  I didn’t dare compose music during this time. Papa was watching us very closely, staying beside us during our clavier lessons late into the night. So I had to indulge myself by watching Woferl write instead.

  He had gotten it into his mind recently to compose a symphony; and while he loved our father, he stubbornly told Papa one evening that he preferred to write his music alone, free from his watchful gaze. Papa had raised an eyebrow at him. But he did not linger near the clavier the next night when Woferl began to write, and instead went downstairs with Mama and Sebastian.

  Only I was allowed to watch Woferl as he composed.

  “Do you hear the violins in your head, separately from the others, and then the cellos and basses?” I asked him.