The Queen of Sorrow

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “I’m looking for a girl and a boy named Erian and Llor”—and then, because this was all impossible anyway, he added, “as well as a wolf named Bayn. Have you seen them?” He pushed away the fingers of a young girl who was probing his front pocket. “What is this place? Who are you all?”

  The woman who had brought him in stepped forward to answer, and then she whitened and shrieked. Others began to run. The children were herded together. Curiously, after the initial shriek, there were no more screams, just a grim determination to flee. They’ve done this before, he thought. Whipping out his sword, Ven turned, ready, and saw Naelin riding in on a wave of spirits. Her hair streaming behind her and her expression fierce, she looked almost like a spirit herself.

  He lowered his sword. “It’s all right! She’s a friend! She won’t hurt you! A friend!”

  “She brings the spirits!” a man cried.

  “She controls them,” Ven said. “She’s a queen!”

  Clustered together, they stopped running. But they clung to one another as the spirits whipped between their huts and around him.

  “Call them off, Naelin!” he shouted.

  And the spirits retreated. Small and large, they huddled in a ring around the village, perched on the rocks and hovering in the air. Naelin dismounted and hurried forward. “Erian? Llor? Are you here? It’s me! Please be here!”

  “We’re looking for her children,” Ven explained. “They were brought into the untamed lands by two spirits.”

  “You said you also seek the wolf, the Protector,” an old woman said.

  They knew Bayn? “Yes,” Ven said. “Is he here?”

  “And my children?” Naelin added. “Have you seen them? Are they alive? Are they all right? Where are they?” She grabbed the old woman by the shoulders.

  Gently, Ven pried her hands off the woman. “You’re scaring them,” he said to Naelin. He knew what she was feeling . . . No, he didn’t know, but he could imagine it and he could see it, reflected in the agitation of the spirits. “Clamp it down. You’re spilling.”

  She glanced up at the spirits, who were hissing and spitting and growling. She closed her eyes for an instant, and the spirits calmed minutely. “I’m sorry.” He saw her take a deep breath, and he wanted to put his arms around her and hold her close. This has to be agony for her. But answers would come only if they didn’t drive them away.

  “You must mean the children at the grave,” a woman said.

  Naelin staggered backward.

  “Grave?” Ven repeated. Not dead. Please, don’t let them be dead.

  “The Grave of the Great Mother,” the woman said—this one appeared to be a mother herself. She had two boys clinging to her legs, and she was cuddling them closer to her as if her arms could protect them from the spirits, if they decided to attack. How had these people survived here? Ven wondered. The woman continued, “They came recently, with two spirits, nasty creatures. The Protector chased away the spirits, but kept the children. Those are their names: Erian and Llor.”

  Bayn did that? He’s here, and he saved them?

  “Alive?” Naelin breathed.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Naelin felt . . .

  There were no words for what she felt.

  But there were colors: sun-gold yellow and deep summer green and clear blue, the colors of growth and wellness and life. And the spirits absorbed the burst of her emotions, and around them the wind spirits whipped into dust devils, the ice spirits shed fireworks of snow, the earth spirits exploded from the ground in a shower of dirt and pebbles that rained down.

  “Scary again,” Ven murmured to her.

  She tried to pull back on the vicious hope, but only just a bit. She didn’t care if she was scaring these people. My children are alive! “I need to see them. Take me to them.”

  The woman cowered away from her. “Only the Protector can approach the grave.” Stepping forward, a little girl piped up, “We don’t know the way!”

  “Come,” an older man said. “Let us show the hospitality of our village. You must be tired from your journey here. Rest yourselves. Share a meal with us. Please, what are your names?”

  “Naelin.”

  “Queen Naelin, formerly of Aratay,” Ven put in. “And I am Champion Ven.”

  The older man’s hand shook, and there were gasps from the people crowded around them. Hushed whispers: “A miracle! I never thought I’d see the day.” And then the boy they’d followed: “Have you come to save us?”

  I’ve come for my children, Naelin thought. But Ven was already answering, kneeling on one knee to be at an even height with the boy, “What do you need saving from? You’ve survived here, in this hostile land. How have you done it?”

  A woman answered, “We move when we must. Harvest when we can.”

  “But the spirits,” Ven said. “You’re outnumbered, vastly. Without a queen to control them—how do you stay alive?” Stop asking questions, Naelin wanted to say to him. First Erian and Llor, then you can ask anything you want. But she was afraid if she spoke, the villagers would retreat again.

  The woman shrugged. “Not so many of us to threaten them.” She gestured at the few dozen people that huddled close. “Plus they don’t like to come here, so near the grave.”

  “Then it’s near?” Naelin pounced. The idea of her children being alive, being near, but her not being able to touch them, to hold them, ate at her until she wanted to claw at her own skin. I need to see them!

  “Are there others like you? Humans, in the untamed lands?” Ven asked.

  Naelin wanted to scream at him. Erian and Llor! Ask about them!

  “Yes, we’ve seen a few other groups. We keep our distance, for the most part. Safer in smaller numbers, and easier to find food if we’re spread out too.”

  “Fascinating,” Ven said.

  Naelin shot him a look.

  “Well, it is,” Ven defended himself. “Miraculous, really. We always believed entering the untamed lands was a death sentence, but you’re here thriving.”

  A man snorted. “‘Thriving,’ he says. Each year more of us die than are born. Some days there’s no food for any of us. Some days it’s all saltwater for miles around. Some days we wake to fire and ash. Some days we wake to cold so deep that some of us don’t wake at all.”

  “We need a queen,” another said, “and here you are, an answer to a prayer.” And a few pressed closer again, stroking Naelin’s arm, and it was if she were seeing them for the first time. How dirty and tired and hungry and scared they looked. And . . . how hopeful too. Strangely, it reminded her of the spirits now surrounding them, the ones that called her queen. How they too had felt hope. It confused her, yet she couldn’t shake it. She patted their hands, unsure what else she could possibly do. She’d thought life in the outer forest was difficult, but these people . . . They were living lives of unimaginable hardship. Naelin looked at them, really looked at them, and saw the hope in their faces shining broader and brighter with each passing minute.

  She didn’t know how to tell him she’d only come for her children.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to.

  Before she could decide how to respond to them, she heard a howl, and Ven cried, “Bayn!”

  The wolf ran out of the haze, between her spirits, toward them, and Naelin let herself feel a little more hope herself.

  Chapter 30

  Ven knelt and threw his arms around Bayn’s neck. The wolf panted onto his shoulder and leaned against him heavily, as if he were hugging the man back. “Never thought I’d see you again, my friend.”

  The wolf licked his cheek.

  “Uh, thanks? You missed me too?”

  Naelin crouched beside them. “Bayn, are my children all right? Can you take us to them? Please?”

  Bayn looked at her with such intelligence in his eyes—pity, understanding—that Ven was embarrassed he’d ever thought Bayn was an ordinary beast. Clearly, he’s extraordinary. “You survived,” Ven said. “I didn’t know
. I would’ve come sooner, if I’d known. Why didn’t you come back to us?”

  An old woman, one who had spoken before, said, “He belongs to this place. He cannot leave it, not without a queen to help him cross. One helped him cross long ago, or so the stories say. We have awaited his return—and the coming of a queen—for many lifetimes.”

  Ven wanted to ask more questions. Had Merecot been right? Was Bayn some kind of “evolved spirit”? How long ago had he crossed? And what queen had helped him? He was certain it hadn’t been Daleina or Fara. I would’ve known if either had ever left Renthia. Exactly how old was Bayn? Was “lifetimes” literal or hyperbole? And why were they waiting for him? And for a queen? There were no queens in the untamed lands—that was part of the very definition. If they wanted a queen, they should have come to Renthia.

  He wished Bayn could speak.

  “Please,” Naelin said. “My children.”

  Bayn trotted away from them, looking back once, and then breaking into a loping run. Ven and Naelin ran after him. From behind them, he heard the people calling, “Don’t leave!” “Help us!” “We need you!” And: “Come back for us! Don’t forget us!” And also: “We hope you find your children! Good luck!”

  He waved once to show he’d heard them, and then all his focus was on chasing Bayn across the uneven landscape. Thunder crackled in the sky above them as blue and purple clouds mixed. Rain spattered his face.

  Naelin’s spirits flowed around them, smoothing the way—stifling a fire, diverting a river, filing a chasm—as they followed Bayn. Ahead, through the rain, Ven saw a cave leading into a gray rock that loomed out of the haze. Running faster, Naelin scrambled over the rocks calling, “Erian! Llor!”

  And they came. Erian and Llor, out of the cave, across the rocks, and throwing themselves into Naelin’s arms. Laughing. Crying.

  Alive.

  My children!

  Dropping to her knees, Naelin held out her arms, and her children ran into them. She felt their warm bodies impact against her. She stroked their hair. Breathed them in, sweat and smoke and the sweetest smell that only came from the two lives she’d brought into the world. Rain fell around them, and she wasn’t even sure any of it hit them . . . or if she cared that it did. “You’re alive,” she whispered into their hair. “You’re here.”

  Llor sniffled into her neck, and Erian was clinging to her so tightly that Naelin felt her fingers pressing deep into her skin, bruising her, but she didn’t care. She held her close.

  “Mama, you came for us!” Erian said.

  “I knew you’d come!” Llor said. “I said so!”

  “I didn’t believe it,” Erian declared. “I thought you wouldn’t come to look for us, because you’d think we were dead. No one survives the untamed lands. Everyone knows that. I thought we’d be trapped here forever, until we did die.”

  Llor buried his face against her again. “Bayn wouldn’t bring us home.”

  Naelin held them close. “I came. I’m here. We’ll never be apart again.” She felt relief and joy—pure joy—spilling out of her, flooding the spirits, and felt it mirrored back. Around her, the earth exploded in life: flowers blossoming over the face of the rocks, trees bursting between the crevasses thickening as they shot toward the sky. She heard the rushing of water and felt sunlight flood their faces as her spirits drove back the haze and filled the land in a ring around them with life, teeming with a riot of colors.

  Beyond it, she felt the spirits of the untamed lands drawing closer. She felt their hostility, scratching at the edges of their circle of overabundant life, and she shuddered and hugged her children and Ven closer. No. The outside world couldn’t intrude yet. This was her moment of joy, a moment she’d never thought she’d have. She didn’t want it to end.

  “The villagers said Bayn couldn’t bring you home—he couldn’t cross the border,” Ven said, laying one hand on Erian’s shoulder and another on Llor’s. “But we can. And we will.”

  Naelin turned to Bayn. “Thank you for saving them.”

  The wolf sat, with his tail curled beside him, watching them with his yellow eyes. He made a doglike whining noise.

  “What is it?” Ven asked, as if he expected Bayn to answer.

  At his question, the wolf rose and trotted into the cave.

  “What’s in there?” Naelin asked Erian and Llor.

  “A dead body,” Llor said. “It’s kind of neat.”

  That was not an appropriate thing to say about a dead body. And why were her children staying in a cave with a corpse anyway? “I’m a terrible mother,” Naelin murmured.

  “You came,” Erian said simply, hugging her waist as she stood.

  Ven drew his sword.

  “You won’t need that,” Llor said. “She’s already dead. Come on, we’ll show you.” He scrambled ahead of them, over the rocks.

  Naelin felt as if a coat had been ripped away from her on a winter day—suddenly cold, a little bereft, the moment that she was no longer touching both her children. Following Llor and holding on to Erian, who didn’t seem to want to let go of her hand either, Naelin climbed over the rocks up to the opening of the cave. Together, they entered.

  Shadows enveloped them, and Naelin called on two small fire spirits to light the way—but her fire spirits balked at the entrance, their glow only shedding a faint light into the darkness.

  It didn’t matter, though, because ahead a light bobbed as Llor came trotting back to them, carrying a torch.

  “Careful with that,” she admonished as the flame dipped back and forth.

  “I can carry it,” Llor said. “I’m careful.”

  “He burned himself this morning,” Erian reported.

  “Be more careful,” Naelin said.

  Excitedly, Llor grabbed Ven’s hand and pulled him deeper into the cave. Naelin and Erian followed. She felt a breath of wind in her face, and the cave opened onto a chamber of glittering white—smooth quartz that sparkled from the light of seven torches plus Llor’s. Llor placed his into a holder on the wall.

  In the center of the room was a raised black stone pallet, and on it lay moss, curved in the shape of an unusually tall and large woman. Tiny white flowers grew on her body from the moss. Naelin took a step forward. The enormous woman’s eyes were closed with black stones over each one, and her hands were folded on her stomach.

  Naelin shivered. There was an oddly familiar feel to this place. She thought of the Queen’s Grove in Aratay. Rock surrounded them, not trees, but there was something about it that felt similar. It had a sense of heavy silence.

  “Who is it?” Ven asked.

  “The Great Mother of Spirits,” Erian said.

  Both Naelin and Ven stared at Erian, then at the mossy body. This was the being who had created them all? No wonder the cave feels like a grove, Naelin thought. It was a sacred place . . . the sacred place.

  Naelin instinctively pulled her children closer to her. She reached out with her mind and touched her spirits, but they were distracted: the spirits of the untamed lands surrounded them, pressing closer, squeezing them up against the rock of the cave.

  “The villagers want a queen, and Bayn was supposed to find one,” Llor said, piping up from within the circle of her arms. “At least, that’s what they said when Bayn brought us here.”

  “They said we have to stay with the Protector,” Erian said, “until a queen comes.”

  “And they said Bayn was gone for a hundred years!” Llor threw his hands out wide when he said the word “hundred.”

  “Two hundred,” Erian corrected.

  “Three hundred!” Llor shouted. “Four hundred!”

  “Anyway, it didn’t sound very likely,” Erian said to Naelin and Ven.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Naelin saw Ven shift onto the balls of his feet. He looked ready to fight. But who would he fight? Bayn, who had saved Erian and Llor from Queen Jastra’s spirits? Softly, Naelin asked, “Bayn, is it true? Are you from here? Did you come to Renthia to find . . . me? Or some
one like me?”

  Bayn trotted over to the bier and sat beside it.

  Maybe that was his answer. But I’m not sure what it means. “The people in the village,” Naelin pressed. “Did they send you into Aratay?”

  The wolf tilted his head.

  “Did you send yourself?” Ven asked.

  Bayn looked deliberately into Ven’s eyes and nodded, humanlike, as if he’d understood every word. He then laid his head on the mossy hand and let out a puppylike whimper.

  Ven’s voice was flat. Naelin wondered what he was thinking. “You went to find a queen—the villagers said they’d been awaiting your return with a queen,” he said. “Like Naelin. But then you were chased back here . . . and you couldn’t return?”

  “Bayn saved us,” Llor said.

  “I know, sweetie,” Naelin said.

  “Then why does Ven look so mad?”

  He was right—Ven had half drawn his sword, though Bayn had not twitched a muscle other than to move his head. In the glow from the torches, the wolf’s eyes flickered yellow.

  “Because Bayn had other reasons for being with us and being nice,” Erian said. “He wanted Mama. Because the people in the village wanted her. Or someone like her.”

  Llor frowned. “The people are nice. They gave us food.”

  “I came here for my children, that’s all,” Naelin said to Bayn. She was grateful they were alive and had been taken care of. It was more than she’d ever dreamed possible. But this little adventure was over. “And now that I’ve found them, it’s time to go home.”

  Please, let us go.

  Ven slid between her and the wolf. They began to back out of the cave.

  Bayn darted across the cave, past them, and then stopped in front of them, filling the entrance to the cave. He crouched, his legs tense. Naelin corralled Erian and Llor behind Ven. Sword raised defensively in front of them, Ven advanced. “I don’t want to hurt you, old friend. And I know you don’t want to hurt us. All we want is to get these children safely home.”