by Greg Keyes
“I plan to dress as a man,” Anne said. “And I won't get caught.”
Austra rolled her eyes. “Oh, dress as a man. That will work.”
“It's better than going into a coven.”
Austra's eyes hardened further. “That's stupid. And it's selfish.” She balled her unbound fist and banged it against the bedpost. “I was stupid—to ever think you were my friend. To think you gave a single piss about me!”
“Austra!”
“Leave me alone.”
Anne started to say something else, but Austra's eyes went wild. “Leave me alone!”
Anne stood up. “We'll talk later.”
“Away!” Austra shrieked, dissolving into tears.
On the verge of bawling herself, Anne left.
Anne watched Austra's face, limned against a landscape of rolling pasture broken by copses of straight-standing cedar and elegant cottonwood. Her head eclipsed a distant hill where a small castle lorded over a scattering of red-roofed cottages. A herd of horses stared curiously at the carriage as it rattled by.
“Won't you talk to me yet?” Anne pleaded. “It's been three days.”
Austra frowned and continued to look out the window.
“Fine,” Anne snapped. “I've apologized to you until my tongue is green. I don't know what else you want me to do.”
Austra murmured something, but it went out the window like a bird.
“What was that?”
“I said you could promise,” Austra said, still not looking at her. “Promise not to try to run away again.”
“I can't escape. Captain Marl is much too watchful, now.”
“When we get to the coven, there will be no Captain Marl,” Austra said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “I want you to promise not to try to escape from there.”
“You don't understand, Austra.”
Silence.
Anne opened her mouth to say something else, but it fell short of her teeth. Instead she closed her eyes, let her body fall into the restless shuddering of the coach, and tried to pretend she was far away.
She put on dreams like clothes. She tried on Roderick, to start with, the memory of that first, sweet kiss on horseback, their steadily more intimate trysts. In the end, however, that brought her only to that night in the tomb and the humiliation that followed. Her whole memory of that night was tainted, but she wanted to remember, to feel again those last exciting, frightening caresses.
She changed the scene, pretending that she and Roderick had met instead in her chambers at Eslen, but that went no better. When she tried to imagine what his chambers in Dunmrogh were like, she failed utterly.
At last, with a burst of inspiration that stretched a little smile on her face, she imagined the small castle on the hill she had seen a few moments before. She stood at its gates, in a green gown, and Roderick rode across the fields, brightly caparisoned. When he came near her he dismounted, bowed low, and kissed her hand. Then, with a fire in his eyes, pulled her close against the steel he wore and kissed her on the mouth.
Inside, the castle was light and airy, draped in silken tapestries and brilliant with sunlight through tens of crystal windows. Roderick entered again, clad in a handsome doublet, and now, finally she could conjure the feeling of his hand on her flesh, and imagine more, that he went farther, that they were both, finally, unclad. She multiplied the remembrance of the touch of his palm on her thigh, imagining the whole length of him against her. There was just one part she couldn't picture, exactly, though she had felt it against her, through his breeches. But she had never seen the privates of a man, though she had seen stallions aplenty. They must be shaped the same, at least.
But the image that conjured was so ridiculous she felt suddenly uncertain, and so she adjusted her imagination again, to his eyes staring into hers.
Something didn't fit there, either, and in swift horror, she understood what it was.
She couldn't remember Roderick's face!
She could still have described it, but she could not see it, in the shadows of her mind. Determined, she shifted scenes again, to their first meeting, to their last—
But it was no good. It was like trying to catch a fish with her hands.
She opened her eyes and found Austra asleep. Frustrated, Anne watched the scenery go by and now tried to imagine what sort of people lived out there, in that country so unknown to her.
But in the vain search for Roderick's face, she had somehow awoken something else and found a different face.
The masked woman with amber hair. For almost two months, Anne had pushed that phantasm away, encrypted it as she had the dream of the black roses. Now both came back, joined, nagging for her attention, despite Praifec Hespero's assurances. Having endured three days of silence and Aus-tra's sulking, and with nothing else to distract her, thoughts of that day on Tom Woth nagged at Anne like an itch, and the only scratch for it was thinking.
What had happened? Had she fainted, as the praifec believed? That seemed most likely, and it was what she most often told herself. And yet, in the middle of her heart, she knew somehow it wasn't the truth.
Something real had happened to her; she had seen a saint, or a demon, and it had spoken to her.
She could almost feel the voice in her head, a sort of remonstration, a scolding. How could she be thinking of herself and Roderick when so much was happening? Her mother and father were in danger, maybe the whole kingdom, and only she knew it. Yet despite that, she had done nothing, told no one, pursued this hopeless, selfish love. The praifec's word had only given her the excuse.
“No,” Anne said, under her breath. “That isn't me talking. That's Fastia. That's Mother.”
But it was neither, and she knew it. It was Genya Dare, her voice whispering across the leagues from that crack in her tomb. Genya Dare, the first queen, her most ancient ancestress.
Would Genya Dare have ignored her responsibilities for the selfish pleasure of youth?
Anne gave a start. That hadn't been her own thought; that had been a voice, spoken into her ear. Not a whisper, either, but a confident tone. A woman's voice.
The voice of the masked woman, she was nearly certain.
Anne tossed her head back and forth, searching for the speaker, but there was only Austra, sleeping.
Anne settled back in her seat, breathing hard.
“Are you there?” she whispered. “Who speaks?”
But the voice didn't return, and Anne began to wonder if she had dropped into sleep for a moment, long enough for the Black Mary to whisper in her ear.
“You are not Genya Dare,” she murmured. “You are not.”
She was going crazy, talking to herself. That was certainly it. She had read of such things, of prisoners in towers who spoke at length to no one, whose minds were shaved of reason.
She shook Austra's knee. “Austra. Wake up.”
“Hmm?” Austra opened her eyes. “Oh,” she said. “It's you.”
“I promise, Austra.”
“What?”
“I promise. I won't try to run away.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. I have to …” She frowned, embarrassed. “Everyone is trying to tell me the same thing. Mother, Fastia, you. I've been selfish. But I think—I'm needed for something.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don't know. Nothing probably. But I'm going to do my best. To do what I'm supposed to.”
“Does that mean you're giving up Roderick?”
“No. Some things are meant to be, and the two of us are fated to be together. I asked Genya to make him fall in love with me, remember? This is my fault, and I can't just abandon his love.”
“You asked Genya to make Fastia nicer, too,” Austra reminded her.
“But she was,” Anne replied, remembering their last two meetings. “She was. She was almost like the Fastia I loved, when I was a girl. She and Mother did this thing to me—but they think what they are doing is for the best. Lesbeth explained it
, but I didn't want to listen, at the time.”
“What convinced you?”
“A dream, I think. Or a memory. Mostly you. If even my dearest friend thinks I'm a selfish brat, how can I not wonder?”
“Now you're starting to worry me. Did you bump your head, going out the window?”
“Don't make fun of me,” Anne said. “You wanted me to be better. I'm trying.”
Austra nodded gravely. “I'm sorry. You're right.”
“I was lonely, without you to talk to.”
Austra's eyes watered up. “I was lonely, too, Anne. And I'm afraid. Of where we're going, of what it will be like.”
“We're in this together, then, from now on. Yes?”
“By Genya?”
“By her grave. If I had lead to write it on, I would. I swear I will make no attempt to escape from whatever awful place my mother has sent us. And I will be your companion in this, and no matter what, I will never, ever leave you.”
Finally, fitfully, Austra smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She reached across the space, and they briefly squeezed hands.
“Where do you suppose we are, anyway?”Anne remarked, to change the course of the conversation. “I gather we've been traveling south.”
Austra dimpled a little.
“I know that look!” Anne said. “You know something.”
“I've been keeping directions,” Austra said. “The names of towns, rivers, and all. So we might find our route, if ever we see a map.”
Anne gaped in astonishment. “Austra! Clever girl. Why didn't I think of that? I'm so stupid!”
“No,” Austra said. “You've just never been out in the world. You probably figured if you ran away the road would just take you where you wanted to go, like in the phay stories. But in the real world, you have to have directions.”
“Your journal, then! May I see it?”
Austra reached into her purse and withdrew a small book.
“I didn't get every town,” she said. “Only when I heard one of the guards mention it, or sometimes I would see a sign. The writing looks almost the same here, though with some odd flourishes. Here, I'll read it to you; you could have trouble with my scribbling, and I can sum up for you.”
“Go on,” Anne replied.
“We first crossed over the Warlock on the raised road. The sun set on our right, so we were going south. Then we went up into some hills, still south.”
“We were in Hornladh, then!” Anne said. “Roderick is from Hornladh! I found it on the map, after meeting him.”
“In the hills we stayed in a place called Carec, a very small town. The next few nights I didn't catch any names, but we went through a forest I think was named Duv Caldh, or something like that. At the edge of it we stayed in a little place named Prentreff.”
“Oh, yes. The inn with the dreadful lute player.”
“Exactly. From there, I think we went still south but more west, but then the next day it rained, so I couldn't tell. Then we spent two nights in Paldh.”
“I remember Paldh from the map! It's a port, so we were on the sea! I thought I smelled the sea that night.”
“After that we crossed a river. I think it was called the Teremené, and so was the town there. That's when we started seeing more fields than woods, and the houses with red or pale roofs. And vineyards—remember those endless vineyards? Then we slept in a little town named Pacre, then Alfohes, Avalé, and Vio Toto. Most of that time, I think we were going south and west. We crossed another river; I don't know its name, but the town on the other side was Chesladia. I missed some towns, after that, but the place where you tried to run away was named Trivo Rufo. Since then I haven't written anything. I was too angry.”
“It's enough!” Anne said. “But I don't understand. If you didn't want me to run away, why do this? Why map me a way home?”
“I wasn't going to tell you about it until you promised not to run away. But I thought—it's always better to know where you are. Suppose something awful happens? Suppose we're attacked by bandits, our escort is killed, and we have to run? It's better to know.” She shook a finger at Anne. “But a promise is still a promise, yes?”
“Of course,” Anne replied. “But you're right. From now on, I'll keep a journal, too.”
“What country do you think we're in, now?” Austra asked.
“I have no idea. I never paid attention in the tutorials, and I looked at the map only to find where Roderick was from. Perhaps we're in Safnia, where Lesbeth's fiancé lives.”
“Perhaps,” Austra said. “But I don't think so. I think it's Vitellio.”
“Vitellio!” Anne peered out the window again. The road arrowed through a vast field of some sort of grain. It had cut steep banks, and the soil was a vivid white.
“I thought Vitellio was all yellow and red, and covered up with great cities and fanes! And the people are supposed to dress all in silk of fantastic colors, and quarrel most constantly.”
“I could be wrong,” Austra allowed.
“Wherever it is, the countryside is quite beautiful,” Anne remarked. “I would love to run Faster through those fields. I wonder how far we have to go?”
“Who can say?” Austra replied. “This coven must be on the very edge of the earth.”
“Maybe this will be an adventure after all!” Anne said, feeling her spirits rise.
But she did have one quick, guilty thought.
Roderick would walk off the end of the earth to find me, Anne told herself. And if I can send him one letter, he'll know where that is.
She tried to brush that away, stay firm to her new convictions, and a few moments later, as the girls chattered about what Vitellio might be like, she almost forgot that it had even occurred to her.
And eight days later, by the tattered light of sunset, in a countryside empty of houses but replete with gently swaying trees and pasture, she and Austra stepped from the carriage for the last time.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FANEWAY
BROTHER EHAN STOOD ARMS AKIMBO, a worried expression on his face, watching Stephen prepare.
“Look out for Brother Desmond and his bunch,” the little man said. “They're none too happy with you taking the walk this soon.”
“I know.” Stephen shrugged. “What can I do? If they follow me, they follow me. If they catch me alone in the woods, there won't be much I can do, whether I see them coming or not.”
“You could run.”
“They would just wait for me at the next fane. I still wouldn't be able to finish the walk.”
“But you would be alive.”
“That's true,” Stephen allowed.
“You don't sound as happy about that as you might.”
“Something's troubling him,” Brother Alprin said. He'd just walked in from the vineyards, still wearing a broad-brimmed hat to protect him from the sun. “And it isn't Brother Desmond.”
“Homesick?” Ehan said, a little tauntingly.
“No,” Stephen replied. Except that he was. Homesick not for a place, but for a world that still made sense.
“What is it, then?” Ehan persisted. But Stephen remained silent.
“He'll tell us when he's ready,” Alprin said. “Won't you, Brother? In any event, don't worry about Brother Desmond. The fratrex sent him off yesterday.”
“Off ?” Stephen said. “You mean away?”
“No such luck. Just off to do some sort of church business.”
Stephen had a sudden memory of Brother Desmond that night on the hillside, when he had gone quiet and strange.
“After supplies or something?”
“Hah,” Brother Ehan grunted. “No. He sends 'em to take care of things. Brother Desmond walked the fanes of Saint Mamres. He's one promotion short of being a knight of the church. Why do you think he's so strong and fast? That's the blessing of Mamres. A few ninedays before you got here, some bandits were raiding the temple at Baymdal, in the Midenlands. The fratrex sent Brother Desmond and his cohort.”
“Desmond put a stop to the bandits, all right. A very decisive stop, as I hear it.”
Ehan's brow pinched up. “This might be worse. What if they hung around, out in the woods for a day? If you're found with a broken neck, they'll have an alibi.”
“Wait,” Stephen said. “I didn't think a fratrex had that authority. He can dispose men only for the defense of his monastery. An order to send them someplace has to come from a praifec.”
“A messenger from Praifec Hespero in Eslen came yesterday,” Brother Alprin said.
“Oh.”
“I shouldn't worry about Brother Desmond too much,” Brother Alprin said. “He enjoys these trips he goes on. He can kill you anytime he wants.”
“Very comforting,” Stephen said.
Alprin smiled. “Besides, you must cultivate a meditative state to walk the fanes properly.”
“I'm trying,” Stephen said. “Can you tell me what to expect, what it feels like?”
“No,” Brother Ehan and Brother Alprin said together.
“But you'll be different, after,” Brother Ehan added. “After, nothing will be the same.”
Ehan probably meant that to sound encouraging, but instead it opened another pit in Stephen's belly. Since leaving home, he had received one surprise after another, each ruder than the last. His whole world had already been turned upside down, and he had a sinking feeling that whatever he had thought walking his first faneway would be like, the reality would be completely different. And if it followed suit with everything else he had experienced, unpleasant.
And so, though he tried his best to contemplate the saints and begin his first step toward priesthood in a meditative mood, it was with trepidation that he set his foot on the path and approached the first of the twelve fanes of Saint Decmanus.
To Stephen, his own footsteps somehow sounded like intruders in the great nave of the monastery. He had never seen it this empty and still. He wished for ordinary sounds, for another person to talk to. But from this moment until he finished his circuit of the fanes, he would be alone.
He stood for a moment, examining the great buttresses that supported the ceiling, amazed that frail and imperfect human beings could make such beauty. Was that what the saints saw in them, that potential? Was the creation of a few beautiful things worth the price of the evil men could do?