Tess looked behind her at the throng of loyal animals. There was so much potential among them, so much power to be unleashed. It occurred to her that these creatures needed a teacher, someone familiar with the fellowship, who could prove to them that their oaths really meant something. She looked down at the coarse white mane in her hands.
“Jesse,” she said softly. “You could teach them to use golden magic, couldn’t you?”
“I have wielded it once, my lady, when your mother and I were young ones,” Jesse said.
“A good idea,” Pipe said. “The Rushing gave us a few pointers back at the Birch Grove. Won’t you teach us properly, Rushing? Even the horns of a dall ram can’t fend off an arrow.”
The Rushing’s tail brushed Tess’s back as he thought a moment. “When we make camp at Wallaton, I will prepare the animals, as you request.”
“Thank you, Jesse,” Linden and Tess said at once.
The town of Wallaton stretched among the firs and up onto the lower ledges of the cliffs in a diagonal line. Its villagers had abandoned their huts, boarding up the doors and windows. The only cabin lit from within stood atop a hill at the foot of the village, which Asher claimed as his own.
The footsore Glademontians set up camp just before the main road snaked onto the rock of the cliff face. Atheonian fires winked above them, a constant reminder of their task. Currant volunteered to aid Jesse in training the bondfellows, which left Tess and Linden to follow Asher across the pine needles to his home.
Asher’s long cabin on the hill seemed like many others Tess had seen along the main road. Its low roof was made of thatch and steeply pitched. A small covered pen had been built to protect a goat herd from predators, though not a goat was left in it now. They had either joined the FOM or been taken somewhere safe from the invaders. Tess climbed the stone path that led to the cabin’s deep-set door. A little girl appeared and rushed to squeeze Asher’s legs. Her blond curls were greasier now, and she sported a long red line from her temple to her neck, but Tess knew her immediately.
“All right.” Asher grunted as he patted her yellow head. “This is my granddaughter, Belle. Been with me ever since the bandits come.”
Tess knelt in front of the girl.
“Do you remember me?” she whispered, pained. The last time she had seen Belle, she was holding her mother’s hand. They were walking back to Wallaton on the night of the first attacks. Tess swallowed, remembering how in her thoughtlessness she had stepped on Belle while they were dancing.
Belle’s lip quivered. “Fyrian, the dryad.” Her small fluty voice struck Tess clean through.
Asher’s hand grasped Belle’s shoulder and he sucked air through his teeth.
“Yer the one,” he said. “Lady Tessamine, the dancer that Belle . . . she went to see yeh that night, my daughter and her.” His coarse beard lifted as his mouth twisted in anger. “She was killed, you know. My girl was killed on her way home. Belle left to hide in the thickets until I come for her.”
“I assure you, I . . . I didn’t know. . . .” The breath left Tess’s lungs. Linden stepped forward.
“Mister Candlestock, we’ve all had an abyss of a week. Atheos is to blame, not this lady.”
Asher snarled and stepped into his cabin, holding Belle’s hand. “No, the royals are never to blame,” he muttered.
A speechless Tess followed, with Wyndeling on her shoulder. Inside, Asher threw off his coat. It fell onto a scarlet-and-mustard rug at the center of the square cabin. He lowered himself to a bench, facing the fire and a pot of hot water. A worktable with baskets of unspun wool sat in the left-hand corner, adjacent to a large old loom. To the right, Tess spotted a washroom and bedroom. Though she longed to lock herself in the washroom and out of Asher’s sight, she went to sit at the loom and look out the window at the creaking pines.
Linden accepted a cup of hot tea from Belle and ran a hand over his forehead.
“How many did you count? Four hundred?” he said.
Asher nodded, staring into the fire. “Thereabouts.”
“Our forces make up less than half of that,” Linden said.
“Our odds’ll improve when those soldiers breathe in the cliff laurel. They’ll be needing to tend to their sick.” His tone was still unfriendly.
“Cliff laurel?” Linden asked.
Asher pointed above their heads, where an assortment of herbs hung on hooks from the ceiling. Tess recognized all of them except one—a thick tangle of a vine with small rounded leaves and bright white flowers in bunches.
“Our women brew a toxin yeh set on the wind. We use it to fend off mountain lions. A couple whiffs’s enough to have yeh on your knees for hours.” Asher clasped his hands over his staff and scowled, his dark lips pushing out.
“It won’t make the women sick?” Linden said.
“Wallaton women ain’t never been sick,” Asher snapped. “But even the best of them can’t stop a knife—” He cut off, looking at his granddaughter settling by the fire with Pipe. Then Asher’s hooded eyes hovered on Tess.
“She is not to blame, Candlestock,” Linden said.
“Oh?” Asher stood and approached Linden, talking low. “Does the lady know what price there is to pay to be princess? My Belle surely don’t, though the lady makes it look so easy.”
“I do not understand you,” Linden said. Tess saw his hands clench then relax. He was wondering the same thing she was: Did he know about the shenìl?
“I had a sister once,” Asher said. “She knew nothing of the royal life, loved to be a shepherdess with all her heart. But then they come calling, and it seemed the prince wanted her hand. She didn’t want to go, sire. She cried and cried, thinkin’ if she didn’t accept, she’d put herself to shame. She left us and went up the cliffs to live in the castle. I never saw her again.”
“Speak plainly, Mister Candlestock.”
“All right, Highness; I will. You weren’t never told about yer Uncle Clove? Clove Asher Candlestock?”
Linden sputtered. “My mother’s brother . . . ?”
“Never said we was from Wallaton, did she?”
“Yes, but . . . well, she never spoke of you.” Linden’s astonishment seemed only to embitter the goatherd all the more.
“I never set foot in that castle,” Asher said. “All this nonsense about our starlit Commoner Queens? What was the point of ripping my sister away from me? We were happy here, because we kept to ourselves. But then, Belle went to see the lady’s dancing . . . first in Redfoot, then—” He couldn’t go on. He marched away from Linden, consoling himself by the stone hearth again. He rubbed his jaw and looked over to Belle, who had fallen asleep in the crook of Pipe’s woolly neck.
Then he turned to Linden with glistening eyes. He swept a disdainful hand at Tess. “My sister, gone, so some prince could have his way. My daughter, gone, paying her respects to the next generation of the heartless Crown. By the skies, I thought I could stomach it to take down those Atheonians. But I can’t stand to have you two loomin’ in my house.”
Linden glowered. “Mister Candlestock, you are wrong to group all royalty together into some kind of compassionless brood. My father loved my mother more than any man has loved his bride. If my mother gave up a life in Wallaton to serve as queen, it was surely her free choice. Moreover, though I mourn for your losses, this lady”—he pointed at Tess—“cannot be blamed for your misfortunes. That I cannot allow.” He ran a hand over his matted hair. “Right,” he said, seemingly surprised to have the attention of the room. “This war with Atheos depends entirely on Tess, and our support of her.”
“Your Highness—” Tess stood, eyes wide. What was he doing?
“She carries the key to our victory, and her safety happens to be in the interest of those who reside in Glademont Castle, but also to you, sir. And all creatures of the valley.”
“Your Highness, you mus
t not—”
“What—what does she carry?” Asher’s eyes darted to Tess, anxiety covering his face.
Tess felt a rush of panic and involuntarily scooped the shenìl into her hands. Fyrian’s voice sprang to her mind, telling her to remain Glademont’s unseen guardian. How could she know when to share her burden and when to conceal it?
It was the burden itself that answered Tess’s doubts. It warmed in her hands, its light barely visible inside her palm. The tips of Tess’s fingers tingled as she pulled her cloak around her, wondering where to begin.
“There is a magician,” she said, “who started this war, because he desires this object.” Tess unthreaded the shenìl from her twine belt and held it for Asher to see.
Asher eyed it scrupulously. He lowered himself onto the bench.
“It’s the only thing that can stop him.” Tess swallowed. Asher stared in bewilderment as she pressed the ends of the shenìl into her palm. “It was forged so there would always be someone to overcome red magic.”
Asher looked from Linden to Tess, his forearms pressing against his thighs. “If it’s as powerful as that, how do we know this isn’t more evil magic?”
Tess took a deep breath and stepped around the bench to where Belle lay on Pipe, an arm span from the fire. Slowly, she held out her hands in imitation of the Thane’s Hold. The golden orbs snapped into a bright glow, hovering above her palms. With a loud crack, the flames from the hearth began to twist and swirl before her, their orange color turning more and more to white. The shape of a slender hand appeared amid the white tongues and reached toward little Belle.
“No.” Asher lunged for his granddaughter.
But the white hand was already stroking her face, tracing the long wound that marred it. Then, in the blink of an eye, the hearth fire glowed its familiar orange again, the white hand was gone, and Tess threaded the shenìl about her waist.
“What sorcery is this?” Asher rocked Belle against his chest.
“She’s all right, she is perfect. Look,” Tess said.
When the shepherd finally unfolded his arms to see the girl, she was wide awake and smiling.
“Your face,” he whispered.
Belle covered her cheek with her hands and tried to wriggle out of Asher’s arms.
“No, no. It is perfect. Just as the lady says.”
Tess knelt beside Asher and stroked Belle’s curls. “I don’t know what would happen if Pider ever came to possess the shenìl, but if he is as powerful as I think he is, not even the bondfellowship could protect us then.”
From the corner of her eye, Tess saw Linden watching her. She could tell from the stillness of his body that he was thinking seriously on something. When she ventured to look, she could not read his eyes. He breathed through his nose, looking her all over. What was he deciding?
Then, Currant’s antlered head appeared at the door. “Your Highness, if I could borrow you a moment . . . ?” He looked around the tense room.
“Excuse me, please.” Hoisting his longbow, Linden bowed and followed his friend outside. As Tess listened to the thudding of his footsteps, something told her to follow.
Tess smoothed the wisps of her hair around her face as she excused herself from Asher’s cabin.
Wyndeling glided behind her and perched on a pine branch.
“My lady,” she said, “hadn’t you better sleep?”
“I don’t think I could.” Tess touched her engagement pearls. “I’ll see how Jesse is doing. Don’t worry about me.” She hurried down the straw-covered hill.
At the foot of the hill, Tess avoided the murmuring valley creatures, none of whom seemed able to sleep themselves. She veered left, away from the road, and noticed some gathering taking place under a gigantic, wide-reaching cedar. Its exposed roots snaked from the ground to its trunk like dark noodles from a giant’s pot. Catching sight of Linden and Currant walking toward the cedar, Tess retreated to the shadows, watching from a short distance.
“Prince Linden,” came the young, comforting voice of Jesse the Rushing, “your friend has something to ask of you.” The horse’s white mane and tail seemed to glow in the moonlight as he faced an excited knot of men and animals.
“Er, yes.” Currant faced the prince of Glademont. “Well, I’ve decided . . . it’s just that I think I had better be your bondfellow.”
Linden stared at Currant, and then at Jesse. Then a bashful grin crept across his face.
“No polite way to refuse, I should think.” He clapped Currant’s neck. “I’d be honored.”
Currant led Linden to a row of hooved and horned animals standing in front of their corresponding shepherds and breeders. They joined the ranks, and all eyes fell on Jesse.
“Creatures who enter into the fellowship commit their lives.” Jesse’s voice rang out in the night wind. “Person and animal must protect the good of the other, and keep the other from harm and from corruption. Creatures who wish to make such an oath, step forward.”
Goats, sheep, ponies, and Currant all stepped forward.
“Untamed: Do you pledge to assist your persons, in whatever goodly quest, until death?” Jesse boomed.
Tess shivered with anticipation as the ancient words echoed against the cliffs.
“I do,” many voices called out, some more confidently than others.
“Then persons step forward, seal the oath with the bondfellow’s consent.”
Some of the older men came forward first. They turned their backs to the cedar so that they faced the untamed, and the younger men—including Linden—followed suit. Once all were in place, one of the experienced men bowed to his animal. Tess held her breath as his mountain goat gracefully lowered her head and forelegs in turn. Then the entire row of animals joined in the humble pose.
An image suddenly surfaced in Tess’s memory. She thought of the statue of Rosemary the lynx, which had raised the bridge over Ruby Creek. She, too, was depicted in this pose—the bondfellow’s consent.
“May the gift of goodly powers and long life be bestowed on each of you. You are now members of the bondfellowship.”
The men and animals paused in disbelief, looking from Jesse to each other. It was so simple, so brief, some of the men started laughing. A lifetime of self-giving, and all it took was a word and a bow. Tess understood now how people had forgotten the sacredness of the oath since Osiris’s time. Then again, she knew that night was different. That night, every creature who walked from under that cedar knew his oath would soon be put to the test.
Another hour remained before the prescribed time of departure, and the members of the FOM, each according to his way, prepared themselves for the steep journey ahead.
Tess wandered the camp, watching bondfellows practicing their positions and concentrating their efforts. Without real danger, none of them would know how the golden magic would respond, not until the battle was upon them. Their human counterparts watched with amusement and shouted out words of encouragement, while many of the older men and animals slept.
Eventually, Tess returned to Asher’s cabin, pondering why the shenìl had not chosen someone like her elder sister, Dahly, as the thane. Dahly never let fear get the better of her, never wavered in her convictions. And when she set her mind to do something, nothing could stop her. Tess, on the other hand, couldn’t get through a single day without questioning everything.
She shuffled to Asher’s loom, lonely and pensive.
Asher appeared from the bedroom. “I thought yeh might be wanting these.” The hardened shepherd held a bundle of clothes. He passed a hand over his thin hair. “They were my daughter’s, years ago.”
Tess looked down at her thin cotton nightgown, covered in blood, dirt, and horsehair.
“Belle’s gone to find some proper boots for yeh, too.”
“Thank you. For everything.” Tess curtsied and took her new clothes into
the washroom. She rinsed the dust and sweat from her body. The icy water sent goose bumps down her limbs. She bound a clean strip of linen around the bite marks on her forearm.
Their lives depend on you, she told the flushed face and wild black hair in the glass. It was hard to believe that a week ago, she believed herself worthy of Linden, worthy of ruling. She smoothed her thick eyebrows with a moistened thumb, but it didn’t make any difference. Tess’s time in the forest had beaten all the polish out of her. The young woman in the mirror looked more like the untamed animals of the Hinge than the guardian of Glademont. Tess pulled her chafed, blistered feet from her riding boots and she suddenly felt very small. What could she do against a magician? Against an army?
Tess untied the bundle of clothes. The creamy long-sleeved shirt fit perfectly, and when she fastened the ankle-length skirt around her waist, she felt warmer than she had been in days. She sat on the floor, pulled the thick stockings over her feet, and hugged her arms while quiet tears landed on her knees.
Belle knocked meekly on the door and handed Tess thick leather shoes that laced over the ankles. Tess smiled gratefully. The shoes made her feel sturdier. She requested a belt as well, and in her own little ritual, she kissed the golden orbs of the shenìl, pinched the medal with her forefinger and thumb, and wrapped the strap around the belt at her hip.
When Linden returned to the cabin, Asher excused himself to tuck Belle in before departing. Tess sat alone in her fresh clothes, pretending to stoke the fire.
“Well, look who makes a fine Wallaton woman,” Linden said.
Tess prodded at the charred wood. Linden joined her on the bench, took the stoker from her hand, and laid it against the hearth.
“May I . . . may I speak with you?” he said.
“Of course,” Tess whispered, afraid her voice would shake if she spoke any louder.
“You’ve been keeping something from me. I don’t know for how long. But, if we are to . . . should we keep secrets from each other?”
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