The Little Dragons

by Rowan Starsmith

  “Well now you must not only think of it, but remember,” Maida warned her.

  It was the next morning, after Peg and Rafe returned and joined her in the stable, that Maida had her first opportunity to report on this conversation to Peg. Peg turned to Rafe. “Was she right?” she asked him. “Is that what you told her?”

  Rafe grinned at her and grunted.

  “Do you suppose it’s because they are both King’s People?” Maida asked. “Do they read each other’s minds?”

  Both women looked at Rafe. He stopped forking hay, grinned at them and said, “’Cess!”

  Chapter 32: Ev

  The night was endless. There was, thank the God, no more banging around, but the sheets began to press down on Ev in the suffocating dark. She tried not to imagine throwing them off, gasping in a big breath of cool night air. Instead she tried to doze, but the wood underneath her bit into her flesh making even light sleep impossible. She tried to occupy her mind by remembering good times, visits from her family, long sessions of working and chattering with Jessa. This thought made her eyes prickle. There would be no going back. Would she ever see Jessa again?

  “Is there time for one more?” Ev jumped a bit as a loud voice called out just beside the cart in which she hid. She couldn’t hear the response. “The Bird Star is still over the horizon,” the nearby voice said. Again she could hear no response, but suddenly the cart lurched into movement again.

  No, no, Ev thought, panic rising into her throat. You don’t have time for one more. Wash it tomorrow … but before the thought was even complete the cart went over with a crash and abruptly she was plunged into painfully hot water.

  The wet sheets wrapped themselves around her, clinging, pulling her down. She flailed against them, entangling herself even more. Her skin felt as though it was burning off of her bones. There was no controlling the panic now. She tore at the fabric clinging to her face, began to cry out, but boiling water rushed into her mouth, choking her.

  The sheets settled, then began to rise again. Ripping and tugging against the sheet that covered her head, Ev rose with them. Just when she thought her lungs must explode, her hair was grabbed from above. She was lifted. If she could have screamed from the pain of it, she would have. The wet linen was pulled from her face and she gasped hoarsely for air. All around her was a fantastical world of rising steam lit by a row of dancing torches. Her lungs hurt; her skin hurt; her scalp hurt and a large face loomed in front of her own, dark wisps of hair escaping from a grey servant’s headscarf. “What’s this then?” it said.

  Chapter 33: Keiran

  Keiran walked quickly along the narrow road. At first he had followed a map Gleve had drawn for him because, although he had remembered the name of his village, he had no idea how to get there. As he came closer to home, however, the lantern Gleve and Father Mallory had given him picked out familiar landmarks that in turn triggered memories of the place. Now he knew that the road he was following would eventually become a side street of Hanford, and well before that he would come to the cottage that was his home. It had been built near the town, but out of sight of the other houses, because of Aymeric. He had also remembered his brother’s name along the way. Aymeric.

  His injuries, barely healed, were aching from the hard walking. However, he kept going, even picked up his pace, his heart rising into the back of his throat as he got closer and closer. Aymeric. How long had he been away? What had become of Aymeric?

  Another lantern approached, coming slowly in the opposite direction. As soon as he drew near, Keiran called out, “Hello. Who goes there?”

  “I am the Widow Elnord. Who are you?” The voice was that of an old woman, the name familiar.

  “I am Keiran of Hanford.” The Widow’s lantern stopped moving forward and there was a moment’s silence.

  Then suddenly it was coming more quickly. The Widow stopped a few feet away and held it higher, peering into the darkness. As soon as he saw her face Keiran remembered, a neighbour, a friend. “Why so you are. We were told you deserted from the King’s service.” There was movement as she made the sign for the Warrior God’s protection. She quickly snuffed out her light and looked behind her toward the village. “Quick!” she hissed. “Put out your light.” When Keiran hesitated in confusion, she said, “Now!” her voice so full of urgency that he immediately dropped the hood of his own light.

  They stood silently in the dark roadway. As his eyes adjusted to the faint light of the stars, he could see her looking back toward the village, listening. She put a hand on his arm and whispered, “This way. Quiet as you can.”

  He followed her a short way into the woods, tripping over roots and hummocks. “Shh,” she hissed. A few yards in they came to a small clearing created by a large fallen log. She paused to listen again. “I don’t think anyone saw us,” she whispered, then sat down on the log to catch her breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Keiran asked her.

  “You’ve a price on your head.”

  A bolt of shock travelled through Keiran’s whole body. “Because they think I’m a deserter?”

  She paused to listen again for anyone who might be coming along the road, then continued in a low voice. “That, and because a month or so after you left on the King’s expedition to the mountains, a young man came out of your house. I think he was looking for you, but he couldn’t speak right. You’re charged with hiding an abnormal.”

  The Widow paused again, partly to listen to the road, partly to take in his response in the dim light. Keiran had frozen with fear. “What happened?”

  “As soon as people realized what he was, they called the King’s constables. He put up a fight, probably frightened out of whatever wits he had. A good fight too; he was a big lad.”

  “Was?”

  “They put him out for the Dragons. What else would you expect?

  Keiran closed his eyes tight and held his breath, holding in the cry that wanted to come from his belly through his throat.

  After a minute or so, she asked, “Was he your brother, Aymeric?”

  “Yes,” Keiran breathed the word, his throat clenched.

  “I thought he might be. When he was four years old or so your mother told everyone he had died of a fever, held a funeral and everything. So she kept him hidden all those years.”

  Keiran felt a shock run through him. He suddenly had a vivid picture of his beloved mother. She, too, had been wiped from his memory. “My mother,” he whispered to the Widow Elnord. “Where is she?”

  There was a sudden stillness beside him, then a rustle as she got to her feet. She made the Warrior God’s protection sign again and began to back away. “Your mother has been dead for almost ten years,” she hissed and turned to make her way quickly back to the road.

  Chapter 34: Melisande

  It seemed the carriage had barely begun to roll when it stopped again. Melisande and Imelda gave each other a frightened look. One of the King’s Men opened the carriage door and Ermin appeared there, offering his hand. They stepped out on to cobblestones in a dark alley. There was a high stone wall beside them and an open door. As they stepped through Melisande caught her breath. It was the back door of the Women’s Retreat House.

  With rising hope, Melisande followed Ermin’s narrow back down a short passage and into a simple but comfortable reception room. Waiting for them there was Head Mother Mabonne, dressed in the simple grey gown of the Women’s Retreat House and the white veil of her rank. “Your Majesty,” she said, lowering her head and taking Melisande’s hand.

  “I wouldn’t bother with ‘Your Majesty,’” Ermin cut in abruptly.

  As soon as the women sat down, he began. “This is the King’s command. You …” he turned to Melisande, “… will live out your days here. Your life as Queen is behind you, including your name. The Head Mother will assign you a new name and that is all you will be called by, ever, by anyone.”

  “Only seven people know who you are,” he glared at Imelda, “The four of us,
the King, and the two men-at-arms who escorted you here. By tomorrow, only five people will know.” Melisande narrowed her eyes over the cruelty of it. Ermin watched her with satisfaction. He had told her to get a response, Melisande realized, just as he had kept their destination secret until they arrived at the door.

  “You are all sworn to absolute secrecy. If this information ever emerges beyond the five people named, you will all die for it.” He took a moment to glare at them. “The Queen’s funeral will be held in a few days …”

  Melisande suddenly gasped. “But my children! Are you saying that my children won’t know? They will think I am dead?”

  “That is what I am saying Madam. The Queen is dead.”

  Melisande began to rise to her feet, but instead slid to the floor in a faint.

  When Melisande woke up she found herself in a small, clean bed. She looked around her. It was a plain but comfortable chamber. An open window let in a fresh night breeze. A plain grey dress hung on a hanger on the wall, a black veil on a peg beside it. Of course! She was in the Women’s Retreat House.

  A slender young girl dressed in grey with a matching kerchief tied over her hair let herself in, balancing a tray, and quietly closed the door behind herself. When she turned, Melisande felt a jolt of shock. “Liandra!” she said, struggling up into a sitting position.

  The young woman almost dropped her tray in surprise. “No, Lady. My name is Jessa.”

  “Oh!” Melisande’s eyes filled with tears, which she quickly controlled. “Of course. Come here.”

  “I’ve brought you some broth from the kitchen. I was told if you were sleeping to leave it …”

  “Come here, Jessa.” The young girl came and stood by the bed. Short and naturally rounded, her spare diet had nonetheless made her much thinner than Liandra. But the face, the hair, the quick, capable hands.

  Melisande leaned back against the pillows. She patted the bed. “Sit here for a minute.” Jessa obeyed, clearly embarassed under the scrutiny of this latest Widow to arrive at the Retreat House.

  Melisande slowly raised her hand and laid it on Jessa’s cheek. The young woman remained still, although there was alarm in her eyes. “Jessa,” Melisande said, while stroking the young woman’s face, once, twice. Then she lowered her hand. “Thank you for the broth, Jessa, beautiful child.”

  “You’re welcome, Lady.” Jessa leaped up from the bed and was out of the door like a sprite.

  Chapter 35: Jessa

  Jessa stood against the wall in the corridor outside the new Widow’s room. She held her own hand where the Lady’s hand had been. Her cheek burned. Later she slipped down to the pantry where Ev had been assigned to a month of peeling potatoes. “Why would she do that?” Ev asked.

  “Who knows? She’s very strange.”

  Eve’s hands never ceased in their work, even as she spoke. “It’s going to be interesting waiting on her.”

  “An adventure!” Jessa’s eyes lit up. “A high-born lady called me beautiful!”

  Chapter 36: Maida

  Liandra handed Maida the finished mending, neatly folded and piled. “Now what shall I do to keep from dying of boredom?” she asked.

  “You’re so good with a needle,” Maida ran her hand over an almost-invisible patch on the uppermost item in the pile. “There’s lots of fabric upstairs, you know. People who spin and weave often give Mother Peg lengths of linen or wool in return for Healing and, as you know, I avoid sewing it up as long as I possibly can.”

  “It’s rough,” Liandra commented when she felt the fabric lengths Maida pulled from a trunk in the loft. She studied Maida’s dress. “So, would you like a new bodice and skirt?”

  “Everything I have is still good, especially now that you’ve done such a nice job of mending them.” Maida paused, looking at the tattered silk dress Liandra wore, still the same one she had arrived in. “What about you? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable here in something not quite so fine?”

  “Oooo—next to my skin? It would be all scratchy!”

  “You have other court dresses in your trunk. Why haven’t you worn those?”

  “They’re too good. They’ll just get ruined.”

  “There are silk chemises in your trunk. You could make yourself clothing like ours and wear one of those underneath.”

  “Hmmm,” Liandra pulled out the finest piece of linen she could find and rubbed it between her fingers. “I suppose I could.”

  “And our clothing is better for pregnancy. You just let out the lacing as your belly grows …”

  “My belly is not going to grow!” Liandra snapped. “I am not pregnant!” She dropped the linen back into the trunk and stomped down the stairs.

  Chapter 37: Gleve

  Lynna followed Gleve everywhere. He went to the garden to gather a few things for their midnight meal. She dug up too many beets. He said nothing. As he bent to pick up the harvest, she bent faster, gathering everything into her folded apron to carry back to the house. She watched him begin to wash the vegetables at the pump in the yard, then offered to do it. She watched him begin to trim and cut them at the board in the kitchen, then offered to finish. Gleve dropped into a chair at the table and caught Father Mallory’s eye. The Old Man’s face was scrunched up, obviously trying not to laugh. This deepened Gleve’s annoyance.

  “There’s almost no water left in the buckets and dawn will soon be here. I’ll go and fetch some,” Lynna offered.

  “Sure. Thanks,” Gleve told her. She clattered out to the yard with the buckets and in a minute the squeaking of the pump covered any conversation that might take place in the kitchen. Gleve sighed. “I guess I’ll have to have a talk with her.”

  “I guess you will.”

  “Stop laughing.”

  “Me? Laughing?” Father Mallory let a small giggle slip out.

  Gleve smiled, just a little.

  “At least she keeps you busy and annoyed enough to stop you from dwelling on how much you miss Keiran.”

  Gleve’s smile disappeared into sadness.

  “I’m sorry,” Father Mallory said, reaching across to hold Gleve’s hand for a moment. “I know you could love him, but it would be so dangerous.”

  “I know. You’re right.” He sighed. “I just wish she wouldn’t make those cow’s eyes at me all the time.”

  “There’s quite a lot to talk with her about.”

  Just then the pump stopped and Lynna called out to them, “There’s someone coming. Someone sick or hurt.”

  Gleve and Father Mallory rose and looked out through the kitchen window. There was indeed a lantern weaving and stumbling along the path as if held by a drunkard. Gleve quickly lit the lantern they kept beside the door and ran out into the night, Lynna at his heels. Father Mallory waited in the open door of the cottage. As they approached the entrance to the path, the lantern Lynna had spotted clattered to the ground. A tall young man sank to his knees beside it, his face filthy and scratched, twisted in pain.

  "Keiran!" Gleve said. He dropped to his own knees, set down his lantern and threw his arms around his exhausted friend. Lynna stared at them open-mouthed.

  Chapter 38: Melisande

  Melisande sat as straight as she could while propped against her pillows. Head Mother Mabonne sat on a chair facing the bed. “Two servants have been assigned to keep your room and bring your meals to you until you are well enough to eat in the dining hall. You must keep an eye on Jessa, the fair one. She is a restless child, constantly in trouble. This isn’t the right place for her, but what choice is there? She was abandoned as a baby on our doorstep.

  “Her friend, Ev, does not belong here either. In fact, she tried to escape recently. She is a child of the Earth People and should really be among them. But she is the orphan of a bond-servant. She has inherited her mother’s bond. The Warrior God sent both of them here, and here they shall remain.” Melisande nodded.

  “And now I have been given the task of choosing a name for you. I was wondering if you would like to
be called Peace. That is what I hope you will find here, my Lady. It is well known that your life up until now has been … stormy.”

  “Peace,” Melisande said the name thoughtfully. “Will that not be too obviously an assumed name? People may wonder what name I came with. Would it be acceptable to take my mother’s name, Merrit? It’s common enough that no one will wonder why my name was changed, it will honour her memory, and I also hope to achieve merit while I am here.”

  “All right then, Lady Merrit. And what would you like to do, after you are well again of course, as I have no doubt you will be. Most of the Widows work in the embroidery room, since most have been trained, as you have, in fancy needlework. The Women’s Retreat House earns much of its keep by selling tapestries and embroideries to noble houses and churches.”

  “I could do that, and would like to do it. My first choice, however, would be to learn to work in the copying room. I have all my life longed to be able to read.”

  “Usually those selected to work in the copying room are Sisters, and younger than you are, with a long life of manuscript work ahead of them. I don’t want to draw attention to you, or cause trouble for you or myself. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I have thirty-six years.”

  “Ah well, you are young yet. I will think about it, Your Maj …I mean, Lady Merrit.”

  Melisande nodded. A sudden thought struck her and she held up her left hand, her gold wedding band still in place. “Why do I still wear my wedding ring? I thought all jewelry belonging to Widows was sold to support the Retreat House.”

  “All except wedding rings. Widows continue to wear them in honour of the permanence of the married state.”

  “Well, I don’t want mine.” Melisande began to pull it off of her plump finger, then stopped. A sudden memory touched her, Liandra saying that when Melisande’s ring came to her after her mother’s death, she would wear it and remember her mother every day. Along with the memory came an idea.

  “Or maybe I do,” Melisande said and pushed the ring back into place.

  Chapter 39: Jessa