The Warrior Maiden

by Melanie Dickerson

  “Then what are you?”

  The boys on either side of him laughed.

  “My father is Mikolai the Lithuanian and my mother is Feodosia the Lithuanian, so that makes me Lithuanian.”

  “That’s not what I hear.”

  “Your hearing is faulty.” Her heart beat hard and stole her breath, but she had to pretend to be confident. Although they were all younger than she was, they were larger.

  “I think it’s your lineage that’s faulty.” Dilgunos was glaring now, his smile gone.

  She didn’t have time for this. “Go away unless there’s something you want.”

  “No one tells us to go away,” one of Dilgunos’s friends said.

  “A little too high and mighty for a girl.” The overgrown boy glanced to one friend, then the other. “What do you think? Shall we show the Mongol girl not to talk to us that way?”

  A frisson of fear snaked through Mulan’s middle. She glanced around, but no one seemed to be on the street, no one she could call on to help her. Algirdas’s butcher shop was not far away, but perhaps she could rid herself of the boys on her own without becoming beholden to the man.

  She caught sight of Andrei. Unfortunately, he was too far down the street to get to her before the boys.

  To her right was the rock outcropping. She ran toward it, climbed up about the space of her own height, but above that, the face of it was nearly straight up with few crevices or footholds. But she kept going. It was as if her desperation enabled her to see the holds she needed. She scurried up the rock face while the boys yelled insults at her from below.

  She was nearly to the top when her hand slipped, then her foot. With only one toehold keeping her from plunging to the ground, she reached frantically and clutched the tiniest crack with the tips of her fingers. The boys laughed and taunted.

  If I fall, God, let me fall right on their heads.

  The rough rock surface scraped her fingertips, but she held on and managed to pull her body up and find the next hand- and toeholds. She finally reached the top and scrambled over the edge.

  Mulan lay on her stomach, her breath heaving in gasps. She closed her eyes to whisper, “Thank You, God.” That was terrifying, but she was alive.

  The boys’ taunts had ceased. Were they running around the side of the rocks to catch her? She peeked over the side and looked down. The boys were nowhere to be seen, but Andrei was standing below.

  Her friend motioned with his hand. “Come down,” he called in a loud whisper. “They’re coming for you.”

  Andrei had accompanied her father to battle, but he was younger and much smaller than the band of bully boys who taunted her.

  There was no time to go around the sloping side of the large rock. She’d have to go back down the way she’d come up.

  She lowered her feet off the edge of the rock and finally found a toehold. It was actually a bit harder going down than coming up since she couldn’t see as well where to place her feet. But finally she slid the last few feet and landed on the ground beside Andrei.

  “Let’s go hide.” He ran and she followed him. They raced around the side of the blacksmith’s shop and sank into the tall grass.

  They were silent as Mulan waited for her breathing to slow. Andrei’s face was streaked with dirt and his shirt was torn in more than one place. When he came home with Father after a battle, he would sleep in his own makeshift abode just outside the village.

  “Your fingers are bleeding.” Andrei took the cork out of his flask he kept tethered to his belt. He took her hand and poured water over the tips of her fingers.

  “That’s all right. I am well.” Mulan let the water drip on the ground. “I was coming to find you, to ask you some questions.”

  “Me?”

  “You have been with Mikolai when he fought the Teutonic Knights. Will you teach me how to behave like a soldier?”

  “Why would you want to know that?” Andrei’s sandy-brown brows drew together.

  “I want to take Mikolai’s place.”

  Andrei frowned at her. “You are talking nonsense.”

  “Now that Mikolai is dead, Mother will have to forfeit her house to Butautas since Father didn’t have a son who could fight in his stead. As soon as he discovers Father is dead, Butautas will throw Mother out and give her house to someone else. Mother found me a husband—Algirdas the butcher—but I cannot marry him. So I must fight in Father’s stead.”

  Andrei raised his brows. “You want to go and fight the Teutonic Knights?” He shook his head. “You’ll never survive.”

  “I’m glad to hear your confidence in me.”

  “How could you fool people into believing you are a man? Your hair comes all the way to your waist.”

  “I’ll cut my hair.”

  “You also have other . . . things that might be difficult to hide.” Andrei’s cheeks turned red.

  “My things are not large, so they won’t be that difficult to hide.”

  “Also, you may be good at archery, but you’re small and you’re just not as strong as a man. What will happen if the truth is discovered?”

  Mulan’s heart sank. These were the fearful thoughts that had been darting through her own head. But something rose inside her. Courage?

  More likely desperation.

  “I can do it. I just need a little help and information from you. Father was a seasoned soldier, but I can . . . well, I can pretend to be his son, ready to learn to be a seasoned soldier.”

  “That’s not how it works. They will expect you to already know what you’re doing, to be able to fight with a sword. They will assume you’ve been training all your life to take your father’s place.”

  “I have been training at archery all my life, and I’m a very good rider. Besides, don’t they need longbowmen even more than knights and swordsmen? What is the worst thing that could happen?”

  “They could discover you are a woman, send you home in disgrace, and take your mother’s house anyway. Or do worse things to you. You don’t know how crude some of these men are. Besides, it’s against Church law for a woman to wear men’s garments and pretend to be a man.”

  Being excommunicated was the worst thing that could happen to anyone. But wasn’t she an exception to that law because of the prophecies made by the priest and the friar?

  “And who knows how the other soldiers will react when they find out you’ve fooled them. The last time I went with Mikolai, there was one man who couldn’t fight, and during a training exercise, he started crying. The knight in charge ran him through with his sword. He simply wiped off his blade and said, ‘There’s no crying in war.’”

  Mulan pushed back a strand of hair. “Then I’ll be sure not to cry.”

  Wolfgang and the other soldiers and knights from Hagenheim had almost reached the Polish border. Tonight they would bed down on the Margrave of Thornbeck’s land, as he was an ally of Wolfgang’s father.

  All afternoon Steffan had ridden his horse like a madman, galloping far ahead, then coming back looking amused. Steffan didn’t like to talk about anything serious, but Wolfgang was determined to force him to talk tonight.

  Wolfgang watched where Steffan placed his blanket. He laid his right beside it and then went to make certain his horse was brushed down and fed. When he returned, Steffan was laughing and drinking wine with two other men. Ach, but he was not willing to wait halfway into the night until Steffan was done drinking.

  Wolfgang strode up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Brother, I need to talk to you.”

  Steffan turned and looked at him, as did the men with him. “But I don’t need to talk to you.”

  The other men raised their brows and waited.

  Wolfgang expelled a breath. “Excuse us, men.” He took Steffan by the arm and led him away a few steps.

  Steffan snatched his arm away. “What do you want?” Wine sloshed out of his cup and onto Steffan’s hand.

  “I want to know what is wrong with you.”

  “Not
hing is wrong with me.”

  “You know how you are when you drink too much wine—you do foolish things.”

  “You’re not my father.”

  “You have been angry and unreasonable since you were eight years old, when that boy—”

  “Shut your mouth.” Steffan grabbed Wolfgang’s neck, digging his thumb into his throat.

  Wolfgang took hold of Steffan’s wrist and pried his fingers off, then shoved him.

  Steffan shot him a venomous look and stalked away.

  Perhaps that had not been the best way to get his brother to listen to him. Wolfgang groaned. He went to his bedding and lay down. Aware that several men had witnessed the unfortunate exchange between Steffan and him, he laid his arm over his eyes.

  His brother had drifted further and further away from Wolfgang and his family over the last few years. Truthfully, though he and Steffan had spent so much time together as boys, they hadn’t had a real conversation about what had happened in a long time.

  Steffan refused to talk about it, refused to talk about anything that made him uncomfortable. He held in every thought and every emotion—except anger—and had only accepted Wolfgang’s company if he went along with Steffan’s less-than-noble antics, like teasing their sisters or playing some prank on an unsuspecting person.

  When Wolfgang had started passing more time with his father and older brother Valten and stopped going along with Steffan’s foolish impulses, their relationship deteriorated quickly.

  Wolfgang had felt so guilty since that terrible day when everything changed and the world no longer seemed like a safe or joyful place. His initial thought was that they should tell their father exactly what they had done, but Steffan had been furious, had even threatened him with violence if he ever told anyone. And since Wolfgang had always looked up to Steffan as older and wiser and stronger, he never told.

  But instead of fading from his mind, the secret seemed to grow bigger. He no longer had any doubt that the secret was eating at Steffan, too, making him do the foolish things he did. And yet . . . what had the secret done to Wolfgang? He felt the same shame as Steffan, but he had not become angry, nor had he rebelled against Father as Steffan had done. Had he gone the opposite direction?

  Steffan often accused him of never having his own opinion, of always believing whatever Father said. Was Steffan right? Was Wolfgang so afraid of disappointing his parents that he could not be his own man? Was he afraid to disagree? But he had proved himself a capable soldier, had he not? He was no weakling, and was it not wise to listen to his father?

  He let out a deep sigh. Neither of them had escaped the effects of what had happened. But it seemed too late now to tell anyone about it. After all, it was so long ago, and there was nothing anyone could do to make it right. But he also didn’t want his brother hurting himself and everyone who loved him.

  Wolfgang would wait until Steffan came to sleep, and then he would try to talk to him again. Steffan seemed determined to defect to the enemy, and Wolfgang had to stop him.

  A while later, most of the other soldiers had bedded down. Finally Steffan arrived. But he grabbed his blanket off the ground and started rolling it up.

  “Where are you going?” Wolfgang sprang up to stand before Steffan.

  “Away.” Steffan wouldn’t look at him.

  Wolfgang’s stomach churned. “Away where?”

  Steffan turned a crooked grin on him. “I’m joining the German Order of Teutonic Knights.”

  Wolfgang’s voice vibrated as he said, “Are you willing to fight against your friends from Hagenheim? Your own brother?”

  “The Teutonic Knights are our German brothers, knights who have consecrated themselves to God and the Church. They are just as convinced that they’re doing right as you are. Who’s to say who’s right and who’s wrong?” He shrugged.

  “That’s only an excuse to go your own way, to rebel against Father.”

  Steffan blew out a noisy breath. “As if I still care what Father thinks. I am my own man now. Unlike you.”

  “Listen. We can still be knighted. If we distinguish ourselves in battle, Duke Konrad might knight us and grant us land.”

  “Duke Konrad! Who is he compared to the Teutonic Knights? I can join them and not have to beg for some foreign duke’s favor.”

  A heavy stone pressed against Wolfgang’s chest. “No matter what I say, you won’t listen because your heart is hardened to reason.”

  “Face the truth, Wolfgang. From now on we’re no longer brothers. We are enemies.” With that Steffan snapped around and stalked toward the horses, leaving the ground next to Wolfgang’s bedding as empty as if he’d never been there.

  The heat deserted Wolfgang and was replaced with a cold, heavy feeling. Should he go after him? What good would it do? Steffan would not listen.

  Wolfgang closed his eyes. O God, I don’t know what else I can do. But You can do anything. Please help him come to his senses.

  CHAPTER 3

  What have you done to your hair?”

  Mulan paused in her packing and glanced up at her mother. A pang twisted her stomach.

  Her eyes wide, Mother gasped again as she reached out and touched the short ends.

  Mulan took up the leather string and tied it around her hair, making a short tail, the way her father sometimes wore his.

  “It’s too dangerous.” Mother’s voice was hushed, and when she lifted her hands to cover her mouth, they were trembling. Then she grabbed Mulan’s arm. “You cannot do this. I won’t let you.”

  “It’s all right, Mother. I’m taking Andrei with me. He’ll know how to help me stay safe.”

  “He’s only a boy! A mere child! He cannot help you.”

  “He knows what is required of a soldier and how I should conduct myself. He can also help me prepare.” Mulan continued placing her father’s clothing into her bag.

  “Those clothes will not fit you.”

  “I can alter them. I’ve already altered some of them.”

  “Mulan. Don’t do this. Algirdas . . .”

  Mulan opened her mouth. What could she say? If she said, “I just can’t marry that man,” it wouldn’t actually be true. It wasn’t that she couldn’t marry him, but that she’d rather take her chances as a soldier. After all, she’d always been terrible at cooking and humbling herself to men—even her own father. She wanted to be loved, not used, and it seemed unlikely that any man would want a wife like her. She’d rather be outside making pets out of the new piglets, practicing with her bow by shooting wild birds, or taking long walks with her mare, Aksoma. And no one was better at climbing trees and rocks than she was.

  “I don’t want to wed Algirdas. Besides, there are the prophecies. Don’t forget those.”

  They’d rarely ever spoken of them, but she knew her mother had not forgotten.

  “That’s the only reason I can bear to let you do this, believing that perhaps it is God’s will. Perhaps it was His plan all along.”

  If only Mulan had applied herself to learning swordplay. She’d asked Mikolai to teach her, but he refused.

  “Butautas’s messenger will be here any moment.” She closed the cloth bag and hefted it to her shoulder. “I love you, Mother. I always will. I’ll pray for God to keep you safe and well.”

  Tears welled in Mother’s eyes, and one spilled over onto her cheek.

  Mulan rushed out of the house, her gut sinking at having to leave her mother, especially when she was crying. Andrei met her coming down the lane from the stable with his own pack on his back, but his face was the opposite of Mother’s.

  “I already saddled Mikolai’s horse for you. He’s spirited, loves to run, but is reasonably obedient and calm in battle. I packed up your father’s weapons and quilted gambeson. It will be a little big on you, but too big is better than too small.”

  They went to the stable where Boldheart stood just outside, dancing around skittishly. Did he know his master was dead? He eyed Mulan with equal parts suspicion and disdain.r />
  She could not cower. She must show this big black gelding who his new master was.

  She took hold of his bridle. “Hold still now, Boldheart. I’ll be riding you and I don’t want any problems from you.” Standing on the mounting rock, she held on to the saddle and sprang up into it.

  Mulan smiled as she sat up straight. The horse must realize she wouldn’t let him get away with disobeying her. But then she noticed Andrei standing on the other side, holding the bridle, his other hand on the horse’s shoulder.

  “Andrei, you can saddle my mare for yourself.”

  “Already done.” He smiled up at her before retreating into the stable and bringing out Mulan’s short, stocky Konik with her silvery-gray, blue-dun coat. Aksoma had belonged to Mulan since they were both very young. But a soldier would be expected to ride a taller, stronger warhorse.

  It was strange to ride the big horse, and even stranger to see Andrei on Aksoma. She said a quick, silent prayer that God would keep her beloved horse safe on this adventure they were embarking on.

  Mulan led the way, urging Boldheart into a trot. But he was not very cooperative, pulling on the reins, turning his head to look back at her, obviously questioning her authority to tell him where to go. He stopped altogether and began to eat the grass at the edge of the lane between the house and the road ahead. By the time she forced him to move forward again, Butautas’s messenger was riding toward them.

  The moment of truth. Or, rather, untruth.

  Mulan suddenly wished she had rubbed some dirt on her face to disguise the fact that she had no beard, no stubble of any kind emerging from her chin or upper lip. She did her best to make her expression stern and . . . masculine?

  The man seemed confused as he approached them. “Andrei I recognize, but who are you?”

  “I am Mikolai’s son.” She did her best to deepen her voice. Fortunately, her voice was already rather deep for a woman’s.

  “I didn’t know Mikolai had a son.”

  “He fathered me out of wedlock . . . while fighting in a foreign land.” At least that part was true. “Feodosia took me in as her own.” She should probably try to speak as little as possible, as her father did.