“Well . . . ” She hesitated. On the journey north, she’d begun writing about the Green Riders in general, and Karigan in particular, so there was plenty to speak about, but she’d another concern.
“What is it, child?” Miss Bunch inquired.
“My voice,” she replied. “It’s remarkably good at the moment, but it may not hold.”
Both sisters gazed at her as if in understanding.
“There is a spell in you that stole your voice, yes?” Miss Bay asked.
“How do you know?”
“We know. We know in a similar way that you know things about us,” Miss Bay said.
“And we are our father’s daughters,” Miss Bunch added.
Estral waited for more, but it seemed they were not going to give her a full explanation. “If you are so well-informed, then you do not need me to tell you about Karigan.”
To her surprise, Miss Bunch chuckled and said to her sister, “She is the Fiori.”
Miss Bay responded with a thin smile.
What, Estral wondered, was that supposed to mean?
“Dear child,” Miss Bunch said, “it is more that you need to tell us, is it not?”
Estral started.
“Indeed,” Miss Bay agreed, “but we do enjoy tales, and no, we do not know everything. We will learn much from what you tell us.”
“And do not worry about your voice,” Miss Bunch added. “You are at Seven Chimneys and that spell has no effect here.”
“It doesn’t? Can—can you fix my voice permanently? Get rid of the spell?”
“No, child, that is not within our power. Seven Chimneys is really but an island, and once you leave our borders your voice will be what it has been and the spell will reassert its influence. I am truly sorry.”
“Consider your ability to speak now,” Miss Bay said, “a product of the benevolence of the house.”
The benevolence of the house. The house had mended itself, they had said. It was not the first time she’d encountered inexplicable phenomena of a magical nature. In fact, her father had had a gift for it himself, if a subtle one. It had to do with the Fiori bloodline and the office of the Golden Guardian. As she assumed the mantle of Golden Guardian, she wondered what surprises awaited her.
In the meantime, she decided to simply accept that Seven Chimneys and the sisters were extraordinary, and so she began telling the tales of Karigan’s adventures.
Doing the Right Thing
Estral began Karigan’s story with events that followed her stay at Seven Chimneys, and recounted her adventures over the years, but stopped before describing the most recent that had taken place in the north. Her tea had gone cold by the time she took a sip to moisten her throat. It felt wonderful to have her whole voice again, but so much talking was exhausting. She was not used to it anymore. She glanced out the windows and was surprised to see that the daylight had changed little though she felt like she’d been talking for hours.
“Our Karigan is a plucky one,” Miss Bunch said.
“And lucky,” Miss Bay added.
“I am afraid there are details I lack,” Estral said. “Karigan is not the most forthcoming about these things.”
“Regardless,” Miss Bunch said, “you have woven quite a tale of daring rescues, fierce battles, magic, and time travel, but if I’m not mistaken, there is much more.”
“About what happened in the north,” Miss Bay put in.
Estral gazed into her cold tea. Cream had turned it opaque. “That is harder to tell.”
“Which makes it more important to have it out,” Miss Bay said.
After a couple more sips, Estral resumed telling the sisters of journeying to the north with Karigan and their Eletian guide, Enver—she, to find her father who had gone missing; Karigan and Enver, to find the p’ehdrosians, a race of part-human, part-moose people who’d been allies with Sacoridia during the Long War but then vanished from history.
When finally she reached the point in the story in which she, desperate to find her father, brashly ran off to the enemy-infested Lone Forest, she stumbled to a stop and cast her gaze down.
“What is it, child?” Miss Bunch asked.
“It’s all my fault.”
“What is?”
“Everything that followed.” She shook her head and set the teacup on the table with a clink, then stood, stretched, and went over to one of the windows. She breathed deep of the fresh air perfumed by the scents of recent rain and evergreens, and gazed at the pleasant view. Not far off, a rabbit nibbled on a shrub. She watched in surprise as Stickles entered the pastoral scene, taking careful, slow steps in his bare feet. He was clearly stalking the rabbit, his rake ready at hand to dispatch it. She was about to shout out to spook the rabbit, but as Stickles closed in, it sensed his presence and bounded away. Stickles watched after it, then bowed his head in defeat. She, in turn, closed her eyes in relief at the rabbit’s escape.
“You were telling us about the Lone Forest, child,” Miss Bunch reminded her.
“Which you ran into even though it was occupied by the enemy,” Miss Bay added.
“Second Empire,” Miss Bunch provided.
“I know. What kind of imbecilic name is ‘Second Empire’ anyway?”
“I am sure it sounds just fine to them. Please continue, child.”
With a heavy sigh, she resumed her narrative without looking at the sisters, without really seeing anything, not even the view out the window. “Second Empire had set traps throughout the forest and I got caught in one, a net that enclosed me like a purse and left me strung in a tree. Of course Karigan came looking for me even though she’d been ill.”
Estral related how Karigan also managed to step into a trap and how they both then became prisoners of Second Empire. She forced herself to speak of Karigan’s torture, the vicious flogging that had almost taken her life. By the time Estral finished, she was shaking. When she returned to her place on the sofa, Miss Bunch wrapped a throw around her shoulders. Shadows had lengthened outside and deepened in the room. Birds fluted and chirped an evensong.
“I am going to refresh our pot of tea,” Miss Bunch declared. “Our guest dearly needs a hot cup.”
Estral sat with her face in her hands. When she looked up, she found Miss Bay staring hard at her, which only confirmed her guilt and made her feel even worse. An uncomfortable silence built in the room and lingered for what felt like hours until Miss Bunch finally returned. Estral’s relief was palpable. She accepted a fresh cup of tea sweetened with honey for her throat and sipped till it was all gone. It was a welcome distraction from the difficulty of her tale.
“Now tell us the rest,” Miss Bunch said. “Tell us how you escaped and what transpired after.”
Estral did, though it wasn’t any easier than what had preceded it. She spoke of how Enver and a pair of gryphons saved her and Karigan, and how Karigan and Enver returned to the Lone Forest to rescue her father and King Zachary, who were also captives of Second Empire. The guilt weighed on her even more as she described the darkness and hopelessness Karigan fell into after all the torture and pain. They’d thought they’d lose her to it, but she rallied.
She finished with what she knew of the Battle of the Lone Forest and her father’s death. By now the tears were a torrent. “He might be alive but for me.”
Miss Bay banged the handle of her cane on the table and Estral jumped.
“What is this blubbering about everything being your fault?” the elder woman demanded.
Estral sniffed. “If my father hadn’t joined the battle, he wouldn’t have been killed. He went because he wanted to find the one who stole my voice.”
The cane crashed on the table again and the tea service clattered.
“Sister,” Miss Bunch said, “mind mother’s fine porcelain . . . ”
“Irrelevant! The child thinks she is resp
onsible for the actions of all others.”
“But—” Estral began.
“Did you cause your voice to be stolen?”
“Uh, no . . . ”
“It is the thief’s fault your voice went missing in the first place. And was your father not a being of free will?”
“What? I—”
“Enough!” Miss Bay’s cane threatened to slam on the table again. “He chose to do many dangerous things during his lifetime, yes? And he chose these things knowing full well the possible consequences. It was not your doing, girl.”
Estral was about to protest, but Miss Bay’s penetrating gaze made her close her mouth.
“Do you mean to tell us,” Miss Bay continued, “that your father was stupid, that he went into the battle unthinking and oblivious?”
Estral shook her head. He was a seasoned fighter and the smartest person she knew. The last thing he was, was oblivious.
“He was a wise man, child,” Miss Bunch said in a kinder tone than her sister. “He’d lived a long life and was very experienced with dangerous situations. Alas, it didn’t help him in the end, but he certainly did not enter that situation blind. Recovering your voice may have been part of what motivated him, but do you think he would have stayed behind had it not been an issue?”
Estral slowly shook her head. No, he would not have been left behind. He would have joined his king and countrymen to fight the enemy, no matter what. “He’d do what he considered the right thing.”
The sisters nodded in approval.
“As for our Karigan,” Miss Bay said, “she made the same mistake as you.”
Estral looked up. “Mistake? Karigan?”
“Yes. She made the mistake of caring too much for her friend and rushed into danger on her own. Perhaps if she had awaited the Eletian and taken a more cautious approach, she’d have been spared much grief. But no, she ran in just as you had. Still, just as your father knew the risks, she as a Green Rider would have been just as well aware of the dangers. That says much about how deeply she cares for you. Such friendship is a rare gift.
“Aside from her concern for your welfare, why do you think she followed you into the forest? Why do you think she engaged in any number of the heroic deeds you just recounted?”
She’s mad, Estral wanted to say. She’s a Green Rider, it’s what they do. But she only shrugged.
“What is it you said about your father doing the right thing? She likely considered trying to rescue her friend the right thing to do, as well. Only in the aftermath can we judge her actions as perhaps foolhardy, but we weren’t there in her boots weighing the options at hand, just as we were not in yours.”
“Child,” Miss Bunch said, “you were desperate to find your father. That desperation may have overridden common sense, but it is understandable, and it was brave of you to have set out on your own. And dare I say, you thought you, too, were doing the right thing.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Estral muttered.
“You were thinking to find your father.”
“If things had gone differently,” Miss Bay said, “who is to say Karigan would have discovered your father and the king being held by Second Empire? What might have become of our king?”
“I have had all these thoughts and more,” Estral said. “All the what-ifs. But no matter the logic or justification, I do not think I’ll ever accept what happened.”
“You know why, do you not?” Miss Bay asked. “Because you are human. You care about Karigan and loved your father. His death is a huge loss. Not to mention you suffered much at the hands of the torturers yourself when they forced you to witness what they did to Karigan. You will live with it all your life, but time and distance will mend the immediacy of it if not the fact.”
Estral wiped the last of the tears away with her sleeve. She had accepted that it was her punishment to remember and relive those awful experiences, but the words of the Berry sisters did bring her some solace, if not healing. Healing would take time. Outside the window dusk had finally fallen.
Miss Bunch followed her gaze and announced, “It is time that we turned our sorrows to celebration—it is almost time.”
“Time? For what?”
“The party, of course. We will proceed over to the folly. And let us not forget the draugmkelder, Bay.”
The Draugmkelder
Before Estral could wonder too much about what a draugmkelder was, the sisters sent her in search of Stickles to tell him it was time to go over to the party.
“Most likely you’ll find him in front of the boat,” Miss Bunch said.
“The bow of the ship,” Miss Bay corrected. “And he’s probably talking to the mermaid.”
Or maybe stalking some poor bunny rabbits.
Estral made her way through the kitchen which was hot with all the ovens afire. The aromas of roasting meat and baking bread made her mouth water. Pies cooled on the sideboard. Letitia had been busy. Estral wondered if this was all for the party. The sisters must be expecting a large turnout. She didn’t know where the other guests were coming from considering the location, but maybe they had neighbors tucked away nearby in the woods. Whatever the case, any acquaintances of the Berry sisters were bound to be interesting, and she was looking forward to meeting them. It would be a good diversion, she thought, to take her mind off the darkness of the events she had just relived for the sisters.
Outside it was pleasantly cool after the heat of the kitchen. The sun was leaving behind splashes of peach in the sky. She walked around to the front of the house, dew collecting on her boots, and indeed found Stickles at the bow of the ship gazing up at the figurehead. It appeared he’d dug up turf around the hull and had prepared it for planting.
“Hello,” she said. He jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He wiped his hands on a rag. “It’s all right,” he mumbled.
She gazed at the mermaid. The waning backsplash of sunset gave the scales of her tail an iridescence, and the shifting shadows lent her life. “She’s beautiful.”
“Aye,” he said, and that was all. He was not a pirate of many words.
“The sisters would like you to finish up so we can all go over to the party together, that is after you have—” and here Estral did a reasonable impression of Miss Bay, “—completed your ablutions and rendered yourself odorless. They also insist you wear shoes.”
He simply grunted and bent to pick up his tools, grasping them with his knobby-knuckled fingers.
“Making a garden?” she asked.
“Aye, for her.” He nodded toward the figurehead. “She’s landlocked so least I can do is plant a garden for her.”
“What does a pirate know about gardens?”
“Wasn’t always a pirate. Grew up on a farm.” He then turned and walked off with his tools toward one of the outbuildings that appeared to be a potting shed. She wondered briefly how he’d ended up a pirate, but figured it must have happened in the usual way, that he’d been gangpressed or otherwise stolen from whatever life he’d been living. She glanced once more at the figurehead now cloaked in shadow, shrugged, and headed back toward the kitchen entrance.
* * *
When finally everyone was ready and Stickles was even wearing shoes, Miss Bunch said, “Let us commence to the folly.”
They filed out of the house, an unlit tin lantern swinging in Miss Bay’s hand, and followed a path across the back lawn toward the pond and folly. The way was illuminated by fairy lights, little flames flickering along the path, among the branches of trees, and floating on the pond. A stone wall and boxwood surrounded the pond and garden area. The fairy lights, which turned out to be candles in globe lanterns, failed to reveal the extent of the gardens or the type of plantings, and Estral decided she would have to explore the grounds in daylight. As they neared the pond, she saw that there were lanterns afloat
in miniature boats. The scene, with the light reflecting on the still water, and fireflies blinking in the air, was enchanting and, dare she say, very Eletianlike.
On the far side of the pond they crossed a bridge over a stream that flowed from a grotto of moss and fern. Estral smiled at the musical drip and splash of water. Beyond the grotto was the folly, the tower she’d seen from the distance, its heights invisible in the dark of night. At its base, however, torches flared on either side of the entrance, ironbound doors standing wide open in welcome.
“I cannot remember the last time we had a party out here,” Miss Bunch said. “Can you, Bay?”
“Heavens, no, but mother used to host teas and galas frequently. Do you recall?”
“Oh, yes. Father used to get so testy because they distracted him from his great work.”
Professor Berry, Estral knew, had studied the arcane arts. With Sacoridia so phobic of magic, he’d been cast out of Selium for pursuing so dangerous and forbidden a field. That had been well before her own father’s time as Golden Guardian, and she thought that, nowadays, someone with that kind of knowledge would be an inestimable resource when it came to understanding the increase in magic in the land after it had lain dormant for so long, and so much about it was forgotten.
Lamps and lanterns and candles illuminated the circular space of the tower interior. Just within reach of the light, grotesque faces in stone glared down at them. Estral could discern no ceiling for the chamber above the faces was obscured in shadow. A long table practically bowed beneath the burden of food, enough for a sumptuous feast for dozens of people. Platters were heaped with roasted meats, and there were bowls and dishes of salted potatoes, fiddleheads and leeks slathered in butter, cheese pies and pickled beets, and mashed turnips. There were muffins and breads and soups, and for dessert, numerous pies and cakes and tarts. Stickles was already bent over sniffing a roast pig. It was much too much, she thought, for four people.
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