A Necklace of Souls

by R. L. Stedman

  ‘I am Fatima.’ She gestured towards the old man. This one is my husband, Sabhir El-Shabiya. We are merchants. The Lord TeSin is our master.’

  Will nodded to the two named men. What of the man beside him, with the long nails and the breath like an open sewer? And why was a warrior travelling with merchants?

  The lord something squatted down beside Will, and Fatima translated his words. ‘We were told that this was a good place for trading. At Chester, they say, “Go to the Crossing”. But we have travelled for many days and our food stores are running low and the land is empty. Can you tell us where the Crossing is?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Will, surprised, ‘this is the Crossing.’

  The foreigner spoke while the woman translated. ‘Where is the trading?’ He gestured to the entertainers. The huge woman stood in the clearing nearby, tossing iron axes in a spinning ring that flashed in the sunlight, while above her the tightrope walker did handstands in midair. Clearly, there was no trading here.

  Long Nails and the lord looked nothing like traders, and these sad old people, who might have been merchants once, obviously had nothing to sell. So why were they here, sitting at the Crossing with their servants and their strange-tasting tea? What should he tell them?

  ‘Ladies, gentlemen.’ The arrival of the weather-beaten courier seemed to surprise them all. The lanky man tipped his hat slightly, settling it back on his head so its brim covered his eyes. ‘May I be of assistance?’

  Couriers were loners, not given to interrupting private conversations. Will started to turn, but the man’s heavy hand grasped his shoulder.

  The courier’s conversational tones cast ripples of silence through the small group. Fatima translated quickly. ‘Who are you, stranger? We did not invite you here. Are the travellers in this land so discourteous that they intrude on a private conversation?’

  ‘I did hear you ask this young man a question. I thought maybe I’m better placed to answer it for you.’ He tugged his ear lobe. ‘Been travelling in these parts a good while longer than this young one here. Mind you, there’s a price.’ Fatima translated, rubbing her finger and thumb together in the manner of greasing a coin, and TeSin smiled. Strangely, the request of this lanky stranger for money seemed to relax the warrior.

  On the road, information has value, thought Will. I should have asked for payment.

  ‘Speak, stranger.’

  ‘What coin do you have?’

  ‘We have sufficient,’ said TeSin.

  ‘Show me first,’ said the courier. ‘I’m not selling information without knowing what I’ll be paid.’

  ‘Five shekels,’ said TeSin.

  The stranger snorted. ‘Shekels! Never heard of them!’

  ‘What do you need?’ asked Fatima.

  ‘Gold. Get you anywhere, gold does.’

  TeSin and Long Nails spoke together in harsh tones. Fatima cleared her throat ‘We have gold.’

  ‘Let me see it.’

  The courier bit the yellow coin, smoothing the marks of his teeth with his thumb. He nodded at them. ‘What kind of information are you after?’

  Fatima repeated the question.

  ‘The Fire Festival,’ said the courier. ‘That’s the best time for trading.’

  There was a brief conference in the strange tongue. ‘When is this festival?’

  ‘Next midsummer,’ said Will.

  ‘Ah,’ said Long Nails, frowning and speaking to Fatima in stuttering bursts that sounded like distant explosions.

  ‘My master says we cannot wait here for another year before trading. Is there no town nearby where we can exchange goods and buy food?’

  Will shook his head. For some reason, it didn’t seem wise to tell these strangers about the Kingdom, so close across the narrow strip of water.

  ‘We have heard tell of a land near here, where there is great wealth. My master says you arrived by ferry. Where does the ferry go?’

  Ah, thought Will. Here is the reason for the greeting and the tea. What to tell them? They mustn’t know about the Kingdom. Yet, they’d only have to ask the midsummer entertainers and they’d be told.

  The courier narrowed his eyes, scratching his head in thought. ‘No town near here, not as I know anyway. Few small farms, maybe.’

  Long Nails looked hard at the man, hissing as though hearing a lie. TeSin put his hand on his sword.

  The courier watched with unemotional eyes. ‘’Course, you can ask the Ferryman. He might know something different. Never been over the river myself. No call to, not about here.’

  ‘We had not seen this ferry before,’ said Fatima. ‘How do we call it, make it come to us?’

  ‘Outside of the Festival, only thing he answers to is a token.’

  ‘What is this token?’

  The courier shrugged. ‘Now, that’s a hard question to answer. Don’t rightly know what it is. Can tell you what it looks like, though. Like a seed, sort of. Small, wooden. Finely carved.’ He held up his little finger and pointed to its nail. ‘’Bout this size.’

  TeSin pulled a gold coin from his purse.

  ‘My master says we have a token. How do we summon the Ferryman?’

  The courier seemed surprised. ‘You have a token? Really?’

  TeSin groped in the small pouch at his belt. ‘See.’

  Will and the courier gazed at the carved bead. ‘You want to be careful with that,’ said the courier. ‘Very valuable.’

  ‘So, we hold this out and call?’

  The courier shrugged. ‘Aye. The others know; ask them.’ He waved at the other groups in the clearing and lowered his voice. ‘Only the rightful owner of the token can summon the ferry.’

  ‘How does the Ferryman know who is the owner?’ Fatima translated the hissing question from Long Nails.

  ‘Oh, he’ll know,’ said the courier, grinning. ‘He’ll know.’

  ‘No special words needed?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not as I know, anyway. Can call silently, if you wish. Just hold the token and call and the Ferryman will come. It’s the desire and the right. So I’ve been told.’

  Long Nails hissed a question, and Fatima stopped, frozen, until he finished. ‘He asks if the Ferryman will take us all.’

  ‘Only if the token belongs to all of you. Ferryman can always tell the true owner. Or so I’ve been told.’

  TeSin and Long Nails exchanged glances.

  The courier tipped his hat again. ‘Or, you can wait here until midsummer. The farm folk nearby come to watch the players. Will be enough here to trade with then.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Long Nails and nodded.

  TeSin tossed the courier the gold coin, which he captured with experienced ease. He turned to Will. ‘You’re bound for Chester?’

  Will nodded. It seemed as good a place to go as any.

  ‘Care for company on the road?’

  Will was about to refuse. He didn’t know this man, didn’t care for his manner. Long Nails hissed again, stood and slouched away.

  Will stopped. He felt a hand at his back, a dark voice in his ear. I will get a guide for you, N’tombe whispered.

  25

  Dreaming

  Nurse closed the bed curtains, obscuring Mother’s annoyed face. I could still hear her, though. Mother always spoke very clearly.

  ‘Says she’s tired?’ said Mother. ‘Nonsense! She’s nearly fifteen! She’ll never have as much energy again in her life!’

  I heard the swish of Nurse’s skirts. She was probably curtsying. People curtsied a lot to Mother when she was in this mood. ‘Madam, she is growing. You know how girls of this age are.’

  ‘I do,’ said Mother. ‘I was one once. And if I say she is to attend a banquet, attend she will.’

  In dreams I searched for Will, yet never found him. I was numbly unsurprised by this; the world Rinpoche and I inhabited seemed different to the everyday. Seasons passed in a day, tides moved in an eyeblink.

  Rinpoche spoke about threads of energy in the land and the water, how not
hing stood alone but was connected, bound together.

  ‘Energy is drawn from the land, the sea, the clouds. If you look, you can see it.’ He waved his hand and pointed at the shore below. ‘What do you see?’

  I peered at the distant strip of sand. ‘There is land below, and the waves.’ I squinted at the beach. ‘There are boats, I think.’ Small figures walked along the beach. ‘They’ve been fishing.’ None of the people moved like Will.

  ‘Where do the fish come from?’ Rinpoche’s tone was patient, like a teacher expecting an answer.

  ‘The sea.’

  ‘And where does the sea come from?’

  I shrugged. ‘The land?’

  ‘Very good. The water runs from the land, out into the sea. And where will the fish go?’

  I smiled. ‘People’s bellies.’

  He smiled too. ‘And the people come from?’

  I frowned at that one. People come from other people. But where do they live? And what do they clothe themselves in? ‘The land.’

  ‘Very good. So. Keep watching.’

  Faint golden lines spun from the sea to the land, over the people, around the forest, even over the catch of fish, until all was gold threads. Was I imagining this?

  Rinpoche shook his head. ‘What you are seeing is energy, passing from one thing to another.’

  A shaft of interest pierced my shell of numbness. ‘Will I see that when I’m awake?’

  Rinpoche’s face was serious. ‘If you want to, you will.’

  Dreams blurred into reality. It became hard to separate the sleeping world from the day. I wandered unnoticed through the Castle, watching life around me: a guard kissing a maid behind a cupboard door, scullery boys scrapping with dogs over bones. Women gossiped over weaving. One made a mistake, selecting gold thread instead of brown. It looked pretty when it was threaded into the pattern, so I didn’t say anything. Not that anyone would see me. Was I a ghost?

  Ruth, Mother’s dresser, was talking to Nurse. I didn’t know they were friends. Nurse seemed like a force of nature; her personality repelled friendships.

  ‘I don’t know what to do, mistress.’ Nurse shook her head. ‘Lies all day in that bed, staring at the ceiling.’

  Ruth tssked and shook her head. They were talking about me, so I lost interest and wandered up the stairs to Daddy’s study, where a chambermaid was dusting. Dust motes sparkled in the sunlight like tiny stars. When she left, they settled on the floor. Why did she bother? I floated down the twisting stairs. Ruth and Nurse still stood with their heads together, exchanging worries. Ruth was talking about Mother. This was more interesting than hearing about me.

  ‘It’s this new face cream,’ said Ruth. ‘Loves it, she does. Can’t get enough of it.’

  ‘I thought she looked different,’ said Nurse, nodding.

  ‘Like magic,’ said Ruth, agreeing. They looked like fat dolls. If their heads came off there would be springs in their necks. ‘Mind you,’ she lowered her voice and looked around, searching for watchers, looking right through me. ‘’Tis expensive. And rare, the man said.’

  ‘What man?’

  Ruth fiddled with the lace on her bodice. ‘I got it from a merchant.’

  ‘A merchant? There ain’t been no merchant here since the old king.’

  ‘At the Crossing.’

  A gasp of breath. When moved, Nurse talked in exclamation points. ‘You never! At the Crossing! Bless me!’

  Will had been at the Crossing. I drifted closer.

  ‘What else did he have?’ Nurse was probably compiling a shopping list in her head.

  ‘Mostly things for ladies,’ said Ruth. ‘You know, creams, lipsticks. Henna. The princess might be interested.’

  Nurse looked thoughtful. ‘Might do her a bit of good, poor mite. Bit of colour on her cheeks.’ I stared at her in horror. She wouldn’t.

  The emotion roused me from the dream state. I lay, watching the curtains moving in the wind. She would.

  There’s only so much self-pity one can take. Roused from my bed chamber by the threat of cosmetics, I began walking in the pleasure wood. A squirrel must have invaded the Castle, for I saw a hint of red as it scampered along a thick branch. Last year, when I was young and naïve, I would have hiked my skirts and clambered up into the trees to follow it. Now I was older and there seemed little point in chasing a squirrel. A year ago I had been ignorant. Since then, everything had changed.

  I sat cross-legged, my back pressed against the thick trunk of the oak, and calmed my breathing. While I’d been moping summer had arrived, turning the wood deep green, the grass growing high and lush, except where the gardeners mowed, making paths in the lawn. Our sandy practice arena stood empty, the wounded dummy trailing straw. As Rinpoche had taught me, I drew air in deep, a glowing column into my belly. Out, so it sighed with the leaves. Warmth flowed, gliding from my heart to my fingers, through my legs, out my toes. Breath supported life; breathing in, sighing out.

  Did I fall asleep? When I opened my eyes, there were the golden threads of my dream, wrapping the tree, sifting the soil, embracing my body in golden light. They shifted and moved in the sun, dancing in the breeze with the leaves.

  ‘So beautiful!’ I blinked and the golden threads disappeared.

  Back in my chamber, I was surprised by my reflection’s expression. It seemed to be smiling.

  26

  Alone Again

  I continued sparring. I’d been allocated a guardsman as a practice partner. This would have been insulting had it not been funny; the poor lad was dispatched in a few seconds. Sergeant Ryngell ended up sending an entire squad — ten soldiers in all. We began unarmed, fists and elbows, feet and hands, and, as Will and I had done, progressed through staves to bound blades. It was fun, training in a group, avoiding the cut and flash of the weapon, disposing of these young men when inevitably they made an error, misjudging the distance or the speed or my agility. And fighting helped me forget, for a moment, that Will had gone, that he was travelling through a world of increasing danger.

  Daddy came to watch when he could spare the time. I had a feeling that other eyes were watching too, measuring the noise and thrust of blade on blade, but when I spared a minute to check for an audience, there was nothing but crows roosting on the roof. Still, I felt eyes at my back. Probably, I was imagining things. If there were hidden watchers, probably they were laundry maids spying on the guardsmen.

  The guardsmen became, in a strange way, an extended family. Beating these boys made me one of them, an honorary guardsman, so despite my general princess-aura, they let me joke with them as they told me exaggerated tales of bravery and skill.

  The Kingdom drifted slowly through summer. My birthday, always a midsummer holiday, came and went and now I was fifteen. At midsummer, the maids and men travelled down the road to the ferry and out to the Crossing, to the tinkers’ camp set up beneath the trees. There they watched the travelling players and bought food and trinkets from strange lands. They returned in the small hours, sighing and sleepy. Some camped at the Crossing and returned by the ferry on the morrow. Envious, I watched from my window and as usual wished I could wander down the road until I heard the sea sighing against the cliffs at the Kingdom’s edge. Next year I’m going, I told myself. If the maids can do it, so can I.

  The women spoke of handsome actors and the skilled hands of the tinkers, the men of the archery, and fighting skills they had seen.

  ‘Better than mine?’ I asked, piqued.

  They looked at me, silent, and did not answer, which was, I suppose, an answer in itself.

  ‘It’s the archery, lady,’ said Marven, eventually. ‘’Tis wondrous, that it is.’

  ‘Tell me about these archers,’ I said.

  They told me the men they had seen were smaller than they, with narrow, dark eyes, and long, straight black hair. Their bows, they said, were shorter, but very accurate and they could shoot them even as they galloped through the Crossing.

  I was reminded uncomfortably of
a dream — a sword flashing in the morning sun and the villagers’ song fading into silence. Hadn’t they, too, carried bows of an unusual shape?

  Rosa was not concerned by these visitors. ‘I know of them,’ she said. ‘Do not worry; they are no threat.’

  I had told her of my dream. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘It is the teeth of the serpent I fear,’ she said. ‘These men, they are only its tail. They are to be watched; maybe they will lead us to its head. At the Crossing, well, there I can keep an eye on them. The Ferryman will never bear them over, you know. And without the ferry, they cannot cross.’

  The worst thing about being a year older was Mother, who made me dress in full-length skirts and wear my hair up at parties.

  ‘Don’t eat so much, dear,’ she hissed, when I tried to eat the tiny offerings on silver trays. ‘People will think you’re greedy.’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ I said. ‘I’ve been sparring all day.’

  Pinching the top of her nose, she sighed and closed her eyes. ‘Don’t remind me.’

  I felt no different from when I was fourteen, except my practice clothes were tighter across the chest; I had to bind my breasts when I fought. But when Mother looked at me, I felt strange, as though, all unnoticed, I had changed. Or the people around me expected me to change.

  If Will was out travelling a plague-ridden world, it wasn’t too much hardship to wake early. Each morning, wet or fine, I headed down to the pleasure wood to do two sets of diverse yet strangely similar types of exercise: first combat then, sweat-soaked and tired, I sat against a tree and focused my mind. N’tombe no longer had to rouse me from my bed. The lines of energy came easily now, so at odd moments, when my thoughts were serene, I felt the energy radiating from the Castle’s residents. Sometimes when I was lying in bed, drifting towards sleep, the Castle seemed like a glowing sphere.

  Rinpoche taught me to focus on these lines, to pull at nexus points within them. I no longer needed to clamber into a tree to spot a squirrel; by following the energy lines, I could feel where he was hiding.