by Jenny McKane
His eyes flickered to the sky. Dark clouds rumbled overhead. Rain was the last thing that he needed, but it appeared that was what he was about to get. It would make travelling treacherous; turning dirt tracks to mud, causing his horse to slip. He would have to slow down—and that was frustrating. He had explicit orders to be at the safe house by the next morning, and time was of the essence.
He sighed, crouching low over the horse. He spurred it on to a gallop. The sooner that he was in the village, the sooner he could take his short break and continue onward.
***
The village square was deserted. He slid down from the horse, reaching in his bag for his water bottle, unscrewing the lid. He had been so keen to leave this morning he had forgot to pack any food for himself. He frowned. That was unlike him; he was usually more organized. The dream had rattled him.
He would have to purchase food here, eat quickly then stuff the rest of it in his bag for the trip and eat on the saddle. If his calculations were correct, he should be in the Far North by dusk, especially if he kept travelling at the same pace. He would have to find shelter for the night somewhere then set out at first light again.
He glanced around. There was a small hut, selling baked goods. Pies and pastries. That would have to do.
A small bell tinkled as he opened the door and walked in. The smell of freshly baked food overwhelmed him, and his stomach grumbled in anticipation.
A woman walked out from the back of the store, a blue veil wound around her head. She looked tired; thin lines of fatigue were etched around her eyes. She stared at him dubiously.
“Yes?” she said, not smiling.
Everard considered her wares. “I will have a loaf of bread and two pies, please.”
The woman nodded, placing the items he had selected into a bag. He handed a coin to her, and she frowned as she glanced down at it.
“Do you have anything smaller?” she said, staring at him. “This is a large coin, and I do not have the change. Have you just come from the city?”
Everard looked in his coin purse, carefully counting out lower coins. “Yes. How did you know?”
The woman stared at the coin that he had just given her. “This is freshly minted. I haven’t seen any of these in circulation out here. Most people usually don’t carry coins this large.”
Everard smiled at her. “I live in the city. They are more common there.”
The woman nodded but frowned slightly. “You look familiar.”
“Do I?” Everard handed her the coins, taking back his larger one. “I suppose I have that kind of face.”
The woman kept staring at him. Everard smiled vaguely, glancing around the hut, and that was when he saw it.
A small statue on a high shelf. It was hidden behind some other items, but he recognized it, immediately.
It was the Stromel Goddess.
He quickly glanced down at the woman, keeping his face even. It would not be smart to betray that he had seen it. There were severe penalties for having such an object – he could turn her in, and the Jarle would show no mercy. They had been even tougher on these laws since the situation in the Far North. As Agnor said, treason started small.
But he didn’t want the trouble. He was travelling as a Stromel, not a Grey Guard. Reporting her to the local authorities would take time that he didn’t have. Better to just pretend that he hadn’t seen it and be on his way.
“Heading north?” the woman asked, handing him his food.
“Just travelling to see some family,” he replied.
The woman nodded, not smiling.
“Well, good day,” he said. He turned and left the store, the bell tinkling again as he opened the door.
The woman stared, watching him through the window of the hut.
“Niklas,” she called.
A large man entered the shop. He saw the woman looking through the window and followed her gaze.
“A stranger?” The man looked down at the woman.
“Yes,” she replied slowly. “He tried to pay with a large coin. He is pretending to be Stromel. I recognize his face from when I visited Katlin in the city last year. I saw him at a Jarle parade. He is one of their commanders.”
The man nodded. “I have heard word that they are travelling north.”
“He saw the statue,” said the woman. “But he pretended that he hadn’t. You must send word that he is on his way. Our brothers and sisters in the North may want to intercept him before he gets to his destination.”
The man nodded again. “I am sure that they will be very interested to hear that he is heading north. I will send the bird —ith a message for Escolen—immediately.”
The woman sighed. They had done their bit for the cause. Every little bit helped, as their northern comrades said. The Far North was liberated, but they had yet to conquer the South. She was waiting patiently for that day.
***
Rain was pouring down. Everard could barely see his hand in front of his face.
It was hard going. His horse was struggling through the terrain. It didn’t help that they had started to climb. The flat plains were falling away, and it was getting hillier. The horse’s hooves kept slipping in the newly formed mud, as he tried to navigate the upwards dirt tracks.
The only advantage was that there were more trees. He would be entering woods soon and that meant that he would not be out in the open. The rain would not fall on him quite as intensely through the canopy of the trees.
For hours, he struggled up hills. And then he reached a high ledge. He stopped, briefly, to look at the view.
The mountains of the Far North were ahead of him. He was almost there.
Something stirred within him, as he gazed on them. They were beautiful, of course. Wildly magnificent—with their snow-topped peaks. But it wasn’t just their beauty and their majesty. It was something else.
A shifting in his mind. Almost a memory of seeing them. Of being amongst them. And with the sliver of memory came a bittersweet yearning, such as he had never felt before. It was all that he could do to not cry out and let tears fall down his face, as he stared at them.
The rain poured over him. He was getting drenched, sitting here atop his horse, staring out at the mountains. He needed to keep riding, pressing on into the cover of the woodlands, but still he stared. It was as if he could not let the vision go.
He sighed, shaking his head impatiently. He needed to stop being so fanciful and press on. Reluctantly, he led the horse onwards.
The woods were dark, but the rain was easing. He remembered that it got darker earlier in the north, especially heading into the Long Cold. How had he known that? He couldn’t remember reading any correspondence about it.
He would have to find shelter for the night soon. Either find a remote village and an inn there or pitch his small tent in the woods. He was scouring the terrain for suitable sites when he heard a noise in the bushes.
He halted the horse, staring around. There were no animals in this area; he was sure of it. They had invaded the Far North, but he was still south of the High Wall. Just.
There it was again. A crackling, as if something were standing on twigs.
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The figure of a man, advancing on him. And then another. He was being surrounded, and these people did not look friendly.
He could hail them and try to talk his way out of it. Just as he contemplated doing so, he saw what one of the men held in his hand.
It was a club encased in barbed wire. A weapon of war. A brutal weapon used on an enemy in the heat of battle to ensure that death was swift and bloody.
There was no talking his way out of this. He turned, spurring his horse onwards. His heart pounding, he glanced back. More figures had emerged from behind the bushes and were advancing.
They had been waiting for him. It was an ambush.
***
Avalon saw the high tops of the camp’s tents as she descended the mountain track on Sidsel’s back.
Hansa ran alongside, her fur flying in the wind. Her beloved wolf liked nothing better than running like this through the wilderness, although she still struggled with the climate and the terrain. Hansa had been born in the deserts of the Outlying Zone and was not used to mountains and snow.
They were almost there. Back to the camp. Avalon thought again of the strange vision that she had, the previous night, in the village temple. The woman who looked almost exactly like her, wearing a circlet of thorns. She shuddered. A malevolent energy had surrounded the vision.
She would talk about it with Mother Asta. Together, they would try to work out what it meant.
She stopped the horse, as she drew nearer, and dismounted, walking the short distance to the camp. For the first time, she saw snowflakes fluttering through the air and realized that the Long Cold was about to descend upon them. Soon, they would have to find more permanent accommodation; it was too hard camping out in the winter. Her heart plummeted at the thought. She felt more alive, more useful, when they were travelling around, visiting the people.
She did not want to be cooped up with all of them for the duration of the winter, especially not with Skyresh and Minna. It was hard enough being around them in the vastness of the wilderness, where people could come and go from the tents freely. In a house or a castle, they were forced to see each other more, and it still broke Avalon’s heart to see her general and his girlfriend together.
She had tried to get over it. She really had. Just as she had tried to let go of Everard. But she still thought of him constantly, as well. She remembered what he had done for her, all the sacrifices he had made. How much he had loved her.
Sometimes, she didn’t think that she would ever be loved like that again. Look at Skyresh. He had claimed that he loved her, too, but he had moved on quickly enough when she had told him to. Obviously, it wasn’t such a deep love, after all.
Not like Everard’s love. That had been deep and constant. She knew that it still lived somewhere in his heart, too, although it was forgotten.
Everyone greeted her, asking about her trip into the villages. She answered politely, then proceeded to the main tent. She had to find Mother Asta.
She parted the curtains, stopping suddenly. Minna was the only person in there. The woman was sitting on Avalon’s seat, drumming her fingers on the chair’s armrests.
Minna stared at her and reddened.
It was an unspoken rule that they all sat on their own seats in the main tent. Especially the Queen. The Queen’s chair was sacrosanct. And here was Minna, reclining on it as if she belonged there.
Minna got up quickly. “I wasn’t expecting you back yet.”
“So I see,” said Avalon slowly, walking further into the tent. She glanced quickly at the other woman, assessing her carefully. As always, she never knew what to say to her.
“Good trip?” asked Minna, staring at Avalon evenly. There wasn’t a hint of apology or shame in her eyes.
Avalon suddenly felt weary. It wasn’t as if she even cared about the chair or the rule. She had never felt comfortable with the trappings of her role; she preferred to be amongst her people, talking with them, being one of them. She didn’t want adulation or to be worshipped.
But she knew that the role had its responsibilities, and part of that was adherence to these small things. If it was important to her people, then she must respect it. Minna obviously didn’t however. This small gesture of sitting on her seat when she was not there was an act of disrespect – if not disobedience.
“Very good,” replied Avalon, tilting her head higher. “The temples are all refurbished. They have done an excellent job.”
Minna nodded, but her eyes drifted to the doorway. She didn’t want to be in here, talking with her queen.
“Where is Mother Asta?” Avalon asked. She didn’t want to be forced to talk to Minna alone any more than she had to either. They had never been friends. The enmity between them always simmered just below the surface.
Avalon had never forgotten how the woman had tried to kill her when she had been captured by the rebels as a guardian. Minna had acted directly against Skyresh’s orders, and he had only just stopped her, and Avalon had known that the woman had acted so rashly because she had picked up on the attraction between Skyresh and Avalon and was jealous. Minna had always felt threatened by her.
Avalon felt a surge of impatience. Why was Minna still like this towards her? She had won, after all. Skyresh was her partner.
“I think that the Mother is resting,” replied Minna. “She is not young anymore. All this travelling around the regions wears her out.”
The implicit criticism of Avalon stung, but she said nothing.
“Actually, I wanted to talk with you,” said Minna. “We are very close to the village that Skyresh and I grew up in, and I wanted to see if we could travel there and visit my mother.”
“I suppose so,” said Avalon slowly. “You don’t need to ask my permission, Minna.”
“No,” said Minna, smiling. “But it is polite. Skyresh thought that there might be orders to move on the safe house soon, you see. But we really do need to see my mother to start arrangements for the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?” said Avalon, staring at her.
“Yes,” said Minna, her smile spreading wider. “Our commitment ceremony. We were hoping that we could have it in our village, in spring, after the Long Cold.”
Avalon felt as if she had been struck in the heart with a knife. The pain was so intense, she almost staggered forward. The other woman was watching her carefully.
“Of course,” said Avalon, trying to mask her emotions. She was appalled to hear the tremor in her voice. “I didn’t realize that the two of you were ready to make that commitment.”
“It has been a long time coming,” Minna said. “But it was always going to happen. We have loved each other since we were children, after all. It is proper to formalize it in front of the Goddess.” She stared at Avalon, narrowing her eyes. “And, who knows? Perhaps the Goddess might bless us afterwards with children. I know that Skyresh is eager to become a father. He lost his own at a young age.”
Avalon felt her head nodding, but her mind was spinning. A commitment ceremony? And children?
It was true. She had always known it, of course. He didn’t love her anymore. Why did it still have the power to hurt her? It had been years. And she had been the one, after all, who had told him that she couldn’t be with him. That she needed to rule alone.
She had been the one who had pushed him into Minna’s arms. She had only herself to blame.
She took a deep breath. “You both have my blessing to travel to your village,” she said slowly. “We can send word quickly if things change, and we need you both here.”
“Thank you,” said Minna. “Queen.”
Avalon stared at her. Minna hadn’t said my queen, or Queen Avalon, as most did. The distinction was subtle but deliberate. The disrespect hovered in the air between them.
“If you could find Mother Asta for me,” she said to the woman sharply. “Wake her even if she is resting. There are things that I must speak to her about.”
Minna’s eyes widened. It was unlike Avalon to be so imperious. She didn’t play the queen card very often; she always wanted to seem to be one of the people. She must be rattled.
“As you wish,” hissed Minna, walking quickly out of the tent.
Avalon noticed that the woman hadn’t gestured her respect, as she left.
She watched the curtains swinging, where the woman had made her swift exit. Then, she stumbled forward, gripping the back of the chair in front of her.
It was almost like a physical blow. Skyresh was lost to her now—forever. It had been happening gradually over the years since their return to Agnoria from the Outlying Zone. He was gone, not in a physical sense, but in every other way. They had once been so close. She remembered the intensity on his face when he had told her that wherever she went, he went. He never wanted to be separated from
her. They had saved each other so many times, she had lost count.
And now, he was about to head to his childhood home, to start arranging a ceremony to formalize his union with another woman.
She sank down slowly onto the chair, trying hard not to let tears fall down her face. She had cried so much over the years, it had started to become a habit. She had lost so much. Her former life, and all the people who had been dear to her in it. And so many, since then. Mother Oda, who had gently passed away just before they had left the Outlying Zone. Aberfa, her beloved creature, who had been as loyal and loving as Hansa. Everard.
Her heart tightened, as she thought of him. Mother Oda had said that in wiping his memory, she had been doing him a kindness. But, was that true? Everyone had their pain and suffering that they had to endure in life. Everyone had to learn to bear it in their own way. Had she played god in deciding that Everard could not do that? That he should not?
She had taken away his suffering, but she had also denied him the good memories. Their relationship. The unique parts of his life, that were his alone. Would he thank her for it, if he were aware of it?
She took a deep breath. The tears fell. She let them freely, and then she stood up slowly.
She had been sitting in the wrong chair. She walked to her own, the one that Minna had been sitting on. She trailed her fingers along the intricate carving on the arms, and the high back of it. The chair was inlaid with precious stones, which glinted in the light. The cushion was a deep crimson, the color of blood.
Her chair. The queen’s chair.
She sat down, leaning back into it. This was her destiny. No one had told her what a lonely life it was. Perhaps, if she had have grown up in her own family, they could have warned her. They could have prepared her for what this life would be like, but she had been denied that. The Jarle had taken her family from her. They had stolen everything—and for that, they must pay.
Her tears slowly dried and her breathing slowed. She pressed her hands into the armrests, feeling the wood beneath her fingers. This was her chair. It represented her role and her duties. It was a single chair; there was no matching one beside it. No king or consort to share this life. It was how the Anasta had always ruled. Strong women, who made the decisions and hid their personal pain.