Journey to Water's Heart

by Lea Ben Shlomo

  “I’m afraid to touch the confusion. I’m tired of it, master. When I look into my heart, I find darkness and fear.”

  Words stopped flowing in his mind. A milky-white cloud covered his eyes, soft and caressing, and dissipated at once. The mail bird was awake. Its neck was long, its round eyes staring at him piercingly.

  “I thought you were asleep,” he mumbled.

  Pfft, the bird said dismissively and flew to the door, hovering over the doorknob and pecking it.

  “Stay until morning. Outside it’s cold and raining.”

  I’m doing my job. The mail bird continued pecking the wood door demandingly. What about you?

  “I… I mean… I’m talking to a bird again.” Tanti smacked his forehead. He opened the door. “You should stay until morning,” he said aloud. The bird ignored him. It flew out like an arrow to the dark garden and the treetops weighed down with water. A horned owl screamed.

  “Be careful, sweet Runya.” Tanti returned to the room, shivering with cold. He lit a candle and started undressing for bed.

  ***

  The king and Balanter labored for hours writing letters. Balanter huffed and sweated as his pen scratched the elegant royal parchment, and he curved and snailed and repeatedly corrected the king’s words, and then changed and fixed the corrected version again. Balanter had to copy the letter anew each time, since the king knew how to read snail writing but didn’t know how to write it, apart from signing his name. Balanter knew that no one but himself could snail, so he copied it again and again, thinking the torture would never end.

  Queen Cyan and Tiponet sat by the window and sewed a sophisticated model of the Nautilin flag. They whispered among themselves, hesitating as to whether to approach the two men—who seemed on the verge of collapse—and share their opinion.

  Finally, Cyan stood up, approached them, and put her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

  “Darling,” she said pleasantly. “Perhaps you should use arrow writing, which will be considerably easier for you?”

  The king looked at her with the last vestiges of his patience.

  “Cyan,” he said. “Of course arrowing will be easier. The thing is that I want the White queen to read the letter, if you understand what I mean. We are trying to convince her to solve the conflict between us peacefully. I’d frog it if I knew the honorable White queen knew how to croak. I mean, read. Abaya, I’m tired. If I weren’t the king of Nautilin, I’d cry now.”

  “No need,” said the queen and squeezed his shoulder. “I mean.” She sat next to him. “Tiponet suggests that you first use arrow writing, and then, after all the corrections and changes, you can copy the letter to snail writing. But only the once. I mean, the last time.”

  Balanter’s eyes lit up.

  “Of course. Why didn’t we think of that before? What do you say, Your Majesty?”

  “I say I’ll cry anyway, if only because I didn’t think of that before. And also because this golden advice arrived just now.”

  Balanter smiled. “Thank you, Tiponet.”

  Tiponet blushed and lowered her head into the material on her knees.

  “Bless you, Tiponet,” the king said. “There’s nothing else to say. Arrowing letters is much simpler than snailing them over and over again and wasting expensive stationery.” He swept up the pile of stained stationery and dropped it again on the table. Then he picked up a letter. “What do you think, Cyan? Isn’t snailing glorious?”

  “Glorious and fancy, darling. Although a bit, how shall I put it…?”

  “A bit uneven?”

  She nodded.

  “Smeared?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Balanter,” the king said. “You heard what the queen said.”

  “I’m sorry,” Balanter said. “Copying a letter seven times and more is an exhausting endeavor.”

  Cyan shook her head from side to side.

  “We cannot write anymore today, not even the tip of a snail’s tail,” said the king. “I think it’s easier to go to war.”

  A sharp squeak cut him off and caused the king to jump from his chair. His hand hit the quill dipped in ink, which upturned, and dark splashes flew everywhere.

  King Dark Blue was fond of Tiponet, the queen’s lady-in-waiting, but her high voice grated on his nerves. He felt the roots of his hair scream in protest and held his breath when he saw that the poor snailed page in his hand was adorned with dark blue dots and stains of ink. Tiponet, oblivious to his despair, put down her sewing and approached them. She didn’t notice Cyan’s quick hands closing the king’s ears, worried about what would come next.

  “I can do it.” Tiponet chirped. “Perhaps my handwriting won’t be as fancy and cursive as Balanter’s, but it will be without smearing and dots.”

  “You mean you can snail, Tippy?” Queen Cyan asked and absently dropped her hands from the king’s ears.

  “Of course,” Tiponet said. “My dear father, may he rest in everlasting peace, taught me.” This time her voice didn’t grate on the king. Her words instilled hope in his heart, which calmed as he followed her movements as she quickly collected the pages, cleaned the table, and returned the quill to the bottle of ink.

  “Tippy,” the queen said. “Can you help them copy the new letter? I’ll invite Rafifa to help me sew the flag.”

  “It will take me some time, you know, maybe half an hour or more. We have to use formal writing.”

  “Half an hour is but a blink compared to what happened here,” Balanter said. “We’ve been sitting here for hours without any satisfactory results.”

  “Perhaps we should go eat and rest a bit,” Queen Cyan said. “Later, with Tiponet’s spy’s help, we’ll finish the letter.”

  “I didn’t know you knew how to snail, Tiponet,” Balanter said, ignoring the queen’s suggestion.

  Tiponet nodded with shining eyes.

  “You know, your father taught me how to snail. We were five ministers who were sent to him to study Government Science and Correspondence. Everyone except me quit.”

  “He was a strict teacher,” Tiponet said.

  “I worshipped him.”

  The king and queen listened to the discussion and exchanged meaningful glances. Tiponet’s voice was now softer and gentler.

  “Did he teach you antenna twirls?” Balanter asked, edging a bit closer to Tiponet.

  “Of course,” she said. “He was very strict regarding antennae, especially the punctuation flourishes.”

  “I needed six months to conquer punctuation flourishes.”

  “I liked the prefixes.”

  “The prefixes were torture for me. They always listed right, like the coiled letters.”

  “What are they talking about?” the king asked. “When I read snail writing I don’t see the prefixes of the antennae. I see snails and spirals and it makes me dizzy.”

  “Let’s leave them and go eat,” Queen Cyan said and grabbed the king’s hand. “They’ll join us when they’re ready.”

  The king stood up and followed her willingly. Snail writing always caused pressure in his temples, and red eyes. Balanter and Tiponet sat at the desk, their heads close together, and expertly discussed the writing.

  “When I return, I’ll sign the letter, and we’ll send it today,” the king said from the door of his study.

  The two were absorbed in their conversation, taking out a new page, and preparing the ink and royal quill. “They just have to be careful not to lay the coiled letters right,” the king mumbled when Cyan pulled his hand and closed the door behind them.

  The letter was sent the same day, with the Kingdom of Nautilin’s seal. The writing was clean and extremely cursive. The sentences were quite straight, and the coiled letters swirled perfectly, without any smearing or ink spots, to everyone’s relief. The diligent writers didn’t know that the messeng
ers carrying the letter were captured next to the border, beaten, and locked up until the appearance of the commander of White border guards’ troops. Adhering to Galrock’s orders, the commander of the troops took the letter and instructed that it reach Galrock without delay. Then he sent the Blues, beaten and humiliated, back to their country.

  Galrock sat in his room and wrote that night.

  At dawn, he sent his adjutant to deliver the letter from the Blue Palace to the queen. The letter was similar in shape and seal, yet its content was unrecognizably changed. The original, unfortunate letter, which Tiponet and Balanter had worked so hard on, was thrown beneath the White captain of the guard’s armoire, joining a bundle of dusty, crumpled parchments, which would never reach their destination.

  Chapter 35

  The Whites and The Blues

  Laorin stood before the mirror, quiet and thoughtful, letting her ladies fuss around her, tighten her skirt, tie her vest, button three dozen tiny ivory buttons shaped like daisies, and cross the silver shoelaces of the puttees of her high-heeled shoes. They stretched and straightened her collar, which grew wide and curled, and brushed her long hair, gathering her rebellious curls into a tight chignon, held by a net of silk threads and amethyst beads.

  “What do you think, my queen?” asked the lady in charge of all the ladies-in-waiting, who oversaw the entire process. “Isn’t this a magnificent sight?”

  Laorin smiled. The shoes squeezed her feet a bit. The vest hindered her breathing. But the sight was indeed attractive and flattering. “Thank you, girls,” she said. “You did a wonderful job.”

  “We didn’t create your perfect beauty,” said the lady. “We just help it assume magnificence and splendor.”

  “No need for flattery, Linari,” the queen said. “You know I’m fond of you and appreciate your work. I appreciate all of you girls.”

  “It’s not flattery to say that you’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Anafa said, while she made up the queen’s face, hiding her flushed cheeks with subtle powder.

  “All the soldiers in the lineup will fall in love with you.”

  “They’ll be willing to die in battle for your name and glory.”

  “Die? I don’t want them to die for me.”

  “It’s war, Your Majesty,” Linari said. “People die in war.”

  “Nonsense,” one of the girls said. “We’ll win on the first day!”

  “Are you done here?” A sharp voice came from the door. Halior entered the room, festive and elegant. The girls fell silent at once and stopped what they were doing. Despite her short stature, Halior’s appearance was impressive. Her back was straight, her movements measured, and her features delicate.

  “We’re done, Your Honor,” Linari said. “Apart from the crown.”

  “I’ll do it,” Halior said. “Leave us alone.”

  Laorin felt sheepish, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Many times, her sister had commented on her too-close relationship with her ladies.

  “You’re so majestic, sister,” Laorin said and sighed. She held Halior’s hand and sat down to rest, before the two of them went to the honorary lineup waiting for them at the courtyard where the ceremonies took place.

  Halior studied her sister silently. She took the crown and placed it on her head, gathering and securing a wayward curl on Laorin’s forehead. “And now, you’re majestic and elegant too.”

  “With you, Halior, nobility is evident in every movement and look. You don’t even have to try. Royalty is in your blood. As for me, as hard as I try, something always goes wrong. I feel my storminess shaking my soul, passions and desires undermining my peace, drawing me to open spaces, to new places, and to colors and smells that affect me. Tell me, Halior, don’t you feel like that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Halior said. “I don’t notice things that don’t lead me to my destination. I focus on what should be done, and all the rest doesn’t exist for me.”

  “I wish I could ignore things as well.”

  “Don’t be sorry that you’re not like me,” Halior said. “It’s not always easy to turn a blind eye to what your heart desires. I still regret my stubbornness, the alienation with which I treated our mother. I regret not accompanying her on her journey to her birth country, Admin. I will always envy you for that journey and your closeness to our mother.”

  Laorin opened her eyes wide. “I didn’t know, sister. I didn’t know you were sorry and hurting.”

  “I miss our father and mother.”

  “Me too.”

  For a moment, they stood, united in their sorrow. Halior recovered quickly and shook her head.

  “You should’ve scolded your girls, Laorin. Look what a mess they left here on the table and the floor.”

  “I’ll do it today.”

  “You won’t…” Halior quirked her lips into a slight smile. “You don’t scold them. No, don’t contradict me. I know you, sister. You, in your own way, tug on hearts. You’re beloved by all. And I’m the grumpy old witch.”

  “No, no, Halior. I worship you. I need you, just as you are.”

  Halior was uncomfortable. She felt both pleased and desperate. She wasn’t used to expressing emotions. She tried to change the subject.

  “Something’s bothering you,” she finally said.

  “That’s right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Laorin said. “Lately, we’ve imposed heavy taxes on the people. I hear about farms that have collapsed, families that have lost everything, and it pains me.”

  “That’s the price some must pay for the kingdom. Armament of the army and outfitting it is our first priority these days.”

  “Aren’t we sufficiently equipped? We’re causing bitterness and resistance.”

  “No one will rebel against you. The people are united behind our righteous goal.”

  “What is our goal?”

  “Laorin, now you ask?”

  They heard a noise from the other side of the door. “We must hurry and leave,” Halior said. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, I’m ready.” She glanced one last time at the mirror before she left. The question she asked remained hanging in the air.

  The queen of the Whites emerged from the corridor and continued to the north balcony, joining her military commander and his adjutants, who stood there and waited. Halior and Nikon stood slightly behind her. Below, in a huge courtyard that had been cleared of its regular facilities, soldiers stood in straight rows, magnificent in their white gleaming uniforms. The soldiers formed aligned squares and were separated by different flags and signs according to the various troops.

  The moment the queen appeared, a roar rose from the crowd. The soldiers shouted three times, “Oran Uleran!”—meaning “Honor and prestige!” in the ancient language—as was customary in ceremonies, and raised their right hands high. The united movement created a magic and power that made her heart swell. Drums pounded rhythmically. When receiving an order, the troops changed position slightly. Hands were lowered and squares became diagonal lines. Geometric forms appeared on the court, changing shapes to the beat of the drum. Laorin barely managed to stifle her shout of admiration.

  Galrock signaled to her with his hand and led her down the steps. The army orchestra started playing a marching tune. Laorin felt the power swell with every step she took. The gleaming uniforms, the flawless lines, the visual beauty of the lineup, and the symbolism of the event made her forget her doubts and questions. Her sister and Galrock were right. There was no doubt regarding the necessity of this war, their power and willingness to fight. She was the queen, and these were her soldiers.

  The commander of the lineup stepped forward, saluted, and said, “The lineup at your command, Your Majesty!”

  She approached the first line. Now, she could see the soldiers’ faces as they stood, staring straight
ahead. She passed by eyes, noses, chins, cheeks, and swords in a saluting position. The infantry and the cavalry, the snipers and the charioteers. After her walked Galrock and his deputies, Halior, and Nikon. The lineup was long, and she had to pass before all the corps and regiments.

  Finally, she reached the last row. Another silent white row. The drums pounded out that same heavy rhythm. Her feet hurt. Her mouth was dry. These soldiers would fight, whether hungry, thirsty, or tired. They would charge forward, their weapons high.

  She reached the last row when the sun slanted west. The pale skies changed colors. Beyond the soldiers’ heads, the reddening ball of the sun dropped toward the snowy hills. It seemed to Laorin as though the sun was a splash of blood on the last soldier’s shoulder. Her heart fluttered. The stain became redder, its color deeper. Now it was a red stain flowing from the soldier’s shoulder to the chest of the soldier standing next to him. The red spread and painted their faces, their chests, and their legs.

  Galrock caught her when she started swaying, losing her balance.

  “Your Majesty?” he whispered. “Do you need anything?”

  Halior appeared on her other side. “What’s happening, Laorin?” she whispered.

  “They’ll die,” Laorin mumbled. “They’re all going to die. Far away from home. Drowning in blood.”

  “Pull yourself together, right now,” Halior said and pulled her aside. “You’re the ruling queen, of them and of yourself.”

  Nikon stood before her, to hide her from the others. He tried to convey strength through his gaze. “Can you continue, Your Majesty?” he asked softly. “We still have the flag-raising ceremony left and have to award the commanders with their decorations.”

  “You’ll have to cancel that part,” Halior said, hoping that no one had heard her sister’s words. “The queen isn’t feeling well.”

  “We can’t alter the traditional ceremony,” Galrock said, and Halior and Nikon knew he was right. An alteration, even the slightest, would undermine the atmosphere and the confidence of the soldiers and commanders.