Roses

  Manwelly was a tall, weak-looking man with two weak-looking children that had a tendency to hang off his arms. Upon setting eyes on him, Isole resolved to fill him out with pies, and after they were married she promptly began working to her goal. She moved out of the cottage and over to the village of Dousal despite many tears wept on Duna and Hally’s shoulders. But if Imwane thought that they would not see Isole again, they were sorely mistaken.

  She stayed away for the first winter, resolving to run her own family, but come springtime, she began creeping back to Imwane. Over the hills she would walk briskly with the weak-looking children trailing behind her. Manwelly was not a bad husband, but he was not a good husband, either. He was prone to ailments, and if it was not his stomach giving him trouble, then his back was out of joint or his head was full of cold. Whatever it was, he said he could not work, and often Isole would be forced to ask her father for sticks. Of course, Owaine could not refuse his daughter.

  “Everyone speaks of that horse of Beauty’s,” she said one day. “Papa, why don’t yur sell it? Yur’d get a bundle.”

  “Champ isn’t mine to sell.”

  “But—”

  “If you want more sticks from me then yur better hush up!”

  Isole pursed her lips and did not mention it again.

  Though they no longer lived together, Isole still hated Beauty. Having heard rumors of a silver woman, villagers at Dousal would hassle her with questions of her mysterious sister. She tried to spread lies about an evil, violet-eyed creature, but they preferred the circulating whispers of a gods-sent being, brought to save them from something, though they knew not what. It had begun with the matchmaker’s gossip and grown into a thriving rumor. The Hillanders saw Beauty galloping about the hills astride a great bay stallion and they made the sign of the gods to her as she passed.

  Without Isole around, Beauty ran the cottage in Imwane. She was no great cook, but she had learned a little from Isole’s lessons and she and Owaine managed well. Beauty decided to keep her bedroll in the attic though there was now an unoccupied sleeping closet downstairs. She could not imagine closing her eyes to any sight other than the yellow thatch above her with the tang of maize in the air. She swept and scrubbed the cottage to the best of her ability, fitting the chores around her work with the horses, and if it was not exactly as pristine as they were accustomed to, they thought it good enough to be free of Isole.

  “Ain’t yur husband gonna be wondering where you are?” Owaine asked her wearily after she had arrived yet again on their doorstep.

  “Manwelly’s ill.”

  Beauty patted the heads of the weak-looking children who were playing on the floor and went back to preparing dinner.

  “Yur ain’t doing that right—yur shouldn’t knead the dough so. Let me do it.”

  “I can manage fine.”

  Isole settled back in her seat, her lips bared in a snarl.

  “Shouldn’t yur both be working?”

  “Beauty and me trained as many horses as we can travel to town with next moon-cycle. Don’t need to break no more.”

  “Yur be making bundles of sticks then?”

  “Yes ’em, I suppose we will.”

  “I been meaning to ask if yur could spare me some for the children, see.”

  Owaine sighed.

  A few days later, Beauty and Owaine were exercising the horses in the next valley. Beauty was riding a gray gelding in smooth circles, teaching him to arch his neck as he cantered and pick up his dainty feet.

  “What d’yur think?” called Owaine.

  “Perfect!” she yelled back. “He has better strides than the bay mare. He is a dream to ride.”

  Champ was watching nearby as always. Someone had once suggested that he be trained as a carthorse to work in the fields. His huge build would lend itself to the job, there was no denying it, but the suggestion had been quickly hushed up by others. Beauty and her stallion had become something of a charm in the Hillands and the superstitious Hill folk did not disturb their charms.

  “Shall we work the black stallion next?” called Owaine.

  “I will be over.”

  As Beauty was dismounting the gray gelding and petting and untacking him, Hally approached. He greeted his cousin warmly with his usual backslapping, but then he pulled him into a tight hug.

  “What be the meaning of this?” laughed Owaine.

  “Yur’ve brought much to Imwane since yur been back, Cousin, make no mistake!”

  Hally waved a folded piece of paper in front of him as Beauty approached.

  “What be that, then?”

  “This be from a horse dealer in the Forest Villages. They wants to have first pickings of yur herd this autumn. News of yur quality steeds has traveled far!”

  “They be more Beauty’s than mine, Cousin.”

  Hally was grinning so much that he barely heard what Owaine said.

  “Yur must travel first to the Forest Villages and let this man pick from yur herd, then sell the rest at town. This be an honor for us, Owaine, a true honor.”

  He passed the message to Owaine, who opened it and read for himself.

  “Look here, Beauty! This man says he’s already bought some of our horses from other sellers and they be the best he’s ever seen!”

  Owaine showed her the dots and lines on the page and she nodded vaguely, for she had never learned to read and never told him that she could not.

  “I wonders how many he’ll buy?” said Hally, looking over the various horses they kept grazing in pens.

  “I thank yur for this news, Cousin.”

  Hally nodded and he went back to overseeing the men working in the fields.

  “We must prepare for a longer journey,” said Beauty once he was gone. “We will need to shut up the cottage, and perhaps we should start out sooner, while the weather is good?”

  She looked to the drizzly, teal sky.

  “Beauty, I’m not sure that yur should accompany me.”

  “But I must. Why would I not?”

  “I brought yur to the Hillands for safety. I feel the Forest Villages are too far and unsafe.”

  Beauty frowned. “We would only travel to the outskirts of them,” she insisted. “If this dealer is so keen to have our horses then he can surely meet us halfway?”

  “I’m worried. We hear no news in these hills, but Pervorocco’s a dangerous place.”

  This was true and Beauty knew it. The Hillands were cut off from all news of the cities, but everyone was aware of the Magic Cleansing that was still raging; the Hill folk just did not believe that it concerned them.

  “I am not so sure that you should be making the journey, though. You are not a young Hill man.”

  “Yur charming,” Owaine laughed. “But yur must listen to me in this, Beauty. I want nothing but yur safety, you knows that.”

  “I must stay if you wish it.”

  “Come now,” said Owaine, patting her shoulder. “Don’t be that way.”

  “I suppose I shall keep the cottage nice while you are gone.”

  “Don’t be sad, child. There be nothing yur miss out on and yur knows I’m right.”

  She did, but she jutted out her chin all the same.

  “I will train more horses while you are away. It will not make a difference that you are not here.”

  “I knows it. Yur the one that trains them all these days. Don’t worry, I knows it.”

  “I will miss you,” she added quietly.

  “I’ll miss yur too, child.”

  Owaine patted her shoulder again and they went back to work, trying not to think of it anymore.

  Over the next few days they began preparing for Owaine’s departure, gathering supplies and plotting a suitable route. Hally spread news among Imwane of the great honor Owaine and Beauty had brought and the villagers turned up at the cottage often to congratulate Owaine and nod shyly at Beauty. They wished him luck and said that they would pray for high sales in the temple.

  “Dousal all
heard bout yur going to the Forest Village too,” said Isole.

  It was the day Owaine was to leave, and she had turned up that morning for a surprise visit that acutally surprised no one. Sitting by the fire in the cottage, she had been chattering to her father about nothing all afternoon, waylaying his packing.

  “Yur be famous around all the Hillands soon, Papa. Imwane used to be a tiny, unknown village. Yur made it known to all.”

  “It be Beauty that’s done that.”

  The fire spat and Isole poked at it.

  “I should remind yur to be careful on yur travels, Papa. Manwelly tells me it be dangerous outside the Hillands. Be sure to remember yur grandchildren while yur be gone also.”

  The weak-looking children blinked at him from where they were crouching by the fire.

  “I can never forget them,” muttered Owaine, gathering together his saddlebags.

  Beauty was outside readying Sable and Owaine carried his luggage to her. She had been very quiet all morning, performing her chores with a solemn demeanor that she hoped he had not noticed.

  “Everything is set,” she said, stepping away and biting on her thumb.

  Champ was loitering behind her, his ears turned back.

  “Yur be upset, Beauty. Champ tells me so.”

  “Well, of course.”

  The horses to be sold were waiting in a long line by the temple, already tethered together and minded by Hally until Owaine was packed and ready to leave.

  “I wishes yur could come with me, child. Yur knows that, don’t yur?”

  She nodded.

  “Beauty . . . be there anything that I can buy you from the Forest Villages?”

  “I suspect that Isole has already asked you for ribbons.”

  “Yes ’em.”

  “I only ask that you come back soon.”

  He smiled at her and stroked the top of her smooth hair.

  “Would yur like dresses or ribbons or pearls?”

  Beauty laughed. “I want nothing.”

  But Owaine did not look satisfied. “I’ll find yur something, child. Those sticks be yurs anyway, not mine.”

  Isole and the weak-looking children came out to say their goodbyes, while Owaine heaved himself into Sable’s saddle and pointed the mare in the direction of the temple.

  “Take care, Beauty. I be back with yur soon.”

  She nodded; she could not speak, and then he was gone.

  She had not been without Owaine for seasons and seasons, and she surprised herself with how deeply she felt the loss. As soon as he was gone, Isole promptly left, towing the children behind her, without even a parting word; and then Beauty was very alone.

  “Champ,” she whispered that evening, stepping out of the cottage after a long, solitary dinner.

  He was waiting for her and trotted over as she appeared, placing his large head in her open arms. She traced the outline of his white blaze with her forefinger, tickling the whorl in the middle of his forehead. He sighed, pushing his soft muzzle against her silver chest.

  She looked up at the autumn sky smattered with stars that clustered about a full moon. She had always noticed how wide and clear the sky was in the Hillands compared to the foggy narrowness of Sago. She thought of Owaine somewhere on the road, camping in a shepherd’s hut or under the shelter of a tree.

  She kissed Champ’s nose and reluctantly went back inside the cottage.

  That night she dreamt of the red rose, and gray shadows crowded her mind. She awoke in the early hours of the morning and she was fearful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Gray Shadow

  Amoon-cycle passed, and Beauty spent the chilly days tending horses and keeping the cottage clean. She spoke little to anyone and felt painfully lonely. Champ, at least, was able to offer her some comfort, but she could not shake off a sense of dread that grew steadily darker within her. Her dreams were worsening each night and the forest felt as if it were creeping nearer. She caught herself staring at it sometimes and had to quickly look away.

  One morning, Hally brought her a message as she worked with a wild dun mare in the valley. The mare was newly caught by Imwane rustlers and in the early stages of training. Beauty was trying to get her used to human company and she was sitting in front of her pen, cleaning tack and singing Hilland songs quietly. The mare’s dull golden sides had once heaved with terrified, hurried breaths, but listening to Beauty’s soft voice had helped her to gradually calm down. She no longer cantered in agitated circles or bucked to be let out. A few days from now, Beauty planned to try grooming her and depending on how the mare received that, she would know when she could begin breaking her.

  “Beauty! Beauty! Yur won’t believe it!”

  The mare’s head shot up and she flattened her ears, bucking and shying away to the other side of her pen.

  Beauty grimaced.

  “I’m sorry for that, but yur have to hear this,” puffed Hally, running to her side. He held out a piece of paper to her and she took it, pretending to read the writing.

  “Ain’t yur rejoiced?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “I can’t barely believe that man gone and bought all the horses. I were hopeful for five or six, but all!”

  Beauty gasped. “Owaine is on his way back?”

  “Yes ’em, so he says there.”

  She grinned. “Thank you for this information. I truly am overjoyed.”

  Hally grinned back. “Sorry ’bout the mare, but yur see now why I rushed. I hope Owaine’s gone and sold them for a good price. Oh, it’s better than any one of us thought!”

  Hally continued to babble, but something over his shoulder caught Beauty’s eye. There was movement in the depths of the dark forest that bled over this side of the valley, and suddenly a bird screeched. A white-feathered thing soared into the air, disappearing into the wet sky. The dun mare whinnied shrilly and Beauty shuddered.

  “It be cold and getting colder,” said Hally.

  “Yes, I have noticed.” Beauty looked at the blank sky behind him.

  “I be seeing yur, Beauty.” Hally nodded a farewell before hurrying off to spread the news.

  “Champ!”

  The stallion trotted over to Beauty and she leaned against him, her heart beating quickly.

  “Another moon-cycle and he will be back,” she said, staring at the forest.

  She had dreamt of strange things every night since Owaine left and she longed for his safe return. She hoped that he returned before . . . before whatever was going to happen came to be.

  The harsh Hilland winter arrived early and a moon-cycle after she had received the message about Owaine, Beauty was chopping wood when snowflakes began to fall. They fluttered from the gaping sky like pearly droplets, quickly layering on the ground. She watched them, her chest heavy with foreboding, as they came thicker and faster.

  It had been bitterly cold lately, and the villagers had prayed at every ceremony in the temple that the snow would hold off. In this weather the hills would be treacherous and sleeping in little shelter would be almost impossible. Beauty hoped that Owaine had not set out from town yet and could wait out the snow there. She pleaded to the sky to wait until he returned, but inside, she knew winter was here to stay.

  Throwing down her axe, she ran to the next valley. It was eerily deserted and she began herding the horses to a shelter. The rest of the men must have finished already and taken refuge for the night. The snow was increasing rapidly and already coating the ground in a film of white. There were clumps in Champ’s mane and tail, and she tried to put him away with the other horses but he would not let her.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “Freeze then!”

  But she knew he would not and he waited outside for her as he always did.

  She moved around the cottage restlessly, picking up and replacing pots and pans and anything that came within her reach. Her eyes flicked constantly to the dark windows, which were gradually becoming white. Wind grated against the walls and whistled and roare
d outside. The fire was low in the grate and she should have been preparing dinner, but she did not feel hungry.

  Taking a candle, she opened the door and peered out, seeing snow everywhere. The blustery gale dragged at her flame before blowing it out, and a biting chill tore through her furs and hit her to the bone. She squinted through the blizzard looking for Champ and saw him standing hunched under a tree down the hillside. He would be safe there, but she worried all the same. With great effort she closed the door once more and retreated into the cottage.

  She felt feverish. Her forehead burned and her hands had turned glittering silver. She thought that she must be dreaming. Grabbing an extra blanket, she stumbled up the ladder to the attic and tumbled onto her bedroll. She pulled the covers over her, her head woozy, and she thought she saw her amulet swinging above her before she was pulled into a dark sleep.

  She dreamt of the red rose once again and it called to her. The blood of death. The blood of battle. She remembered hearing something long ago about a war that lasted generations and painted Pervorocco scarlet red with bloodshed. The rose in her dream was suddenly crowded with gray shadows that were drawing near. They were upon it, chasing it. She woke to the roar of a beast. She was drenched in sweat and gasping. Above her, hanging from the rusty nail, the amulet was deadly still.

  Throwing off her covers, she scrambled down the ladder and threw open the cottage door once more. The cold hit her with a rush and a vision came to her clearly. At the top of the hill, outside the temple of Imwane, stood a gray shadow. The State officials had found her, and they were led by Eli.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Proposal

  Beauty knew better than to try and run, so she waited instead. The unceasing whirling of the blizzard had stopped and flakes now fell steadily. The ground was thick with snow, fresh and blistering white. It crumpled beneath her feet as she went to retrieve Champ, and it almost leaked over the top of her boots.