Realizing she wasn’t going to be able to watch him anymore -- they must have lain him down on the floor -- she looked around the room and tried to plan an escape.
Unfortunately, the guards burst in a little while later with her food, interrupting her knotted bedsheet rope scheme. She wasn’t quick enough to hide it under the bed in time, and they took it away with them. They left part of a chicken and overcooked kasha varnishkes in its place, but it was a poor trade.
She ate for strength, not pleasure.
***
“Rivkeleh.”
“Mammeh, isn’t there any way you can soften his heart and get me out of here?”
Mitzi sighed through the door. “He’s right -- you can’t keep getting involved in these dangerous things that you don’t understand.”
“I do understand.”
“You say you want to fight. You could get killed out there.”
“Has it occurred to you that I might be good enough that I would actually survive a battle?”
“Your uncle has tried to give you all that a woman needs in life -- a nice bed to sleep in, good food, pretty clothing, social position -- which, need I remind you, you and I are not naturally blessed with, thanks to my behavior at your age.”
She still thinks I’m fifteen. “I’m not you, Mammeh. Those are all the things you need.”
***
Several hours later, Rivka had taken up position at the window to gaze out at the tower through the cool night air. There was nothing to watch, but she felt closer to Isaac if she could at least see his prison. So deep was she in her thoughts -- of his voice, his unspoken love, his sacrifice -- that it was several minutes before she noticed the men on horseback riding into the grounds. She squinted into the inky night, trying to see--
Someone else raised the alarm, and then she realized what was going on. Their enemies from the other valley. What timing! Was her whole life to collapse like a poorly constructed model house of sticks in one climactically awful night?
If only she could get out of the room and help fight. Not that she had her sword anymore, of course. Her uncle had awarded it to Lev, one of the guards who had been shaving the hairs off her arm with his dagger. Her sword -- that had Isaac’s name on it.
Women were rushing around in the passageway screaming, and she heard the heavy clomp of men’s boots as they prepared for battle. “Let me out! Let me fight!” she screamed at nobody, and nobody answered.
Hastening back to the window, she saw that a group of attackers holding torches were spreading flames across the land. Reaching her hands out the window at them as if she could hold them back with sheer will, she tried to pray them away from the tower where Isaac lay. “Please,” she cried uselessly into the night. “He’s asleep. He can’t escape. Oh, please!”
It was unlikely the men downstairs had any idea that they were destroying anything beyond resources. The inexorable torches moved toward the tower and kissed it with flame. The structure was constructed out of wood, and caught easily.
“No!” Rivka grabbed the sides of the window with both hands and wriggled through, then launched herself from its height into the pond below. She had no room in her heart to fear the fall. All her fear was for that dearest heart trapped high in the burning tower.
She hit the water with a violent splash. When she lifted her head above the surface and wiped the droplets and dripping hair from her face, what she saw by firelight turned her blood to a frozen poison.
The tower...
Rudimentary remainders of the first story were still standing, as black sticks amidst a forest of orange flame. But the upper stories were completely gone. Ash was everywhere. Men ran and horses galloped back and forth, thundering over the quiet rumble-crackle of the fire.
Rivka walked out of the pond, her wet dress not the only shackle weighing her down. She kept her eyes on the ruined tower, unable to ask--
The ash-laden wind whipped up, chilling her and plastering her face with a cloth rag with singed edges that had flown about on its eddies. She pulled it away from her face only to shudder in fright.
It was a piece of Isaac’s cassock.
She gasped as if she were breaking, her legs weak and shaky and barely holding her up, and then screamed. A horrible feeling devoured her stomach and threatened to rip the breath from her throat.
Before she had time to think, a warrior wearing the Apple Valley crest approached her on horseback. He made as if to draw his sword, but his unusually large horse, most likely spooked by the fire, suddenly reared and threw him off. With one quick look back at the surprised invader, lying on his backside in the mud, she leapt onto the horse’s back. It didn’t occur to her that a spooked horse might not like her either.
Once on the horse, she wrapped the cassock fragment around her hair and knotted it. She could shatter into a thousand pieces later for all she cared, but right now, without a way to defend herself, her first idea was to get out of the fray and back into the castle.
She rode away from the confusion at the burning crop towers and toward the castle entrance. The battle had been here already and moved on, and the last few steps of the horse were in between corpses -- those of her own family’s guards, but also those of invaders from the other valley. They lay here and there all mixed together, all human in death.
The main entrance was still a confusion of swords and shouting, and since she still had no sword, she guided the horse into the relative safety of the shadow made by a side doorway. There, she took a deep breath and looked around her.
A glint of metal on the mud caught her eye.
Lev lay faceup and lifeless, and beside him was Rivka’s sword.
Without another thought, she hopped off the horse and grabbed it. For a moment she could do nothing but clutch its hilt with both hands, and then suddenly she broke into bone-quaking sobs. Isaac. Never to spar with him again -- never to see his face again, hear his voice, all lost--
Focus.
She looked back down at Lev’s corpse. His battle armor of leather and metal looked relatively undamaged by the fate that had felled him. After placing the sword against the corner of the doorway for safekeeping, she dragged the body into the shadows and quickly removed every useful bit of battle-kit.
Caring nothing for modesty in that strange night, she cast off her dress and donned the pants, the tunic, and the helmet.
The sword felt perfect in the scabbard she now wore across her waist.
Jumping back onto the back of the enormous mare, she raised her sword and dashed into the thick of the battle.
It wasn’t long before she found the baron. He was bravely holding the doorway against three men at once -- despite being an awful person he was indeed a good fighter. But eventually a fourth invader fought his way through the lesser guards and tipped the balance.
The baron gritted his teeth and plowed into them, surely knowing that he risked his life.
“Hyahhh!” Rivka shouted, galloping forward on her horse. She helped her uncle to drive back the four men, then fought at his side for the rest of the battle. At one point, she even sliced off an arm that was about to stab the baron in the kidneys. She didn’t know whose arm it was, and she didn’t have time to care. The warrior spirit Isaac had brought out in her was fully born, and there was no putting the flower back into the bud, that flower that was now streaked deep red with the blood of her enemies.
Nobody had any idea who she was.
When the thing was done, and their enemies had been driven away for the time being, she stalked into the Great Hall where the baron was feeding the survivors thick, awful coffee and an impromptu breakfast of boiled potatoes. “Uncle,” she said, breathlessly, removing her helmet. “So you see, I can fight.”
The baron’s weary but satisfied face twisted into a fiery scowl. “What -- that was you out there?”
“I saved your life, Uncle.” Her smile fled, and the face of an adult woman began to replace it. “You saw--”
“I certainly hop
e none of the surviving Apple Valley fighters saw! How could you betray me like that?”
“Betray you?” She glared at him. “I kept an enemy sword from stabbing you in the back! I wouldn’t let those men overpower you. Do you value your own life so little--”
“Come on, girl, I know what you’re really upset about. Don’t pretend.”
“No, Uncle, this is not about what happened to Isaac.” Several of the warriors eating around the room had stopped mid-bite and were watching the show. Rivka had always been headstrong, but never had she displayed such deadly calm and resolve in her outbursts. “He died because you imprisoned him, and yet I stayed to fight for you, to defend this keep, because this has been my home and I am part of this family, whether you like it or not. He died because of you and yet I defended you. And for that, you reject me?” The baron moved his mouth as if he wanted to interject, but she kept talking, her words fueled by the stinging nettles in her heart. “I reject you, Uncle. Thank you for my childhood. You don’t deserve my talents. And you certainly do not deserve my respect. I. Am. Done. Here. Go shit in the sea.”
Mitzi dashed out at her from a corner, a look of desperate pain across her face. “Rivka!”
“Mammeh, I’ll send word. I love you, and some day if I settle down to guard one keep -- which is what I’ve always wanted”-- she glared at the baron -- “I will send for you. And you’ll still have a warm bed and good food, without his disdain.”
There was one moment, during which nobody in the room -- Rivka, Mitzi, the baron, the soldiers, the servants -- moved at all. Then, with a final nod at her mother, Rivka turned around and stalked out, her sword at her side.
She lifted herself onto the huge mare and rode away. To her surprise, the mare reared suddenly and sprang up into the sky. The next thing she knew, she was riding a Dragon...
Chapter 11: Lighting the Candles
Rivka hadn’t spoken much since trailing off at the end of her story, and the final hour of the ride was mostly silent. Shulamit felt an awkwardness that was practically tangible; it was likely Rivka was withdrawing after spending most of the day speaking about her past. She remembered her own parallel incidents -- for example, those moments when she first told her ladies-in-waiting of her attraction toward other women -- when she was shy after revealing her heart and found it clumsy to return to ordinary discourse. So she tried not to take it personally.
But it made for a tense afternoon. She was awed at the painful events she had heard, but had little of value to say in response. Fortunately, at least the weather and the dragon’s stamina were both cooperating, and they arrived at a safe place to sleep without too much physical hardship.
“It’s still light,” said Rivka abruptly as she bustled around the rocks setting up their makeshift camp. “We should work on some of those self-defense techniques -- if you’re not fatigued from traveling.” She didn’t meet the queen’s eyes.
“No, I’m ready. Like this?” Shulamit took a stance on the rock as Rivka had shown her.
She tried her best to concentrate on the movements, and managed about a half an hour of work before she realized she had pushed herself beyond where her muscles wanted to go. “Rivka, I’m sorry. I need to stop and eat.”
“I’ll send Dragon to go hunt us some food,” said Rivka. “I saw some wild goats beyond the lake. That should give both of us more strength.”
“How will she know not to catch birds first? Aviva taught me that even cooking my meat in the same pan as fowl can contaminate my food and cause... problems... and I see ducks in the water, in the reeds.”
Rivka sighed, biting her lip. “I suppose I could ride with her and keep her to the goats. Do you feel safe waiting here for a few minutes by yourself?”
Shulamit weighed her options. After all she had been through, she still feared the assaults of unknown strangers. But she also had vivid, horrifying, humiliating memories of what would happen to her body if she ate anything tainted by the duck meat. Since it was something she’d experienced again and again, it rose up and took precedence. “I’ll wait here. I think I see mint growing by the lake; I’ll go collect some to season the goat.”
“Good idea. I noticed wild tangerines growing over that way too.” Rivka pointed.
Shulamit’s face brightened at the idea of unexpected fresh fruit. She hurried off toward the lake as Rivka hopped onboard her dragon’s back and leapt into the air.
Kneeling beside the lake gathering the choicest leaves from the wild mint plants into her lilac scarf brought back memories... scenes stored away close to her heart, wrapped in silk and scented with rose water.
***
With each new food Aviva’s experiments had cleared for Shulamit’s safe consumption, the princess grew stronger and healthier. No more was she racked by daily digestive calamities; she had the energy to frolic in the palace gardens and enjoy life again. During the process, the two girls had become constant companions, and as Shulamit perked up, Aviva began teaching her more about food preparation so that she could take charge of her own health more easily.
Aviva took her to the palace herb garden to teach her what all the herbs looked like. She plucked a handful of rippled green leaves and crushed them beneath Shulamit’s nose. The cold, fresh scent flowed forth. “Is it singing to you?”
“It’s mint!”
Aviva smiled in affirmation. “She smells cool because she keeps a secret part of herself always hidden away from the sun. She’s strong enough to remain cold even in the hottest weather. She has principles and she sticks to ’em.”
Shulamit giggled. “You always talk in poetry. Do you ever write anything down?”
A warm but slightly self-conscious smile spread over the cook’s face. “I never thought of it as poetry -- it just happens on its own when I talk. I get in a hurry to say what I’m feeling, and before I know it, I’ve said something goofy.”
“I’m never bored around you,” Shulamit observed. “Aviva--” Shulamit suddenly turned to face her and took one of her hands in both her own. She felt strength beneath the softness and warmth. “Why did you believe me? About being sick, I mean. When everyone else thinks it was in my head, or a ruse to look... well... princessy?”
“My mother’s been sickly most of my life, so I know about illness and helping those who are ailing,” Aviva explained. “When I was younger, I tended to her while my father moved mountains and reversed rivers all by himself. But now that I’m old enough I left home to go work, so I could replace the money she earned when she was a washerwoman. Aba’s a tailor, and even though he’d rather be out in the marketplace selling his creations or visiting clients, if he stays home to take care of Ima, he can still take in mending and receive customers there. It’s better for us all this way. Maybe someday we’ll even be able to afford surgery so she can walk again.”
It awed Shulamit that this young woman, not two years older than herself, was financially contributing to her family in such a significant way. Especially since she, as the crown princess, was living a completely antithetical life. She felt undeserving and grateful that someone as incredible as Aviva even wanted to talk to her.
***
Shulamit crushed the mint in her fingers, thinking about the relieving coolness who refused to compromise her ideas even in the face of something as powerful as the sun. She inhaled, and saw Aviva’s dark, smiling face, her friendly eyes, the luscious curves of her body radiating femininity from beneath her sleeveless tunic and loose-fitting trousers. She could even hear that quirky, peasant-accented voice spouting its outlandish poetry.
With a sigh, she quickly gathered up the rest of the mint they needed and brought it back to the campsite. Rivka had left a pouch for her to use to collect tangerines both for tonight and for the rest of their journey, so she brought that back with her as she walked along the lakeshore to the wild grove.
But her heart wasn’t finished replaying Aviva-infused memories. Her eyes were looking at fruit, picking the ones that were the most colorfu
l and unblemished, but what she was in truth seeing was a scene from many months ago, when she had stolen away to Aviva’s kitchen late at night.
***
So much of that day was taken up by tutors, in their attempt to make up for time lost to digestive illness, that she had her fill neither of food nor of Aviva’s company. It was several hours past moonrise by the time she finally tripped lightly down the path to the small building where all her meals were now prepared. It was a fowl-free, wheat-free, and most importantly, judgment- and doubt-free little paradise where all the food was edible and Shulamit was always believed.
It was far later than she had ever appeared there, so she knew Aviva wouldn’t be expecting her. But what she herself wasn’t expecting was the sight that greeted her eyes when she slipped unnoticed through the doorway.
Aviva was busily preparing a meal, most likely a trial run of some new experiment for Shulamit. But she didn’t do so silently, and she wasn’t merely cooking.
Instead, she was singing at the top of her lungs, a vivacious working-class dance tune. She was also using the handles of her knives, spoons, and other implements as drumsticks, beating them against the stone tables in time with her song. She twirled around the room, all hips and elbows, as she grabbed ingredients, chopped them up, and even tossed them into the dish in time to her dancing. She didn’t know all the words, either -- sometimes she just sang nonsense syllables.
Finally, she noticed the princess standing there watching her. She stopped dancing, put her hands on her hips, and said, “So what?”
Shulamit just giggled.
“Okay, so you see I’ve hidden a whole plague of frogs in my kitchen. Sometimes they do the work for me while they chirp.” She paused to scoop up a handful of chopped herbs and toss it into the pot. “Well?”
The Second Mango (The Mangoverse Book 1) Page 8