by Leah Swann
‘You will marry me,’ Vilmos said. ‘I’m glad I tore your baby from your arms. No doubt eaten by wolves long ago.’ This made him smile. The taste of revenge had whetted his appetite.
Vilmos's fantasy of becoming king was growing. The more he brooded over his fantasies, the more they needed to be fed. If he killed Niklas and Andor, as well as Harmon, he could reign over both kingdoms. Together with Iniko, the Great Sorcerer of the Narrowlands and friend of the Venerated Dragon, they would control all of Ragnor!
Andor left his father's hall deep in thought. He strolled around the water fountain, kicking pebbles underfoot. He stopped to pick up a handful and began skimming them across the pool, making them skip once or twice, sometimes even three times. Behind the fountain there was a gap between the castle walls and the stables, giving him a view of the deep green forest beyond.
Andor was a tall, quiet youth, slender and strong like an odom sapling: not quite a man but no longer a boy. The odom of Ragnor was a mighty, unshakeable tree that took time to mature. Andor wanted to be brave in war and adventure; but in his life so far he had never been anywhere without his father. He tossed another stone into the air, and watched it drop. How he yearned to saddle his horse and ride into the green mystery of the forest!
Maybe the time has come for me to strike out on my own, he thought.
He pondered King Harmon's obvious dislike of Trayton. From the day he'd been pulled from the window seat in his father's den, Andor had also disliked the magician's wily tongue and too-pretty face. And he'd never forgotten the vision of his mother trying to warn him from inside the crystal ball.
But father says said that anyone who befriends his wolf can be trusted.
‘Seeley is the best bodyguard I've ever had,’ Niklas had once told him. ‘He’s brave and true and will attack anyone who tries to do me harm.’
Over the years, Andor had made a habit of watching Seeley closely. He thought about how the wolf was always as docile as a cat around the magician. If anything, sometimes he even seemed timid.
If the wolf trusts Trayton, who am I to doubt him?
Chapter Sixteen
Irina Denies Her True Identity
Irina hurried through the darkening woods, following river stones that glimmered faintly under ferns. The last rays of crimson sunlight vanished from the tree trunks and the forest smells deepened: wet leaves and soil, and a cool dampness that Irina thought of as the fragrance of night.
Ahead, she saw the dark shape of the cottage and another smell reached her nose: potato pie. The very thought of fresh piecrust and steaming gravy made her mouth water. But when she opened the front door, Octavia stood with her arms crossed and demanded to know where she had been. Luckily for Irina, William was asleep by the fire.
‘Sorry I'm late,’ said Irina.
‘Not good enough!’ said Octavia. ‘I had to turn the chief's wife away because I didn't have any calendula.’
‘Don’t you even want to know why I'm late?’ Irina cried, her cheeks glowing with indignation.
‘I expect you to come home when you say you will. You're grown up, now.’
Irina set down the basket with a thump and began emptying it of its contents. Leaves and roots and dirt fell higgledy-piggledy all over the table.
‘Stop that,’ said Octavia, tidying and sorting the plants.
‘I hurried all the way home when I realised what time it was –’
‘Enough,’ said Octavia. ‘Don’t get headstrong with me, girl.’ She plunged her hands into the green stuff and felt something firm and leathery. She pulled out one of Raizel's leather jacks with its cork stopper. ‘What’s this?’
‘That’s what I was about to tell you,’ said Irina. ‘An old woman gave it to me.’
‘What old woman?’
‘So now you want to know, do you?’ said Irina, still fiery.
Octavia's eyes widened and she slapped Irina hard enough to make her gasp. The wolf-girl sat down suddenly, holding her cheek, and turned to William for sympathy. It was no good – he was still fast asleep.
‘Calm down,’ said Octavia. ‘You’re like one of the mindless hens.’
Irina bowed her head and took a deep breath. In a low voice she said, ‘I met an old woman in the woods. She had white hair and dark eyes and there was a hare that followed her like a dog.’
Had Irina been looking at Octavia she would have seen an extraordinary change come over the older woman's face. ‘Raizel!’ she cried. ‘No one has seen her for years. Not since the day Princess Irina was stolen.’ Octavia stared at the wolf-girl, as though it was the first time she had ever laid eyes on her.
Irina raised her head. ‘What is it, mother?’ The skin on her neck itched and her cheeks felt hot.
Octavia shook her head, as though shaking off a thought. ‘Nothing, dear one.’ She pressed her cool hand against Irina's cheek. ‘I’m sorry I slapped you.’ She examined the leather jack, turning it over in her hands, then removed the stopper, sniffed it and took the tiniest sip. She tried to hide her thoughts but Irina's soulful eyes kept moving over her face.
‘Stop it,’ said Octavia. ‘You’re like a wolf sniffing out its prey.’
‘You think I might be her, don't you? The Princess.’
‘I’ve often wondered that,’ said Octavia, picking up the herbs again. ‘You’re the right age. She was lost in the forest. You were found in the forest.’
‘Well I'm not her,’ said Irina with a ragged growl in her voice. ‘And even if I was, I belong to you now.’
It seemed to Irina that a trembling orange light flickered over her mother's face for a moment and then was gone. In her hands lay the herbs, green strands of life.
‘Please, tell me more about Raizel,’ said Irina.
‘She’s the Wise-Woman of the South. She's so old that some say she was alive during the War of Kuiril, when the island was split into three – but that's impossible. That all happened hundreds of years ago. When I was young, my mother saw I had a healing gift. She brought me to Raizel, and the wise-woman taught me everything I know about herbs and plants.’
‘Then you know all about her!’
‘Oh yes. I was her student. She showed me how to tame and heal animals, birds and people. She taught many women these things.’
‘Could she speak?’
‘Of course.’
‘She can't speak now. I think she's…mute.’
‘Hmm,’ said Octavia. ‘And her hair's white? Maybe she's going through some kind of trial…’
‘She showed me a book. She even let me hold it. I wanted to read it. Can you read, Octavia?’
‘Not really, child. Raizel showed me the letters a few times but I had no desire to learn. Everything I need is in the earth and the trees. Sometimes the sprites whisper in my ears.’
‘But would you remember the letters?’
‘Maybe,’ said Octavia. ‘If I tried.’
‘What’s the potion that Raizel gave me?’
‘Courage and healing. She gave it to you because we will have a use for it; just as she taught me how to tame wild things all those years ago.’
Chapter Seventeen
Raizel's Voice Returns
‘I want to see these places the kings were talking about,’ Prince Andor said to himself one day. He took his beloved stallion, Langundo, a satchel of food and water, and tied a small knife to his belt. He also took his bow and arrows, keeping them hidden under a blanket. He wore plain clothes and a cloak of undyed wool with a hood, and exhanged his royal boots for a scuffed old pair belonging to a stable hand. ‘One day I will be ruler of these lands. How can I rule wisely that which I've never seen?’
Knowing his father would not grant permission for him to leave, Andor wrote a note for King Niklas and left it on the desk in his den. By the time his father got around to reading it, Andor would be long gone. Lastly, he hung a small pouch of gold coins under his shirt with a strip of leather, and departed.
But Andor did not leave the castle
entirely unnoticed.
Vilmos's bedchamber looked down into the stables, and he saw the Prince load his horse and leave.
So, Andor departs just when I need him to, thought the magician. I wonder if he'll go to Ber. I wonder – and this will be interesting to see – if the Prince is smart enough to discover the mischief I've caused? A smile settled on his plump lips. I doubt it. But even if he is he can't stop me. Nothing will stop me this time.
Irina and Raizel met often near the wise-woman's little hut throughout that spring and summer. They developed an understanding that did not involve words. Raizel taught Irina to read by writing letters in the dirt and tracing them on Irina's palm with her finger.
In the evenings when she returned home, Irina would ask Octavia how to pronounce the letters she had learned that day. Octavia was surprised to find that she understood more than she thought.
Eventually Irina knew enough to read aloud from Raizel's book. It was made of different pieces of paper stitched within the one cover. Several of the pages had been copied from the lost Book of the Junsong.
‘Tell me what you know about the Book,’ Irina asked Octavia one night.
‘The lost Book of the Junsong was written by Queen Joaquinna when she was in hiding with her daughter, Princess Jun,’ Octavia told Irina. ‘It was during the War of Kuiril.’
Whenever Irina read from Raizel's book, the wise-woman would sit motionless, listening intently. The book contained a few spells but when Irina tried to look at them, Raizel's gnarled hand would reach over and turn the page.
‘Why can't I read those? They look interesting. One was about feeding your own blood to a Dragon!’
Raizel simply shook her head, and turned to another page.
‘The truth is a wolf, tracking you down,’ read Irina. ‘The sword is wisdom that cuts to the quick. The hare is love, that would die for his child.’ The words stirred a memory and Irina stopped reading. A grey streak darted across her mind's eye. She saw fur and then, the distinctive smell of wolf came to her. She felt the wolf's breath, and heard the wet sound of the wolf's tongue slavering over its teeth.
Raizel watched the girl quietly.
Irina was remembering the greatest wolf of the pack, Torg, a huge and frightening animal, with mighty haunches and paws that could knock his prey – or a naughty wolf-pup – out cold.
‘When I was little we hunted the hares of the forest,’ Irina said. ‘We found a little nest full of babies and Torg was about to eat them. The mother hare ran straight in front of him and threw her body over them! I'd never seen an animal do that before. She must have known she would die.’ Irina shivered at the memory. She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning deeply. ‘Why was I there, Raizel? Why was I with the wolves?’
Raizel took the stick and began drawing in the dirt. Irina stood up and came to watch over her shoulder. The wise-woman drew a crown. Irina grew still and tense as she realised what Raizel meant.
‘Octavia thinks that, too. But I'm not the Princess. She's dead. I don't want to be the Princess and live among strangers!’
She rubbed the crown out with her boot and stared at Raizel defiantly. The old woman leaned back, as though Irina's words were objects flying through the air.
‘You can't make me do anything,’ said the wolf-girl, and the untamed fire flared in her eyes. She ran out of the hut into the forest, stumbling in the twilight. Amicus flew after her.
Raizel took out a small painting from where she had hidden it under her pillow. It was a painting of Jun, the goddess of truth, with a wolf by her side. On a small piece of paperbark she wrote a few words to King Harmon. Vilmos must be up to something; for the first time in years he had appeared in Raizel's dreams. Irina's peaceful life on the farm was coming to an end. It was time for her true identity as a Princess to be known. Whether she wanted it or not.
King Harmon,
Irina lives. I have seen her. You will be happy to
know that she has been well cared for.
Raizel
She gestured to one of her pigeons and he landed beside her. Tying the note to his foot, she said to him, ‘We can't make the truth what we want it to be. It just is.’
Raizel paused in wonder, her fingertips at her lips.
Her voice had returned!
Chapter Eighteen
Farewell
‘Irina's always out gathering herbs these days,’ said William irritably, as he prepared to go fishing the following morning. Irina had already left for Raizel's hut. ‘I need her. She's as good as the son we never had. The stream is full of fat trout and she can spot them and spear them much faster than I. She's a little spear-maiden.’
But Octavia knew that Irina had learned all she could from William and herself. Now she was receiving a secret education from Raizel. Destiny wants that girl, Octavia thought, kneading the dough for the day's bread. The fire in the clay oven warmed the hut.
Octavia was now certain that Irina was the stolen Princess. She didn't even pretend to be surprised when William – in a state of high agitation, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright – returned in the afternoon with the news.
‘King Harmon has issued a proclamation that the Princess Irina has been seen alive, and that every village, meadow and woodland be searched until she is found. Oh, Octavia, it's our girl, isn't it? The Princess is our Irina.’
‘Yes. Of course she is,’ said Octavia. She hacked off a chunk of freshly-baked bread for her husband and poured him an ale.
‘Where is she, then? We must tell her! We must prepare her!’
‘Patience, William. She's with the wise-woman, Raizel.’
Irina did not return that evening.
When a second evening went by, William was half-crazed with anxiety. ‘I must go and search for her. Maybe a bounty hunter has captured her to take her back to the castle for a reward? I must find her!’
‘Calm down, William,’ said Octavia. ‘She’ll come to no harm.’
‘How empty the cottage and fields shall be. I don't want her to leave us.’
‘Nor I,’ said Octavia gravely. ‘But go she must.’
Late in the afternoon on the third day, William and Octavia were relieved to see the familiar, fluttering shape of Amicus. In the lengthening shadows below him, they could make out Irina walking slowly towards the cottage, leaning on a staff. She looked thinner and taller than three days ago. She greeted them with a kiss on each of their cheeks.
‘We have news for you, Irina. The King –’
‘Yes,’ said Irina, raising her hand wearily to stop them from telling her the whole story. She seemed much older than her fourteen years. ‘Raizel’s voice has returned. She told me the story of my birth and how I was stolen. She told me many, many things.’
‘Come then,’ said Octavia, patting the girl's arm. ‘You look worn out. We can't send you back to the King and Queen looking like that. Come and eat and sleep for the last time in your little bed.’
‘You’ve been a good mother to me,’ said Irina, and her voice shook. Her eyes seemed very big in her thin face. ‘You and Sheka. How I wish I could see her again.’
That evening, William took a lamp out to the stable and spent hours grooming his white mare, Adriel, as if the endless actions of his hands could somehow ease the pain in his heart. He brushed the mare till she shone like the moon. Next he polished her saddle and bridle, even down to the brass buckles. Not knowing what else to do, he polished his own boots and scrubbed his hands till they were red. Even then, he could not stop a few tears from falling at the thought of his cherished daughter leaving.
Inside the cottage, Octavia bathed Irina and washed her hair, remembering the first time she had washed her, when the little girl was covered with scratches and burrs and tangles and twigs and clumps of old wolf-hair. Irina was more human than wolf these days, but restless storms of feeling were still alive in her and there was a great strength sleeping in the muscles of her back and arms. Octavia could feel the coiled energy beneath her fing
ertips as she massaged her. When the bathing was finished, she helped Irina dry and dress in soft clothes, and lay her in bed as though she were a little child again. Octavia stoked the fire so the warmth would dry Irina's hair, and sang lullabies till the exhausted girl fell asleep.
Irina felt a wing tip brush over her cheek and blinked open her eyes. Amicus stood at the edge of her bed. The light in the hut told her it was just before dawn.
‘What is it?’ she asked, sitting up and wrapping herself in her bedcover. The fire had gone out and the hut was cold. William was snoring. Irina got up and followed Amicus out to the garden. A grassy tang rose from the wet fields and the sun danced over the trees with his copper dancing shoes.
Irina felt exhilarated. It was the anticipation that something exciting was about to happen, like the morning before the start of a festival. Yet she also felt a touch of fear: today she would return to the castle and her blood-parents, King Harmon and Queen Chloe.
‘Follow me,’ said Amicus in birdsong, and Irina followed him through the meadows to the edge of the forest, where a large creature stood shivering in the cold. It was a she-wolf, her once grey fur whitened with age.
‘Sheka!’ cried Irina with joy, and ran towards the animal. Irina remembered Sheka as being as vast as a mountain, her glittering blue eyes high above her. How much smaller she seemed! Irina wrapped her arms around the she-wolf's neck, burying her face in her fur. The smell was so warm and familiar that Irina held the beast for a long time, feeling the weight of Sheka's head nestled on her shoulder. Sheka was very, very old. She had lived longer than most wolves and now she was dying. Irina was shocked to realise that she was now stronger than the wolf who had once been her protector.