Kore's Field

by N. C. Sellars

  “To save my husband!” I shouted. “Is that not plain? I did not come up here for the view, I can assure you. My husband is a great and wise king. He deserves life more than anyone I know. He’s brought peace in a time when no one thought it possible. He is kind and good and brave. And he credits you with all his success. That’s why I’m here. I came here because Adam adores you. He won’t consider doing anything to displease you. He speaks of you as if you’re a god in the flesh, as if you dropped out of the heavens to take up post on this mountain,” I finished, half laughing at the absurdity of such a thought. I brushed a fresh wave of tears from my eyes. “I must be going mad,” I muttered.

  At that, the herdsman laughed. A proper, gut-filling laugh that rang like music through the meadow. The sheep and goats lifted their heads and began baa-ing and braying, almost like they wanted to join in. The herdsman crossed to me and held out his hand, lifting to me to my feet. Even with the distance closed between us I still could not make out the features of his face. The sky behind his head grew brighter, shot through with orange and pink streaks, announcing the impending arrival of the sun. Not that I could have met his eyes if I wanted to. My sight told me he was not a giant; nevertheless, I have never felt as small as I did standing before the herdsman.

  “You are not mad,” he said softly. “And I know of your husband’s illness. These mountains have enough eyes and ears to hear every word both spoken and unspoken in your land. I am sorry he is dying. It is a price no one was ever meant to pay. I can assure you, the God of Souls does not rejoice in any of his people’s bloodshed.”

  The great sorrow in his voice almost made me believe he was even sorrier than I. I nodded tightly and tried to swallow the painful lump in my throat. “Then there’s nothing that can be done.” I said it not as a question.

  “There is always something to be done,” he replied, with something like grave amusement. “Call up your courage, Queen, for you hold your husband’s life in your hands. The gods have not forgotten you.”

  My eyes dried up at once. “I’ll do whatever they command.”

  “The king will only be spared if you can find someone to die in his stead. A substitute, who will willingly give their life so that he can be spared. If you can find such a substitute before the ceremony, the king will live.”

  My heart raced. All hope was not lost after all. The list of courtiers blazed through my mind, each soldier and lord more valiant than the last, who had all promised fealty to the king of Myrilla under pain of death. This was just the sort of test they had prescribed to endure; surely their fortitude would prove itself in a time as desperate as this. I pictured them fighting their way to Adam, each one more eager than the last to fulfill their promise to preserve their king. Turius would probably climb the castle walls so he could have the honors.

  “I will find someone, sir,” I said. “I give the gods my word.”

  “And you have theirs,” he said, solemn again. He looked over his shoulder and I caught a fleeting glimpse of his profile. “On your way now, mighty queen. There is great work ahead of you, and the sun will bring even more with him.”

  I spun in the grass and raced down the mountain. The descent was much easier than the climb. The smooth slabs of rock no longer seemed treacherous in the morning light, and the rough paths flowed like water beneath my feet. I pushed the briars and thorns aside, forming a plan in my mind even as I ran. Before I bathed or changed into clean clothes I would find Turius and have him inform the other members of the council. Adam, however, must remain deaf to the herdsman’s plan. He would never consent to letting anyone die in his place.

  I rushed up to the castle gates, hair flying. The stunned guards admitted me at once. I crossed the courtyards and burst through the doors of the great hall where I saw Turius standing near the head table, deep in conversation with another courtier. The look he gave me was carefully blank; he obviously wasn’t pleased to see me. He acknowledged me with a bow and returned to his companion. I hung back, waiting for the courtier to depart before I approached.

  “Turius,” I said, as kindly as I could. “I’d very much like to speak with you.”

  He refused to meet my face. “With respect, Lady Queen, I have much business to attend to this morning.”

  “But—”

  “Unless your need is urgent I’d prefer to speak another time.”

  “I believe you’ll find it is quite urgent.” A sharp edge crept into my voice. “It concerns the king.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  I reported everything the herdsman had said, down to the details of the agreement. Turius clung to every word, and when I finished he sighed in relief. “So there is an alternative,” he said. “Thank the gods.” He thought for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. “If we need to find a substitute, I will do so for you.”

  I did a bad job of hiding my surprise. “You will?”

  “Yes, with joy. You are Admetus’s wife; he needs you with him right now. Keep him calm, give him peace, and I will take care of this.”

  Tears rushed to my eyes. If he were anyone else I would have embraced him, but I simply rested my hand on his arm. “Thank you, Turius. You will never know what this means to me.”

  I started toward the door, but he called to me. “I know you dislike me, Queen,” he said. “And I freely admit you are not the one I would have chosen for Admetus. Nevertheless, he loves you, and you seem to make each other happy. He is as close to me as a brother, and the reasoning goes back to when we were children.”

  I watched him, listening intently. Adam had never fully explained to me his friendship with Turius. “Go on.”

  “My father was a lord in Itomius; since Admetus and I were close in age he and I often took our lessons together. History, poetry and medicine, as well as swordplay and horsemanship. One day we were practicing archery in the fields near the river. There was a paddock nearby holding a bull, and when I ran to the target to collect my arrows the bull broke through his fence. He charged at me, and since I had no weapon, I was defenseless. The bull tore across the grass, frightfully fast; I truly thought I was about to meet my end. But then it stopped and fell, mere footsteps away from me, with an arrow in its eye. Admetus had killed it with a single shot. At no close range, either. The bull never touched me.”

  He gave me a hard look. “Admetus saved my life. That is why I will find a substitute. I swear it.”

  Chapter 29

  For once I didn’t question Turius’ word. Instead I did exactly as he instructed, and comforted Adam. Already the mysterious sickness had begun to affect him; his muscles ached and the beginnings of a fever slowed his mind. I suggested he rest in the garden, but his legs couldn’t maneuver the steps leading down to the courtyard. He couldn’t polish his bow, for his hand was too weak to properly rub the wax into the wood. At dinner he was in too much pain to swallow whole bites of food, so I fed him warm broth in the privacy of our chamber. All these sudden changes unfolded before my eyes while I bit back tears and dragged the corners of my mouth into an unwilling smile; I wouldn’t let him see my grief, not for an instant. Even my most tender touch seemed to hurt him, so when I climbed into bed beside him that night I kept far away.

  I was surprised, as you may imagine, when I felt his fingers brush my shoulder.

  “Alyce, come closer,” he murmured, his eyes half shut in fatigue. “I want to hold you.”

  Heat poured from him and onto the sheets like water. I lightly pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. “Your fever’s raging. I’ll get a wet cloth—”

  “No, don’t leave.” His fingers curled around my wrist. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his neck. “Alyce, I must ask you something.”

  “Anything, Adam.”

  “Do you think…?” His brow furrowed with worry, he had to close his eyes from the effort of simply speaking. “Do you think Syrano will be waiting for me?”

  “Perhaps,” I said thoughtfully, stroking his h
air. “There are some who say our loved ones greet us on our way to the gods.”

  He nodded. “I hope so.” His body relaxed; he drew deep breaths through his nose. I thought for a moment he had fallen asleep when he suddenly said, “Alyce?”

  “What is it, my love?”

  “Do you think the God of Souls will be pleased? With me, I mean?”

  My tears, which I had held back all day, spilled onto the hot sheets. I was drowning in the cruelty of the gods, who gave me the best of men as my husband, only to snatch him away. Our time was too short together; I would have paid any price to win a second chance at the last twelve months With my fingertips I barely touched his closed eyelids, his lips, his cheeks. I thought of our conversation months earlier, about Kore, when Adam had said how extraordinary it would be for the gods to take a mortal man and turn him into one of their own. In a matter of mere hours he would find out if it were true.

  “I can think of no one who would please them better,” I whispered, brushing my tearstained lips against his.

  • • •

  For the third morning in our marriage I woke with Adam still beside me. So much had happened since the ceremony that the days of him bursting into the room, hale and ruddy, after his visit to the mountain seemed but a distant memory. A relic of a perfect past. I thought of my conversation with the herdsman, and prayed that the fates would honor his bargain and spare my husband. I hadn’t set eyes on Turius since he told me about Adam saving his life; I presumed he was working diligently to repay the favor. Again and again I tried to think of who he might contact. Adam’s family in Itomius was too far away, though I had no doubt his parents would have come if there was time. The court was brimming with men who had pledged their lives to my husband, but I began to wonder if any of them would submit to such an ordeal. To die in an instant during a battle is one thing, to suffer a raging illness is quite another.

  Adam looked worse than ever. I tried to rouse him, but he waved me away, mumbling incoherently about his need for more sleep. His body was aflame with fever; nothing would lower it. I opened the door to ask for a cold cloth and found a cluster of servants pawing the floor like nervous ponies. Trina stepped away from the other maids and bravely approached.

  “Will you take breakfast, Lady Queen?”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid there’s no time. We must make our way…” I swallowed, forcing myself to say the words. “We must make our way to the temple.” I looked over my shoulder at Adam, a withered shell of his former self. His legs would never be able to support him. “The king did not sleep well last night; we will require a litter.”

  Far too soon I was dressed, with the crown of golden roses resting on my hair, and standing by helplessly while four servants carefully lifted Adam’s body onto the soft cushion of a litter. I spoke to him quietly, knowing he couldn’t hear me, and explained that he would be carried to the temple; he needn’t worry about walking. I assured him I would be there the whole time. When I straightened up I drew the curtains of the litter closed. Not out of shame, but because I knew Adam wouldn’t want anyone to see him so physically depleted. He had always been strong, the pinnacle of a fit man.

  I scarcely remember the walk to the temple for the Day of Dedication ceremony. I recall the vague blur of faces lining the path, and Adam’s warm arm beneath my hand. No one said a word. Even the young farm children were silent, their eyes wide above dirt-streaked cheeks. I could only imagine their confusion. The whole business felt amiss. Dirty, tainted, as though we had done something wrong and were being punished for it. The sun burned away the last stray pieces of early morning clouds, illuminating my disgrace like a mirror.

  We crossed the threshold of the temple and the men carrying the litter lowered it gently to the veined marble floor. They opened the curtains and pulled out the mat, with Adam stretched out on top. The whole court let out a little gasp when they saw him, unable to believe such a transformation could take place so quickly.

  Ignoring them, I knelt beside the litter and clutched Adam’s hand, unable to bear his pain. His skin burned from the fever and though his eyes looked directly into mine I knew he could not see me. He had changed from a great and noble king to a wild animal, stricken with illness. I could scarcely believe this ashen creature was the same man I had grown to love so deeply. A sob clawed its way up my throat and I fought it, desperate not to waste my breath on foolish tears.

  Lilianne stood in front of the altar. She held a sharpened knife in her hand and looked at me without a trace of pity. “It is time.”

  I glanced around for Turius. He wasn’t there. “Wait, please. Give us another moment.”

  “There are no moments in the God of Souls’ time, Queen. There is only now.” She nodded to the litter carriers. “Bring forward the offering.”

  They started to lift the mat but I held tighter to Adam. “Wait,” I said desperately. “Wait, I beg you—”

  I stopped when a sudden shout rang out from the temple doors. Everyone turned to see the dark shape of a man, silhouetted against the sunlight, entering the temple. It was Turius, and he led a small animal on a length of rope. When my eyes adjusted to the stark light I saw it was a young ram.

  A path opened up at once before Turius and the ram. He led the animal slowly through the crowd, stopping before the Lilianne. The whole temple was silent apart from the soft click of the animal’s hooves on the stones and my husband’s wheezing, labored breaths.

  “I have brought a substitute,” said Turius, more reverent than I had ever seen him. He bowed to Lilianne and proffered the rope. The little ram stood dumbly, its large eyes fixed on the altar. “I hope that the God of Souls finds it worthy, and that he will spare our king in his good mercy.”

  I held my breath, watching Lilianne. I silently begged her to take the rope, to thank Turius for such an unblemished offering and perform the sacrifice. But Lilianne did no such thing. Instead she narrowed her eyes in disgust, her lips pursed so that I thought she might spit in Turius’ face.

  “This is what you bring the God of Souls?” demanded Lilianne, her voice filling the temple like thunder. “This is what your king is worth?”

  Turius took a half step back, stunned by Lilianne’s wrath. Then, apparently thinking this to be some sort of test, rallied. “It is a clean ram, free of disease or flaw. The gods could not find a more perfect sacrifice if they searched the world over.”

  “Silence. You blaspheme beyond your knowledge. Perhaps if you hold your tongue now the gods will spare you yet.” Lilianne pointed her dark, skeletal finger at the ram. “Beasts of the field do not sow grain and reap the harvest. The God of Souls demands man’s blood and he will receive it. To offer anything less is to cheapen the gods themselves.”

  This time Turius did not argue. The ram bleated and the pitiful sound echoed like a child’s cry. Adam’s sweaty hand slipped in mine as Lilianne surveyed the gathered crowd.

  “If a substitute is what you wish to offer, then tell me: who will take the king’s place?”

  No one spoke. The entire temple was still, as quiet as death.

  “Is there anyone?” she repeated.

  The thick silence pressed against all of us. Then, with movements that hardly seemed my own, I leaned down and kissed my husband. I squeezed my eyes shut, my tears dripping on his face. My body felt numb and distant as I rose to my feet and said, “I will.”

  A chorus of cries assaulted my ears. My maids clutched at me, begging me not to do such a thing. I brushed away their pleas and hands, afraid that if I listened I would let them alter my decision. I walked with quick, wooden steps toward Lilianne, not daring to look back. I heard a voice in the crowd praising my courage and I nearly laughed. Courage was the furthest thing from my mind. Never had I felt such fear. My heart thrashed in my chest and my legs shook so badly I could barely keep my feet. “I will take his place,” I said to Lilianne.

  She nodded, her face blank. “Very well. Your hand.”

  I held out my left han
d, and in a flash that somehow stretched into eternity, she lifted the knife and made a shallow cut into my palm. I felt a sharp sting and watched a line of bright red blood appear against my flesh.

  Then came the sickness. It struck me all at once; for some reason I had thought it would come slowly and quietly, as Adam’s had come, but I was wrong. Instead it burst inside me and spread its rotting agony through my fingertips. I gasped for air, only vaguely aware that I could no longer stand. Not from fear, but pain. I forgot the blood on my hand and clutched at my head, my heart, my stomach, every place that hurt. No scream could have properly translated the ache tearing through my body.

  Outside of my darkening world, I heard the muddled roar of the temple. Lilianne’s arms surrounded me, pulling me to my feet and draping garlands of greenery and flowers around my waist and shoulders. She wiped sprigs of rosemary across my palms, staining them with blood, then took the same herbs and brushed their bloodied, fragrant leaves across my cheeks, marking me as one who now belonged to the gods. I trembled and wept weakly as her hand pulled my golden crown from my head, replacing it with a band of plaited wheat and roses, nearly identical to the one I’d worn for my wedding. She held a cup to my lips and tipped it so that bitter lemon wine filled my mouth. I did not have the strength to swallow; I felt Lilianne’s fingers stroking my throat until the liquid ran down into my belly. I coughed, repulsed by the sour taste, but she made me drink it once more before she pulled the cup away. My head lolled from the wine and strong arms lifted me onto the altar and somewhere in the midst of all that I felt Lilianne fill my hands with grain. Her words broke through my clouded ears, instructing me to offer the grain to Kore and the God of Souls upon my arrival to their kingdom. It was important, she said. It was the reason for all of this.

  I could not even nod my head in reply. Somehow I turned my eyes to the gathered crowd, where among the blur of faces I saw a man shouting hysterically. It was Adam, restored to his glorious health as quickly as I had succumbed to my illness. He lifted his golden head and with his once more powerful arms tried to push his way to the altar, but a tangle of guards held him back. My weakened mind could not understand his words, only the anguish on his face. I closed my eyes, and the last thing I heard was my beloved husband crying my name.