Spindle

by E. K. Johnston

  She had told me that she loved Arwa’s informality with her, and I had thought she might have been, however indirectly, asking me to follow the younger girl’s example. Now, though, I was less sure of it. I could be kind to her and remind her who she was at the same time; moreover, I could remind her that it was all right if she stayed guarded around me forever. It was not my first choice, but it would help her after she married. It was probably the only thing I could give her. If she ever left us, I would never see her again. We had, for all intents and purposes, kidnapped her. It was not as though we could expect an invitation to her wedding.

  And if we stayed in the mountains? If a piskey flew right in front of us tomorrow and stopped to talk, and it had all the answers we needed, then we could break the curse and return to Kharuf in triumphant glory. Ah, but I discarded that thought as soon as I had it. We had seen no evidence of piskeys in the mountains, and we were too isolated here; there was no way to gather new information, and we had no idea what her parents were doing to find her. No, in all likelihood the Little Rose would have to leave the mountains, and break the curse far from the shelter we had found here. It was not going to be so easy to be in her service.

  We needed distance, again—the distance we had given one another before we met that night in the tower, when I had been but a shadowed memory, and she had been the princess I would never see properly enthroned. So when she went to bed that night, I climbed back up to the lookout perch that Saoud and I had built and took up the watch there. It was dark and quiet. Only the stars were out above me, shining bright in the blackness of the sky. Saoud’s father had told us that the stars moved, the same as our own sun did, and that they were very far away. I wanted to be far away, too, far from the Little Rose and her curse. Maybe if I took my mother there, she would get better.

  But I knew I couldn’t. I had promised my mother to help what remained of Kharuf’s spinners, and I had promised the Little Rose that I would help her break her curse, no matter how dark the magic got. I was held by both of those promises.

  I heard a noise below me, and drew my knife. It could be anything: animal, demon, creature. Friend or foe. I breathed the way Saoud’s father had taught us, slowly and taking care not to hiss. And then my heart lightened.

  Saoud stepped into view, a large pack on his back, and Arwa and Tariq were behind him. My worries did not disappear, but they shifted. Tariq would have ideas, Saoud would have plans, Arwa would make them work.

  “Yashaa?” said Saoud. “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” I said, and swung down from the tree. I threw my arms around his neck. He returned the embrace, but there was a slowness to it that gave me pause.

  “What?” I said. “What is it?”

  “Let’s go down,” said Saoud. I reached for Arwa and Tariq, and they reached back. “The Little Rose should hear this, too.”

  To set a trap, one must be sure to lay out the proper bait. It is possible to snare a rabbit or perhaps a mink through common luck and timing, but if smarter prey is the object of the hunt, then some thought must be given to its catching. The trap I laid for the Maker King was exquisite. It took me decades to place each part, and in the end, I baited it with a rose.

  The Maker King, despite his shortcomings, cared about his own kingdom because it was the source of his power. That I could admire, because as much as I hated the mountains where I was imprisoned, I understood their importance, and could use their rockslides and avalanches to my own needs as required. I knew that, above all else, the Maker King wanted his people to name him, as they had named his father and his father’s father, and back through the generations to the King Maker, the first of the Maker Kings. I used that to lay my trap. I reminded him that there had once been only one kingdom, and wondered what people would name the man who put the kingdoms back together. The Maker King, after all, had a son.

  Prince Maram was a terrible sort. I supposed he looked well enough in the human way, and that, with his nobility, seemed to buy him a great deal of leeway. As a boy, he’d had broad shoulders even when he shirked the practice field, and the sort of features that human girls found easy to look upon. I saw further than that fine-boned face, though, into his heart and mind, and knew that he would be even better an instrument for me than his father. Unlike the Maker King, Maram did not care about his people at all. He loved only himself and longed to possess everything he touched; and that which he could not possess, he sought to ruin for anyone else.

  The animals kept as pets by the castle folk learned to avoid him almost as soon as he could walk. The lapdogs would cower behind their mistresses’ feet when they saw him, while the cats simply exited as soon as he came into view. The hunting dogs he spoiled, treating them to lavish food, so that they would forget all the times he had cuffed them, and would mind him when he gave them commands. Only the horses and hawks had his respect, presumably because they were the only beasts in Qamih who might actually harm him unless he took care. Still, he did not go very often into the stables, and it was reported by the grooms that when he returned from riding, his mounts often had bloodied sides from his spurs.

  Maram was a terror to his nurses, a plague to his tutors, and a horror to any of the castle children assigned to be his companions. To his father, he was the perfect son, and indeed, he played the part so well that it was easy for his father to brush aside the terrible things he had been accused of doing. After all, it was always his word, the word of a prince, against the word of someone lesser. In any case, his father needed him because it was Maram’s wedding to the Little Rose that would give the Maker King his name, the name that would finally grant him his place in his family’s legacy.

  I had visited Maram infrequently since the day I had ensured his marriage would take place as I wished it. He believed he would be marrying the Little Rose, a mere girl he would always be able to control, and I wanted to be sure that he always believed that. With her disappearance, however, and with the general ineptitude of the search for her in Kharuf, I required his help.

  I found him in his chambers, hovering over a selection of knives. They were made of iron, which infuriated me, but as long as I stayed on the opposite side of the room from them, it would be well enough.

  “Maram,” I said, and he jumped.

  “Lady,” he said, bowing floridly from the waist. He had met me only once before, though I had watched him for a long time. Clearly I had made an impression. He was profoundly odious. When he bedded the Little Rose, I decided, I would withdraw from her almost entirely, and keep only enough of her to be sure she could not regain control of her own body. “How may I serve you?”

  “Your princess has been kidnapped,” I told him. “And the vagabonds have taken her into the mountains where her own people cannot track them.”

  “How terrible,” he said. “My poor little rose.”

  “Indeed,” I said. “I require you to seek her there and restore her to her parents.”

  “Why?” he asked. His impertinence made me fume, but I kept control. I could destroy him after I destroyed the rest of his kingdom, and as many humans as I was able to find.

  “She is to be your wife,” I reminded him.

  “Is she?” he asked. “After being kidnapped by some sort of unsavory characters?”

  “If you kill all of them, she will agree to whatever story you tell her,” I said. I didn’t much care for the Little Rose’s reputation. I only needed her alive and contained. “She needs to preserve her reputation as much as you do. It doesn’t matter if it is the truth, only that people believe it, and they already believe all sorts of lies about you. Imagine how romantic your people, and hers, will find it if you hasten to her rescue.”

  “You wound me, Lady,” he said. “But at the same time, I do feel stirred to action. I will go, as you have said. Shall I take a war party with me, or will it be more romantic if I ride alone?”

  His mockery would stand only as long as it took for me to spring my trap, and then I would tear him to shreds
.

  “It matters not, princeling,” I told him. “Ride however you see fit. Only, ride quickly.”

  He bowed again, and I was gone before he could stand up to gaze at the empty place where I had been.

  THE FIRST THING ARWA pulled out of her pack was a pair of shoes. They were soft-soled, which meant they couldn’t be new. That was probably for the best. New shoes were almost as uncomfortable as small shoes, and if Saoud’s face was any indication, the Little Rose was going to have to get accustomed to wearing them quickly. They were sturdy, though, and the laces were simple enough that the Little Rose didn’t hesitate before tying them.

  “Here,” said Tariq, and passed her another veil.

  She had been wearing Arwa’s, which was enough for the mountains, but it would be noticeably small on her head if we met people on the road in daylight. A woman of the Little Rose’s age customarily wore one that was large enough to reach her waist. It was not enforced, as a rule, but if Saoud wanted us to escape notice, a girl with a small veil would stick in a person’s memory. The Little Rose changed quickly, as she had done by the pool earlier, but we all still saw her head and her newly cut hair. When I turned back to Saoud, he was looking at me with a measuring expression on his face, but he didn’t say anything.

  “What about a dress?” the Little Rose said, spreading her skirt. “This one is clearly of a different style than Arwa’s, and the cloth is better.”

  “We couldn’t find one,” Saoud said. “We had to cut our trip short.”

  “If you wear a pair of Tariq’s trousers and a tunic from Yashaa, you will look enough like me to pass, I think,” Arwa said. “We will have to alter the tunic, but I can do that tonight.”

  “I will do it,” Tariq said. “You are still more concerned with straight lines and even stitches than speed, little goat, and this must be fast work.”

  “I have to practice!” Arwa protested. Saoud hid a smile.

  “We’ll find something for you to practice on,” he promised. “And you’ll need to set the pins for Tariq anyway.”

  Tariq disappeared into his workbag, while Arwa led the Little Rose behind their privacy screen and began the task of preparing a new outfit for her. Saoud took stock of the cave, noting the basket, but passing over it for now. Clearly there were larger concerns, and I wanted to know what they were.

  “Can you hear us, princess, if we talk now?” I asked, having selected my best tunic and given it to Tariq.

  “Yes,” she replied. I could hear the whisper of fabric as she changed.

  “We made it to the first village easily enough,” Saoud said. “Their market was very poor, and we couldn’t find the sort of supplies we needed. Also, we didn’t want to buy things that were obviously meant for use in the mountains, or on a long trip. Word is spreading of the Little Rose’s apparent kidnapping, you see, and it would be suspicious.”

  “We feared as much,” I said. I watched Tariq lay out his needle and awl and then turn his attention back to what thread he had left.

  “We may have underestimated them,” Saoud said darkly. He had never been good at sitting idly, and had taken out his knives to check for damage. I passed him my whetstone.

  “What sort of pursuit have my parents arranged?” asked the Little Rose.

  “Stay still!” said Arwa, and the Little Rose murmured an apology.

  “Messengers were sent to every village, if what we heard is to be believed,” Tariq said, without looking away from the trousers he held up in front of him. They were clean and nearly new, and would probably fit the Little Rose with minor adjustments.

  “I believe it,” said Saoud. “And there is worse news.”

  Arwa came out from behind the screen with the pinned-up tunic and switched it for the trousers. Tariq set to work, needle and awl moving together like two halves of the same whole through the heavy cloth of my tunic. My mother had made it, of course. I hoped she knew, somehow, that the Little Rose would wear it now.

  “The Prince of Qamih is coming to Kharuf,” Saoud said. “To rescue his beloved bride.”

  “What?” exclaimed the Little Rose, bursting out from behind the screen. Arwa, who had apparently been marking the hem of the trousers, was bowled over. The Little Rose stumbled on the extra fabric Arwa hadn’t pinned up yet, but caught herself and let the skirt of her underdress swirl around her legs.

  “The Maker King’s son is riding to your rescue,” Saoud repeated, his voice dry and his face carefully blank. “The merchants from Qamih are besotted with the very idea of it, though your own people are slightly more reserved in their hopes.”

  “I will not go with him,” the Little Rose declared. “He is to have me when I am eighteen and not a moment before.”

  “We know, Zahrah,” Tariq said. I was still amazed that he could use her name at all, let alone at a time like this; despite her attire and circumstance, everything about her gave her away as our princess. “We won’t let him.”

  “How?” she said, letting Arwa take her back behind the screen, and then helping the shorter girl rehang the blanket.

  “We’re going to run,” said Saoud. “Now, before he crosses the pass.”

  “Where can we possibly go?” I asked, but in my heart I knew his answer. There was only one road for spinners, in the end.

  “The desert,” Saoud said. “We’ll cross the northern part of Kharuf, and find our way into the desert. There are oases there that aren’t on the Silk Road, and that is where people will look for us. We will find a safe place, and we will stay there as we stay here.”

  “How long will that hide us for?” the Little Rose asked.

  “Long enough for us to come up with a way to break the curse,” I told her. “Or long enough to learn that we can’t.”

  Saoud looked at me, not comprehending, and I explained about the gnome and the garden.

  “How will we find the Storyteller Queen’s creatures if we leave the mountains?” asked Arwa, emerging from behind the screen with the trousers in her hands. The Little Rose was behind her, clad again in her dress.

  “There is nothing certain in magic,” I told them, even though they knew it. “But there is hope there.”

  “When must we leave?” The Little Rose loosened the laces on her left shoe, and retied the knot. I watched her carefully for any sign that the headache had returned. You could make a carpet out of knots, after all, so tying her shoes might count toward her curse.

  “Tomorrow?” Saoud said it like a question, looking at Tariq.

  “The day after,” he said. “And that’s if you spare Arwa to help me sew.”

  “Tariq is right,” I said. “They can’t stay up all night sewing and then walk all day, even if it is downhill.”

  “Fine,” Saoud said. “But I want you to show me the glade.”

  The Little Rose watched as we made plans and worked on repairs. We did not resent her inaction, of course, but I found that she made me anxious, watching us as she did. If she found us wanting as protectors, she might leave us. Worse, she could turn us in. I was certain she wouldn’t, not after the days we had spent here, but I could understand that she might want to, even if it meant a return to her tower and prison of a marriage bargain.

  “We should stop for now,” Saoud said, though there was still plenty to do. “We can work tomorrow, but sleep is important too.”

  “I’ll take the watch,” I said. “I haven’t walked as much as you have in the past few days.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Saoud said. “I can relieve you later, and there is room for two in the lookout.”

  We bid good night to the others, and watched Tariq bank the fire to ensure that he would actually sleep. He could sew in the dark, I knew, but not well, and I was reasonably certain he would insist on his best work for the Little Rose, even if it was only alterations on a secondhand tunic. Then I followed Saoud up the slope, and we climbed into the tree to keep watch.

  It was as dark as it ever got in the mountains. There was no moon, and th
e stars gave only enough light for the black peaks to shine in muted reflection of the light. This was the rest of the Storyteller Queen’s gift, of course; the creatures to protect us when they could, and the iron ore to weaken the demons and to give us weapons with which to fight them. I felt my own knife, the weight of it hanging from my belt, a comfort against the darkness, even though I knew that in a fight against a sword it would be next to useless. The Maker King’s son was rumored to be good with a sword.

  “You cut her hair,” Saoud said, after a silence that was so long I thought he had fallen asleep.

  “She asked,” I replied. “She said when it gets too long, she braids it. She shouldn’t, of course, so she asked me to cut it off.”

  “We thought about getting henna for her,” Saoud said. “But Arwa said that disguising her hair would only make it more obvious, even if we did Arwa’s too. She’s better with just the veil.”

  He was silent for another stretch, and I looked out at the stars.

  “Do you really think we can break the curse?” he said. We’d had too few quiet moments, he and I. I knew what it meant, his asking now; he thought we might have a chance. Before, his silence had shown his doubt. Now he had hope, even as the rest of us did.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I want to. For my mother, and for her.”

  “My father always told me that someday, you and your mother would return to your roots, and I would be reminded that I would never be one of you.” I couldn’t see Saoud’s face in the dark, which meant he couldn’t see mine. I wanted him to. I wanted him to see my expression when I spoke.

  “But you are,” I said to him. “You always have been, I think. At least since we learned to fight together.”

  “Yashaa.” I don’t know what Saoud intended to say, but I interrupted him before he could say it.