Princess Juniper of the Anju

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  “Still in the saddlepouch, for the wonder!” said Alta. “Say what you like of Lady Jessamyn, but she looked out for her beast. ’Tis a roomy little nest she made, and the way the bag hung down between the horse’s legs, the Anju must not have even known it was there.”

  “Poor baby,” Tippy crooned. “Were you quite forgotten?”

  “It would have been disastrous if left much longer—the creature was clearly half mad with thirst, but unable to escape the latched bag. Still, there was a clever water pouch with a suckling tube that must have been quite full on the outset. The cat seems to have rationed itself so that the last bit only ran out quite recently.” Alta tilted her head. “Else it wouldn’t be alive now, would it?”

  Juniper looked at the cat with new respect. “A survivor,” she said. “Good. That’s my favorite type of creature. So, tomorrow then, we set out bright and early.”

  There wasn’t time to say anything further, as Zetta arrived and settled herself on Juniper’s right side. Also, it was clear that mealtime was approaching, and Juniper was too hungry to give attention to anything else. Two large flanks of meat—wild boar, Zetta whispered sidelong—had been spitted on long green branches and slowly roasted all day over a bed of flaming coals.

  Several men now began digging at rounded tufts of earth scattered at the hillside’s base. The one nearest to Juniper was pocked all over in little steam holes, from which mouthwatering tendrils of scent wafted out in their direction.

  “They have cooked food growing under the ground?” Tippy asked doubtfully.

  “Watch and see,” said Zetta.

  A bony man wearing thick leather gloves tackled the near mound, clearing off the earth and then lifting out heavy, steaming rocks. From within came bursting clouds of fragrance that made Juniper go weak in the knees.

  “Only I shall die of the goodness, never even having eaten it,” Tippy moaned.

  “How does it work?” Juniper asked, speaking a little louder to drown out the noisy growling of her stomach. The smell really was too good.

  “It is one of our specialties,” said Zetta, looking pleased as pudding. “The pits are dug well in advance, and first thing this morning, they were filled with coals fresh from the fire. Meat and roots and whatever else we had ready for cooking were all set above the heated foundation in layers. The whole thing then was covered up and left to steam-cook all day. You’ve smelled the tantalizing result, and only wait until you taste it. I myself cannot wait!”

  “Ugh,” said Cyril in an undertone. “Surely there is as much dirt as food in that pit. I shan’t come anywhere near it.”

  “Cyril!” Juniper hissed at him. “We’re guests here—you can’t go saying stuff like that. Or didn’t they teach manners at your precious Academy?”

  Zetta laughed, while Juniper died a little inside to think she’d overheard the exchange. But all Zetta said was “All the more for those who do.”

  The food that was pulled out of the pits, however, showed no signs of its time underground. “The stones are scrubbed first,” Zetta explained, “and all the food is layered all around in wide papua leaves before being covered over with earth. This serves to keep in the moisture and keep out everything else.” She turned her nose up a little in Cyril’s direction, but he only huffed.

  The leaves were now being peeled away, strip by strip, and if the smell that had drifted out till this point was good, what came next was staggering. When the final steaming layers were pulled off and the full aroma burst out, Juniper forgot the roasting boars altogether and fell into the throng pushing toward the table. They all did—except Cyril, but Juniper decided to ignore him; he could fend for himself. The table was really a raised woven mat covered in a fresh layer of the same wide papua leaves. Upon this the food was scattered as it emerged, piping hot, from the pits, and those nearest to hand began heaping it onto thin bark plates. Soon the boars were ready, too. These were carved up and layered onto the table in crispy, sizzling strips, ready to be snatched up and eaten with scalded-hot fingers.

  “It is a rare thing for us to eat meat,” said Odessa, who had moved beside Juniper as they awaited their turn for food. “Our diet consists chiefly of roots, vegetables, and legumes. Meats are reserved for our feast days. This may explain the rather . . . extreme enthusiasm you see among our people.”

  Juniper grinned. Enthusiasm was a mild description for the joyful brouhaha going on all around them. In the hubbub, Juniper lost sight of Tippy and Alta as they angled nearer to the well-filled table. Even Cyril seemed to be overcoming his reluctance and stood with well-filled plate in hand, poking at his meat with cautious interest.

  “One at a time—there’s plenty for all!” came a deep voice. Several wizened men and women were directing the crowd, keeping things smooth and orderly.

  “Those are the other Council members,” said Odessa.

  “They are the ones in charge now, right? Along with you?” Juniper asked. She wasn’t sure this was the right time to broach the subject that had been lurking at the edges of her mind—now, with the smell of roasting meat wafting around them like life’s biggest temptation. But she didn’t know when she’d get a better chance. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about this yet, but I thought you should know. Not a month ago, the Monsian army invaded Torr.” Juniper swallowed, all her fear and uncertainty rising in her throat like a giant choking lump. “My father—the king—is in gravest danger, and our whole kingdom near to being overthrown.”

  Odessa turned away from the food, giving Juniper her full attention. She didn’t look surprised, so at least some of this was not new information.

  “I know this isn’t the time for too much detail—only, before we leave tomorrow, I wonder if I might speak to the Council, to you and them, to see if . . . well. Our country needs help, and that’s the truth. We’re just a small group, those of us at Queen’s Basin. I guess you know that. And we who have turned thirteen are adults by the laws of Torr, but in reality we are all very young. What can we hope to do against an entire invading kingdom?” To her dismay, Juniper could feel tears starting in her eyes. “We need help. Fighting help. We need an army. And . . . you’re my mother’s people. We don’t have anyone else to ask,” she ended miserably.

  For a moment, Juniper thought she saw a look of pain cross the old woman’s face. Almost in the same moment, though, Odessa shook her head. “I realize that you know little of our ways, child,” she said gently. “But this thing you are asking is impossible. I meant what I said when we first met. We are not a people to launch an attack, not for any reason. You don’t know our history, but the Anju have seen war and bloodshed enough for a hundred-hundred generations. Many years ago now, our people took a solemn oath that never again would we raise arms outside of our own defense.”

  “But if—” Juniper began.

  Odessa cut her right off. “War and violence stalks aplenty, child, without us raising ourselves to go seek it out. There is no need for you to talk to the Council, for they will never agree to this request. No Anju will ever take up arms willingly in such a cause. I’m sorry.”

  “Last call for the roasted boar,” came a loud bark.

  “Now, come along,” said Odessa, grabbing Juniper’s arm, “for I don’t mean to miss this opportunity to feast, and you should not, either. The world turns as it will, and we can but follow its broken path. Let us eat while we may.” With this said, she elbowed her way to the front of the table, dragging Juniper along with her toward a choice cut of well-seared flank.

  • • •

  When at last the food had all been eaten and every belly bulged round and full, Juniper followed the others in letting the weight drag her down to a reclining position. She was still raw with disappointment at Odessa’s rejection, but giving up was the last thing on her mind. She needed a fighting force, and here was a fighting force—solemn oath or no. Won’t fight is very different from can’t
fight, after all. She knew there was a way around this problem; she just had to find it. Meanwhile, she shook the despair from her mind and let herself think of nothing but enjoying the feast.

  After the food, a bowl of coriander seeds was passed around (“For sweetening the breath,” Odessa whispered. “Try some!”), and everyone settled back on moss-covered wicker seats and soft grass pillows. It reminded Juniper of the slumber parties she’d had with her mother on special occasions. Now she knew where that idea had come from! The meat-roasting racks and sticks had been cleared away and the coals built up into a roaring fire, around which the whole group gathered, warming their hands against the extra chill that came with the setting of the sun.

  Next came the music, and Juniper’s pulse quickened in anticipation. She had known many different kinds of music in her life: The court musicians and their polished stringed and woodwind instruments whose notes dipped and swanned in perfect harmony. Her own harpsichord lessons, with which she had something of a love-hate relationship. The Musicker, that new-fangled portable music device that had been her mother’s wedding present, and had brought so many hours of dance-party joy in Queen’s Basin.

  The music of the Anju was different from all of these; the instruments, rustic in a way that should have sounded paltry and thin. But oh, it was far from that! One man played what looked like an upside-down saw, running a hardwood stick along the teeth to produce a zesty, vibrant sound. A woman blew into an actual hollowed-out root vegetable, coaxing from it a rich cushion of velvety notes that rivaled any palace chorus. And there were xylophones and tambourines and triangles of varying sizes. The melodies, too, were altogether new—the notes were haunting, raw, and peeled open in a way that Juniper had never before experienced. It made her heart ache and her head buzz. It made her heels twitch and her toes tap, too. But dancing didn’t seem to be part of Anju celebrations in the way singing was. So Juniper kept her knees folded and her hands clasped tight, basking in silent enjoyment. Beside her, Tippy bounced in time to the melodies; Alta kept solidly to her role as guard—she didn’t even seem to hear the music, instead scanning the audience from one edge to other, then back again; Cyril just looked bored.

  Juniper smiled. All was as it should be in her tiny transplanted bit of Queen’s Basin.

  Though in this quiet moment, she did feel the lack of Erick—not for his chief adviser’s role, but for his solid friendship. He would, she knew, have had the same response to the Anju that she did: an eyes-open appreciation for each difference and a warm welcome for each familiar echo, each thing that brought them all together as one great people.

  After the music came the stories: exploits, tall tales, boisterous adventures shared loudly and with gusto. Many of these were told in praise of their late chief Darla, who by all accounts had been strong as an ibex, fierce as a wolf, and stealthy as a forest cat. As the hours passed, Juniper kept sneaking glances at Zetta. How could she be so calm and unruffled, with her mother just days gone? But then would come a moment when Zetta turned her eyes to the trees, blinking rapidly and fighting visibly for that composure. And then Juniper knew that just because someone’s face shaped a smile, it did not mean there were no tears hiding somewhere deep inside.

  The revelry ran on, as the moon inched across the bright sky overhead. At last, when all the songs had been sung and all the stories told, when voices began to crack and increased pauses started to replace the laughter, Odessa stood up and moved onto the raised hillock. Her movements were slow and majestic, pulling in every onlooker’s attention without her needing to say a word. This was evidently the moment toward which the entire night had been building.

  Juniper sat a little straighter and saw the other Queen’s Basin members beside her do the same. Even Cyril unslitted his eyes and raised a curious eyebrow—a height of emotion, for him.

  “My people,” Odessa began, “this night of remembrance nears its end. Our chieftain Darla has been a mighty force in each of our lives across these years of her rule. The greatest among us show their worth in a hundred small ways for every one large. And this was never truer than with her. Chief Darla ruled with unparalleled strength and wisdom, and wrought more within our tribe than our halting words could ever express. For this reason we have kept watch across this night, her night; for this reason we have held vigil in her honor through this last moon’s waning, until it is gone forever and we see it no more. Now the moon has crested and nears its bed. The light of a new day trembles on the far horizon. And so we join our voices to bid farewell to the old and to greet the new with wide-open arms.”

  A chorus of shouts followed Odessa’s words: a rough, hoarse call that lingered and rang as, before Juniper’s eyes, the moon sank below the edge of the far mountain. Under the blackened sky, the cries quieted at last. In her mind, Juniper was tiny again, tucked into her mother’s lap as they sat on a blanket under the star-studded sky. She’d always known that her mother loved the night; now, for the first time, she understood why.

  The group sat in darkness for long minutes as the shadows pulsed around them. Night birds called to each other from the trees. An owl hooted in the distance. The wind lifted Juniper’s hair and tickled her eyelashes. She felt Tippy shifting beside her and reached out to squeeze the little girl’s hand.

  Around the hushed night noises, the Anju’s silence stretched, as thin and brittle as a twig in frost.

  Finally, when the moment seemed it might snap under the sustained pressure, a ray of light pierced the sky: a single beam from the eastern peak that bathed Odessa’s upturned face in its russet glow. She spoke then, in a rough whisper: “Yesterday’s moon is gone; the sun of today arises. It is the start of a brand-new day. With sorrow, with reverence, now with dawning joy, we turn our backs on the old and make way for that which is to come.” She sighed, a sound that seemed to come from deep in her bones. Bathed in the warmth of the rising sun, Odessa seemed to relax.

  “As you have all heard and seen, we have welcomed visitors to our camp today. These visitors have come to share in our vigil, and now they will be witness to our momentous next step. The first act of this new day shall be to launch the Trials.”

  “The Trials!” the group shouted. Juniper could almost feel their collective heartbeat quickening as one. Across the dying fire, Zetta’s eyes were flame-bright.

  “For the sake of our visitors, I shall spare a few moments for explanation,” Odessa continued, sitting down with a muffled groan and stretching her legs stiffly out in front of her. “Since time began, we the Anju have been led by those of the Blood. Heritage is our first true calling. But the Blood is not the only factor in determining our ruler: Our leader must be sharp, and strong, and true. Our head, but also our heart. Our master, but also our minister. If I may say, she must be the best of us all.” She smiled across the circle at Juniper.

  “And so we come to the Trials.”

  “The Trials!” came the reply. Juniper noticed to her amusement that Tippy joined in this time. The cat was a sleeping weight in the little girl’s lap and her eyes were latched on Odessa’s, mouth half open as though awaiting the next call.

  “Tradition beckons, my people! And we arise to meet it. Let us now move to the meat of this day’s gathering. Three Trials shall prove our new leader,” Odessa went on, shifting back to a more formal tone. “The Trial of Might. The Trial of Mind. The Trial of Mettle. Each of these tests shall last for a day and a night, preceded by the preparatory period and launching in earnest on sunrise three days from this one. Let she who is the greatest rise in triumph above the rest! Let this be the forge that proves her worth. The victor shall earn the right to be our ruler.”

  Odessa swept her gaze around the circle, and Juniper thought she paused an extra moment when their eyes met, before moving on. “Our candidates are unusually young this cycle. Chief Darla was taken from us only two years into their training period. They should have had a decade more in which to hone their leade
rship skills. The Council shall have an active role in guiding our new chief through her early years of rule, of course. But in the meantime—for these Trials, and for taking the step to assume rightful leadership of our people—for today, I believe our candidates are ready. Must be ready. So let us hesitate no further. Let our candidates rise.”

  Zetta stood first, sharp and quick as a drawn blade. “Zetta, daughter of Darla,” she said. “I accept the Trial. May the best prevail.”

  No sooner had she finished than a stocky, curly-haired girl arose. “Libba, daughter of Xia,” she said. “I accept the Trial. May the best prevail.”

  “Tania, daughter of Oula.” The third girl was already standing,and her words nearly overlapped with the last. “I accept the Trial. May the best prevail.”

  This was followed by silence. The three girls—the candidates to be ruler of the Anju, apparently—stood with chins raised and backs straight and proud. Juniper thought of what Zetta had said of her mother’s time as ruler. Did Zetta look upon this forthcoming challenge with anticipation, or with regret?

  Odessa resumed speaking. “Zetta, daughter of Darla. Libba, daughter of Xia. Tania, daughter of Oula. You are accepted into the Trials.” She paused then. Was it Juniper’s imagination, or did Odessa’s gaze keep swinging back her way? It was almost as though a challenge lurked in the old woman’s eyes. Odessa went on. “Three things each of you bring to these tests today, three qualifications which every candidate must have: the heritage of bloodline, the fire to lead, the will to prevail. For whoever emerges from these Trials shall hold within her hands the power to command the Anju, to make of our people whatsoever she wishes.”

  Now Juniper knew she wasn’t imagining it. Odessa punched her words across the circle, directly at Juniper.

  “And not our tribe only, but all the greater Anju who are blood-bound to come to our assistance at any call of need. This all and more lies within the grasp of the victor of these Trials. For an attack upon one of our members is considered an offense upon us all.”