Women of Wasps and War

by Madeleine D'Este

  An icy chill slid down her spine. No matter what Sira did next, whether she found the Wasp Woman or forgot the whole scheme, the sin was there and she would be forever damned in his eyes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On winter nights during the war, when the castle was half-empty and long dark evenings stretched forever, Agata had sat in her husband's chair in his Cabinet room. At first, she'd felt unsettled, all alone in the room where Nyvard men had ruled over Ambrovna ever since the sun first rose. On some nights when her mind whirred with troubles, she had hoped the Duke's fading scent and the ghosts of his ancestors would provide guidance.

  Behind his desk stood rows of books, leather-bound with crinkled pages and richly-inked illustrations; The Chronicles of the Five River Clans, The Teachings of the Father and The History of Ambrovna. These books were a far cry from the safe romantic poetry ladies were permitted to read.

  With no one to disapprove, Agata devoured every volume, soaked up their knowledge with her evening meals, and before spring had blossomed, she'd read them all.

  On one particularly cold night she searched through the shelves again, hoping to find an overlooked volume and an excuse to stay away from the solar and embroidery with Sira.

  She ran her fingers along the spines until she noticed something new. A slim red volume, a quarter the size of the other books with no inscription on the spine, was squashed into the corner of the top shelf. Agata grabbed the book and opened to the first page. The words were scratchy, hurried, unlike the precise calligraphy of the history books. Was this a personal diary? Her stomach flipped as she read the first line.

  'The Tale of Magnilla: The Heretic and Warrior Queen of the Akull.'

  Agata's eyes had widened. She poured herself another goblet of wine, drew her knees up against her chest and read:

  Herein lies the account of my travels to the Akull lands, the faraway lands of the Fifth River Clan. As a Cousin, I was sent to spread the word of the Father in the North. My name before I took my oath was Japer and I grew up in a small village in Nithese in the lands of the Neven. All through my childhood I had heard fireside tales of the fierce Akull Clansmen. Forged strong by the ice and wind of their homeland, their hair was said to be long and white, their cheekbones high, their eyes like the almonds in our trees but as colourless as mountain streams. I knew of their viciousness but until I visited their lands for myself, and met their queen, I had never heard a word spoken about their women.

  I will never forget the queen, not in all my time here in this realm nor when the Father takes me to the Land Beyond the Sunset. I spent a mere three days in her hospitality, a time so strange, so confusing, so otherworldly, it compelled me to write this account in order to try to make sense of my experience. When I returned, no one would listen. They claimed me a liar, said the snows had sent me mad and I was bewitched by barbarians. This is my attempt to record the truth for my own sanity. It is the story of a woman playing the role of a man, but she was nothing like a man. She was something else entirely.

  PART TWO

  THE PLAN

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the weak light of a cheap spluttering candle, Rabel patched Teo's threadbare tunic. Her three babes slept the sound sleep of the young while a mouse scurried over the floor, looking for crumbs.

  Rabel stabbed her finger with the needle and flinched, her mind a thousand miles from her stitches.

  A gentle knock sounded on the shack door and her pulse quickened. Good news was rare at this hour. Whoever it was knocked once more and she groaned to her feet, inching the door open a crack.

  'Sira? What are you doin' here?' she whispered as she opened the door. 'It's not safe this time of night.' Word of her run-in with Sabet must have reached the castle. The shack walls were too thin for secrets.

  'We must talk.' Sira rushed inside, her cheeks flushed almost the same shade as her birth blemish. 'Where is he?'

  'Out.' Rabel placed her finger to her dry lips. 'They're sleepin'.'

  'Where can we go?'

  Rabel flung her shawl over her head and shoulders and beckoned to a loose wall panel at the back of the shack. She led her sister into the stables next door. The horses fussed and brayed as she unlatched the lock and the sisters snuck inside but they quickly returned to their hay. Rabel and Sira found a stall with a placid dappled grey mare and huddled inside.

  'I was goin' to come and tell you, but--' Rabel sighed.

  'Never mind, are you alright?'

  Rabel shrugged. 'Aula's fine. That's all that matters.'

  'We must do something,' Sira said, an unfamiliar zeal in her eyes. 'I have been speaking with...we, I have an idea, an answer to your problem.'

  'My problem?' Rabel spluttered.

  'A way to make it go away.'

  Rabel's heart quickened. 'What do you mean?'

  A grin lit up her sister's round face. 'Wisia.'

  Rabel's eyes widened. 'But she...no.'

  Sira nodded. 'She has the knowledge we need. She'll know a way to fix everything. I can find her.'

  'It's been so long ...' Rabel shook her head. 'No. It's not right.'

  'And what he did is right?' Sira hissed.

  Rabel was slack-jawed, her eyes downcast. She avoided her sister's gaze. 'You know the punishment.'

  Sira gripped Rabel's hand. 'What choice do we have? Think of your children. Who knows what he will do tomorrow? You cannot watch them every moment.'

  Rabel rubbed her neck as Sira's words tumbled around her head. Was this an answer to her prayers? But how desperately did she want it? How far was she willing to go? Something must be done but not this. Not this way. Iwan was her husband no matter what. She shuddered, imagining the Father eavesdropping on her thoughts. But what about Teo, Aula and Jorn? Could she? Should she?

  Rabel grimaced. 'I don't--'

  Sira grabbed her elbow. 'I can help you. I will do whatever you want.' She sighed. 'If only I had been here.'

  'You couldn't have stopped him.' Rabel shook her head.

  'But I can help now. You're right, we must be careful. But think about it. Please. '

  Rabel gazed at her sister, her mouth dry, her eyes unfocussed.

  'It is late. I must get back to the castle,' Sira said, squeezing Rabel's arm. 'It was only an idea. But in the end, this is your decision.'

  Rabel blinked. 'No,' she replied, firmly but quietly. A wave of queasiness rushing over her as the words left her mouth. 'It's wrong.'

  'I understand.' Sira smiled bitterly. 'This is your family. I only wanted to help if I could.'

  'Thank you. You are a good sister. But--'

  'Send word if you need me. There is much to do tomorrow with the Duchess's and her women's circle in the morning and preparations for the Spawning Festival. If you change your mind...'

  Rabel led her sister out of the stables, back through the shack and into the muddy alley. They embraced.

  'Remember, if you need me,' Sira whispered, then she disappeared into the shadows.

  Rabel slumped against the closed door and sucked in a shaky breath. She'd made the right choice. She must be strong, find compassion and love for her husband, the way the Father taught a wife should be. She traced a circle on her forehead. She deserved this path.

  Rabel closed her eyes. Once she'd been happy, as she stood on the jetty, holding her Pa's rough rope maker's hand and watching white-sailed boats rolling out into the open sea. That was the last time she remembered feeling as free and light as the careening gulls in the sky.

  Her Pa had not believed in schooling for girls, except for the Teachings at the Temple. But the solemn words of the Father confused the young Rabel. 'A woman's body is sinful. A woman's thoughts, words and actions must be as pure as the sun. She must think of her family, her Father and serving her men first. A woman shall not question her husband or her father as they are the representatives of the Father on this soil. There is a place in the Land of Eternal Darkness for the unclean who do not abide by these rules.'

 
; Until one day a new Cousin arrived, his eyes as green as seaweed and his smile as warm as the sun. When he started taking the Children's Service, Rabel looked especially forward to these Second Day afternoons.

  'Is it Second Day yet?' she would ask her Ma and her Ma would pat her hair.

  'You are a good girl. You love the Father, don't you?'

  'I want to be a Cousin.' She'd nod.

  'Silly girl. Women can't be Cousins. You'll find yourself a good husband and serve him well, givin' him lots of sons,' she said. 'Not like me.'

  Rabel would screw up her face. 'Why can't I be a Cousin?'

  'You just can't,' Ma would reply then asked her to help with the chickens or the mending or the peas.

  Rabel had not believed her Ma. She decided she could become a Cousin, if she tried hard enough.

  She determined to wait and talk with the Cousin with the sea green eyes after the next Second Day Service. He would understand.

  Her heart thundered as she approached the altar with the twinkling little lights and the Cousin in his bronze-coloured dress. The Temple was so big and white, she could feel the Father's love coming down from the ceiling. She waited for all the boys to leave. The girls sat at the back of the room and had to wait until every last boy was gone before they could go. She'd practised her speech all day but when the moment came, her words tumbled out clumsily.

  'I want to be like you.'

  She was dazzled when the Cousin smiled. Her mind went blank.

  'Your name is Rabel?'

  She nodded, her nerves clogging up her mouth.

  'And you love the Father?'

  She nodded even harder.

  'This is good. The Father needs as many good-hearted followers as possible in the world. The more good in the world, the more love. Do you understand?'

  Rabel nodded again, but not quite understanding.

  'The Father is grateful for your commitment. There is a role for you with the Father. Not as a Cousin. But I have something. Something special you can help with. Would you like to help the Father?'

  Special. No one ever had said she was special. Rabel beamed and nodded vigorously.

  'Your father is the rope maker?'

  'Yes.'

  'A very pious man. A credit to the Father. But you cannot tell him. This is a secret between you and me and the Father. Do you understand?'

  A secret sounded exciting and keeping secrets from her Pa sounded even more fun. But weren't secrets a sin? Rabel weighed it up in her head. If a Cousin suggested it, it must be good and pious. The Cousin laid his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, her heart thumping.

  'Have you taken confession before?'

  She nodded. She stole an apple from the orchard and Pa made her take confession. He paraded her through the streets with her hands tied behind her back, calling out 'Thief' and marching her right to the Temple doors.

  'First we must take confession.'

  Rabel nodded and shrugged.

  'I will see you in a moment.'

  She smiled and hurried off, opening the door into the small dark room and closing the door behind her. It smelled of dust and tobacco, like old men. She sat on the seat and wondered what the surprise was. She hoped it was sugared plums.

  When the Cousin entered, Rabel had been confused. This must have been a different type of confession. Last time, the Cousin had not come into the same small room with her.

  'Remember this is our secret,' the Cousin had said. 'In the eyes of the Father.'

  'In the eyes of the Father,' she repeated. She did not understand what happened next.

  Rabel had kept her silence but when Second Day came the next week, she tried to hide in the chicken shed. Pa had dragged her to the town Square. She had entered the Temple and hidden right at the back.

  'A woman's sin can infect a man,' the green-eyed Cousin had said. 'She must be pure not to entice him.' The boys in the front giggled and elbowed each other.

  As soon as the Cousin finished speaking, Rabel scrambled to her feet and ran home. She spent the rest of the week looking for an excuse not to attend again.

  She pretended to be sick the following week, and Ma fed her eel oil. The foul tasting of the oil was better than having to see the Cousin again. She wrapped herself up in her blanket and stared at the ceiling, pleased with herself. After a few hours, she went back out to the kitchen for dinner, only to find the Cousin sitting at the table with her Pa.

  'Say hello to the Cousin, Rabel,' Pa said.

  'You look much better,' said Ma.

  But she did not feel better. Not now.

  'Hello,' she said, her head bowed.

  'Say it properly. What's got into you?' her Pa said with a grumble. 'She is usually a very good girl.'

  'I know,' said the Cousin with his white smile. 'We missed you today at the Children's Service.'

  'Hear that, Ma,' Pa said, his chest puffed while Ma nodded and beamed.

  'Your Pa was telling me all about your chickens and how you like to look after them,' the Cousin said.

  'Show the Cousin your chickens,' said Pa. 'If you'll excuse me, I have one last order for the day.'

  'A man's work is never done. I understand,' the Cousin said. 'Rabel can show me around, can't you?'

  Rabel screwed up her face, trying to squeeze the tears back into her eyes.

  'What's wrong, girl?' Her Pa said. 'Go.'

  Rabel dragged herself to her feet and the Cousin followed her out into the shed. She pointed out her favourite red hen with a lacklustre shake of her wrist.

  'I am pleased you have kept our secret,' the Cousin whispered. 'The Father is pleased too. He does not look kindly on those who break their promises.'

  Rabel whimpered as the Cousin closed the door of the chicken shed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sharp blade pressed against the Duke's throat.

  'I know all about you,' the wiry man sneered.

  'No. No,' the Duke pleaded.

  'I'll tell 'em all. Your friends. Your subjects. Your wife.'

  'What do you want? I will give you anything. You know I have wealth.'

  'You'll be the laughin' stock.'

  'Anything,' the Duke choked.

  'Pathetic,' said the man. The knife pierced through his skin with a pop, slicing at the cords of his neck.

  'My Lord. My Lord,' said a different male voice as a hand gently shook his shoulder.

  The Duke gasped awake, his hair plastered against his forehead.

  'Bad dream, my Lord?' Wladek said, a candlestick in his hand.

  The Duke blinked as his eyes adjusted.

  'Nightmares are no surprise after war. The things we saw.... I'll get you a mug of warm milk, your Lordship. My mother always fed us milk when we had troubling dreams.'

  The Duke said nothing as his valet slipped away. His nightmares could not be blamed on the bloody battlefield.

  Wiping away his sweat, he took deep breaths and calmed his galloping heart. Luckily, he was alone in his own bedchamber and his ramblings had not woken Agata. He pushed himself upright, staring out across the bed into the dark room. There was a man who knew his secret and he was here somewhere in Ambrovna.

  The Duke chewed at his torn fingernails. He sighed, his lungs loaded with stones. If he told Scion Zavis the truth, would he find relief? Would the dreams stop? The Father, all-seeing, already knew exactly what happened on the battlefield. The Scion held a sacred duty to secrecy but the Duke shuddered to imagine Scion Zavis's scalding expression as he confessed. He couldn't bear the prospect of facing the Scion's disgust every day for the rest of his life.

  Wladek returned with a tankard. The lukewarm milk was soothing as it flowed down his throat, but it turned rancid as it hit his stomach.

  If he searched the homes and streets of Ambrovna, could he track down the man, speak with him, reason with him, bargain with him? There was no one he could trust to assist him, not even Kalin. Especially not Kalin. The Duke exhaled. A Duke going door to door around the town? Thi
s would only raise eyebrows and give fuel to gossiping tongues. But what gossip could be worse than the truth?

  The Duke lay staring at the patterned canopy of his bed until the grey light trickled over the horizon. As the first cocks crowed, he was bone tired and no closer to a plan of action.

  ***

  Froma sat stony-faced at the breakfast table with her head bare and chin lifted, all her bruises on display. Froma forced a thin slice of apple through her lips and down into her bilious stomach. Irina stood by the dining room door, her head bowed.

  Heavy boots clumped along the wooden floors, and despite her resolve, Froma flinched. Froma straightened to her full height, her body rigid, head high as Danis's silhouette darkened the doorway, his sour sweat filling her nostrils. She would not allow him the pleasure of seeing her fear, no matter how much her knees trembled under the table.

  Danis grunted a greeting as he took his seat. His eyelids were red, his teeth stained. He immediately grabbed for his goblet and started drinking all over again.

  Irina darted forward with a plate of ham and white cheese and sliced him a hunk of bread. He nodded but said nothing. Froma narrowed her one good eye as a tiny smile flickered over the serving girl's mouth.

  Danis glanced at Froma, his white eyeballs cracked with red, but he instantly looked away.

  'Did you rest well, wife?' He said, his voice low and considered.

  'Given the circumstances,' she replied.

  They lapsed into a stifling silence.

  Froma sipped her honey-wine and watched Danis as he focused all his attention on his breakfast plate. Irina stood behind him, the smirk still present on her face.

  'Vinko is a wily man,' Danis mumbled as he buttered his bread. 'He is giving me trouble.'

  'He certainly knows how to bargain.'

  'The war is over and everything is returning to normal but the stocks are low. And so are prices.'

  'Prices should be high, husband.'