Mab’s war tent was as spacious as a farmer’s cottage, and was furnished with low couches strewn with gaily colored silk cushions.
Marabel and her aunt glared at each other. Marabel was determined not to lose the staring contest. So was Mab, it appeared.
A sudden noise made them break their gaze. Mab moved to the table and picked up a crystal flagon.
“Bluefruit juice?” she asked. The sweet aroma made Marabel think of Lucius.
“Yes, please,” she said, and her aunt poured two glasses.
Mab looked up and saw Marabel watching intently. She stepped back and gestured at the full glasses. “You can choose which one you want,” she said. “I wouldn’t poison my own niece, you know.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” Marabel retorted. “You threw your own nephew into a dungeon and set a fire-breathing dragon to guard him! You said you’d turn him into a frog! How do I know you wouldn’t poison me?”
Mab sighed and sat down. Neither seemed in the mood for bluefruit juice anymore.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t harm you. I couldn’t even bear to punish you harshly for breaking into the castle—remember?”
They’d never even written those thousand lines, actually.
“And it’s not only because you’re my niece, although that would be enough,” Mab said softly. “In truth, I could never bring myself to harm Marianna’s children.”
Marabel was startled to hear her mother’s name. “You knew her?” she asked.
Mab smiled a sad little smile. “She was my best friend,” she said. “I knew her long before she married your father.” She looked up at Marabel and her smile lost some of its sorrow. “You remind me of her, you know. She was brave, too, although she was always cautious, like Matthew.”
Marabel sat down next to her. “I don’t know anything about my mother. My father hardly ever talks about her, and my stepmother never knew her. All I know is that she had dark hair like me—is that why I remind you of her?” She longed to hear that she was like her mother.
Mab cocked her head and examined Marabel. “Oh, you do resemble her somewhat. The more I look at you, the more I see it. But I’m not really talking about how you look. It’s how determined you are. And clever. And brave!”
Marabel wanted to learn more, but that would have to wait. “Let’s get down to business. First of all, you tried to take over the throne from my father, so he banished you? You really want to be queen that badly?”
“I would be a much better ruler than Matthew, but that’s not really it.” Mab drummed her fingers on the table. “I don’t know how much history you’ve studied. You do know that Magikos and the Desolate Barrens used to be one country, don’t you?”
“Of course. But that was a thousand years ago!” Marabel said.
“True,” her aunt acknowledged. “Our ancestor King Malcolm was afraid of magic. I don’t know why; maybe he was frightened by a witch when he was a baby. So he built a wall and banished most of the magical beasts to the Barrens on the other side.
“At first it worked pretty well, or so they thought. But things in the Barrens are starting to fall apart. Magical beings are becoming dangerous. Faeries are luring innocent travelers to their realm and not letting them go, even when the thirty-day limit is up. Gnomes have been spotted planting poison ivy on forest trails. Some giants are getting out of hand—”
“Giants?” Marabel interrupted. “Do you mean the giants who live on a mountain surrounded by a chasm?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve met them!” her aunt exclaimed. “How did you manage to escape capture?”
“We didn’t,” Marabel said. “They caught us, but we got away.”
“I must say I’m impressed,” Mab said. “It’s not easy to escape from giants!”
Marabel tried to look modest, but the praise made her beam.
Mab went on, “We could use some help, and your father’s council is very good at regulating magic, after so many centuries of practice. If I were ruling both sides of the Wall, I’d have the means to take care of it myself. And I should be in charge! I hope you won’t think I’m bragging when I say that I’ve always been smarter than Matthew, and a better leader. Lucius used to tell me I was a good fencer, and he—”
“Lucius taught you to fence?”
Mab smiled. “I loved it! He always teased that your father could beat me, so once I challenged Matthew to a duel. I used only an old wooden practice sword and Matthew used a steel one—blunted, but still a real weapon—and by that time he was much bigger and stronger. Still, in five minutes I had him begging for mercy.”
Marabel pulled the wooden sword out of her belt. “Is this the sword you used?” she asked.
“Yes!” Mab took it with a delighted look. “I’m surprised it’s held up all these years. It looked almost this bad when I was your age.” So Lucius hadn’t told Mab how old and magical the sword was—or how old and magical he was, either. Marabel might be the only person in the world who knew the truth about them.
“Are you a better fencer than your brother?” Mab asked.
Marabel didn’t know how to answer without bragging, so she said uncomfortably, “I guess so.”
“And don’t you think you’d be a better ruler of Magikos than Marco? He’s a very sweet boy, but does he have what it takes to rule?”
This had never occurred to Marabel. Marco had fulfilled the prophecy in the Book of Fate by being born at the right time on the right day of the right month, and this meant that he was the Chosen One. Even if something happened to keep Marco from becoming king one day, Marabel knew she would never be allowed to sit on the throne. Magikos had never been ruled by a queen, only a king. If Marco couldn’t fulfill his duty, the council would find some boy cousin to rule until Malcolm was old enough to take power.
But if Marabel could rule, would she want to? Would she do a good job?
The thought was exhilarating. Sitting in that big throne, watching everybody obey her without question, not having to do anything she didn’t want to do—who wouldn’t want that?
But she knew that being a leader meant a lot more. A good ruler has to have her people’s interests at heart, has to be brave and wise and strong, even when she’s tired and discouraged. She has to give up things that she wants, if that will make her country stronger and happier. The idea of all that responsibility was daunting.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Marco’s the most honest person I’ve ever met, and he has the kindest heart, and he’s so fair that it’s sometimes ridiculous.”
“Hmph. Those are good qualities, I’ll grant you, but they’re not everything a ruler needs. A ruler also needs to be strong and courageous, and to be able to think on her feet. She needs to deal with people and beings of all kinds and understand how others’ minds work. She needs to be willing to work hard, even when she’s exhausted and discouraged. From the little I know of the two of you, you’re the one who has those traits—not Marco. It’s too bad you weren’t the Chosen One! And I’m the one who has those same traits—not Matthew. I should be queen!”
“So if my father doesn’t give you the whole kingdom now, you’re going to turn me and my brother into frogs?”
“Maybe you’d rather be something else?” Mab asked. “A snake? A scorpion?”
“What?” Marabel was shocked at the casual suggestion.
Mab burst out laughing, and then said hastily, “Oh, don’t look like that! I’m only joking. All that talk about turning Marco into a frog or a snake—that’s all it was, just talk. I was desperate. Ever since Matthew exiled me, I’ve been writing to him, sending messages, everything I could think of, to get him to let me reason with him. Besides, I won’t let Veneficus play around with such dangerous spells, especially with my relatives. Imagine if he was only partially successful!”
They both shuddered. Marabel pictured a being that was half snake, half human, and was glad that her aunt had stopped the wizard from trying out new kinds of magic on them.
Marabel and Mab worked out the conditions for the truce. Marabel had a hard time convincing her aunt of some of its provisions, but when they finally agreed on everything, they sent their carefully worded message to the king. They settled in the tent to await an answer.
Mab drummed her fingers on the table. “Matthew is so stubborn,” she said, “and he has a hard time admitting when he’s wrong.” Marabel suspected that her aunt was probably like him in that respect.
Finally, Lucius appeared. “His Majesty requests the presence of both of you in the throne room,” the old knight said formally.
“At least he requests us to come, instead of ordering it,” Marabel said. Mab didn’t answer. Could her aunt be nervous?
“Where’s Marco?” Marabel asked as they hurried down a corridor.
“In his chamber,” Lucius answered. “He tried to stay awake, but both he and Queen Maggie dropped off to sleep and were carried to their beds.”
In the throne room, King Matthew was pacing rapidly back and forth on the dais. His ministers, and the priests and priestesses, huddled in a corner, looking worried. He turned to face Mab and Marabel with his hands on his hips, looking so angry that they stopped in their tracks.
“What is this nonsense about a truce?” he thundered without saying hello.
“It’s not nonsense,” Marabel said.
“I’m talking to your aunt, not to you,” the king said. “Return to your chamber immediately, young lady. I don’t know how you wound up outside the palace, but when I find out, there will be consequences.”
The longtime habit of doing what she was told (well, mostly) almost made Marabel turn and go back upstairs. But she stood her ground.
“It’s not nonsense,” she said again. “And it’s the only hope you have of avoiding a war. Just listen to what we have to say.”
“Your daughter is right, Matthew,” Mab said. “If you won’t at least consider our proposition, my troops will attack. Is that what you want?”
For an instant it appeared that the king did want a fight. But then he flung himself on his throne. “All right,” he said. “You have ten minutes.”
“First,” Marabel said, “change the law so that the ruler of Magikos decides who will be the next ruler. It may be the ruler’s oldest child, if that child shows promise of leading well, but it may also be another child, or a trusted adviser, or anyone else who would rule wisely.” She looked anxiously at her aunt, who nodded slightly. So far, so good.
“What you want,” King Matthew interrupted, “is for me to do away with everything we have always done in Magikos, practices and procedures that have ensured the continuity of the monarchy and the stability of the kingdom for a thousand years. Not to mention ignoring the Book of Fate, the highest authority in the land.”
“How stable is the kingdom, really, Father?” Marabel broke in. The king looked at her as though surprised that she would question him. “You’ve been trapped inside the palace for a thrennight, the Wall no longer holds, and your son—and yes, your daughter, although that doesn’t seem to concern you much—was held captive and threatened with being turned into something cold-blooded. Does that sound stable?”
The king looked so unutterably sad that Marabel almost regretted her bitter words. “Do you really think your welfare doesn’t concern me, Daughter?” he asked.
“It’s never seemed to,” she muttered.
He sighed and ran his hand over his forehead. “I’m sorry I’ve given you that impression. It’s not that I’m not concerned about you, Marabel. It’s that so much depends on Marco. He’s the ruler whose birth was foretold by the Book of Fate, and the entire future of our kingdom rests on his shoulders. I’ve had to pay special attention to him, and I’m sorry if that left you feeling neglected.”
“But what if the Book of Fate is wrong?” Marabel asked. “There’s no Book in the Barrens, and everyone seems to do perfectly fine there. They don’t have a piece of paper telling them what’s going to happen. They have laws and rules, but they’re made by people.”
“Rules made by people? No Book?” King Matthew appeared to be having a hard time even comprehending the words.
“I understand your difficulty in accepting this, Brother,” Mab put in. “I went through the same thing when you exiled me. It was difficult for me to live my life without being able to consult the Book, without it telling me what was going to happen. But now I understand that it’s better this way.”
“But Marco,” King Matthew said. “Marco’s birth was foretold, and the Book said he was the Chosen One who would save the kingdom.” He quoted, “‘The child born at the thirteenth minute of the thirteenth—’”
“Father, couldn’t it be a coincidence that he was born then?” Marabel asked. “After hundreds of years of babies being born to the royal family, wasn’t it bound to happen sooner or later that one would be born at that time on that date?”
“Maybe the things they wrote down in the Book weren’t meant to be laws,” Mab said. “Maybe they’re just advice, like proverbs. Maybe when it says, ‘Never wake a sleeping giant,’ it might not mean exactly that, but that you should be careful when you disturb something that could be dangerous.”
“Or ‘He who comes late to dinner finds nothing but crumbs’ isn’t a law against letting people eat if they’re late,” Marabel added. “It might be a way of saying that punctuality is good.”
“We’re not saying that the Book of Fate needs to be discarded altogether,” Mab said. “Just that we might want to look at it as a collection of wise sayings gathered by our ancestors. The sayings can guide us, but I don’t think they were ever intended to run our lives.”
King Matthew opened his mouth and then shut it without speaking. He looked so confused and worried that Marabel almost didn’t have the heart to tell him the final requirement for the war to stop. But she had to.
“One more thing, Father.” She took a deep breath. “Magikos and the Barrens need to be reunited. Magical beings need to be able to come here without fearing they’ll be trapped in a park or a zoo or a stable.”
“Reunited?” he asked feebly.
Marabel nodded. “One country, but with two rulers. You and Aunt Mab.” This was the part that they had argued about the longest when they were working out the conditions of the truce. But Mab had finally agreed to stop insisting that the Magikian throne be turned over to her entirely.
“It makes sense, Matthew,” Mab said. “I still think I’d be a better ruler than you—”
He made an annoyed sound with his tongue, which she ignored.
“But I’m willing to compromise. Your daughter is very wise, and very persuasive.”
The king looked at Marabel as though he wasn’t sure who Mab was referring to. “Marabel?” he asked. “Wise?”
“Yes, Marabel,” Mab said. “She thought that the two of us together would make one great ruler, but that either of us alone might not have every necessary quality. Perhaps I was in error when I tried to force you to hand over the throne. I should have suggested co-ruling from the start.”
“It wasn’t just me,” he protested weakly. “The priests—the advisers—all the council members—they all said that it was against the Book of Fate, and that disaster would come if I allowed you to rule. A queen has never ruled Magikos. It would be a crime against the Book!”
“Would it, Brother?” Mab broke in. “I can’t recall any part of the Book that says that Magikos must be ruled by a male.”
Marabel ran her mind over the passages she’d had to memorize in her Old Magikian class. Huh. When the Book spoke of the Chosen One, it talked about a child, not a boy. It never said “king”—it just said “ruler.” Old Magikian was a tricky language, but she was sure of this.
This time, Matthew couldn’t even answer.
“And, Father,” Marabel said, “there’s another reason why Magikos should join back together. We’re supposed to b
e a magical place. That’s our name, isn’t it? Magikos?”
“Listen to her,” Mab said earnestly. “I think she’s figured out what the problem is. We had a long talk in my tent. Matthew, she reminds me so much of Marianna; she understands people and other beings, and I think she’s hit on the cause and the solution to the woes on both sides of the Wall.”
At the mention of his late wife, the king’s obstinacy melted. “Go on, then, child,” he said.
Marabel drew a deep breath. She knew this softer mood wouldn’t last long, and if she didn’t convince him now, she never would.
“Things are out of balance, Father,” she said. “Magical beings are behaving oddly in the Barrens, and nobody knows why. Meanwhile, the wrong kind of magic is happening here. That drought when I was little wasn’t a natural disaster. Aunt Mab said that during our drought, the weather was perfectly normal everywhere around us. Something was wrong in Magikos, and only in Magikos.”
Her father didn’t answer, but he seemed to be listening.
“And the centaurs,” Marabel went on. “It’s like there’s some kind of hole in Magikos where magic should be, only you’re keeping out so much magic that the hole won’t get filled. Somehow those centaurs that came around felt like something was missing, and they were drawn here. If you allow magic to come back—not just a few good fairies, and unicorns in stables and dragons in parks, but magic the way it was in the days before the Wall—maybe then things will be in balance again.”
“Let Evils into my kingdom?” The king looked horrified.
“Not all the beings you call Evil really are so,” Mab assured him. “There are good faeries and bad faeries, good unicorns and bad unicorns, even good trolls and bad trolls, just like humans.”
And good ogres, Marabel thought, thinking of kind, gentle Cornelius.
“In the Barrens, we have laws to keep everyone, magical and non-magical, behaving in a civilized way,” Mab said. “General Goblin is willing to confer with your advisers about updating your laws, if you like. You’ve always been too trusting, Matthew. The little trick that Veneficus played to get us into your palace would never have worked in the Barrens. Our security forces would have seen right away that Veneficus was just pretending to be silly and confused. He knew that your guards would be distracted by the alarm, and that I could take advantage of the diversion to slip in, too.”
Marabel and the Book of Fate Page 18