by Deborah Hale
“Do not forget the most important part of the story.” Langbard’s deep, resonant voice intruded on Maura’s fanciful musings. “In his country’s hour of greatest need, the Waiting King will be woken from his magical slumber by his Destined Queen. Together, they will reclaim and restore his kingdom.”
Under her breath Maura muttered, “I wish they would hurry about it.”
She had thought that often over the years. Whenever she saw Hanish soldiers harassing villagers in the market. When she’d heard about the horrors Sorsha’s husband had suffered in the mines. Just this morning, when she had seen the boy hurt by a pain spike. What was keeping the Waiting King and his Destined Queen? How could Embria’s need be any greater?
If Langbard heard her, he did not acknowledge it. “Did I ever tell you what became of Abrielle after that?”
“No.” Maura started to ask why any of this mattered, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What happened to her?”
“Few people know that part of the story,” said Langbard. “She lived. She wed the man who had been her lord’s champion. She bore him a daughter, and years later, her daughter begat a daughter. For centuries the princess enchantresses of the House of Abrielle served as counsellors to the rulers of Embria. It was rumored that one of their line would be the Destined Queen.”
He stopped and turned his gaze upon Maura. “That message came from the Vestan Islands. From scholars who have studied the ancient writings of the Elderways to determine when the Destined Queen must begin her quest. The message said....”
“‘Her time has come,’” Maura murmured in a daze as she guessed what Langbard was trying to tell her.
Guessed, but could not believe.
“My time is come?” The words squeaked out of her, followed by a burst of thin, overwrought laughter. “Uncle, this is too important a subject for jesting!”
“I could not agree more, my dear. I assure you, I am completely in earnest.” His steady gaze told Maura he believed what he was saying.
“It cannot be.” She spoke gently, coaxing him to see reason. “I am nobody special.”
“Nonsense!” When a wizard spoke in that tone of authority, it was impossible not to give him one’s full attention... and respect. “You do not know enough of the world to appreciate how special you are, my dear.”
Special, perhaps. But the Destined Queen of Embria?
She could not just stand there and listen. The shadow of Betchwood beckoned in the distance. Maura began walking toward it. Perhaps if she continued moving, she could somehow keep one step ahead of Langbard’s disturbing revelation.
But her guardian was not about to stop now that she had persuaded him to talk. Maura heard him hurrying to catch up with her. She could picture his dark cloak billowing out and his blue-gray robe swirling around his feet with each long stride.
“I have not always lived in this quiet corner of the kingdom, you know.” His voice sounded a bit winded as he fell in step with her. “When I was a young man, I made quite a reputation for myself as a scholar of the Elderways. I had hoped to lead a revival of our forgotten culture.”
Maura cast him a sidelong glance, trying to imagine what those familiar craggy features must have looked like in their youth. “What changed your mind—the coming of the Han?”
“No. It was the Oracle of Margyle. She told me that one day I would be father to the Destined Queen. Of course, I did not understand the truth of what she meant at the time.” Langbard shrugged. “That is the trouble with oracles. They are not always as plain as they might be.”
Ahead of them, the outermost trees of Betchwood stretched budding branches skyward for the sun’s warming kiss.
“Let us eat now and talk more.” Langbard handed the lunch basket back to Maura, then settled himself on a fallen tree trunk, well cushioned with thick moss. “We can do our gathering later, if you still wish to.”
“Yes... of course.” Maura sank onto the grass and began to unpack the basket.
Somehow, it felt as if her body and her mind were no longer fully connected. Nor her heart to either of them. The sun shone bright and warm. Nearby a narrow stream of water cascaded over some rocks. Both had lost their accustomed power to soothe her.
She could not bring herself to ask any of the scores of questions that clamored for answers. Putting them into words would be taking a dangerous step toward something from which she would rather turn and flee.
Having finally broached this momentous subject seemed to restore Langbard to his old unruffled self. He munched away on oatloaf and cold mutton sausage with obvious relish. Between bites, he continued his story. At least, that was what it felt like to Maura—a story. A bedtime tale like all the others he had told her over the years. Except that this story had grave consequences for her... if it were true.
“I was not anxious to believe my part in these events either.” The slope of his bushy brows and the soft glow of Langbard’s eyes communicated fond concern and an earnest desire to lessen the impact of what he was telling her, if only by identifying with it. “I was wedded to my work, then, and had not thought it fair to ask a wife to take second place in my life. That would not do if I was meant to sire a daughter. So, with some regret, I gave up my studies. When I took my nose out of my books and looked around at the world, I discovered there was a lady of my acquaintance who fancied me.”
All these years later, he still looked so pleasantly shocked by the notion, that Maura could not help smiling... for a moment.
“We were very happy together.” Langbard lapsed into the soft murmur of a man musing to himself. “Even with war swirling around us and dark days for the people of Embria. We made our home here, in a quiet corner of the kingdom that might easily be overlooked. As safe and wholesome a place to raise a child as we could find... but no child came.”
He turned his face away from Maura, staring at the tiny waterfall in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “The winter my wife sickened and died, I wanted to die with her. Happy as we had been together, I wondered if I had wasted my life. I questioned my belief in the Elderways. Were they no more than foolish stories people clung to for comfort and hope when they had too little of either?”
“And then?” Maura found herself hunched forward, hanging on his words.
“Then—” abruptly Langbard swung about to fix her with his most penetrating gaze “—one winter night I heard your mother calling for my help.”
Questions she should have asked years ago poured out of Maura. “What was she like? Where did she go? Why did she leave me with you? Who was my father?”
She still feared the answers, but now the unknown seemed far more menacing.
“Your father?” Langbard seized on her final question first, perhaps because it was the most easily answered. “I do not know. Your mother never told me, and I did not ask. I thought perhaps I would find out during her ritual of passing, but she kept that secret to death and beyond.”
“She died, then? Here?” So her mother had not abandoned her. At least not in the way she had feared.
Langbard gave a slow nod as he chewed on a slice of oatloaf.
“When?”
“Not long after you were weaned. I am sorry you have no memory of her. She was very beautiful, and so very sad. I believe she died of a broken heart.”
Never in twenty-one years had Langbard so much as raised his voice to her. Now Maura felt as though he had struck her. “Did her child bring her no joy?”
“Oh, my dear!” Springing from his seat on the fallen tree trunk, Langbard dropped to his knees before Maura and took her hands in his... oblivious that he was kneeling in the ruins of her marshberry tart. “Believe me, her love for you was all that sustained your mother!”
The part of her that clung to all that was safe and ordinary made Maura cry out, “Langbard, your robe! Nothing stains like marshberries. I must put it to soak as soon as we get home.”
“Maura.” Langbard crooked his forefinger under her chin and
tilted it so she must look him in the eye. “You have more important matters to concern yourself with, now, than stained robes and salves for the village folk.”
“How can I?” The thought of it made her tremble. “I have never been farther from home than Windleford. All my life you have taught me to avoid trouble or drawing attention to myself. How am I supposed to find the Waiting King when no one else has stumbled upon his resting place in hundreds of years? What part can I have in driving the Han out of Embria?”
With every word her breath came faster and more shallow. Her heart raced as if it meant to fly out of her body.
“I do not want this, Langbard! I would rather stay here in Norest, washing clothes and baking tarts and making salve. It is all I know. How can you be certain I am the girl the oracle told you about? Perhaps your wife was not meant to die. Perhaps you were supposed to wed again and sire a real daughter.”
“You are my daughter, Maura, in every way that matters. And I believe you can do this. Embria needs a queen who can perform humble tasks as well as high ones. A queen who can help her people find peace and simple happiness again, because she has known them herself.”
While those words penetrated her buffer of denial and aversion, Langbard went on. “It was only during your mother’s passing ritual that I discovered who she was and consequently who you are. After my wife’s death, I had rejected the Oracle’s prophesy. But when I learned that you were the last of Abrielle’s line, it restored my faith in the Giver and the Elderways. You must have faith in them, too, and faith in yourself that you can fulfil your destiny.”
The steadiness of his gaze and the conviction in his voice helped calm Maura’s mounting panic.
“Until this morning, I did not know I had a destiny. This is so much to take in. I believe in the Waiting King. I want him to return. But for me to bring it about...?”
Langbard’s hand fell. “I am sorry I waited so long and have broken all this to you so badly.”
Was there any good way to tell such tidings? “If all this is true, how soon must I leave and where must I go?”
“I wish the scholars of Margyle could have given us more warning.” Langbard’s busy brows knit together. “The ancient writings say the Waiting King must be woken during the full moon of Solsticetide.”
Maura’s shield of numb disbelief slipped. The sharp edge of panic slashed through her. “But that is only... ten weeks away! How far must I go in that time?”
“I wish I could tell you, my dear. First we must obtain an ancient map that will lead us to the Secret Glade. For many years, the map has been hidden in a town called Prum at the edge of the Southmark Steppes. Its most recent custodian is a wise woman called Exilda.”
“We?” Maura prayed that meant what she hoped. “Us?”
“Did you think I would send you off on a quest like this all by yourself?”
“Uncle!” She caught Langbard in an embrace that was all the tighter for knowing something of what he had sacrificed for her.
His arms closed around her. “We will manage, somehow, my dear. You will see.”
The woolen weave of his robe scratched softly against Maura’s cheek as she nodded. She would not disappoint Langbard by questioning his reassurance.
But neither could she bring herself to believe it.
Chapter Two
“I AM NOT sure this is a good idea,” said Langbard a while later, as he packed the remains of their lunch back into the basket. “Are you certain you will be all right by yourself?”
“Quite certain.” Maura shook the cloth free of crumbs, then folded it. “I must get a few queensbalm flowers for that boy in the village.”
What she truly wanted was a little time, peace and privacy to absorb everything Langbard had told her about her past... and her future.
She tucked the cloth over the remnants of food in the basket. “I do not plan to run away, if that is what worries you.”
Not that part of her wouldn’t like to. But where would she run? Norest was one of the safest, most peaceful places in the kingdom. Yet turmoil and danger had still managed to find her.
“That does not worry me in the least. The trouble is I have spent the past twenty-one years fretting about your safety.” Langbard picked up his staff from where it leaned against the fallen tree trunk. He pointed it toward the little waterfall. “I cannot stop all at once any more than that water can bring itself to a halt at the top of those rocks.”
“I will be fine, truly.” Maura held out the basket for him to take. “If we are to go in search of the Waiting King, it is past time I learned to look after myself, don’t you think?”
How easily those preposterous words formed themselves on her lips!
Langbard mulled the notion over for a moment, then gave a resigned nod. “I suppose you are right, though it will take some getting used to. Promise me you will be home before sundown?”
“I promise.”
He made no move to take the basket from her. Instead Langbard dropped his staff and unfastened his cloak so he could remove his sash.
“At least oblige a worrisome old man by taking this.” He handed Maura the sash, exchanging it for the lunch basket. “There are one or two empty pockets you can fill with queensbalm when you find it. As for the rest, you will find anything you might need in an emergency—powdered stag hoof, spider silk, madfern.”
“I know what is there, and where to find it.” Maura slipped the sash over her head. “I have filled most of the pockets in it, remember? Besides, it is quiet as can be around here. I will not be in any danger.”
“Take care, just the same.” Langbard slung his cloak over one arm then stooped to retrieve his walking stick.
“I will.” After having been taught all her life to avoid danger, Maura doubted she could commit a reckless act if she tried. “When you get home, do not forget to change your robe and set that one to soak. Otherwise I will be scrubbing for a week to get the marshberry stains out.”
He assured her he would, all the while walking so slowly and turning so often to glance back at her, Maura doubted he would reach home before nightfall. Perhaps once she was out of sight he might reconcile himself to her going.
Inhaling a deep breath of bracing spring air, she strode into Betchwood Forest, willing herself not to look back. She ducked behind the first large tree she came to—a tall gnarled goldenoak with a thick trunk and rough bark. Leaning against it, Maura let her legs go limp and sank to the ground under the weight of her own dread and bewilderment.
“The Destined Queen?” Her words came out in a faltering whisper.
She stared at her hands. Her fingertips were stained green from the juice of fresh herbs. Her palms had calluses from the rough rope she pulled to draw water from the well. There was a tiny blister, almost healed, where she’d burned it retrieving fish pasties from the oven. They were not the hands of a queen, regardless of what Langbard might say.
Wrapped in her warring, whirling thoughts and raw emotions, Maura staggered to her feet and wandered deeper into the forest.
Dead leaves from the previous autumn rustled beneath her feet. Soft fronds of new fern whispered against her legs beneath her gown. A shoot of bramble rasped across the flesh of her ankle.
Those sensations bound Maura to her familiar world, when the fateful, foreign power of Langbard’s story threatened to seize her and carry her away against her will.
Why me? The question trembled through her with every step she took.
Of course she wanted to see the Waiting King restored to his throne! No Embrian of good will would wish to have his coming delayed an instant longer than need be. But surely there must be other young women more capable and more willing than she to undertake the task? Even with Langbard by her side, Maura quailed to think of the hardship and danger they might face.
Around and around it went, one moment rejecting the notion as altogether impossible, the next moment terrifying herself with a reluctant glance into the future.
“I must get back,” she whispered to herself at last.
She had hoped a quiet interval to think over Langbard’s words would help her make sense of it all. Instead she found herself in a worse muddle than ever.
And which way was back? She had never wandered quite so far into Betchwood before.
Maura looked around, trying to judge her location. Off to the west, the trees appeared to thin out. It might not be the most direct route home, but suddenly it felt more important to find her way out of the forest before the sun dipped lower.
Besides, queensbalm grew at the edge of the woods and Maura remembered her need for it. A fleeting thought crossed her mind that when the Waiting King regained his throne no one would leave Hanish pain spikes around for children to find. Would that not be worth a certain amount of hardship to gain?
Just ahead, she spotted a patch of queensbalm. Maura knelt and picked enough of the delicate flowers to fill the empty pockets of her sash.
A soft hiss, followed by a sharp snap, made her glance up. An arrow stuck out of a nearby tree trunk, still quivering from the impact. From beyond the edge of the forest a wave of confused noise broke over Maura—cries of pain, angry shouts in the Hanish tongue, the alarming clash of metal against metal.
With trembling fingers she shoved the queensbalm into her apron, then fumbled in the pockets of Langbard’s sash until she found what she was looking for—clippings from the feather of a cuddybird, famed for its ability to blend with its surroundings.
Murmuring the ritual words that would invoke the bird’s special powers, Maura sprinkled a liberal pinch of the cuttings over her head. Then she waved her hand in front of her face. She could still see it if she looked hard enough, but the edges blurred and her flesh took on the hues of the underbrush, in a strange transparency like softly rippling water. For most purposes, the spell rendered invisible whoever it was cast upon.
Thus protected from hostile eyes, Maura turned to flee.