The SoulNecklace Stories

by R. L. Stedman

  “It’s not your fault that my daughter decided to throw herself in front of archers,” said Daddy. “Although, perhaps a little less enthusiasm with the weapons might not go amiss.”

  The man had a deep scar on his cheek that twisted his face. He stared at Daddy like an equal. “When you’re in battle everything seems to slow down. I swear I could see the arrow coming out of that string, inch by cursed inch, just as I realized who this young lady was. My men would never miss a target at that range. We knew she’d be dead.” He grabbed Will’s hand. “Young man. You’re very brave. Very fast. Never seen anyone move so quickly. And what,” he added grimly, “made you leap in front of the archers, My Lady?”

  I swallowed. How to explain my impulsive dive? “You were going to make a mistake,” I said in a low voice.

  “She wanted to protect me,” said the stranger, and put back her hood. Female. Her wrists were delicate, her neck lifting in a strong, clean line. But there was nothing feminine about her strong face or her clothes – dusty peasant-brown jerkin and hose. Her voice was deep and she spoke with an accent. Was it French?

  We stared. Oh, how we stared, all of us frozen into stillness before this stranger. For although her gray eyes glittered, her blue-black skin merged with the dull brown of her clothes. Black on black. The last of the color left the sky as she spoke. It was as though night itself had taken on human flesh and paid us a visit. Then she smiled, and I was no longer afraid. For a smile is always a smile, no matter the color of the skin, and she seemed a lonely and tired stranger.

  I smiled back. “Welcome, Lady.”

  She took my hand. Her black hair was braided into strange patterns on her skull. “Greetings, child. I thank you.”

  Then she looked past me and sighed, a sound of pleasure, or relief. “Ah. My Lady. You called – I have answered.”

  An old woman walked across the bridge. White hair resting on her shoulders, a plain white robe held tightly closed at her throat. Where had I seen that hair, that robe, before? I felt a sense of something hidden, of great power tightly controlled. My dream: an old woman and a necklace and a chest torn open. But no, this woman was moving. Yet still I had an image of a woman in white and a girl with brown hair.

  The Sergeant put a hand to his neck, as if trying to ease the armor at his throat and the guards backed away, creeping on silent feet toward the side of the road.

  Only Will and my father remained. Will, looking puzzled, stared first at the stranger in black then at the old woman.

  My father cleared his throat. “Rosa. It’s been a long time.”

  “Brother,” said the old woman. Her voice was that of the girl in the wood, but deeper. Softer. Older. She came up to me, took my hand. She smelt musty. Like an old person, but when she smiled at me I could see the spark in her eye. “Thank you, my dear.”

  Holding my hand, she reached out the other to Will. “Thank you too, young man. You did well.” She smiled at us both for a moment and in my head I heard her: “Well done, my dear. Well done.”

  Letting go of us, she stepped toward the black-clad woman. It was like watching chess; white queen, black queen. Except in chess the white queen doesn’t reach out and hug her opponent.

  There was a strange echo on the air and I had the sense that the two women were talking to each other in tones too faint to hear.

  Daddy stirred and whispered to Will, “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “Not a clue, sire.”

  It seemed a signal for normality. The guards took themselves back up to the gatehouse. Across from the Castle the evensong bell rang. I shivered. The twilight air was cool and I was only lightly clad. The Sergeant, at a word from Daddy, wrapped his cloak around me. The thick wool scratched my arms but was warm. And long. I nearly tripped over the hem.

  “I’m hungry,” I said, plaintively. Daddy chuckled.

  “Shall we get inside?” he raised his voice to encompass the two women. The strange echo in my brain ceased as the old woman nodded.

  Daddy winced. “She’s still bossy,” he muttered. He offered his hand to the stranger, who, only a few moments ago, had been calling a storm from clear air. “Madam,” he said, “I apologize for the earlier misunderstanding. My sister’s just rebuked me for my discourtesy. You are right welcome. Please, will you join us?”

  She considered him, then smiled. “I thank you, sir.”

  He offered her his arm and they walked up to the gatehouse.

  Will stirred. “Well now,” he said. “That was interesting. Who do you think she is, I wonder?”

  He went to get his donkey and I walked beside him, trying to keep from tripping on the hem of the cloak. I felt sorry for the Sergeant. I was so dirty; his cloak would smell of coal.

  I walked beside the donkey as we crossed the bridge. Behind me I heard the Sergeant calling the guards to order. Soon they’d be closing the bridge for the night.

  “So your name is William?”

  “Aye.”

  “I like Will better,” I said. “I’m Dana.”

  I stretched my free hand over the donkey’s neck and we shook hands formally.

  Yes,” he said. “I figured.”

  “Thank you. For saving me.”

  He grinned at that, a curiously lopsided movement of his mouth. “You’re welcome.” He eyed me hesitantly. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “Why are you wearing boy’s clothes?”

  “Ah. Long story.”

  Behind us we heard the firm tread of the Sergeant echoing off the boards of the bridge. “Young man,” he called.

  We all turned at this, even my father.

  “Yes, sir?” said Will, his tone wary.

  The man put his hands on his hips. “You’re the fastest mover I’ve seen in a long time, boy. How old are you, lad? You started at a trade yet?”

  “I’m fourteen, sir,” said Will. “I’m ’prenticed in the kitchens.”

  The Sergeant clapped him on the shoulder and Will winced. “You interested in the military, young man? Could do with someone of your speed in the guards.”

  The guards, shadows in the darkness of the Castle gatehouse, turned the creaking windlass.

  “Torches!” roared the Sergeant in an irritated tone. “Have to tell them everything.”

  The chains clattered as the bridge rose behind us and we crossed under the portcullis. Guards came toward us, carrying lamps.

  “Well boy, what do you think?”

  In the flare of the torchlight I saw Will’s face. He looked excited, pleased, but he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “His parents were bakers,” I volunteered.

  “You want to follow your parents?” said the Sergeant. He didn’t sound annoyed, just interested.

  “They’re dead,” I said.

  Will made an annoyed noise.

  “He won’t understand if you don’t explain.” I looked at the Sergeant. “I think he’s honored, sir. But he wants to follow his parents.”

  Will nodded at that. “My Da always figured me for a baker, sir.”

  The Sergeant looked surprised. “You’re from Outside, aren’t you, lad?”

  “Came to live with my aunt. After ...” his voice trailed off.

  The Sergeant’s voice was gentle. “You’re Agnes Goodlight’s nephew, aren’t you? Had her two boys with me.” He considered Will for a moment. “Well, just think about it, boy.”

  My father came toward us. “Dana,” he said firmly, “you need to get to bed soon.”

  “Daddy! It’s just gone evensong.”

  “You want your mother to catch you?”

  I saw his point.

  Daddy said to Will, “You could do both, you know. Baking and guards. I’ll have a word with Cook.”

  “Don’t know if that’s possible, sir,” said Will.

  “What’s the point in being a king if you can’t tell people what to do once in a while?” Daddy was quoting me, so I laughed, which was a mistake. “Off you go, M
issy,” he growled.

  “Brother,” called the old woman, her clear voice echoing off the stone. And the gatehouse whispered back, growing fainter and fainter, brother, brother, rother, roth. At the sound, the Sergeant stepped back into the shadows and the two lamp-carrying guardsmen stopped, frozen into statues.

  “Rosa?” said Daddy.

  The two women, one in black, the other in white, turned back toward us.

  “I need to introduce our guest,” said the old woman. “Dana, Will. This is N’tombe. She has traveled many miles to reach us. Please, greet her before you go.”

  Will bowed and I dropped a light curtsy. I probably looked stupid doing this in my dusty jerkin and sergeant’s cloak. I held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you,” I said, formally. Princess-like.

  Will said politely, “How do you do?”

  N’tombe smiled, her gray eyes shining in the torchlight. “I am very happy to meet you. Rosa tells me that we will see much of each other.”

  Daddy swallowed. “No offense, Madam, but what is Rosa planning?”

  Rosa stretched her mouth in a polite smile. “Brother. Your daughter has no governess. And N’tombe is a teacher without a pupil.” She shrugged. “I’ve been watching Dana’s education for some time now. She needs a tutor, not a governess.”

  “I don’t want some stranger teaching Dana. No offense, Madam,” he added quickly.

  “It’s not up to you, Leovane,” said Rosa. “I have decided. N’tombe will take over as Dana’s tutor.”

  Daddy growled and they stood staring at each other, the old woman and my tall father. There was a sharp intake of breath from the shadows where the Sergeant stood.

  A clear voice called from above. “Greetings, Madam.” Mother stood on the ramparts, a silhouette against the stars. “You are right welcome. Leovane, shall we discuss this somewhere less public?”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” growled Daddy.

  “That’s right,” said Rosa, calmly. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  “Dana.” Mother’s cool voice carried in the calm evening air. “It’s very nice to see you back. And where did you get those clothes?” I swallowed, and didn’t answer.

  “The Guardian has spoken, Leovane. Dana has a new teacher.” Mother sounded pleased.

  Ah well. At least I didn’t have a governess.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dreams and Realities

  You should ride,” whispered Will as we walked up the hill to the keep. “Your feet are sore, I can tell. So why not ride?”

  “On the donkey?” I hissed. “I can walk. I’m fine.”

  The donkey huffed. Was he laughing at me? How could I sit astride him as he clanked and clanged his way up toward the keep? As soon as we reached the courtyard everyone would be setting their heads out of their windows and staring. I’d feel like old Ninny-Nonny-No in the nursery rhyme: tied to a sow, covered with flour, and sent on his way with his shame. Not that the donkey was a sow, not at all, and I patted his thick hide in apology.

  Will was right, though, the cobbled walkway had never felt so rough before, and my feet had never hurt so much to step along it. We passed through the great gate of the Castle in silence. The guards, lamps aloft, formed an escort. Probably mindful of the audience beyond the torchlight, no one spoke.

  “Oh my bonny lamb,” said a familiar voice, and I tensed.

  “Who’s that?” said Will, his face a-glow in the orange light.

  “Oh, I never thought to see you again,” said Nurse, in the familiar half-chiding, half-caressing voice.

  But she wasn’t speaking to me. She had her small, plump arms about the strange woman in white, the woman Father called “Rosa”. How could she know her?

  * * *

  Later, seated on the side of my bed, I asked Nurse.

  “How did I know her?” Nurse smiled. “Not know my own nursling? It’s like not knowing my own arm, or my own leg. ’Course I know her.”

  “Did you look after her?” I sat carefully on the edge of the bed, trying not to get mud on the coverlet. “Were you her nurse too?”

  Nurse turned off the tap. “Never thought I’d say this,” she muttered, “but it were a good idea putting in them pipes. Better than lugging pails of water for a bath.”

  “You were, weren’t you?”

  “Of course. Lovely long hair she had. Chestnut, it was, waves of rippling brown. Reminded me of autumn leaves. Now then, Lady, into the bath with you. You’re not going to bed smelling like a heathen.”

  I sat, soaking. Bruised and bloody, my feet stung when I dipped them into the water. I leant back against the cool metal and closed my eyes, trying not to think of a young girl with chestnut hair and an old woman with a gaping chest and a necklace of gold and jewels. I tried to think instead of a girl who flickered in the sunlight, who knew how to start a fire with two rocks. Someone who, with a lift of her hand, could stop a stranger destroying our home.

  The stranger. N’tombe. Who was she?

  Nurse built up a fire in my chambers so I could dry my hair. I sat in front of the flames, sweating and protesting, while she brushed it.

  “You want it to look like a mare’s nest?” Nurse said. “Sit you down, Princess. Won’t take but a moment.”

  Too tired to talk, I watched the fire leaping and cracking in the grate. I ate my supper mechanically, wincing as Nurse dragged the brush through my hair. Despite this, it felt good to be coddled. I would have been so cold in the forest. Could I have slept under a covering of leaves?

  Nurse emptied the bath.

  “Stop,” I said sharply, as she went to place my stolen hose on the coals.

  She pursed her lips.

  “Please?”

  She said nothing, but folded the torn clothes with an air of decision and left them on the settle. Clearly, I’d have to mend them myself.

  “Good night, Lady,” she said. “Pleasant dreams.”

  Tired as I was, I should have dropped at once into sleep. But no, red-hot from the fire, I couldn’t relax. My covers slipped and tangled about me as I twisted. My bed became a battleground. The bed curtains, normally sheltering, now felt like a tomb.

  Grumbling, wincing at my sore feet, I opened the window, breathing in the clean, cool night air. Lying with my head under my pillow and twisted half out of my covers, I sank into sleep.

  I dreamed.

  Early morning, the sun just above the horizon. Dew was lifting from the grass that spread in endless waves of undulating green and gold. In the far distance a river sparkled like a silver ribbon. Beyond the river I caught a glitter, a flash of gold. Narrowing my eyes, I saw walls and tall buildings and a great, golden dome. A city.

  Flocks of black birds wheeled in the still air, their cries harsh and wild on the morning breeze. Crows. A governess had set me to learning the collective nouns for animals. A gaggle of geese, an army of ants. A murder of crows.

  The grass was cool and damp on my bare feet, but the breeze, which should have been morning fresh, had an ugly smell of roasting meat. On the crest of the hillock above, the brush walls of a village burned, the smoke reaching high into the air.

  Was this a true dream?

  Don’t be afraid, Daddy had said. A dream cannot harm you. Yet, now, at the base of this low hill with the smell of burning flesh and the sound of horses and harsh-voiced men, I was afraid.

  Better to see the source of the voice than imagine the worst. I waded through the grass, but did not feel it brush against my legs. This dream was different to the other; I was here, and yet not.

  On the far side of the hill stood a man. “You’ve done a good job, men,” he said.

  The sound of the words was unfamiliar, but still I could understand him. I was in a dream, and in a dream one understands what is being said.

  Men, a horde of hard-faced soldiers with swarthy features and long black hair, stood in loose groupings and watched him speak. They wore vests of chain mail. All carried small quivers, and bows, shorter than the bows o
f home, across their chests. Many of the quivers were empty.

  “No arrows wasted and your horses in good shape. The crows copy your example; they too are efficient workers. Look.”

  A gray road ran toward the rising sun. Beside it another murder of crows fluttered and fought around a huddle of unmoving bodies. There, feet awkwardly splayed. And here, a head of brown hair, half-turned away from me. The crows seemed to like the heads. Strangely, I didn’t feel sick at the sight, just a weary sorrow.

  The captain spoke again. “The Eternal One himself ordered me: “Take the treasure.” But remember – we were told this secret is hidden in plain sight. It must not be destroyed. Search the village, but leave everything intact.” There was a smile and pride in his voice. “Refugees are already fleeing to the foolish city yonder. Fools! They hope to escape us. They will not succeed for we, we are the Arm of the Eternal!”

  The men cheered, raising their fists and punching the air.

  “Subutai, take twenty men. Pursue those cowards who prefer dishonor to an honorable death. Leave no one alive. The city must not be warned.”

  Two soldiers nodded and rounded up their men.

  This man who’d just commanded many deaths, who was he? What were these soldiers doing? Why was I here, watching them? Where was “here”?

  Taller than the others, his black hair braided, there was authority in the way the leader stood. Was he the creation of my dream, or something other? I drifted closer so I could feel his breath on my cheek. He didn’t blink or look away or seem to notice I was there at all. His eyes were dark, so black they seemed all pupil.

  Like the time in the forest when I’d been able to view the world from two perspectives, my eyes blurred, and suddenly I found myself looking out at the world from a different view. Everything shifted slightly, and the ground seemed to tilt and sway. A man’s face loomed toward me. I blinked desperately and nearly fell.

  “Noyan, sir,” said a surprised voice. “Are you quite well, sir?”

  Relax, I thought to myself (and maybe the man whose body I inhabited), this is just a dream. The body blinked again. And then its owner was in control, but I remained inside his mind, hovering in the background of his thoughts, listening through his ears and feeling through his skin. And here was his name. TeSin.