“You—are—the soulless ones,” Kaari managed. And that was all that she said, her hands, still clasping the reins of her mount, covered her mouth.
The leader nodded. “Yes, sister. You see us for what we are. Men have slain us for this, which we cannot help.” The creature showed the faintest shadow of sorrow on her face. “And that makes what they do all the more terrible, for they slay us for doing what we must. We cannot stop ourselves, not for love, which we cannot feel, nor pity, which we cannot have. They call us monsters for this. They desire us, and hate us, and slay us for these things, and when we die, we die forever. There is nothing for us after death but…. ending.”
“So who, then, are the monsters?” asked another. “We are monstrous, but when they die, their souls journey on—where when we die, we are gone from every world. None mourn our passing, not even our sisters, for they cannot mourn.”
“We wonder what hard-hearted creator was so unkind as to make us without souls,” said another, in that heartbreakingly dispassionate tone. “Yes, unless we are slain, we are immortal, but what good is immortality without the ability to laugh, to love, to weep? Our lives are nothing but enduring, our death is a cipher. Any of us would trade all of our long, long lives for a day with a soul. Can you understand that, sister? Can anyone feel the sorrow for us, the pity for us, that we cannot?”
Annukka shook her head. The lives of these poor creatures were terrible indeed, and yet she could think of no way to remedy their lot. All the magic in the world could not create a soul in something that did not have one—
If this was the result of a curse, it was the worst such curse she had ever heard of, and the most tragic.
And then she heard Kaari begin to sob.
“You poor things!” the girl wept. “Oh, cruel the hand that made you! How I pity you, sorrow for you! If I had a way to share my soul with you, I would, I would!”
She buried her face in her hands as the forest spirits stirred and moved forward a pace. Her tears streamed down her cheeks, trickling between her fingers, and—
Annukka felt the powerful stirrings of magic—deep magic, old magic, magic much older than anything she knew. This was magic from the beginnings of the world, and it had been waiting for just this moment, just this selfless act on Kaari’s part, just this person, just those words…just those tears.
As Kaari’s tears dropped down from her face and her fingers, the magic flared, and they turned in midair to drops of crystalline ice that fell to the carpet of dead needles and lay there, glittering like diamonds. The forest maidens gasped with shock, then moved slowly forward. The magic swirled about them, so thick and powerful that Annukka could actually see it, currents and swirls full of golden light and brief sparks of white. They pressed in closely about Kaari, who continued to weep as if all her own sorrows were forgotten in theirs. As Kaari continued to weep, more and more forest spirits emerged from the trees, gathering up the crystalline drops as if they were the most precious objects in the universe, each taking only one. Then, one by one, they turned their backs to one another, gently placed the teardrop in the hollow, and stepped back.
And the hollow backs shimmered with power, and closed over. One by one, teardrops fell, were gathered, were placed, until there were no forest spirits left without a precious drop, and—
The magic dissipated, evaporated. There were no more forest spirits—only the lovely, lovely maidens who were slowly, gradually showing the spark of something new in their brilliant blue eyes.
Kaari choked off a sob and took her hands from her face, looking around at the army of beautiful girls surrounding their deer.
They were weeping. Each and every one of them had tears slowly forming in their eyes and spilling over to slip down their cheeks.
“What—” she said, bewildered.
The one that had spoken before tossed back her hair with a kind of happy sob. “Oh, most generous, most kind, most compassionate sister!” she exclaimed. “You, with a spirit so overflowing that you could share it, share your pity, you have, all on your own, given us all what we have never had, the seed of a soul!”
“I did?” Kaari replied, looking bewildered.
“You see!” the leader said, wiping away her tears and gesturing at the others. “We weep! We never could weep before! We weep for sorrow at those we slew in the past, we weep for joy that we can weep and feel sorrow! Oh, kind one, go in peace, and we shall guard your path through this forest and nothing, nothing shall harm you!”
“Yes,” said another. “And in your name, for your sake, oh, tenderhearted savior, we will make safe the path for all travelers of goodwill. Let that be our expiation! We shall make it so that a child can traverse these woods, and never come to harm!”
“Let it be so!” cried the others—and with that, they faded back among the trees again, leaving the forest as empty-seeming as it had been before. But now—now it felt welcoming, like an old, old house that had sheltered many generations and will shelter many more to come.
Annukka felt more than a little numb with surprise. Kaari looked just as dumbfounded.
“What did I just do?” she asked, faintly.
“You—followed your instinct, dearling,” Annukka managed. “You gave them something of yourself, your ability to feel compassion. Evidently that was enough for them.”
“But—can they really grow souls?” Kaari asked doubtfully. “Is that even possible?”
“I have no idea.” Annukka looked out at the forest, sensing the remains of magic there. “I don’t know why they never had souls in the first place, to be honest.” She paused for a moment. “But you know, if there is such a thing as a seed for a soul—compassion is a very, very good place to start.”
Kaari wiped her eyes and smiled. “You know, Mother Annukka, I think you are right. And I wish them well.”
And that is why you could give them what they needed, my dear. Annukka felt a rush of love for the girl. “And so do I,” she replied, and took up the reins of her deer. “So let us take advantage of their new compassion and move as swiftly through this forest as we may. Veikko needs us.”
Kaari bit her lip, took a deep breath, and touched her heel to her deer’s side to move it forward. “Oh, yes, Mother Annukka. Oh, yes.”
10
“WELL, WELL, WELL!” ALEKSIA EXCLAIMED, AS SHE WATCHED the forest spirits dispersing throughout the ancient woods. She was truly surprised for the first time in a very, very long time. The Brownie who stood silently next to her, also watching the strange events unfold, was equally baffled.
“How was that possible, Godmother?” the Brownie asked. “I thought they were cursed to be that way forever.”
“Well, all curses must have some way of being lifted,” Aleksia replied thoughtfully. “The Tradition requires it. Otherwise no one would ever have any hope at all. I sometimes think that The Tradition requires hope, that maybe it even feeds on hope somehow.”
“Odd sort of thing to feed on if you ask me,” the Brownie muttered dubiously, looking out of the corner of her eye at Aleksia. “A good lamb roast, or a nice meat pie, now, that’s something a body can feed on.”
Aleksia suppressed a smile. For creatures of magic, the Brownies could be very earthy and literal-minded. “If The Tradition were something we could bribe with a meat pie, our jobs would be a great deal easier!” she said, and was rewarded with a half smile from her small companion.
Well, this was becoming more and more intriguing; she had spun a deliberately vague spell that the two women should be delayed without coming to much harm—and this was the result of it. She had felt a bit guilty about the bandit attack, for the younger woman had gotten a terrible fright out of it, but this—this was extraordinary. For as long as she had known about them, the forest spirits had been soulless and dangerous. To her knowledge—though admittedly, her knowledge was limited—there had never been so much as a hint that this situation could ever be turned around. But now, now they had been saved, so to speak. What was m
ore, they had gone from being a danger to being protectors, of the innocent at least. This was a major change in the world, something that went right outside The Tradition, at least as she understood it….
Although it was certainly true that stories of redemption were part of The Tradition, and always had been, this had her completely baffled. She sensed, though, that this involved something older and deeper than even The Tradition itself. Something that The Tradition had built off of—something so old and deep that, when invoked, it could effortlessly change The Traditional path that a story was set on and redirect it as easily as she could change her mind and redirect what the cook was preparing for her dinner.
“Well, I need to make another excursion,” Aleksia said after a moment. “It will require an actual shape-change, and I may be gone for some time.”
The Brownie gave her a penetrating look. “Something tells me you don’t intend to just go looking for information this time.”
“No. This is going to be far more involved than that.” She considered her options for a moment, and realized that it was completely unfair for her to just arbitrarily decide that she was going to pick up and abandon the Palace—at least, not without some consultation with the other creatures involved in her work. “I should like you to be here, Rosemary, as I consult with Godmother Elena. This could be quite dangerous for me, and I’d want every safeguard in place that I can manage. For that, I think, I will need the help of the Brownies, and I should ask you to represent them.”
The Brownie looked startled, and sat up straighter. “Me?” she said, eyes going wide. “You want my opinion? You want me to tell you what I think that you should be doing?” Unconsciously she smoothed her spotless apron with her hands, as if she was reassuring herself that she was the same person she had been a moment ago.
“As a representative of the others, yes, please,” Aleksia told her. “This will be something new for all of us. I am about to enter a tale myself, and that will mean—changes, certainly.” That was an under-statement. Rosemary looked more than a bit alarmed. “What kind of changes will be involved and what it will mean for all of you here, I am not sure. Godmothers have become active parts of tales before—certainly Godmother Elena has—but once you put yourself in the position for The Tradition to act upon you, you can lose some of your ability to act upon The Tradition.” She smiled down into the Brownie’s bright brown—and now worried—eyes. “But look on the bright side! While I am gone, there will be no Kays here to plague you!”
The Brownie took a deep, long breath, ignoring that last attempt at humor. “Then we need to take every precaution,” she said with a decided nod. “We’ll need to make sure that, if you get into trouble, we can help. As ever, Godmother, we are yours to command.”
Aleksia found herself grinning. Not smiling—grinning. No matter what came of this excursion, one thing was absolutely true. Nothing was going to be the same for her after this. And she was going to do things, get right out into the world and be a part of something! “Let’s go to the throne room then, and talk to Godmother Elena where you and whoever else wants to listen in can hear us. I would prefer it if you did all the speaking for the others, however, just to cut down on the possible chatter and confusion.”
“Certainly, Godmother,” Rosemary said with great dignity. She had quite the air of authority about her, which was one reason why Aleksia had decided to ask her to represent the others. For another, she was not one of Aleksia’s three old friends among the Brownies. She knew what they would say—which was not to go. Rosemary, she thought, would be more impartial in her advice. And since she had been here, Rosemary had not been at all backward about taking charge of things. Aleksia had the feeling that Rosemary would take no nonsense from anyone, which was all to the good in this case. Some of the others were almost certain to be upset, and while Aleksia did want to hear what they had to say, she also was not going to be talked out of this.
Now that Kay was gone, the throne room was a much more welcoming place. The light from the dome had taken on a warmer tinge, like the rosy kiss of the first light of dawn on a faraway mountain peak. The benches had their cushions back again, and the air itself was warmer. And there was a faint scent of mint in the air. Other than the cushions, this was none of the Brownies’ doing, nor Aleksia’s—this was the Palace itself, responding to the change.
With a mental shake of the head, as she wondered just how much the Palace could do on its own at need, Aleksia took her seat on her throne and brought the ice-mirror to life with a flick of her hand. She felt both apprehensive at this moment, and excited. Her Palace was finally entirely her own again after getting rid of Kay. This was a time she usually savored—and instead, she was actually going to leave this place and head into what could very well be a great deal of physical danger for her. She would probably be facing the false Snow Queen herself. Godmothers were not trained in magical combat. She wondered, briefly, if too much isolation had made her a little mad….
Then again, it seemed to her that this was something that was absolutely necessary. Well, that was what getting other peoples’ opinions was for, wasn’t it?
After sending the message to Elena’s mirror-slave that she wanted to speak to the Godmother, she called up the images of the two questing Sammi women. She found a good viewpoint from one of the harness-brasses. They were still under deep forest canopy, still beneath the shadows of the thick evergreen boughs, in a semidarkness that had gone from cold and threatening to—somehow…protective. Even through the veil of the mirror she could feel that. This was not the shadow that hides menace. This was the peace of twilight, that promised a restful night to come. The transformation was startling, but Aleksia did not spend time contemplating it. Instead, she sent the mirror searching, darting from reflection to reflection—a drop of water, a bird’s eye, a glistening line of sap along a broken branch—until she found something high above the women, out of the shadows and up into the highest tops of the trees, so that she could see just where in the forest they were. It must have been another bird’s eye—by the way the viewpoint glided and circled, and from the astonishing clarity of vision, she suspected it was a hawk of some sort. But the important thing was that she could see the edge of the forest from here. She estimated the distance by eye, allowing for the fact that their progress would be helped, not hindered, by the forest spirits. After a moment, she reckoned that they would reach it in a day or so.
She looked for another viewpoint, higher this time, and found another bird circling a dizzying distance about the earth. Here, the edge of the forest looked like the place where a thick, green carpet had been cut and laid on a bare wooden floor. Beyond that edge, looking across meadows and more normal patches of forest, she spotted the distant fires of the village that had been Veikko’s destination, where his mentor, the Warrior-Mage Lemminkal, had lived. And beyond that…the start of the wide sweep of the glaciers, and the mountains that looked so very much like the ones where Aleksia’s Palace stood. This was where the mystery began, where the Icehart had killed entire villages, the wilderness where three men, all of them warriors, all of them magicians—even if one of them was only half-trained—had vanished.
And she was planning to go into that. Maybe she was mad.
It would take the women some time to get that far, but Aleksia did not want to put further obstacles in their way at this point. They were drawing too near to the place where the Icehart was, and given what had happened with the forest spirits, Aleksia did not want to chance them encountering the Icehart until she knew exactly what it was and what it could do. The name suggested a lot of things, but of course, a name could be completely deceptive. That it was some creature of the false Snow Queen, she had no doubt at all. And that made a very dangerous creature for the women to approach without help.
She also made note of the dark clouds ahead; those were snow clouds, and heavily burdened ones; she also paid close attention to the leafless state of those few trees that were not pines and other ever
greens. The women did not know that this lay ahead of them. When they emerged from the forest, they would move from Autumn to Winter. And if the false Snow Queen shared Aleksia’s powers, that would mean she would be stronger as the Winter deepened.
She looked up at the sound of soft footsteps. Several of the other Brownies filed into the room, following Rosemary. Aleksia nodded a greeting to them, and turned her attention back to the mirror. Even as she surveyed the clouds, trying to judge how long it would be before the snows fell, the image clouded over, and was replaced with that of Godmother Elena. This was much sooner than she had dared hope; Elena must assume this was very important.
Elena raised an eyebrow, and smiled. “Rid of your brooding brat, are you? You have more patience than I do, my dear.”
Aleksia laughed. “That tale is safely ended, and I hope there will not be another to follow it. The lovers are united and rewarded and I think both have thoroughly learned their lessons.” Then she sobered. “However, it appears I must interfere more directly in the other tale of which I spoke to you. There is a false Snow Queen, and she is creating great deal of harm. I think that this calls for me to deal with her directly. And perhaps even confront her.”
Elena nodded. “I had the feeling you might have to do just that.” Although the mirror through which she was speaking was not large enough to show more than her head and shoulders, it was clear that she took this as a cue to settle back in her chair. She was prepared for a long discussion on this. “All right. Unfold this tale for me. Tell me how it goes so far.”
This time Aleksia recounted every tiniest detail, even though she knew she had already told Elena some of this. Elena’s very expressive face reflected interest, agreement and surprise in turn as Aleksia continued, although she did not once interrupt. Recounting all this served any number of purposes: it helped her to put her own thoughts in order, it reminded Elena of how all the events had tied together and it gave the Brownies a good summary.
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