In the Coils of the Snake

by Clare B. Dunkle

  “Why do you keep fighting the spell?” he wanted to know. “The things I’m asking of you aren’t harmful or wrong.”

  “You’re not asking anything at all,” observed Miranda sleepily. “That’s why.” But he didn’t understand her argument.

  The elf lord unrolled a mat at the opening of a tent and sat down on it, making room for her to sit beside him. The low tent formed a triangle at the ends. The two flaps at the front end were rolled back and tied, and the flaps at the back end were partly open, letting through the early morning breeze.

  Nir tugged off the slippers that Miranda wore and hung them up on hooks at the edge of the tent roof. Then he scooped her feet up, laid her ankles across his lower legs, and began briskly rubbing her feet with a tingling cream. There was nothing particularly unusual about this. It was a normal attention for an elf man to pay to a woman or a child, and the little children did it for each other. But the reserved Miranda had never in her life dreamed that a stranger might take such an outrageous liberty. She felt thoroughly embarrassed and shocked. She glared at his bent head as he worked, and the silver stars lit up again.

  “Don’t you want your feet cleaned?” Nir asked as he rubbed them, perplexed. “Feet are important. They need to stay healthy. There, you’re finished,” and she could pull her feet away. “The left-hand pallet is yours, and the right-hand one is mine. You can use Arianna’s cloak; she left it hanging on her side. She won’t be needing it anymore,” he added unhappily.

  Miranda looked into the tent and saw two pallets lying side by side. She realized in deep offense that they were hardly inches apart. “I’m supposed to sleep here?” she gasped. “I can’t possibly! There must be somewhere else I can sleep!”

  The elf glanced at her in some surprise. He was unwrapping the leather straps that cross-gartered his lower legs and rolling the straps into neat coils. “Where else would you sleep?” he wanted to know. “You’re too old for the children’s tents. I brought you into camp myself; you’re no one else’s responsibility.” He took off his own soft boots and removed the felt inner boots, hanging both pairs up under the edge of the roof.

  “But I just can’t,” Miranda protested, overwhelmed at the thought. “You can’t expect me to. It’s not decent!”

  Decent, mused the baffled Nir, cleaning his own feet. He had grown up speaking English and elvish, but he hadn’t spoken so much English in years, and sometimes she used words that genuinely confused him. But looking at her shocked expression, he realized what was wrong. Of course, he should have expected this since she came from the repulsive goblins. He remembered his argument with their horrible King, and it was his turn to be offended.

  “You are a child,” he told her coldly and emphatically, “and regardless of what you think, we’re not monsters. No right-thinking man could even contemplate kissing you at your age. It’s not that it wouldn’t be decent,” he continued, looking for the right words. “It would be sickening, disgusting,” he concluded firmly.

  Miranda went straight from being alarmed to being insulted. She crawled into the tent and threw herself down on the left-hand pallet as far as she could be from his side of the tent. Facing into the sloping wall of cloth, she felt him lay over her the cloak that had belonged to Catspaw’s wife. How awful, she thought miserably, that she should have to be reminded of her. After a minute of rustling, silence reigned in the little tent, but she could still hear the elf’s quiet breathing. She didn’t care what he said, it wasn’t decent to keep her in here. It was sickening and disgusting, too.

  After a few minutes of stormy thought, Miranda noticed that the tent wall before her wasn’t black. It was very dark green. She glanced at the cloak that covered her. It was green, too, a different shade. She sat up in excitement, studying her hands and dress, and looked out through the end of the tent at the world outside. Color was pouring into it as dawn came in earnest. The long night was finally over.

  “The sun’s coming,” she said eagerly, turning to the elf lord. He lay under his own green cloak, its hood pulled over his face. His black eyes, squinting already in the light, peered out at her from its shade.

  “That’s true,” he agreed, watching her quietly.

  “I want to see the sunrise,” she said. “I haven’t seen it in so long. Please let me go watch it. It won’t take a quarter of an hour.”

  Nir looked up at her excited face, his heart sinking. The first thing she asks of me, he thought, and it has to be the sun. “You’re tired,” he said. “You need to rest.” His eyes were hurting as he watched her against the glare of light from outside. “Lie down for a little while and wait for the sun.”

  Miranda lay down, still optimistic. “May I go?” she persisted. “Mayn’t I just go out for a few minutes? This is such a pretty patch of forest, and I want to see it in the daylight.”

  To see in the daylight. Nir mused over this. He pulled his hood so that it shadowed his eyes again, and he still had trouble seeing her in the blinding light of the morning.

  “Just wait,” he said sadly. She was looking at him with such hope. He couldn’t bear to crush that hope now. In a few more minutes, the sun would come close enough, and the spell would do its work. There was no need to tell the excited girl that she would never see the daylight again.

  Miranda lay restlessly waiting, thinking about the day breaking outside. She couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t let her go. He seemed odd, but not really unkind. She looked into those eyes shining out from the shadow of his hood and tried to think of an argument that would make him relent. Then her eyes closed of their own accord, and her restless movements ceased. The eager expression faded out of her face and left it peaceful in sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Marak Catspaw quitted the anteroom littered with bracelets and rings and retraced his steps, walking down flight after flight of stairs. The King’s Wife Ceremony rooms were deep underground, where no frantic enemy could effect a rescue. He came to the low tunnel and unlocked the King’s Lock that he had placed on the short, ironbound door.

  The bare room beyond was a dismal welcome to his kingdom, he thought with regret. The stone walls of the primitive chamber were unpolished and undecorated, and no furniture provided a distraction. It was such a small space that even he found it confining. To an elf bride, it must be suffocating. Arianna had crawled into a corner and sat curled up in a defensive ball. His mother was kneeling by her side.

  Kate stood up. “How is Miranda?” she asked worriedly. She looked terrible, her face drawn and white and her eyes red from crying. Catspaw cursed the elf lord from his heart.

  “She’ll be fine,” he said. “Mother, tell the women not to fuss over Arianna. just have them do the tests, change her clothes, and put her hair up in some simple way. And when she leaves the chamber, lie down on the couch. I’ll send you to sleep as soon as I see her.”

  Kate’s anxious expression eased somewhat. She had hardly been able to bear the thought of witnessing the hideous wedding. “Thank you, Catspaw,” she said gratefully, and left the room, going into the chamber where the goblin women were waiting for Arianna.

  The King knelt down by his pitiful bride. The petite girl had her back to the corner and her arms around her knees, and she was staring straight ahead into space. She hadn’t been crying, although her dark eyes were glassy. Perhaps she was too far into shock. She didn’t look at him, but when he drew close, her breath came quicker, in shallow gasps.

  “Arianna,” he said, and he put a bouquet of purple flowers into her hands. The elf girl gave a little cry and clutched the flowers like a drowning man clinging to a rope. He watched her run her trembling fingers over the large, waxy trumpets.

  “Arianna, these flowers live down here in my kingdom, and you can, too,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to see a whole field of them. It isn’t as bad here as you think.”

  The young woman didn’t respond. Her terror was almost tangible. Catspaw considered the futility of trying to reassure her. What could
he say? Don’t be frightened? Why shouldn’t she be? Everything that she had probably never wanted to happen was happening all around her. I won’t hurt you? That would be a lie. Before another hour was up, he would slash open both of her hands.

  In the end, he didn’t say anything. He just put the golden shackles on her, gave her the magical drink, and sent her in to the women. The King’s Wife Ceremony would doubtless be the most horrible event of her life. The best thing he could do was to get her through it as quickly as possible.

  • • •

  Overall, Catspaw thought the ceremony went very well. He was preoccupied, concentrating on all the difficult magic, but he was impressed by his bride’s courage. Arianna didn’t make a single sound the entire time, not when she walked across the shifting letters that proclaimed her freedom from any other marriages and not when he painted on her forehead the symbol that would seal her underground. She didn’t gasp when he cut her hands open to mix her blood with his own and form the prognosticating scars, and Charm could have told him that she was one of only thirty-two King’s Wives who hadn’t screamed when the golden snake coiled itself around their necks to begin its guardianship of a new King’s Wife. But then again, Arianna never opened her eyes, either. Seylin and Richard had to hold her elbows to guide her from place to place.

  After it was over, Catspaw brought her to the small King’s Wife Room to recover. She huddled on the couch where he had put her and cried bitterly, holding her scarred hands to her breast. The worried Catspaw gently uncurled the hands, one after the other, to study her palms. A straight, silvery slash now crossed each one, but they had healed beautifully during the ceremony. There was nothing wrong with them that he could see.

  “Show me you can use them,” he told her again and again, until some part of her overwrought mind became aware of the request. She bent the hands and closed the fingers, and the goblin King felt relieved. Some elvish King’s Wives persisted in a hysterical belief that their hands were permanently crippled, and because the problem was only a mental illusion, it couldn’t be cured.

  But the poor girl didn’t stop crying, and nothing he said seemed to help. She wept as if she had lost everything at one blow. Eventually, he carried her over to the bed in the corner of the room and covered her up with a blanket. Then, very carefully, so that she wouldn’t notice the magic and fight it, he sent his wretched wife to sleep.

  Marak Catspaw sat beside her for a long time, me, thinking about how much he had looked forward to his wedding. Miranda would have been so pleased that the ceremony was over, so happy to be a King’s Wife at last. He wondered where she was and who she would wind up marrying and how he would feel when he performed the Binding Spell that married her to somebody else.

  He stretched out beside his unconscious bride and put an arm over her. The slender elf girl cringed away from him in her sleep. Her whole body was still trembling with shock. Tired and dejected, the King closed his eyes and fell asleep with a sigh.

  • • •

  Arianna awoke from a ghastly nightmare into an even worse one. She lay perfectly still, remembering where she was, studying what she could see of the square cave. The goblin King was sleeping, his breath stirring her hair and his terrible paw-hand stretched across her body. She remembered the stories she had heard as a small girl about the hideous goblin monster, Lionclaw, who had used his paw to slash elves to ribbons.

  But Arianna didn’t shiver or shove the paw away. Such a movement would wake him up, and at all costs, she mustn’t do that. Very gently, very carefully, she wove whispered words around the enemy King, something between a spell and a fervent wish. She felt his body relax from sleep into a further oblivion, and then she cautiously crept from the bed. On the couch lay her elf clothes. She tore the stiff goblin dress off and hurriedly changed into them. In a very short time, she was out the door. It wasn’t that Arianna intended to escape. She knew she couldn’t do that. She just meant to be as far as possible from her terrible husband when he awoke. It would take him a little while to find her.

  Out here, the light was almost blinding. Twisting tunnels met her bewildered view, and she chose passages with no particular plan. Some led into small rooms full of sacks and boxes. Others led to steps. Finding that she was on the lowest level of the caves, she began to climb. The farther she went, the shinier the walls were, and the more the light hurt her eyes.

  Now she was dodging monsters, creeping behind them, ducking into rooms and alcoves to avoid them. The ranges of steps were broader, and the hallways were wider, decorated in bright colors of stone. Arianna opened a door and shrieked. She had walked into a nest of goblin young. She backed up and then ran, hearing their growls and squeals as they poured out of the room to follow her.

  Giddy and short of breath, she dashed up a flight of stairs and found herself face-to-face with a whole crowd of goblins. She turned, but more monsters were coming up the stairs behind her. Her stomach cramped, and she clutched the wall, sick and dizzy. Deformed bodies pressed around her in a mob, and she closed her eyes to avoid the sight. The babble deafened her, and her knees buckled. She sat down abruptly on the stairs.

  A curious noise came to her through the gathering confusion in her brain, and she felt that snake from last night on her shoulders again. This time Arianna peeked at it. Slitted golden eyes met her gaze not four inches away: the metal snake was staring straight at her. She promptly closed her eyes again. Now she heard it speaking in a loud, clear, slithering hiss, stringing together words that she didn’t understand. The babble quieted, and she heard a bumping, rustling noise as the crowd drew away. She laid her head on her knees, trying not to faint.

  After a few minutes, she became aware that she was feeling stronger. She wasn’t as lightheaded and sick. The crawly feeling was gone, and apparently, was the snake. Then she heard an unfamiliar voice.

  “The stars are beautiful,” it said.

  Arianna was so astonished that she opened her eyes and sat up. The ghastly mob had vanished. Only one goblin stood at the bottom

  of the stairs now, about ten feet away. He was man-shaped and silver-skinned, with black hair and blue eyes. Odd markings covered his face.

  “The stars are beautiful,” he said again.

  Arianna drew in a shaky breath and looked around, grateful that the crowd was gone. She gave a start at the sight of a golden coil on her bare arm. The snake! But when she felt it, nothing was there. It was one of the goblin King’s enchantments.

  The bizarre silver man still stood at the foot of the stairs. Arianna eyed him warily. His black cloak was mud-stained and ripped in several places, and he had a few leaves stuck in his hair. It raised her spirits to see them in that lifeless place. He was shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot as he watched her. It dawned on her that he looked nervous.

  “The moon are beautiful,” he stated seriously. “Is beautiful,” he added in an embarrassed undertone.

  That was it, she realized in relief. This goblin knew a little of her language. He was just trying to say something polite so that she would know he meant her no harm. But he was obviously supposed to watch her until the goblin King could take custody of her again. Her temporary respite would soon be over. She put her head on her knees and closed her eyes, gathering her courage.

  There was a long pause. Then she heard steps coming near. She cowered, but they retreated, and the goblin spoke again.

  “Water is—” he hesitated “—is good.”

  Arianna opened her eyes. He was still at the bottom of the stairs, but now a metal cup was on the step beside her. She picked it up. Cool water. She drank thirstily.

  “Thank you,” she said to the man.

  Then he was coming. She could hear his loud, heavy steps ringing on the stone. He appeared at the foot of the stairs with another black-draped monster and quickly came to her side. She shut her eyes and dropped the cup, flattening herself against the wall. Another wave of nausea rolled over her.

  Catspaw assessed the condit
ion of his bride. Her breathing was uneven, and she looked unwell. He laid his paw on the elf girl’s forehead to work a strengthening spell.

  “My people didn’t mean to distress you,” he told her. “They’re very curious about you, and they didn’t realize that they would make you ill by coming close. What you’re feeling is a normal aspect of your elvish magic. We call it the fear sickness. It will wear off in a few days.”

  The girl ignored him, keeping her eyes closed. The goblin King reminded himself that he shouldn’t expect anything else at this point. He turned to give an order to the two guards who stood on the landing below. Then he stopped in surprise.

  “What are you doing here, Tattoo?” he exclaimed.

  Tattoo delivered his report to his monarch, feeling uneasily that it did not present him in the most flattering light. He related the conversation between Miranda and the elf in the truce circle and his own capture up in the tree. Marak Catspaw was absolutely furious.

  “Call Seylin,” he ordered the other guard, and soon the handsome adviser appeared. Tattoo delivered his report again, even more uncomfortable this time.

  “Why did he do it?” demanded Catspaw angrily. “It’s perfectly obvious. He intends to use Miranda to take revenge on me because I claimed his fiancee. You saw how he had Arianna hidden, hoping I wouldn’t notice her. He meant to trick me into claiming one of the five inferior choices; then it would have been too late to change my mind.”

  “Maybe he felt sorry for Miranda,” proposed Seylin. “Maybe he wanted to be sure she couldn’t carry out her suicide attempt.”

  “He knew she couldn’t kill herself. He knew she was under guard. And he attacked that guard, in violation of the treaty. He was waiting for him!”

  Seylin turned over the facts in his mind. “It doesn’t make sense,” he reflected.