The man on skis was a soldier, but bore no weapon. He stopped before the barricade in a flurry of snow. Then he spoke with a loud voice that carried through the valley.
“His Grace Kendmen Thuro, nádor of Rovas, and Queen Voranne of Urundien cordially request the leader or leaders of their insurrectionary subjects for an audience in their camp.”
The Queen! Uvas and I looked at one another in bewilderment. What was the Sovereign of Urundien doing here, at the very outskirts of her most insignificant province? The messenger was awaiting a reply.
“Inform His Grace and Her Majesty that we accept the invitation.”
The messenger appeared to be expecting more. I glanced at Uvas. He cleared his throat.
“Inform them that Uvas Hammeirsson, woodcutter and fur-trapper, comes.”
He looked at me. I took a deep breath.
“Inform them that Maresi Enresdaughter, banisher of frost and tamer of beasts, she of the red mantle, who speaks with goddesses and opens the door to death’s realm, comes.”
As the messenger skied back up the hill I smiled at Uvas. “Best to make it sound impressive,” I said. “So they don’t know what to expect.”
He grinned at me through his beard. “You, Maresi, are like no other here in Rovas. If I had a son I’d be trying to get you two married.”
“I am never getting married,” I said, mainly out of habit.
We climbed down. Father, Akios and Náraes came to me. Náraes’s cheeks were flushed.
“So you are to meet the Queen herself,” she said.
For a moment I thought she was about to braid my hair or straighten my clothes, but instead she passed me my staff. Akios handed me Mother’s sword. I had my comb tucked into the belt that Mother had woven. Then my sister, father and brother took turns pressing their foreheads against mine, ever so briefly. They said nothing more. Then came the others; not everybody in the camp, but everybody from our villages and those whom I had gotten to know during our time in the burial grove. They patted me on the shoulder, pressed their foreheads against mine and murmured: “Blessings on your journey.” Marget leaned her forehead against mine for a long time. It was almost like having my Abbey sisters with me, Sister O. And then Kárun came. His breath hung around him like a cloud of smoke. He stood before me and looked me straight in the eye, and my heart was pounding nearly as hard as when the dogs attacked.
I took one step forward and leaned in close to whisper to him.
“Kárun, you are unlike any man I have ever met. No one is as thoughtful or kind or strong. I just want to tell you that I love you.” He took a deep breath and his eyes grew large and very dark. I smiled a shaky smile. “I expect nothing. I make no demands. I know that I have a difficult path to walk, and I cannot ask anyone to walk it with me. But I just want you to know what is in my heart.”
“Maresi,” he said in a voice so deep it vibrated inside me. He said nothing more, and seemed unable to move. I turned quickly around and pulled at the straps that held the sword on my back. Maybe he did not share my feelings as I had thought he did.
Uvas and I attached ourselves to borrowed skis. I used my staff as a ski pole. He had his ax. I had my sword. Before we set off I turned to look at the waiting dogs.
“Come,” I said, and they rose at once, almost silently, with hanging tongues and eyes fixed on me. And, followed by fifty hunting dogs, we skied out of the valley.
ϖ
Twenty soldiers with drawn swords met us up at the mouth of the valley. With dark eyes and furrowed brows they looked at the dogs quietly following me, and at my red mantle and my carved staff. They said nothing, but surrounded me and Uvas and drove us along the path into the forest. It was a quiet, windless day with a gray sky. The forest was brooding, dark and secretive around us. I was afraid, but I reminded myself that this was my land. The nádor and Queen had come here to my land. The power of the earth was mine to employ. This thought kept me somewhat calm.
The snow swished softly beneath my and Uvas’s skis while the soldiers marched hulkingly through the snow. Uvas peered at me from under his hood and I gave him a nod. I was thankful for his company, though I knew that whatever must be done would fall to me and me alone. This was my task. I had to make the nádor leave the burial grove in peace, once and for all.
Only I did not know how.
After a while we arrived at a glade that had been artificially enlarged by clearing trees. There was a low wall around it, as defense from wild animals, or robbers, or us in the valley—I could not say which. Soldiers in full armor moved between practical shelters made from spruce sprays and animal skins. In the middle of the glade were two large, opulent tents surrounded by striding courtiers in thick, fur-trimmed mantles and fur hats. When we entered the compound—Uvas and I, the soldiers and all the hunting dogs—everyone in the camp fell silent. All eyes were on me. We were led to the largest tent, where two soldiers held the tent flap to one side to allow us to enter.
“Lie down,” I said to the dogs, and they lay down together to the right of the tent, watching me all the while. I saw many men and women make the sign against the evil eye. We removed our skis and went in.
It was warm inside the tent. There was a small iron stove by one wall and a pipe to funnel out the smoke. I have never seen anything so efficient. I wonder if there is a smith in Rovas who could build such a thing? But how would they ensure that the metal could stand such heat?
Around the stove were a number of elegantly dressed men and women. I could not guess who was the nádor out of three men with long mantles and high, soft-leather boots. They looked confusingly similar with their close-trimmed beards and hooked Urundian noses. But there was no mistaking who was Queen. She was wearing a long, moss-green dress of the finest wool and a black mantle edged with ermine. Her hair was as black as a winter night, braided and coiled like a crown around her head, and adorned with jewels that glittered in the lamplight shining from a number of tables around the tent. I knew who she was from her posture, and how the others stood in relation to her, always aware of where she was and never taking their eyes off her, even when they did not appear to be looking directly at her.
“Your Grace, Your Royal Highness.” The soldier bowed low. “Presenting Uvas Hammeirsson, woodcutter and fur-trapper.” He hesitated and glanced at me. “And Maresi Enresdaughter, banisher of frost and tamer of dogs, she of the red mantle, who speaks with goddesses and opens the door to death’s realm.”
We bowed low.
“So, these are the Rovasian commoners that you failed to subdue, my good Kendmen.” The Queen gestured at us to come closer. One of the hook-nosed men puffed himself up.
“Your Majesty did not give me permission to subdue them,” he said indignantly. I saw now that his garments were somewhat more extravagant than those of the other two, and that he wore a thick chain of gold around his neck. “There is no reason for Your Majesty to interrupt her hunting trip for this mere . . .”—he searched for the right word and waved his hand in the air—“triviality,” he concluded.
“Practically the entire province has gathered in a valley of rare silverwoods,” said the Queen, “despite your assurances that it was only a handful of people.” She was looking at me the whole time she spoke, not at the nádor. “They are hindering my governor’s men from felling the woodland he has ordered them to fell. They have left their farms and homes unattended to protect this woodland. I should not call that a triviality. I should call it a most remarkable occurrence. And I am curious, dear Kendmen. This is far more interesting than deer-hunting.”
The Queen inspected me so openly that I ventured to do the same. She was neither young nor old, perhaps ten years or so older than Náraes. I was ignorant of the fact that Urundien had a queen at all, so she could not have been in power very long. As I stood there listening and being watched, I searched my mind for everything I knew about the history of Urundien and its sovereigns, and particularly about its very few female sovereigns.
“So
, Maresi Enresdaughter. And Uvas Hammeirsson.” The Queen twisted one of the rings on her left hand. “Why are you hindering the royal emissaries in their work?”
“Your Majesty,” I said. I hoped that was appropriate—what did I know about addressing a queen? I gripped my staff firmly in my hand. “We are your loyal subjects. We have never risen up against any nádor that the Crown in Irindibul has appointed to govern us. We keep to the forests where we may hunt and gather wood, and never touch the Crown’s land. So has it been for generations. But this valley, it is beyond sacred.” I gestured toward the nádor. “He has laid waste to our offering groves, where we make sacrifices to the earth and the air and all that makes up Rovas. These are the places where we have honored the changing seasons, said prayers and given thanks for good harvests for hundreds of years. Though they are situated in our part of the forest, we did not raise our voice when he ravaged them. But this—this is the burial grove of the whole of Rovas. It is death’s realm. The nádor orders the woodcutters to raise their axes against the holiest of holies. Under these white trees lie all the dead who have ever been buried in Rovas. And our dead . . .” My voice faltered.
“Our dead are us,” Uvas said crisply. “We would just as soon die as violate the graves, for what people would allow their mothers and fathers to be violated?”
“Is that why you have summoned all your people there?” asked the Queen. I shook my head.
“I made no summons, Your Majesty. It was the dead themselves.”
“Nonsense,” snapped the nádor. “Utter nonsense! Do not listen to the babbling of this mad witch, Your Majesty.”
“She can read too,” came a voice from one of the darker corners of the tent. I did not look. I could not let myself be provoked. I knew in any case that it was the soldier from the market who had spoken. The Queen raised her eyebrows, but the nádor ignored the interjection and continued to speak, more heatedly now.
“Permit me to lead a mounted attack. We have men enough to wipe out every one of these rebellious peasants.”
“Is that so?” The Queen directed her gaze briefly at the nádor. She pressed her lips together before continuing to speak, as if to keep hold of herself. “You propose to slaughter all men, women and children in your own province? Who do you foresee working the land, dear Kendmen?”
The nádor glared at me because he dared not glare at his Sovereign. And that was the moment when I first realized that there was hope. There was hope through negotiation, without bloodshed, for the Queen was neither foolish nor bloodthirsty. However, she was proud. I had to find a way to untie this knot without the Queen losing face, because I knew that if she did she could turn against us in a second. I fingered the skull that Akios had helped me to carve on the knob of my staff, and said a silent prayer to the Crone that her wisdom might guide me on the right path.
“What did you do to the dogs?” asked the Queen, turning back to me.
“I do not know, Your Majesty. I told them to stop and they stopped. I told them to come and they followed.”
“And the avalanche, did you do that?”
“Yes, with help. From the women of Rovas, from the First Mother, and Rovas itself.”
“What else are you capable of?”
I looked at the staff in my hands. What am I capable of? I have no idea. But I knew that I could not say so. Not there in the royal tent.
“I can do whatever must be done,” I said, looking the Queen straight in the eye. She looked back at me, weighing my words. The nádor scoffed.
“Empty words. The avalanche was a natural phenomenon, and the dogs have been badly schooled.”
“My own dogs, badly schooled? Is that what you are saying, dear Kendmen? And you hurried here personally when the message of this magical avalanche interrupted our hunt, when we were having such a merry time in the forest.”
Every time the Queen used his first name he closed his eyes for a split second, as though it caused him great displeasure to hear his name uttered with such familiarity and obvious superiority. I was starting to see that this nádor was indignant about having a woman as monarch and leader. From the frequency of the Queen’s use of the epithet “dear,” I supposed that she was far from fond of her nádor either.
The nádor turned to the Queen.
“Your Majesty, I beg you, permit me to take care of these insurgents. There is no reason for you to interrupt your hunt. Whatever happens, whatever this witch can or cannot do, I shall take care of it. There is no reason for you to trouble your pretty head with these concerns. I know a forest nearby that is absolutely brimming with deer and wild boar. I believe there is a large pack of snow-white wolves as well. Should that not be quite the trophy to bring back to Irindibul, white wolfskin for all the ladies of the court?”
The Queen looked at him, and her expression of contempt did not go unnoticed by anyone in the tent.
“Why are you so incredibly keen to fell these silverwoods, dear Kendmen?”
“Why, for Your Majesty’s sake, of course,” replied the nádor. He pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his brow. “I do not wish to burden these people with high taxes, so in order to meet Your Majesty’s stipulated taxation I must find other forms of income from the province. This type of wood has no equal in all of Urundien. It is hard-wearing and white as snow, never darkens or yellows, and is very difficult to burn. It could even be used in the palace. An eternally snow-white pavilion by the palace pond, perhaps?”
Uvas and I exchanged glances when the nádor claimed that his taxes were not a heavy burden. The Queen looked at me, her eyes shining in the lamplight. Then she gave the nádor a brilliant smile.
“I hold your loyalty and hard work for the Crown in high esteem, my good Kendmen. And you are quite right, these sorts of negotiations do bore me. It is better to leave them to the men.” She yawned and stretched. “Eara, Talrana, come, let us return to my tent.” The men bowed deeply as the Queen swept away.
The two ladies, beautifully dressed in gray and blue respectively, followed. Just as the Queen reached the tent opening, I heard the nádor mutter: “See how fickle she is. I maintain that the realm cannot be ruled by a woman.” I did not believe that the Queen had heard him. Then a loud and commanding voice came from the tent door.
“Maresi Enresdaughter, do you hesitate in following the orders of your Queen? We ought to leave the negotiations to the men. Come.”
I glanced quickly at Uvas, who gestured to me to go. I turned around and hurried after the Sovereign of Urundien and Rovas, the nádor’s gaze burning into my back.
ϖ
Now my eyelids are too heavy, dear Sister O. I can write no more, not now. I must sleep awhile. My candle is burning down, and I dare not ask for another. I will continue tomorrow, if the Queen allows it.
ϖ
It is morning, but two days have passed since I last wrote. I am completely overcome by fatigue. They barely let me sleep here. I was in no way prepared for everything expected of me.
I will continue where I left off.
ϖ
When I emerged from the tent, the Queen was watching the dogs.
“Do they obey only you now?” she asked.
“I do not know, Your Majesty,” I said carefully. “I have never done anything like this before. My powers are not my own. They come to me from the Crone, from the land, from the people of Rovas. There is nothing remarkable about me personally.”
“You are the first of my Rovasian subjects I have come across who is able to read,” said the Queen with a sour smile. “That is remarkable enough in itself. I believe what the soldier said is true.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. And I can write and count.”
“Hmm. I would appreciate it if you could pass your authority over the dogs to my houndmasters so that they might take them away. They are in the way here.”
I crouched down and looked at the dogs. Fifty pairs of dark eyes looked up at me. “Go free,” I said quietly.
One by one they got up, s
hook themselves and padded away in different directions. Men in brown leather jackets ran over, whistled at their dogs and herded them away across the glade. The Queen was not watching the dogs; she was watching me. Then she turned and walked to the second large tent, followed by her ladies-in-waiting.
This tent was a little smaller but more homely, with carpets on the ground, a travel cot by the far wall, a table with folding chairs and a stove similar to the one in the other tent. The ladies-in-waiting quickly lit the lamps. I stood just inside the tent door and looked on. The Queen muttered something to the lady in gray, who fetched a pitcher and poured a red drink into a vessel of real glass. The Queen raised it to me.
“What is it you say here in Rovas? Blessings on your journey?”
She took a sip from the glass and then offered it to me. I, Maresi Enresdaughter, received a greeting cup from the hand of a queen.
“Blessings on your hearth,” I whispered. The wine tasted different from the one we drink at Moon Dance at the Abbey. Much sweeter. It tasted good.
The Queen came over to the table and sat down.
“So, Maresi, banisher of frost. Come and sit. We have much to discuss and not much time to do it.”
“Was it a pretext then? Was Your Majesty only pretending to be bored?” I heard the question leave my lips before I had time to think it through, and I cursed my impulsiveness. I still have not learned to control it! But to my great relief the Queen only laughed dryly.
“Naturally. I had to find a way to confer with you in peace and quiet without interference from the nádor. The man is an idiot. And I believe that you have much to tell me that he would go to great lengths to prevent me from hearing. Come and sit now. Queens are not used to having to repeat themselves.”
I hastened to sit down at the table, on a stool one of the ladies-in-waiting had provided for me.
Red Mantle Page 27