Red Mantle

by Maria Turtschaninoff

  Fools. This was the door of the dead, through which no living person could pass. The ghosts continued to flow out through the door I had opened, thousands of them, generation after generation, united in their intention to defend their descendants and their sacred ground.

  Horses bolted, some with their riders still on their backs and others with empty saddles. Mother swung her sword, and it was no phantom object—she drew real blood. The Rovasians drew back to the sides, and now it was the soldiers who were driven up the hill and out of the valley. I saw the dead give up pursuit a short distance up the hill. They were probably unable to leave the burial grove. But the soldiers did not stop running and did not look back. The nádor had lost his horse, and Mother showed him no pity as she made her sword dance. He screamed for mercy, but she had no intention of showing him compassion. She knew how to brandish a sword, I saw. She used it well. It was not the first time she had raised it against an enemy.

  “Halt!”

  A clear, though trembling, voice sounded over the din. The Queen, who had somehow lost her mantle, rushed forth toward the army of the dead. She knelt before Mother and held out her hands. The nádor was lying on his side in the snow with blood running from his cheeks and ears, his mouth wide open in a silent scream.

  “We do not deserve your mercy, yet I beg for it.” The Queen could not look Mother in the eye, but her posture was proud. “I am their Queen, not yours. Yours cannot be seen by the eyes of the living. But as Queen I beg for your mercy. I swear that no one shall lift an ax against your burial trees without punishment, as long as the realm of Urundien stands, and as long as law-abiding monarchs reign. And no one other than the people of Rovas shall be permitted to set foot on this land.”

  The army of ghosts had stilled. The last of the soldiers had clambered out of the valley and fled, and only the nádor and Queen remained. A guttural noise came from the nádor, as though torn from his chest against his will. The people of Rovas stood quietly, waiting.

  Mother extended her sword to the Queen. Without hesitation the Queen sliced her palm along the edge. Red drops dripped onto the white snow.

  “I swear by my royal blood,” said the Queen.

  “We have heard and we bear witness,” I announced, and turned to my people. “Hear the words and promise of the Sovereign of Urundien.”

  “We hear and bear witness,” replied the men and women gathered under the trees.

  Mother bowed shortly and turned around. The crowds of ghosts left the Queen and nádor there on the hillside, one on her knees, the other beaten and pitiful on the ground. Then the dead turned to us, and sought out their relatives. They offered no embraces and no words. Yet the living were able to say their final words, the unspoken words that had burdened their hearts and caused so many sleepless nights and such sorrow. I saw my grandmother holding a little bundle in her arms. It was a baby, whom she carried to my sister. Through tears, Náraes whispered tender words into his ear.

  Gradually the dead began to return through the door that I held open for them. Several of them greeted me with a nod or a short bow. Suddenly I became aware of someone standing next to me, and I looked down.

  It was Anner. My beloved little sister. She looked just as I remembered her, and yet different. She was . . . more. Bigger. More beautiful. She was not really my sister anymore. She said nothing, for the dead have no voices in the mortal realm. But a warmth and joy flooded my breast that left me feeling lighter and more blessed than ever before. All the guilt I had once felt for her death dissolved and disappeared.

  Mother was the last to walk through the door. She stopped and passed me her sword. It was heavy and solid in my hand.

  I had no words to say to Mother, for everything had already been said. Neither did I feel the need to hear anything from her, for she had also said it all. But I felt her love. It was just as strong as when she was alive.

  I feel it still.

  I leaned my forehead against the doorframe and whispered a few words to the Crone before closing the door, softly and with care.

  And so it was done.

  Your novice,

  Dear Jai and Ennike Rose,

  It is all over now, but my work continues nevertheless. The first tasks were to bury the fallen and care for the injured. Many were injured, some badly. They had taken sword blows to the head or face, resulting in broken noses, cracked and bleeding skulls, peeling skin and sliced fingers from their attempts to defend themselves. Horse kicks had caused nasty bruises as well. I have never been so grateful for all that Sister Nar taught me about healing, and sewing together wounds, and setting bones straight, and which herbs and plants protect against traumatic fever, and so forth. I was busy from early to late and still did not manage to see to everybody.

  We counted thirty-one dead. Our village has lost Máros, my childhood playmate.

  There was a certain bashfulness between me and Kárun after my declaration of love. He spoke even less than before, and said nothing about my revelation. But he never left my side. He made sure that I ate at least one meal a day. He forced me to sleep for at least part of the night, when I was determined not to leave the injured even for a moment. He made sure that not everybody came to me with their worries by establishing groups to help those in need, whether it concerned wounds, food, lost family members, settling disputes, or journeys home. He made sure that I was free to care for the severely injured, and nothing else. I did not work alone; there were many knowledgeable men and women to help me. But they all turned to me for the final decisions.

  When I was reeling from exhaustion, Kárun’s hand was there at once to support me. When I was reduced to tears from hunger and lack of sleep, he made sure that I sat down and ate some food. And when dark memories and thoughts hounded me and prevented me from sleeping, he noticed and took to lying beside me, at a respectful distance but close enough that I could reach out a hand to hold his if I wanted. It was the only way I could get to sleep. It was like having you in bed next to me, Jai—the comfort of knowing that I was not alone. Yet it was also very different. Because as I lay there feeling his big, rough hand in mine, I wondered whether he loves me as I love him. His actions said he did. But he said nothing to confirm it.

  ϖ

  When everybody started leaving the burial grove to return to their homes, Queen Voranne rode to see me in person, as if I were royalty. She asked to speak to me in one of the log cabins where I was treating the worst wounded.

  “Is there anything more I can do for your people?” she asked, and pulled off her gloves. She was dressed just as she was when I had last seen her, and with a white fur hat over her dark hair. Those who were able bent to kneel as she entered, but she hastily gestured to them that there was no need.

  “No, Your Majesty. You have already done so much by providing all the food and bandages. Everybody is out of danger now, and they only need to recover enough to get home.”

  “When do you think that shall be?” she asked, and slapped her gloves against her palm.

  I wiped my hands on the apron Náraes had lent me. “Hard to say. That man over there has a crushed kneecap, and his village is—”

  “I shall loan out my horses,” the Queen interrupted. “Those able to ride can do so, with my soldiers to escort them. Mine, not the nádor’s. I shall organize carts for those unable to ride. Maresi Enresdaughter, these people no longer need you, but I do.”

  “Your Majesty?”

  “You must come with me to Kandfall. I require someone to help me examine the nádor’s accounts of collected taxes. I must have proof of his deceit. I need no more incriminating evidence against his character, seeing as he led an attack against the very people it is his duty to protect, against my express wishes, and intended to destroy woodland in a valley he knew to be sacred. He has already been escorted to Irindibul and awaits trial. But in order to correct the future taxes I must see what he has done. For this I need you. And then we must draw up new guidelines for how Rovas shall be governed and taxed
in the future. I am not overly pleased about your school, for one thing. We have much to discuss. My time in Rovas is running out, for whenever I leave Irindibul I always have a great big mess of loose ends awaiting me on my return.”

  When she mentioned the school I had no choice but to agree. But I will do anything to defend it, my sisters. Anything.

  I packed my few possessions that evening, and the following morning some of the Queen’s own soldiers came with horses and carts for the wounded. I would have rather stayed with several of the more serious cases, but even they were getting impatient and wanted to return home. I hope all the injured survived. I gave detailed instructions for how to care for them. But the journey home is long for many of them, and the nights have been cold. Only ten or so people remained in the camp: the injured and their families. My own family had already returned to Sáru with the other villagers. Father did not want to leave me, but I insisted. The farm needs Father and Akios more than I do now. Besides, Akios was among the injured, did I mention that? He had several broken bones in his left hand, and I wanted him to go home and rest properly. Marget received a nasty scratch along her right cheek. It might leave a scar, but I bandaged it well enough that she will not suffer from traumatic fever, at least. Náraes and Jannarl came out unscathed, and they were among the first to leave with their daughters.

  The only person left from Jóla or Sáru was Kárun.

  On the morning of my departure, a soldier brought me a horse in fine saddlery and bowed low. I turned around and there was Kárun, close by, just as he had been the whole time.

  “So you’re leaving me now,” he said.

  His eyes were filled with sorrow, and he met my gaze openly, as he always does, but I could see that it was difficult for him. I gave the horse a pat and asked the soldier to wait, then went over to Kárun. He stood there in his leather waistcoat, with those broad shoulders that I have to stop myself from reaching out and touching. He was wearing the gloves I had given him, as usual.

  I had made no plan of what to say. I was unaware that I had come to a decision. But standing there before him, about to ride away with the Queen, I knew exactly what I wanted. I knew what to say. And despite all the help he had given me, I had no idea how he would respond.

  I took both his hands and looked him in the eye, and my stomach lurched as it does every time I look at him or touch him.

  “Yes, I am leaving you now, Kárun Eiminsson. But if you want, I will never leave your side again.”

  I held my breath. I needed an answer before I left.

  He squeezed my hands in his.

  I took a deep breath and felt tears well in my eyes.

  “If you will have me, I am yours, Kárun.”

  “If I will?” He pulled me close and held me tight. “Of course I will, Maresi. I want nothing else. It is what I have wanted since the first time I saw you, beside your brother, with your unbound hair like a shining crown. But I am a humble woodcutter. I have nothing to offer you.” His eyes were wild. Hungry.

  “I need nothing,” I whispered. “Only you.”

  And then, my dearest Jai and beloved Ennike Rose, he kissed me.

  Venerable Sister O,

  I have just returned from another council with the Queen. I have been here in the nádor’s castle for ten days now, and every day the Queen and I have sat bent over scrolls and books filled with columns of numbers. The nádor has been receiving taxes which in some years accounted for almost half of everything produced by the people of Rovas, while sending less than one-tenth to the Crown. He has lived a life of luxury with expensive tapestries, rugs and silk bedsheets, and a table more opulent than the Queen’s own. The Queen has already begun to sell the more costly items in order to fill the nádor’s coffers with ready money. “To buy seed for the farmers who need it in spring,” she says. The Queen is to appoint a new nádor as soon as she has returned to Irindibul, but it will take time to find the right person, and even longer before he arrives in Rovas. The Queen is leaving one of her ladies-in-waiting, Talrana, here to make sure that everything runs smoothly in the meantime.

  “I would gladly appoint her as nádor,” said the Queen late one evening when we had been staring at columns of numbers for half an eternity. “She is practical and intelligent, and would certainly cause no trouble, at least.” She sighed and sipped some wine, which was always available on the table. She drinks a great deal of wine, the Queen. Personally I find it makes the figures harder to understand, so I have asked for malt drink or soured skim milk instead. The Queen says that the latter is an abomination, but always makes sure there is a chilled container of milk for me. “But alas it cannot be. I cannot incur as many enemies as such an appointment would entail.”

  “Whomever you appoint as nádor, I think it would be wise if he were unmarried, but willing to marry a woman from Rovas,” I said.

  I have become better at offering uninvited opinions. The Queen specified that I should do so, which I suppose means that they are all invited. It was difficult at first, but she always listens carefully to my suggestions, whatever they may be. Sometimes she gets annoyed, but she takes me seriously.

  “You mean like when Bendiro wed Venna? That is a thought.” She put down her cup and peered at me from across the table, between the burning candles. “You would make an excellent candidate for marriage. With you by his side the nádor would not dare make one false move.” She laughed at my horrified expression and shook her head. When she laughs she looks like a roguish little girl, and those are the moments I like her best. “Calm down, I am only jesting with you. It would never work—men never let themselves be advised and guided by women like you. Or like me.” She sighed gently. “Whoever becomes nádor needs a woman who can teach him about Rovas without him realizing that he is being taught.”

  “Perhaps that is true of the high-ranking men of Irindibul,” I said carefully. It is never wise to contradict the Queen too much.

  “You still have a different opinion of men from me, I see,” the Queen said dryly. “So it is agreed. I shall appoint as wise and loyal a nádor as can be found in that rotten palace of mine, and you shall help me appoint him a wife. But for now I need to know how many people you estimate reside in Rovas. I wonder if I could give them all a helping hand now that spring is approaching. You have shown me that manure is crucial for viable agriculture, but to get said manure each farm ought to have a cow.”

  And so we continued long into the night. We have been referring to those three long-established laws, and writing new instructions for the next nádor. I truly want to help the Queen, and therefore Rovas, as much as I can, but it is difficult when I am constantly made aware of my own ignorance. How many people live in Rovas? I can only guess, based on what I know about the villages and the size of the province. I have recommended that the Queen conduct a census. I have also told her that she should never expect high taxes from this province, for the climate is too harsh and the soil too meager. But if she lets the inhabitants flourish she can count on loyal subjects, and protection from any possible attack from the Akkade people in the north, and many woodcutters and wild hunters, which is probably our wooded province’s greatest benefit for the Crown. At least I believe so. Nothing has prepared me for advising a queen in how to rule her queendom. Not even the Crone can help me with this.

  We have had long, and sometimes heated, discussions about the school as well. The Queen is not keen on it.

  “Subjects with too much knowledge are difficult to govern,” she says, pursing her lips every time I stubbornly bring the school back into the conversation. “I have already agreed to aid during hunger, and all manner of relief. You even convinced me to abolish taxation in the worst years of famine. Are you never satisfied, Maresi Enresdaughter?”

  “Your Majesty, you are correct in thinking that people who can read and write are not as easy to deceive,” I said. “But that also means that no nádor can deceive them like this one did. That makes it harder to deceive the Crown as well.”
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br />   “I cannot say I am convinced,” she muttered. “But how dare I refuse someone who can release the dead among the living?”

  She rose, and then laughed. She is not really afraid of me. Not much, at least. And she did yield to the school, eventually. I explained that there is not much time to teach the children because they are always needed for work around the house and farm. Just some letters, some numbers, and the history of Urundien. I do intend to teach them more than that, of course, but there is no need for the Queen to know everything. At least not yet.

  In exchange she has demanded fines for hunting in the Crown forest, because the law goes both ways. I agreed, but when I was racking my brain as to how we could ever afford to pay them, she appeared with a signed parchment showing a figure of compensation for the trees felled in the name of the Crown on common land belonging to the Rovasians. The sums canceled each other out.

  However, the greatest challenges of my time here in the castle have not been helping Her Majesty with figures and providing sound advice. Apparently a monarch’s duties also extend to holding balls and luncheons for important people. On these occasions she has expected me to join her at the table, eating fish and fowl stuffed with dried fruit and rare spices. She has dressed me up in her ladies’ garments, which are the most uncomfortable things I have worn in all my life. Talrana washed and combed my hair, but I drew the line at braiding it. “Who knows what storms it could cause,” I warned, and she let it be. Then I had to sit next to white-bearded men who spoke of people and events completely unknown to me, or who saw fit to tell me all about Rovasian history (most of which was wrong), or I had to stand in a hot ballroom watching others dance to melodies on pipes and strings, bored and exhausted after all those sleepless nights with the Queen. Her Majesty never seems to be tired. She writes laws and dances with egotistical dukes and eats apple compote all with the same agreeable manner. It is only when we are alone that I can see the wide scope of her character, and the sharp intelligence hidden under those neatly formed braids.