The Queen’s master swordsman has told me about Mother’s sword. He says it is old, a hundred years or more. It looks very simple to me, but he was impressed by the way it was forged and smithed, and says that it should stay sharp without grinding for another hundred years. It comes from the west, he believes, but he cannot say precisely where. He said it is unlike any sword he has ever seen.
I want to go home to my village, Sister O. I miss our house and my bed, no matter how comfortable the bed is that I am sleeping in now. I miss cooking my own morning porridge, and I want to check Akios’s bandage. I want to know if my goat has had kids yet. I want to walk around the villages, not to beat protection into the ground, but to reassure myself that all is well. My school is waiting for me.
The school, and Kárun. Sister O, I will not give him up. I am his and he is mine. I intend to show Náraes that she is wrong—I can have a man, a family, and work all at the same time. If the man is like Kárun. I hope you are not too disappointed in me. There is nothing to say that the servant to the Crone must be celibate. And perhaps I do not want to serve only the Crone. During different periods of one’s life, different aspects of the First Mother might become the most important. Sister Eostre was once servant to the Maiden, and now has a closer affinity with the Mother, and neither is better nor worse than the other. Like the servant to the Moon, I can bear everything within me. I am broad enough. Strong enough. I know this, and it is an incredible feeling. I feel that I can do anything. But in order to succeed, to cope, I need someone who loves me, who wants to be with me and help me. Then I can bear everything.
Yours,
Dearest Jai,
What a strange time this has been. For fifteen nights I have slept in a feather bed between silk sheets and had breakfast brought to my room, consisting of soured skim milk, freshly baked bread, porridge with jam and butter, fried pork, and more besides. I have worn dresses worth as much silver as a cow. I have eaten at the Queen’s table with a number of important people. And I, Maresi of Rovas and Menos, have helped and advised royalty!
But in fifteen days I have barely been outdoors, and I am losing my mind. I have no notion of how winter is turning to spring. I have tried to steal a little time to myself in the courtyard now and then, but the Queen has been keeping me constantly busy and I have only succeeded a couple of times. There is much beauty to admire here at the castle, but nothing can compare to the beautiful forests surrounding my village. I miss home.
Yesterday morning I was looking through the wordings of the directives that the Queen, with my help, has written for the next nádor. The Queen was busy answering letters from the court in Irindibul. They are clearly impatient for her return. There came a knock on the door and a footman came in.
“There’s someone here who would like to meet with the witch.” He blushed and began to stammer. “The frost-banisher. The red mantle. She who speaks with the dead . . .” The Queen waved him away, irritated.
“The son of one of my many relatives,” she said. “Utterly incompetent, but he needs an education. Having him as a footman here is teaching him something at least. I hope.”
In through the door came Kárun. His cheeks were red from the brisk winter air and he was dressed in his usual leather waistcoat and high boots. I wanted to run to him, embrace him, kiss him, but I remained seated, unable to speak. Sometimes I have feared that our kiss was only a dream. Sometimes I feared that he regretted it. Regretted what he had said to me. Yet there he was.
He bowed to the Queen without taking his eyes off me. His eyes were dark, and they revealed a desire that made my cheeks burn. The Queen sighed and put down her quill.
“Kárun Eiminsson. You have come to bring Maresi home, I suppose.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. If it please you. She’s needed at home in the village.”
“Is something wrong?” I felt suddenly anxious.
“No, not at all.” He took a step toward me, then looked at the Queen and stopped. “But your pupils are impatient for you to reopen the school. There’s time for lessons now, before the spring sowing. Akios’s hand is healing well, and Jannarl’s mother’s knee too, but it would be good if you could come and see to them anyway. Your father is terribly worried about you.” He glanced at the Queen and took one step closer. “And I miss you, Maresi.”
He spoke these last words very softly. My breath caught in my throat.
“I need her too,” said the Queen, spinning the quill between her fingers. “There is no one else who can give such good advice. Or who can be so irritatingly obstinate. Neither have I ever had such an interesting conversation companion.” Then she rose with a gentle sigh. “But it is time I returned to Irindibul. From these letters I can deduce that everybody has made a frightful mess of everything. Intrigues and coups have been planned, and my absence is interpreted by many as weakness and neglect. I am going to have to work hard to show them how wrong they are.” She smiled at me. “I shall ensure that your belongings are packed up, Maresi, so that you may travel this afternoon. No point in drawing out the inevitable.” She turned to Kárun, and the smile disappeared. “Do you intend to marry Maresi?”
“If that’s what she wants, Your Majesty,” said Kárun. “All I know is that I want to share my life with her.”
“Despite the knowledge of all she is capable of? You must be, what? A woodcutter? She can open portals to the realm of the dead. She can call forth storms and calm enraged animals. How will you control such a woman?”
“Your Majesty.” Kárun hesitated, and the Queen nodded to him encouragingly.
“You have permission to speak freely.”
“I don’t want to control her. Maresi can take care of herself.” I felt so warm and proud when I heard the admiration in Kárun’s voice. “All I can offer her is my two hands. They may be empty, but they are strong. And the work of these hands will be to help her in all that she does. There are some things she still needs help with. Like being brought home, when she is too kind to know what’s good for her.”
The Queen laughed. “Remarkable men you have here in Rovas,” she said to me. “Maybe I should take some of them in tax too.” Then she smiled that roguish smile I am so fond of. She came and kissed me on both cheeks.
“Maresi Enresdaughter. My friend. I am going to miss you. You are welcome to visit me in Irindibul whenever you wish. What a scandal it should cause if you swept through the palace corridors with your red mantle and carved staff!” She laughed loudly. “Do not make too much trouble for the new nádor. But do report his activities to me. As long as I reign, Maresi Enresdaughter has the Crown’s ear.”
“Your Majesty.” I curtsied as low as I could. “Thank you for listening to me, and to the people of Rovas.”
The Queen left the room and shut the door, and then Kárun and I were alone. I approached him and brought my hands to his face.
“So do you still want this witch?” I asked.
“More than anything,” he whispered. “But are you sure you want me? I never said how I felt because you made it so clear that you were devoting your life to the school, not to a husband and children. I respect that, Maresi. I admire you for it. I don’t want to stand in your way.”
He placed his hands on my waist and, my knees weakened so that I could barely stand.
“You won’t,” I answered. “You and I can walk this path together.”
“Maresi,” he said, and from his lips my name sounded unlike it ever had before.
Then no more words were uttered for a very long time.
Your friend,
My dear Ennike Rose,
Winter has been fading into spring during my time at Kandfall. There is still snow, and the nights are cold, but the days are mild and much brighter than they were a moon ago.
Queen Voranne gave me an incredible farewell gift. It took Kárun and me seven days to complete the journey home, though it should have been much faster. We had so many animals and objects with us. There may have been other . . . delays to
our journey as well.
The Queen gave me an ox. It was standing attached to a cart when Kárun and I emerged into the courtyard on the afternoon he came to fetch me. The cart was stacked with hay for the four cows who were tethered behind—one for each farm in Sáru. And there was much more in the cart besides, things I only discovered when I unpacked everything at home. I will write a letter to Sister O detailing everything that was there, you can ask her. For now I want to tell you about our wonderful journey home.
It was the first time Kárun and I had spent proper time alone together. We spoke of everything and nothing. We sat side by side in the ox-pulled cart, gliding over the frozen earth along barely discernible forest paths, and kissed until my lips were sore. When we could stand it no longer we stopped the cart and made love in the hay under the clear sky of early spring.
The power of the body, dear Rose. It is boundless. I always believed that the Crone was the strongest of the First Mother’s three aspects, but this is another thing I have learned here that I never understood at the Abbey—whichever of the Goddess’s aspects you are looking at in any given moment, that is the strongest. When I was a child and when I was at the Abbey it was the Crone, because I was surrounded by death, and then by learning. Right now it is the Maiden who wields the most irresistible power. I tremble with desire when I am with Kárun, and when I think of him, when he touches me or I look at him. I want him on me, in me, all the time. I want to feel the weight of his body. I want to hear his breath in my ear.
After the journey home my whole body was aching, and not because the cart was uncomfortable.
Today when we reached Sáru we parted ways—he went to the school and I led the cows to the farmsteads—and it felt as if my heart would burst. I never want to be apart from him. And I see no reason why I ever should.
Yours,
Venerable Sister O,
The Queen has provided me with a treasure trove! She had a real chest with iron fittings filled with books from the nádor’s personal library! Oh, you cannot imagine the delight I felt on opening it. On top of the books were thick bundles of paper, and several quills and lots of real glass jars of ink. I have shared everything else she has given me with the other farmsteads in Jóla and Sáru. It belongs to them as much as to me. They were there with me in the burial grove from the beginning. But the books and paper are mine, all mine! I keep them on the shelves in the school. I reopened the school as soon as I was back home, and it was a joy to see my pupils’ eager faces again. Several of them have carved their own staffs to walk to school with. I suppose they want to be like me.
The most expensive of the gifts were the cows, one for every farm in Sáru. We soon came to the agreement that we would all share the ox for working the land. We have all helped each other with the spring sowing anyway, so the ox may as well belong to everybody. And the Queen gave us even more besides: the finest wool in colors we could never create with our dyeing techniques; linen so thin that you can nearly see through it; several ax heads and knife blades; sewing needles; buttons of silver and bone; and a large pouch of iron nails. She may be the Queen, but she certainly is a practically minded woman.
A new phase is dawning. It is nearly two years since I returned to Rovas, and I can finally relax and feel safe. We will not go hungry this year and, assuming the newly appointed nádor is an honest man, we should never go hungry again. We will always have to work hard, but we are used to that. I no longer need to spend my strength protecting the village, so I can do what I came here to do: educate the children. This summer I will try to travel to another village and educate their children in reading and writing also. Kárun is going to continue working as a woodcutter, but is not going to float timber anymore. I need him here at home. He takes care of all the practicalities of the schoolhouse—firewood, snow-shoveling and the like—so I can direct my full attention to teaching. And when I go out on the road, he is going to accompany me and carry books, paper, abacus and whatever else I need. I believe I will be able to earn enough as a teacher to put food on the table for both of us. Indeed, I am paid in food and provisions. Kárun earns a small income as a woodcutter also, and he can hunt to bolster our diet.
Father and Akios can run the farmstead just fine, even though Father says the house will feel empty without me there. Kárun and I are to move into the schoolhouse in spring. Perhaps Kárun and I can help with the farm work during the busiest of times, and that way we can get a little of our own bread on the table too.
Queen Voranne has promised that once she has appointed a new nádor she will send a messenger all the way to our little village to let me know. And then she warned me that once he has settled into his castle he will undoubtedly send for me, to see with his own eyes the woman who “raised a storm, summoned an avalanche, tamed wild animals and released the dead among the living,” in her words. She has a flair for the dramatic.
These years have been difficult, but now I feel safe in the knowledge that there are many good years to come. Good years filled with good work. I will always bear your words in mind, Sister O: I will not exclude, but unite. I will do my best to share the fruits of my work with as many people as possible. And I will pray to the First Mother, and all three of her aspects, and to the Rovasian earth, and know that everything is one and the same.
I have so much to thank you for, Sister O.
Dearest Jai,
Spring has come. The ground is dark and bare, waiting for the renewal of growth and life. The deciduous trees have not sprouted their leaves yet, but the first herbs are poking their heads out of the fertile humus.
Kárun is building an extra room at the schoolhouse. A bedroom. Our bedroom. We will live there together as soon as it is ready. We are not going to marry. There is no reason to do so, but I want to live with Kárun for the rest of my life. I could live alone, but I choose not to. Náraes has forgiven me, I think. She is helping us make preparations. She cannot get around easily, what with the baby on its way, so she spends her time sewing bedclothes and other things she thinks I need.
“But hold off on the children,” she says decisively. “You can run your school for now, I trust you on that. But having children changes everything, that’s all I’ll say.” And I will follow her advice. I brew Goddess Tongue leaves into a tea because I know that the time for motherhood has not yet come. I am young and there is much I want to do first.
And I do not doubt that I can do it, with Kárun at my side. He is the steel in my backbone. He is the rock on which I stand. He wants to help me in my work, and I am strong enough to let him do so. I am not saying it will be easy, but suddenly it is possible.
I finally feel that I have found my home, Jai. I have always been torn between Rovas and Menos, and never knew which was my real home. But now I know. Kárun is my home. Wherever he is, that is where I belong. He wants me just as I am: Maresi Enresdaughter of Rovas and Menos, who opens the door of the Crone, who walks in the footsteps of the Goddess, who tames wild animals, who causes the earth to tremble, summons wind and storm, and spreads light in the darkness. He is not afraid of me; he is not afraid to see me as I am. Everyone else believes I possess special powers, but I know the truth: he is the truly remarkable one. For he has done something so incredible that I can barely comprehend it—he has taught himself how to give and receive love. No one has shown him how to, as my parents showed me through always loving me, no matter what I did or how far away I traveled. His mother died when he was still little and his father was a callous man. But Kárun did not become callous. He learned to see beauty and love in the world anyway. Every day he strives for the same thing: to make life a little better and easier for me, and I know that he will continue to do so when our children come. He has given me something to strive for too—to emulate him in any small way I can.
There has always been a whispering dream inside me to return to Menos, although that was never my plan. Though I have known deep down that I will never see you again, I have kept wishing that I could. But now I am
growing my roots here. I am thinking of having children, Jai. Girls whom I can teach all about the Abbey. Perhaps one day they will travel there. If they do, I hope they can meet all of you. Silla is set to travel to Menos later this spring. She is wild but ready to learn, and the Abbey can provide all the help she needs that I am unable to give. Take good care of her! Of course, I know you will.
I promise to write and tell you how everything is going here, but it will be less often than before. I have to start again, create something new, and not constantly look backward. Besides, my work is going to keep me very busy. We have Berla to take care of as well—Father, Akios and I share responsibility for her. Mik and Eina have become like Náraes’s own children. I mentioned that they might be able to move in with Kárun and me in the schoolhouse, but this just angered my sister.
Keep writing to me, beloved Jai, my friend. I want to know how you are. I want to work hard, and know that everyone else is working hard far away at the Abbey. I do not expect you to think of me too often, but perhaps you can send me a thought sometimes, at Moon Dance or when you are all together harvesting bloodsnails on a beautiful spring day.
You will all remain forever in my heart.
Most Venerable Mother and dear friend,
I have always known that I would never see Sister O again in this lifetime. Your letter reached me yesterday when the first trade convoy of the year traveled through Rovas from the south. You wrote that no one could have guessed her death was imminent, but I suspect she knew. The letter you sent alongside yours, written by her hand not long before she died, mentioned nothing of her health or her death. But there was a sense of . . . longing. She also emphasized that the Crone still had not chosen a novice for her. There is only me. One winter night as I lay awake, I had a strong sensation that the Crone was watching me, and I now believe this was a premonition.
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