“Perhaps not entirely uninvited,” Jenna said. “I think you sent the invitation by way of this skinny bit of …” She kicked again at the cook, this time deliberately bruising his ribs. He did not stir.
“Ah, you have uncovered my little deception,” Kalas said, smiling. “But not—alas—soon enough.”
“Tell me,” Jenna said, “was he at least a good cook?”
“A terrible cook, but he had his other uses.”
“What I do not really understand,” Jenna said, “is why you let us get away, why you did not just kill us in the Hole.”
“Such an uninteresting death, don’t you think?” Kalas asked. “And I have made such a study of death, it would not do to just kill people outright. Besides”—and he laughed, showing again his horribly yellow teeth and running his fingers through his thinning red hair, which exposed darker roots—“I did not believe that even you, Prince Longbow’s White Goddess, would really dare the castle on her own. I needed you as bait for the redoubtable King Pike, who is even now at my door.”
Jenna’s eyes opened wide, but she let nothing else betray the fact that she was startled. So Kalas did not know that Carum was king; did not know that Gorum was dead. She would keep that little piece of information to herself.
He smiled again, reminding Jenna of her Mother Alta when she had a particularly devastating bit of news to impart. “I did not expect you to escape, not with my Cat watching carefully at the Hole. What a fascinating little mouse you are. But I have clipped the Cat’s claws for him. He will not make that mistake again.”
Jenna nodded. Keep him talking, she reminded herself. “But how did you know we had gotten out?”
“Oh, little girl, I know everything. This castle is mined with passages and set about with traps. You cannot go from one level to another without my knowing. Everything.”
“Then we could not have gotten out without you letting us go?”
“Not in a hundred years,” Kalas said. “Not in a hundred hundred years.”
She had her back to the tower’s one window, could feel the sun warming her. She could always leap out as a last resort, but she knew—having climbed it so painfully the night before—that it would be a long and fatal fall to the wall below. And that would leave Alna to the mercy of Kalas still, and the rest without their Anna.
There would be no help from Skada either. The sun was only half down the sky, so Kalas had no torches lit. Carum was gone below, sent away by her, past recalling. And Jenna knew she was out of polite conversation.
“Get her!” Kalas said to his guards, no change in the pitch of his voice.
They moved in a well-trained wedge toward her and she stepped quickly to the other side of the bed, putting it between the men and herself. When they split and three came after her, she leaped onto the bed, straddling Alna, and beating them back with some quick, though awkward sword work. Then with a quick slash of her weapon, she severed the hanging curtains from the canopy’s crossbar, tangling the men below in its heavy brocaded folds.
As they fought to free themselves, their companions came to their aid, giving Jenna just a moment. It was all she needed. She flung the sword point first into the breast of one of the guards. He did not have the Bear’s quick hands and the sword pierced him straight through, skewering the arm of a man beneath him who cried out in agony.
Jenna bounced once on the bed and grabbed the cross bracing of the canopy, swinging herself feetfirst nearly out of the door.
“After her!” Kalas cried.
But before the remaining guards could untangle themselves, Carum and two of the M’dorans burst through the open door, swords in hand. Behind them came a fourth woman, carrying both a sword and a torch. She flung the torch onto the bed.
The linens caught fire at once and Alna, moving faster than Jenna would have guessed, rolled off the bed on the window side, scrambling over the guards, where she cowered against the far wall.
7As the cloth flared to life, Jenna moved around the bed to stand between Kalas and the flames. She was weaponless while he still had a thin rapier in his one hand. The other hand rested on a heavy tapestry behind his chair.
“My sword, Jenna!” cried Carum, ready to fling it to her.
She shook her head, smiling. There was nothing sweet in that smile. “I need no sword, my king.” She spoke the final two words with deliberateness, to be sure Kalas understood, then added, “Do you not remember that tribe in the East you told me about so long ago.”
With one sharp movement, Kalas drew back the tapestry disclosing an open door. But Jenna put her hand in back of her neck, pulling her white braid forward, stretching it between her hands, like a rope. Behind her was the blazing bed sending crazed shadows against the wall. One of those shadows, framed in the doorway behind Kalas, was a womanshape holding a black braid stretched taut between her clenched hands.
Jenna reached up, exposing her breast to Kalas’ blade, and leaned forward. He smiled triumphantly until he felt the braid from behind slip over his head and catch him, suddenly, around the neck. He dropped the blade and tried to rip the noose from his throat but Skada and Jenna had, simultaneously, pulled their braids tight, twisting and twisting it.
Kalas’ face turned a strange, dark color as he struggled against the garroting plait. At the end his hands dropped to his sides and his feet beat a final tattoo against the wooden floor.
“Alaisters!” Carum said suddenly. “Alaisters was the name of the tribe. They were …”
“… never weaponless because of their hair,” Skada said, unknotting the noose from Kalas’ neck.
“Promise me you will never cut your braid,” Carum said.
They both nodded, but neither one of them smiled.
THE BALLAD:
The Ballad of Langbrow
When Langbrow first was made the king,
Proclaimed by all his men,
He took to him a goodly wife
Whose name was Winsome Jen.
He took to him a goodly wife,
Her name it was Sweet Ann,
And light her hair, and long her limb,
And Langbrow was her man,
And Langbrow was her man.
When Langbrow first was made the king,
Proclaimed by all his peers,
He opened up the prison gates
That had been closed for years.
He opened up the prison gates
With just one little key
And all the men condemned within
Straightways were all set free,
Straightways were all set free.
When Langbrow first was made the king,
He killed the callous crew
That tortured many a fine woman
And slaughtered not a few.
That tortured many a fine woman
And brought them many a shame
Till Langbrow came to rescue them
Returning their good name,
Returning their good name.
When Langbrow first was made the king,
The country did rejoice
And sang the praises of the king
With cup and wine and voice.
We sang the praises of the king
And of his winsome Jen
And of the men who followed him,
And also the wo-men,
And also the wo-men!
THE STORY:
Carum carried Kalas’ body down the stairs and into the courtyard where he threw it onto the stones. Jenna stood by his right side, her hands clasped together, watching.
As soon as Kalas’ body hit the ground, a strange hush fell upon the crowd. The soldiers, most of whom had been hired from the Continent, flung down their weapons. Those who were Garunian bred knelt, offering up their swords.
Carum ignored their fealty, speaking instead as if it had always been his, saying, “I am the one and true king, for my brother Gorum is dead. And here”—he pointed to the corpse at his feet—“here is the one who would have
severed us. Even Lord Cres will not have him, for only heroes feast at the dark lord’s side.”
The kneeling men stood, sheathing their weapons. Behind them, rising slowly over the crenellated castle walls, came the moon. Jenna saw it and smiled.
Carum took the leather thong from around his neck, holding up the crested ring that they all might see. “Here is the sign of the Bull and it belongs where I vowed it belonged—on the body of its dead master.”
The ring bounced on Kalas’ chest and tumbled onto the ground beside him. Watching silently, the crowd waited for Carum’s next words.
Instead, Carum took up Jenna’s left hand and set his mouth solemnly on her palm. Then he looked up again at the waiting men and women before speaking. As if weighing his words carefully, he said at last, “By my side is the one who was promised us, the White One of prophecy. Born of three mothers, born to lead us out of the ending of one era and into the beginning of the other, she is both light and …”
At that very moment, as though he had timed his speech exactly, the great full moon cleared the walls entirely, moving above the crenellations. Shimmering like water and starlight, Skada came into being next to Jenna, her black hair and dark eyes marking Carum’s text.
There was a sharp intake of breath from the watching men who did not even notice that the same was happening to all the women by their sides. Only Carum, staring down at them, and Piet, who stood near his king, saw that for every M’doran woman there were now two.
Carum held his hand up again and there was a complete hush.
“She is both light and dark, and shall rule by my side. She has made the hound, the bull, the cat, and the bear bow low. She has herself killed Kalas, and with that brought to an end his hideous reign.” For a moment after, the courtyard seemed to echo with his words.
Then Petra mounted two steps to stand in front of Carum and Jenna. She bowed her head to him briefly, solemnly, before turning more toward Jenna and raising her hands above her head, fingers extended, palms flat.
“Holy, holy, holiest of sisters,” she intoned.
The men chorused back, “Holy, holy, holiest of sisters.”
Petra turned and signed to Sandor and Marek to stand by her, and they climbed to her side.
“And Alta said this one shall crown the king,” Petra cried.
“The first Herald!” shouted one of the women.
Reaching into his shirt, Marek took out the circlet of sweetbriar which was, by some miracle, uncrushed, and placed it carefully on Carum’s head.
A great cheer went up from the crowd.
Petra raised her hand for quiet, and there was complete silence again.
“And Alta said this one shall guide the king’s right hand.”
Sandor slipped the wristlet of wild rose off his own arm and slid it onto Jenna’s. It hung loosely around her wrist.
An even wilder cheer, this one led by Piet, rose from the men and women.
Petra spoke into the noise and they quieted at once. “And Alta said that one shall be True Speaker for all, yet say nothing until the king be crowned, lest he sever the fellowship. Can you speak the truth to us now, True Speaker?”
Jareth pushed forward from the crowd, holding up the piece of green rag that had been his collar, calling in a strange croaking voice: “The king shall live long and longer yet the queen. They shall be for us whenever there is need.”
“Long live the king!” Piet shouted.
The crowd gave back its answer: “Long live the king!”
“And his queen, Jenna,” a woman with a wheezy voice cried.
“Long live the queen!” the crowd answered.
Petra turned her head slightly and winked at Skada who winked back. Then, as if singing an ancient chant, to the tune of the most sacred Altan prophecy’s plainsong, Petra let her voice ring out over the crowd:
“Then Longbow shall be king,
And Jenna shall be queen,
So long as moons they reign,
So long as groves be green.
Holy. Holy. Holy.”
“And what will that one turn into?” Jenna whispered.
“Some ballad sung in taverns and accompanied by a plecta and nose flute,” Skada answered. “Called When Langbrow was Made the King or How the Warrior Jenna Broke Heads or some such.”
“But,” Carum added, grinning, “it will be lovingly sung.”
THE HISTORY:
To the Directors, Dalian Historical Society Sirs:
Although I have been a member in good standing for twenty-seven years, a past president, and two-term general secretary, I find it impossible to remain a member any longer now that the Society has seen fit to give its highest award to that charlatan Dr. “Magic” Magon.
By so honoring Dr. Magon, you have given credence to his theories about the dark and light sisters, and his left-wing ravings about the circle of the Grenna as well as the cultural superiority of the indigenous populations of the Dales.
History must needs be even-handed and there is nothing surer than that legend, myth, balladry, and folktale are cultural lies that tell us the truth only on an incredible slant. To believe them without adjusting the glass, as Dr. Magon does, makes for warped history and a warped historian.
That this Society is now crediting such history and honoring such a historian forces me to tender my resignation until such a time as history itself shall prove me the prophet and Magon the liar.
Yours,
THE AFTERWARD:
Carum Longbow ruled the Dales for a full fifty years, till his hair was as white as Jenna’s and age had bent him.
Jenna was not always by his side, for she called the throne “a troubling seat” and she was ever uneasy with ceremony. Often she took long journeys into the countryside, accompanied by her one-armed daughter Scillia or one of her two sons.
At these times she sometimes traveled back to the southern parts of the Dales, passing by the Old Hanging Man and Alta’s Breast, to visit with old friends. Selden Hame, where the last of the remaining women of Alta lived, was always a home to her.
At Selden there were no priestesses anymore; the last—Jenna’s original Mother Alta—had died twenty years earlier. The M’dorans who had settled at Selden Hame had chosen a singleton without a dark sister as their True Speaker. Her name was Marget, still known to Jenna as Pynt, and she helped all the women in the Hame learn new ways, though that is another story altogether.
When Jenna was at court, her closest friends were Petra and Jareth, who married after a long mourning period for Jareth’s Mai. Petra proved a gentle stepmother for Jareth’s five girls, the eldest of whom was called Jen.
But Jenna did not stay at either court or Hame very long. She always found herself searching the woods and fields, the small vales and great valleys, for something. She could not have named it, though Skada—if asked—would have said she was searching for another great adventure. And perhaps Skada, who knew her best of all, was right.
However, her daughter swore that Jenna was looking for a simpler time, her sons, Jem and Corrie, for a finer one. Carum made no guesses at all, but welcomed her back from each trip with open arms and no questions asked except one: Are the people happy and well?
And they were happy and well. Carum made certain that all his people—Dale and Garun alike—were well fed, well housed, and safe from marauding strangers. With Piet as the head of the army, the Dale shores were patrolled and the peace kept. Marek stayed on to become one of Carum’s advisors, but Sandor returned home, taking over his father’s ferry and writing the story of his youthful adventures in a small spidery script for his own sons.
It was fifty years and a week since the coronation that Jenna came back from one of her sojourns in the hills. She had been uneasy the whole time, though she could not have said why. The journey had been undertaken alone, with nothing in her pack but a skin of spring wine and a loaf of bread. The hunting had been plentiful; she had not wanted for food. It was midway through the moon time, and S
kada had not appeared, except for one evening when Jenna had put her blanket right next to the fire. They had quarreled briefly, for no reason, Skada as uneasy as Jenna, so that Jenna had not been cast down when the fire burned out and Skada was gone.
Jenna cut the journey short, heading back to the castle, for it was in her mind that perhaps Carum had need of her. Often they knew one another’s thoughts before a word was said, even as she did with Skada, though with Carum it came from living with him so many untroubled years.
She rode up the long, winding road on her white horse, one of Duty’s great granddaughters, with the smoothest canter and the sweetest mouth of any horse she had owned. As she went forward, the great gates opened and a rider came galloping toward her. She knew immediately it was Scillia by the missing arm.
They greeted one another from afar, Scillia calling, “Quickly, mother, it is father. He is sick and the doctors fear for his life. I was coming to trail you.”
Jenna nodded, her uneasiness gone. She knew now the author of her unhappiness. They raced back into the castle together.
Carum was propped up in bed surrounded by both sons, the doctors, and even Petra, as gray-faced as Jenna felt. Jenna sent them all away. She sat on the bed by Carum’s side and did not speak until his eyelids had fluttered open.
“You have come back in time,” he whispered.
“I am always in time.”
“Ich crie thee merci.”
“I will give it, my love.” She held his hands in hers. “I will take you to the grove. Alta said I might bring one back. And we will live there, young again, until the end of time.”
“I cannot leave the kingdom,” Carum said.
“Nonsense. Our sons and our daughter have been helping you run it these past twenty years. You have trained them well in castle ways.”
“And you in the forest.”
“So …”
He smiled, that old slow smile. The scar beneath the one eye, caught up in the wrinkles of laugh lines, disappeared. “So … I never quite believed in the grove.”
“Believe it,” she whispered. She kissed his hands and then leaned over and kissed his brow as well, before standing. “It will be a short journey, Longbow, and you will go in comfort.”