“Could you really find so many who would want to join?” asks Briar. “Even with the danger?”
“They hate the giant,” Jack declares. “He takes everything we have, an’ we go hungry; then he smashes our houses an’ anybody who is in them, just for spite. Nobody hates the giant more than us village folk.”
Briar and Rose look at each other, communicating silently, nodding. Briar says, “Go ahead, then, Jack. Give the oath to all your friends, and all their friends too, if they’re really sincere. We’ll have a whole army of Giant Killers!”
Jack smiles. “Yes, Lady Briar.”
“Just Briar!”
* * *
Night has fallen. Outside the stables, the children can hear the merrymakers laughing and shouting, and the servants still calling their names. The girls tell Jack of their plan to stay up and watch the wakefire all night. They invite him to join them, but Jack replies that his mother will be worried if he does not go home. He quickly takes his leave. Shortly thereafter Rose and Briar sneak out of the stables with all the secrecy and guile they are capable of.
“There you are!” Lady Beatrice’s voice rings out behind them almost immediately. “I might have known you’d be leading her astray,” she snarls to Briar, “when she should be in bed!”
“And look at you!” she exclaims to Rose. “Where did you get those ragged clothes? You’re a fright! And your face is dirty! How can you be the prettiest princess with dirt on your face?”
“But Lady Beatrice—” Rose objects, or tries to.
“Don’t ‘but Lady Beatrice’ me! Come with me now! Don’t you realize that there are evil spirits roaming about? The veil between this world and the next is very thin on Midsummer’s Eve. You can’t be too careful! Hurry, now!” She grabs each of them by an arm with a firm grip, propelling them along bodily, and she doesn’t let go until they reach the foot of the circular stairs to their attic room.
“Now go on with you, and don’t bother trying to sneak down again! I’ll be standing right here.”
Halfway up the stairs, Rose whispers, “This calls for desperate measures!”
“Yes!” Briar agrees. “On to the secret passage!”
Halfway up the stairs, the two miscreants had recently happened upon one of the castle’s hidden doorways concealed in the staircase to their attic room. They had found that it opened into a dank, narrow passage, which they had not yet had the chance to explore fully. On their way up the stairs Briar borrows a candle from a wall sconce as Rose pushes on the wall next to it until the door gives way. Inhaling the smell of damp mold, the two girls enter the secret corridor that lies beyond.
“There might be a way to the outside here somewhere,” Briar speculates. Closing the door behind them, they go along single file through the dark, ominous passageway, trying not to touch the slimy walls. They shiver as they brush aside cobwebs. Following some twists and turns, they carefully climb a flight of uneven stairs. This brings them to the last spot they had explored, where they had discovered a small peephole, just at the right height for a grownup to reach but too high for either of the girls. They hear the murmur of deep voices on the other side of the wall.
Briar sets the candle on the floor with care. “Scoot down,” she says in hushed tones, “and let me sit on your shoulders.”
“No. I want to go first!” Rose says.
“You went first last time,” Briar says.
“But it was just a boring meeting of the counselors.”
“Well, maybe it’s just another boring meeting of the counselors, but it’s my turn!”
“Oh, all right, but tell me everything you see,” Rose insists.
The feat is accomplished with the ease of practice. Rose squats down while Briar gingerly clambers up to sit on Rose’s shoulders, both of them pushing their hands against the wall for balance. Rose, using the strength of her legs and back, stands up so that Briar can see through the peephole.
“It’s your father’s counselors, all right,” Briar whispers. “I think all of them are here.”
“What are they saying?”
Briar turns her ear to the peephole and listens while Rose strains beneath her weight. Briar hears someone comment that the king and queen are still attending Bishop Simon’s St. John’s Eve vigil. Then the talk turns to the purpose of their meeting, which seems to be to discuss a demand for higher pay. The conference heats up as the counselors air their grievances. Several insist that the king can certainly afford to increase their pay, for he can always raise the Giant Tax. This degenerates into a squabble about the kingdom’s finances.
“What is it?” Rose asks.
“Something about the royal treasury. I don’t understand much. Wait a minute!” Briar’s attention is arrested by the words “. . . and young Rose’s loveliness will be a sure enticement for some wealthy king to join himself to our failing kingdom, even without a dowry. In fact, for a beauty like Rose, he should pay such a bride price as to turn around the dwindling fortunes of our beleaguered kingdom.”
Another voice says, “Better yet, the entrancing Rose might be able to induce a powerful husband to send his own mighty army to deal with the giant once and for all.”
There were sounds of approbation all the way around.
The first voice spoke up again. “And no one need ever know that Rose is not the true heir—”
Another voice silences the first. “Stop right there! You know it is death to speak of it! You endanger us all.”
Briar gasps, not knowing which is more horrifying, hearing that Rose is not the heir, or the warning that to speak of it is death. Was Rose not the rightful daughter of the king? How terrible for her to find out! And death to speak of it! For both reasons, she decides on the instant that she can’t tell Rose what she has heard.
“What? What is it? I can’t hold you much longer!” Rose objects.
“Put me down, then,” Briar says, her voice and her whole body shaking. Her mind is spinning. If Rose wasn’t going to inherit the kingdom, who was? Was it such a terrible secret that even a court counselor would be put to death for speaking of it? What would happen to her if they knew that she had heard? She suddenly feels exposed and vulnerable, as if her very thoughts might show on her face and betray her. She clambers off Rose’s shoulders, and afraid of what the candlelight might reveal in her own countenance, she quickly suggests that Rose should carry the candle.
“What did you hear? Come on, tell me!” Rose implores.
“Nothing. They just stopped talking, is all.”
“Give me a turn, then. Let me listen.”
“I can’t. I feel a little dizzy. Let’s go back. I think I want to go to bed now.”
“But what about staying up til dawn to watch the wakefire? I’m sure we could sneak back out if we tried. Lady Beatrice isn’t going to stand down there all night!”
“I’m tired. I just want to go to bed. C’mon, let’s go. This place is giving me the creeps.”
Rose sighs, just loud enough to signal her frustration, and picks up the candle. “All right, then, we’ll go back, but next time we find something interesting, I get the first turn!” She leads the way, Briar following, brushing away sudden tears. Rose is not the heir! Briar must carry the dreadful secret now, even though it means lying to her bosom friend, a lie that has already come between them. She tries to lock away the awful truth in her heart, hoping that in time she can forget it.
The girls settle into bed that night, neither wanting to put Lady Beatrice’s herbs beneath her pillow to bring on dreams of what may come. The roses and rue and trefoil lie scattered on the floor, waiting in vain to tell of a future that no one imagines.
PART TWO
THREE YEARS LATER
Chapter One
DEEP IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST, far from the edge of town, a waterfall cascades down a wall of rock, a fine spray blowing into the contorted face of a twelve-year-old girl. She sits on a rock on the shore of the clear lagoon, trying to make out her reflection i
n the shallow water. The face that looks back at her reminds her, as if she needed reminding, that she is not like other girls—and never will be. Just now, it is not the protruding brow or the sagging eyelid or the crooked nose alone that she observes, but the grimace of sadness written there.
Even so, this glade is her place of comfort and strength, and she looks up as she listens to the music of the falling water. And to something else. She perceives an otherworldly harmony in the air, which only she can hear, something like harps and tiny bells and lovely voices singing. It lifts her spirits as nothing else can. Briar has come again to the one enchanting spot where she can feel relief or joy. It has become her habit to take flight to this refuge whenever her troubles become too much to bear.
Like today. She has long been accustomed to teasing from the other children or to being blamed or slighted or ignored by adults, but she has no defense against the special torments Bishop Simon keeps in store for her. Though she has learned, by feigning to be meek and slow-witted, to evade much of the clergyman’s more predictable wrath, today’s offense was not immediately obvious to her. He had been pontificating on the seven deadly sins. He had made the children repeat them after him: wrath, avarice, sloth, pride, lust, and envy, and just when he got to gluttony, she had looked up at him, at his great girth, and looked straight into his eyes, unthinking. He had caned her for insolence.
She is calm now, the tears having been dissolved away by the spray from the waterfall, and in the beauty of the music she is moved to sing. Her voice wavers at first, then strengthens and soars to match the magical notes that fill her ears, and the birds hush their singing to listen.
Someone else listens too. Catching the melody from some distance away, someone comes closer to hear, and hiding in the thick undergrowth of the forest, someone watches with avid eyes as Briar begins to dance. She sways and twirls, her body expressing both sadness and joy, entwined together in wild abandon, and still she sings. Someone watches on. Listens on. Time seems to stand still while the girl turns her most heartfelt emotions into song and movement. At last she steps slowly and lights on a tussock of grass. She feels at peace, yet she has the familiar feeling that there is something, some idea or realization, just beyond her reach.
“What is it?” she says aloud. “What?”
She hears only the enchanting music, fainter now, like a sweet whispering, and so she stares up into the clouds and listens, hardly aware of the lingering pain in her back. Someone’s eyes watch her for a minute more, and then someone slips silently away.
It is a long time before Briar allows herself to think of going back to the castle. The shadows grow slowly longer. The afternoon light makes the great rock wall glow as if lit from within. Finally, driven by hunger, she leaves her secret haven and follows the path toward home, hoping she doesn’t have to face anyone. When she reaches the courtyard, she hangs her head so as not to meet anyone’s eyes, but she feels a sudden tap on her shoulder and looks up. There stands the jester in his ridiculous parti-colored costume, bopping her lightly on the head with his baton.
“Zane! Go away. You’ll draw too much attention to me.”
The jester looks over his shoulder, then over his other shoulder in an exaggerated manner. He salutes her and says in a loud whisper, “I spy no dangerous enemies as yet, Captain! Let us retreat before we are besieged by the goblin hordes!”
Briar shows the hint of a smile, then takes his hand and makes straight for the kennels. There they are greeted by a horde of happy dogs, among them the faithful greyhound Toby. Toby jumps up on Briar, a paw on each of her shoulders, and licks her face affectionately. She scratches behind his ears until he calms, and she and Zane spread their attention to the other dogs until they finally become calmer too. At last Briar flops cross-legged onto the floor. The jester salutes her again, twirls in a circle, and flops down next to her.
“Now what will it be, my captain?” he says. “A joke? A story? A bit of juggling? Or shall I just do this?” He reaches over and puts his two forefingers at the corners of her mouth, spreading them wide to make her grin.
Briar shakes her head free of him and says, “I don’t want anything like that.”
“In that case, how about some victuals? Art thou hungry?”
“I am hungry. I missed supper. You would get me something to eat?”
“Of course! We are sorely outnumbered, and the odds are against us. We must stick together!”
“Zane?”
“Yes, my captain?” he responds, saluting.
“You’re a peach.”
“Yes, my captain!”
“Would you find Rose too? And send her here?”
“At once, sir! Could you just give me a small smile before I go on this dangerous mission?”
Briar can’t help but offer him a smile.
Zane smiles back. “I believe we have the enemy on the run, sir!” he says as he leaves.
A few minutes later Master Twytty, the kennel master, comes in and, finding Briar with the dogs, says, “Lucky for us you’ve dropped in, my lady. Old Toby here has been wanting his stomach rubbed, and you’re the only one he’ll allow to do it!”
As he looks on, Briar makes a fuss over Toby and gives him an extra-long tummy rub. A brief time later, Rose appears with a bag stuffed full of good things to eat. The dogs crowd around her excitedly, snatching at the good-smelling bag and making Rose afraid. And so she suggests that they remove to the tack room in the stables next door. There Rose sits down beside Briar. “Are you all right?” she asks, her eyes full of sympathy.
“I will be,” comes the answer.
“Someday Bishop Simon will roast in those eternal flames he’s always telling us about.”
“Won’t he be surprised? I almost wish I could be there to see it.”
“I’ve been looking for you for hours. Where were you?”
Briar, who for reasons she can’t articulate, has never told Rose about her secret place by the waterfall, merely says, “I was in the woods.”
“You should have seen Bishop Simon after you left. He was so angry I thought he would combust.”
“Well, what else can he do to me? I’m becoming quite used to his beatings. Wouldn’t he be stymied if I got to liking them?”
“At least it doesn’t happen very often.”
“That’s easy for you to say! You’ve never had a beating in your life. No one beats a beautiful princess.”
“I’m sorry,” Rose says, not meeting Briar’s eyes, “but I can’t help it, you know.”
“I know you can’t,” Briar agrees, but in her heart, a little more bitterness grows. Sometimes, when she is very hurt and angry, a memory comes unbidden to her of a disembodied voice saying Rose is not the heir, but she quickly squashes the memory down deep and tries, yet again, to forget it.
The girls are quiet for a time while Briar makes short work of the bread and cheese Rose brought. Then they have a long talk concerning what they would like to do to Bishop Simon and bad names they would like to call him.
“I’ll tie him up and let him starve while I eat in front of him,” Briar says. “The dog-hearted maggot-pie!”
“He’s a paunchy, onion-eyed footlicker!” Rose adds vengefully.
“He’s a vain, puking gudgeon!” Briar says.
“He’s a surly, toad-spotted miscreant!”
“A churlish maltworm!”
“A villainous, boil-brained measle!”
This cheers Briar up enough that she feels she is ready to face the world again, so they dust themselves off and decide to go and see Hilde about some salve for Briar’s bruises.
On the way, they encounter Lady Arabella and her followers, Elizabeth and Jane. Lady Arabella smiles engagingly at Rose and invites her to join them for a game of backgammon in the great hall. Rose, having lately been harassed by Lady Beatrice into accepting a few such invitations from Lady Arabella, has found the girl to be surprisingly good company. She is skilled at games and laughs easily. Despite the many re
buffs Rose has given her, she calmly extends the hand of friendship over and over again. And though Rose has little use for Elizabeth and Jane, she at least finds them pleasantly respectful. With them, she is the leader, the smart one whose ideas are followed. Responding at last to Lady Arabella’s proffered friendship, Rose has begun to question some of her own assumptions about the girl. And so Rose offers Lady Arabella an affable response to her invitation, but replies that she and Briar have already made plans.
“Another time, then?” asks Lady Arabella.
“Yes, another time,” responds Rose, and so they part.
“I notice she never invites me to her games,” Briar says.
“I’m sure she meant both of us!” Rose assures her. “Do you think Lady Manners would be rude enough to stand there and invite me and not you?”
“I think she might, yes.”
Rose, trying to be fair, says, “You just don’t give her a chance. She’s not so bad. You should get to know her.”
“No, thank you,” Briar mutters, and the matter is dropped.
At the top of Hilde’s tower, they knock tentatively. There are strange noises behind the door, too loud to be any of the small animals Hilde leaves running loose in her quarters. Finally, Hilde opens the door, looking flushed and disheveled, a butterfly net in her hand.
“Ah, it’s you,” she says. “You’ve arrived in the nick of time. Come in!”
The girls enter Hilde’s inner sanctum and find it in a terrible state. Mice, rabbits, hedgehogs, and a panic-stricken tortoise are scrambling at full speed all about the floor, bed, and table. Bottles, jars, and vials have been knocked over, and some lie broken on her table. Her carefully sorted herbs, usually put away in her special cupboard with all the separate compartments, are scattered and mixed up in a mess of enormous proportions. And the wildlife climb up the compartments as if they are on rungs of a ladder in what appears to be a desperate attempt to get away from something—the girls cannot immediately perceive what. As Hilde shuts the door behind them, they see the something speed by them in a blur just above the floor. It looks to be a very small, reddish infant with wings and barely discernible horns and a tail.
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