A Broken Queen

by Sarah Kozloff

  “Shall we begin, my friend?” Peddler asked Gardener.

  “Let us tarry a few moments longer. I am expecting another.”

  “Another? Another Agent? Really? Who can it be?”

  Gardener smiled, as if enjoying his secret.

  Peddler frowned, “It can’t be Water Bearer. She doesn’t have the money to travel.”

  “Ah,” Gardener exclaimed. “This is a newcomer. The Ninth is stirring.” He grinned mischievously. “Coming out of Its sulk, or so it would seem.”

  Squawk! “The Ninth is stirring. The Ninth is stirring.” Gunnit peered around, trying to figure out which bird had imitated Gardener.

  “No!” Peddler slapped his knee. “After all these centuries? I never dreamt this would happen!”

  “What is ‘the Ninth’?” asked Gunnit. Peddler was generally closemouthed about exactly the things Gunnit felt he should know, but Gardener’s manner encouraged questions.

  “The Ninth Spirit, my lad. Mìngyùn, the Spirit of Fate.”

  “Has the Spirit been sulking? Why?”

  “In the beginning of time, each Spirit chose a land to adopt as its own. Saulė—”

  “Chose Alpetar,” Gunnit cut in.

  “Exactly so,” replied Gardener. “And Vertia”—here he waved at the marble statue—“decided to bless the Green Isles. Mìngyùn selected a small country then called Iga, but centuries ago Mìngyùn grew wrathful at the folly of the king and the equal brutality of Iga’s people. We call this Spirit ‘Fate,’ but that term doesn’t really convey…” Gardener trailed off, as if at a loss for words.

  “Let me see if I can explain,” Peddler jumped in. “When we say that Saulė is the Spirit of the Sun, we mean the sun in the sky, but we also mean something within each of us.” Peddler pointed to his own chest. “Something like the yearning for happiness. The desire to be happy.”

  Gardener nodded agreement. “Like Vertia is the Spirit of growing plants”—he gestured toward the lush garden—“but also, for people, the desire to grow. To grow strong. To reproduce. To have children.”

  Gunnit had knit his brow and stuck his tongue a little way out in his effort to understand. “So is Mìngyùn the desire to be lucky?”

  “No. ‘Fate’ is not tied to luck,” said Gardener. “Haven’t you heard the saying ‘He deserved his fate’? It is linked to our hunger for righteousness. Just as everyone wants to be happy or grow, everyone wants to see justice prevail. We have an instinct for it, a craving.

  “So when the citizens of Iga behaved so very badly during a war we call the Bloody Rebellion, Mìngyùn decided to withdraw. Decided not to favor Its land. For centuries Mìngyùn has chosen no Agent and has not become involved in human affairs. In my terms, the Spirit went into hibernation.”

  “Now, is the Spirit coming here?” asked Gunnit, shifting his eyes around, terrified of being judged and found wanting.

  “Oh, no! Spirits don’t come anywhere; they don’t appear. They don’t have bodies. They are neither men nor women.” He looked in Peddler’s direction with raised eyebrows. “Don’t you teach him what he needs to know?”

  “But,” Gunnit interrupted, “there’s a statue of a man-woman right over there. Maybe you can’t see it, but you must know that it is right there in the front courtyard.”

  “Leave this topic,” Peddler said to Gardener. “We can explain ‘incorporeality’ and ‘ambisexuality’ to him another time. Who is coming here?”

  Gardener smiled. “Mìngyùn is sending an Agent. Or rather, the person who is about to become Fate’s first Agent in many centuries. I can see her climbing up the hill this very minute.”

  Gunnit waved his hands in front of Gardener’s eyes, and the man didn’t blink. “But if you can’t see, how can you see her?”

  “I’m not certain—’tis one of the gifts that my Spirit, Vertia, gave to me, like the gifts Saulė gives to you and Peddler.”

  “Saulė doesn’t let me see things that are far away,” said Gunnit.

  “No,” said Peddler, “but Saulė does tell you who to trust, right?”

  “Does that come from Saulė and not from my own head?” asked Gunnit.

  “Hard to tell the difference, eh?” answered Peddler. “Saulė’s light helps us see people clearly.”

  “People like Finch or the Pellish kidnappers?”

  “Exactly so, and our Free States friends on Island Dreamer,” answered Peddler. “And Saulė’s strength gives us courage. Didn’t you notice that you were not afraid to leave Cloverfield and come with me? That wouldn’t be true of a boy who hadn’t been kissed by the Sun.”

  Gunnit pondered these statements. Gardener pushed the plate of fruit in his direction, so he grabbed two more pieces, nodding his thanks. One of the talking birds fluttered on the step near him; Gunnit broke off a bite of fruit and tossed it at the bird, but the parrot disdained his gift. They all sat silent with their thoughts, enjoying the peaceful beauty of the Garden. The parrot repeated “kissed by the Sun” in Peddler’s voice several times, but nobody paid any attention.

  In a few moments a woman in her middle years walked into the Courtyard of Vertia. She was dressed all in white, with a long side plait of hair.

  “Gardener, are you about?” she called.

  “Here I am, Magistrar Destra,” answered Gardener, stiffly getting to his feet. “And I have other special visitors this day, from Alpetar.” Gardener introduced his guests.

  “All the way from Alpetar! What brings you to Slagos this day?”

  “Something similar to what brings you here, Magistrar,” replied Peddler. “Like you, we were summoned.”

  “That’s right.” The lady’s eyes went wide with surprise. “That’s exactly how it felt. Seven days ago—it was the queerest sensation—I suddenly knew that I must board the Island Hopper, come to Slagos, and confer with Gardener. Gardener, did Vertia summon us?”

  “In your case, Magistrar, I believe it was Another.”

  “Really? What can you mean?”

  “I think you might find out if you took off Vertia’s bracelet and walked through my garden. I assure you Vertia will not judge you disloyal.”

  “You think the answers to all mysteries lie in your garden,” she smiled. “Nevertheless, I will hazard a stroll.” She unwound the vine around her wrist, handed it to Gardener, and closed his fingers around the symbol of her fealty to Vertia.

  “Dame, come see this flowering tree,” said Gunnit, eager to share his favorite discovery. “’Tis the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”

  As she walked under an arbor, however, a slight sprinkle of raindrops left over from the showers the night before blew down on her head. Magistrar Destra stood stock-still, and Gunnit saw her body glow for a moment.

  “Oh!” she cried.

  “Are you hurt?” Gunnit asked. “Is she all right?” he called to the old men when she didn’t answer.

  “Just be patient, Gunnit,” called Peddler.

  Magistrar Destra returned to Gunnit as if she saw him clearly for the first time. “I’d like to enjoy that tree you fancy, young servant of Saulė, and then I must consult with the other Agents.”

  Gunnit showed her the tree, covered in blossoms of pink, orange, and scarlet. He plucked a small sprig for her, and she entwined it in her braid. Then they returned to the steps.

  “Hail to thee, Gardener and Peddler. I find I—I—have the honor of carrying a new name. I am now Mìngyùn’s ‘Spinner.’”

  Peddler bowed. “Hail to thee, Spinner. We are overjoyed to have you among us.”

  “Aye,” chimed in Gardener, “though it is a sign of changed and desperate times.”

  Spinner sat on the top step in between the men, while Gunnit perched himself several steps below. He couldn’t follow much of what was discussed, but he gleaned several important facts. This was the first time Agents had ever met outside “Moot Table,” and they might get in trouble for doing so. But all three were concerned about the well-being of a particular woman. The
y had gathered together here in Slagos because someone else (or maybe several people?) had behaved “abominably,” a word Gunnit didn’t understand. Mìngyùn—the Ninth—was so disturbed that the Spirit had decided to intervene.

  “We”—Spinner indicated Gardener, Peddler, and herself—“feel personally involved in her survival.”

  “Very much so,” said Gardener. “I love her like a daughter.”

  “I am in her debt. She saved my charges at risk to herself,” said Peddler. “Including that special one.” He pointed to Gunnit.

  “And I was close friends with her mother and father,” said Spinner. “Her parents did the Green Isles a great service, and for Cressa’s and Ambrice’s sakes, if for no other reason, I would do my utmost to save their heir.”

  Spinner continued, “But we must set our personal feelings against this edict: Mìngyùn believes that discord amongst the Spirits over one human life constitutes the height of folly. Apparently, Pozhar and Nargis have already been trading blows, and the Others are prepared to follow.”

  “We saw as much at the last conclave at Moot Table,” said Gardener. “Peddler had to break off the dream. Smithy almost killed Sailor—for all we know the man has died by now—and open warfare commenced.”

  “‘Chamen has produced small earthquakes in Oromondo,” said Spinner, “Lautan has sent tidal waves against Alpetar’s coast, and Ghibli has whipped up tornadoes in various places. Not devastation yet—just small provocations, as if the Spirits test how far they dare to go.”

  Gardener covered his face in his hands, making soft noises of distress.

  “Dangerous folly!” said Peddler; then he too listened to an unseen voice. “Saulė agrees: this must cease.”

  Squawk! “This must cease,” intoned a parrot.

  “But does that mean we must sit still and do nothing while Pozhar destroys her?” asked Gardener. “I just can’t accept that!”

  “Wait! Wait one moment. Who are you talking about?” Gunnit interrupted, with a sudden stab of fear.

  “Dame Saggeta spoke to me about a woman named ‘Finch,’” said Peddler, addressing the boy, “though she wears other names too. Her truest name is ‘Cerúlia,’ and she is heir to the throne of Weirandale.”

  “Air to a throne?” Gunnit shook his head, bewildered. “What does that mean? But I don’t care what her name is or what country she’s from! Sit on my hands while someone kills Finch?” Gunnit protested. “Not never. Tell me who would hurt her, and I’ll protect her!”

  The Agents smiled at each other and at him. Gunnit was offended.

  “You think I’m just a goatherd. But isn’t that why I’m here—to help Finch? Isn’t that why Peddler brung me this far from my ma and the tykes? He said someone’s life was in danger, and he thought that maybe I could help.”

  “In truth, I don’t know why I brought you,” said Peddler, a cloud passing over his face as he worried his beard bells. “I saw you in Saulė’s Mirror and, well, it struck me as a good idea at the time. I’ve been glad of your company, lad, but I don’t have an answer as to why you are here.”

  “What is this Mirror?” asked Gunnit. “You promised to tell me before, but you never did.”

  Reluctantly, Peddler pulled out a pouch attached to his belt. Inside was a looking glass. It was about as big as Gunnit’s hand, rimmed with gold. The back bore the image of a golden sun; the front looked like a normal mirror. When Peddler showed it to them it just flashed the colors of the garden and the blue of the sky.

  “I know it looks normal now,” said Peddler. “But every morning and night, if I catch the first or last rays of sunlight in the Mirror, it changes. And then I see whatever image Saulė wishes to show me.”

  Pointing to the silver face he continued, “Gunnit, I saw the Oro raid on Sweetmeadow. I saw Finch with you when you fought with Pellish drovers. Some weeks ago I saw myself and Commander Thalen drinking rum on Island Song. And I have seen you, boy, sitting right on this step here in Gardener’s Courtyard.”

  “Aha! Then via the Mirror, Saulė also provides its Agent a kind of Magic sight,” commented Gardener. “I wonder, Spinner, if eventually you too will discover a new way of seeing.”

  The lady looked discomforted by the idea. “Gracious. There’s an immensity I don’t understand.”

  Peddler commented, “To get back to Gunnit’s offer, this discord between the Spirits is too big a problem for a young boy. I vowed to protect him against all dangers. I can’t send him into earthquakes or tidal waves!”

  “Wait a minute,” said Spinner. “Mìngyùn forbids Spirits from destroying the natural order over one woman’s life. But Mìngyùn says nothing about us as humans doing what we can to help her, as we would help any person we cared for.”

  “But I can do naught as a normal human, except some weeding and digging in the dirt,” said Gardener plaintively. “I am rooted here. I live in that lean-to behind the magnolias. Were I to leave this Garden I would wither and die.”

  Peddler sighed. “I can travel, but yesterday morning Saulė warned me to return to Tar’s Basin as fast as I can find passage. The Mirror showed me that Oros have marched into Alpetar. My highest duty is to the people of my home.”

  “I still feel more human than Agent, and I have some skills in negotiation,” said Spinner. “I could—” She broke off, listening to inaudible orders. “Ah. No. Mìngyùn instructs me that I must return to the Alliance of Free States. Iga is torn by war, and I am much needed there.”

  Silence fell. Peddler swore “Darkness abounds!” a few times—a curse that Gunnit’s father would have whipped him for uttering. Gardener distractedly picked at his already-broken straw hat. Spinner stared at the sprig of flowers Gunnit had given her.

  “All right then—none of you can travel and stand beside her. What about me?” said Gunnit. “Can’t I help Finch? I’m awful fond of her. And I have fought by her side once before, you know.”

  “Bravery,” said Gardener, almost mournfully. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  Spinner commented, “It almost seems, Gunnit, as if you are offering to be our Agent, to act in our stead to protect the Nargis Queen.”

  “That’s it!” said Gunnit. “I want to be the Agents’ Agent, if this means I can help Finch.”

  The three adults exchanged glances.

  “Right now she lies in Healer’s care,” said Spinner slowly. “I think we can trust Healer to do her best for Cerúlia—though no place is completely safe.”

  Gardener put his head in his hands and rocked back and forth.

  “Maybe you would all think of a better plan over food,” Gunnit hinted.

  “You’re hungry,” said Peddler. “I’m hungry too, and a break might refresh our minds. I promised Gunnit a tavern meal.” He stood up and offered Spinner his hand. “Won’t you join us? It is so special to spend time with fellow Agents in the flesh.”

  “I cannot leave the Courtyard of Vertia,” Gardener reminded them. “But I suggest you sample the fare at the Blue Parrot. Tell Zillie, the innkeep, I sent you, and you will be treated to her specialties.”

  “How will you eat?” Gunnit asked, concerned about his new friend.

  “Vertia provides everything I need,” the elderly man said, gesturing around the Garden. “Take your time; I often take a short nap after midday. The bees get drowsy too. And even those chattering parrots put their heads under their wings.”

  As they left the Courtyard with a promise to return soon, Gunnit was struck by a fresh worry. “I’ve never eaten in a tavern before. Will people see I’m just a goatherd? Will they laugh at me? Are there customs I don’t know?”

  “Gunnit, Green Islanders are friendly, and they are accustomed to all sorts of travelers,” said Spinner. “Besides, you’ll be with me, and I have some influence here.”

  Gunnit sat between Spinner and Peddler at a wooden table. A cheerful woman recognized the magistrar and piled before them savory dishes that delighted the boy, especially the fried crabs and the vanilla and cho
colate sweetcakes. Peddler and he concentrated on eating, and no one took note of the way they used their tableware.

  Spinner, who dined more sparingly, wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Now that I’ve been favored with Mìngyùn’s touch, I have a terrible fear that a few nights ago I met another Agent. Tell me about your fellows.”

  Peddler spoke of someone named “Sailor” who, the last time he’d seen him, had a cracked skull; of a stout, middle-aged woman named “Water Bearer”; of a young woman called “Hunter”—

  “Hunter!” said Spinner. “What does she look like?”

  “Thin and strong, with black hair and kind of an upturned nose,” said Peddler.

  “Aye,” she sighed. “She sat at my dinner table a week ago!”

  “Why?” asked Peddler. “You weren’t even involved then.”

  Spinner squinted her eyes closed, thinking hard. “‘Hunter,’ you said? Ah! She hunts Cerúlia.”

  “What can we do?” Gunnit dropped his knife with a clatter, his mouth full of chocolate cream.

  “Let’s look in the Mirror at sunset,” suggested Peddler. “The Mirror led me here; it may provide guidance.”

  After eating their fill, paying their tab, and washing up, the three climbed back up to Vertia’s Courtyard. Gunnit stole two sweetcakes to bring to Gardener. Two friendly dogs followed them from the tavern, inviting Gunnit to play with them.

  In the early evening the sun began sinking. Fortunately, all the clouds had decided to cluster to the south, so the western sky, holding the setting sun, stayed clear. The Agents and apprentice gathered with trepidation around the small hand mirror.

  Just as the sun started to dip, the image in the mirror transmuted; instead of seeing their own reflections as they stood in the Courtyard, Gunnit saw a tiny version of himself standing next to an enormous, elaborate fountain. Gunnit gasped.

  “What? What to do you see? Tell me,” Gardener prodded anxiously.

  Spinner replied, “The Mirror showed us Gunnit in the Courtyard of the Star in Weirandale.”

  “Really? When? Did he look older? What season clothing did he wear?” asked the blind man.