Queens of the Sea

by Kim Wilkins

  ‘That is my fault,’ the Great Mother said with a wry smile, almost as though she were proud. ‘Before he left, we fought. He had fallen in love with a mennisc woman. He begged me to allow her to fall in love with him too. I refused. He grew violent.’

  ‘She swatted him away like a fly,’ the Horse God laughed. ‘The indignity stung him deep.’

  Nothing is so powerful as love, said the Great Mother inside Ash’s head, with a sly glance. Love creates life; war can only end it.

  But to them this seemed a game, and Ash could understand that, perhaps. They were eternal. Human lives must seem so quick and so shallow. Ash leapt to her feet, determined that they should see the significance of the war in Thyrsland. ‘Willow has taken Blicstowe in Maava’s name and will turn everyone away from you by violence. You say Maava is helping her?’

  ‘He is in your world, yes.’

  ‘Then can you not come and rid our world of him? To save those who freely believe in you, worship you, die for you?’

  The Great Mother said, ‘No,’ very quickly, very finally. ‘We do not meddle with the hearts of your kind. I would not do it to help Maava, and nor will I do it to hinder him.’

  The Horse God took longer to reply. ‘This battle is between Bluebell and Willow,’ he said. ‘Not between us and Maava. Sit down, Ash.’

  But Ash would not sit down. ‘Then at least let me go to help, if you will not. I will come straight back, and I promise I will not ask for anything ever again.’

  ‘Do not promise such things to gods,’ the Horse God said with a dismissive flick of his hand.

  ‘I don’t mind promising. Let me take my powers with me and fulfil my duty in the world of men, then I will live on the island and keep the way as you wish me to.’ So far from home. From her sisters. Would Sighere follow her? Or would she be alone, as she always feared she would be?

  ‘Let us speak between us,’ the Horse God said.

  Ash was almost certain the Great Mother looked surprised at this concession. Then Ash blinked and it was all gone.

  All of it. The gods, the hearth, the hall. The dogs and the woods and the summer night. She was outside on the clifftop under the dull yellow-grey sky; returned again to the boundary region between the real island, to which she could not find her way back, and Meregard, from which she had been dismissed.

  With no idea how long she would have to wait.

  Thirty

  An hour passed, or perhaps more, as Bluebell waited in the giants’ antechamber among the stone carvings and the greasy lantern light. Gagel came to sit with her a while, and said that Withowind would be here soon to take her somewhere, but these things could not be rushed.

  Bluebell bit her tongue.

  At length, a door opened off the chamber and Withowind stood there, beckoning her. ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘I am all ready for you.’

  Bluebell leapt to her feet. ‘Do you know where Ash is? Gagel says he knows nothing.’

  ‘Let us think about Ash later,’ Withowind said. Her long silvery hair fell all the way to her waist. She wore a pale yellow cloak threaded through with gold. She looked like a waterfall with the sun shining through it.

  ‘Is there anyone else coming?’ Bluebell asked. The other tests had been given to her by giants in pairs. The other half of Withowind’s pair, Wermod, was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Where we are going there is not much room,’ she said.

  ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘You will see.’

  Bluebell followed Withowind closely down labyrinthine passages lit only by the small pool of the giant’s lantern. The air was chill but thick. She became aware that they were ascending. A wind howled above, and she could smell sea air. A crack of light, still very distant. The ground grew steep, turned into stairs. Up they went, Withowind light on her feet, Bluebell’s legs burning as they climbed higher and higher. The sound of gulls, of tearing wind. Then the opening above them became entirely visible, and they climbed towards it. Withowind exited first, Bluebell behind her. She seemed to be standing at the top of the world. They had reached the very highest peak of the island, the one she had deemed too narrow and risky to scale when looking for the giants. A crooked finger of rock held upright, as if in warning. She hadn’t believed it would support her weight, let alone the weight of a giant. Two feet below, a narrow spine of stone attached the peak to a flat area two yards across, and on every side of that was a dramatic rocky drop. Withowind crossed the stone spine and waited for Bluebell on the other side. Bluebell reasoned that if a giant didn’t break the narrow bridge then she wouldn’t, but nonetheless she held her breath while she crossed.

  In the flat place where Withowind waited, a round brass bowl sat, filled with rainwater.

  ‘What is this?’ Bluebell said.

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘A test of the heart.’

  ‘You’re not going to make me jump?’

  ‘A test of the heart … not your courage. Your courage is already widely known.’

  Bluebell did not understand what Withowind meant by a test of the heart, but she sat anyway.

  Withowind gestured around. ‘This is our seeing place. You can see everything from up here.’ She pointed east. ‘Thyrsland is just over there.’

  Bluebell’s heart pinched, thinking about home.

  Withowind dropped her hand. ‘Are you ready?’

  Bluebell squared her shoulders. ‘Yes. Go on. Test my heart; you will find it fierce and full.’

  Withowind smiled. ‘I have no doubt, but this test asks how far you will go to protect those close to you.’

  What a question! Bluebell’s entire life had been given over to precisely this purpose; not to mention protecting those who were distant from her too. Her servants, her stewards, her subjects. But still she feared the test. Feared the loss of loved ones. Ash. Snowy.

  Don’t think about Snowy.

  Withowind passed her hand over the bowl and the water became very still. ‘Look,’ she said, gesturing to the water. ‘What do you see?’

  Bluebell leaned in. The wind scraped her hair across the surface of the water so she pulled it back, knotted it down the back of her tunic. Leaned in again. It was like a mirror. ‘I see me,’ she said.

  ‘Keep looking.’

  The wind passed over them, dimpling the water. As it did, another image began to form. The water stilled, and Bluebell found she was watching a scene. No sound arose from the brass bowl, although it was clearly a battle and she ought to be able to hear the rattle and clash of armour and weapons. It was all curiously mute. Was this the future? The battle to regain Blicstowe? She gasped as she saw herself move into the scene, astride a grey horse.

  Only she wasn’t herself. She was between fifty and sixty winters, with knotted hands and sinking cheeks, scarred and deeply lined.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked.

  ‘Keep looking.’

  A young man rode at old Bluebell’s side. Tall and broad, in the full vigour of youth, with an open face and grey eyes. He seemed familiar somehow. They reined in and spoke to each other, words she could not hear. What was she saying to this young man to make him laugh so hard? Then he leaned down so his steward could fasten his helm, and he was off, ahead of her a few paces. Leading her.

  Leading her army.

  And yet, Bluebell did not hate this young upstart who had somehow taken over her army. She was neither jealous of him nor fearful. She felt love. She felt pride. It was utterly confusing, because she had no idea who he was.

  ‘Who is that man?’ she asked.

  ‘That is your son, Beorin.’

  Bluebell’s head snapped up. In the periphery of her vision she could tell the image on the water had vanished. ‘I have no son and nor do I intend to.’ But even as she said it, she could feel a softness grow inside her and she resented it so fiercely that she leapt to her feet. ‘How dare you put this desire to breed inside me? I am a king. I cannot be weak and clumsy
while I carry children. I do not like this magic, Withowind. Take it away.’

  Withowind smiled up at her. ‘Bluebell, you are already pregnant.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Oh, I assure you that you are.’

  ‘I cannot be. A smart woman knows what to do to avoid being pregnant.’

  Withowind continued as though she had not heard. ‘You conceived Beorin the night you returned from Harrow’s Fell, when the bogle axe lay under your pillow.’

  ‘That fucking bogle axe.’ Bluebell kicked a stone, which skittered across the platform then plummeted over the edge. It was a long time before she heard it hit the ground. ‘Are you saying it cursed me with … a child?’

  ‘“Cursed” is not the word I would use.’

  Bluebell wanted to scream and rage but at the same time, somewhere deep in her heart there was a feeling of peace and rightness. How handsome he was. How strong.

  ‘Sit. Please.’

  Bluebell sat, hunched over her own knees. ‘My test, then?’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Get rid of it.’ She wouldn’t. She knew she wouldn’t.

  ‘Is that your choice?’

  Bluebell didn’t answer.

  ‘We both know you will keep this child.’

  ‘I can decide later. There are more important things –’

  ‘Will you go into battle with a child in your womb? Knowing the risks? To you, if you are sick or foggy? To him, if you take an injury? To the whole army, if you hold your body differently, second-guess your actions? What dangerous knowledge it is for a king, to know there is a baby on the battlefield.’

  Bluebell let her words sink in. Beorin had looked like an exact cross between Bluebell and Snowy. She did not know if Snowy was still alive. What if this scrap of flesh and blood in her womb was all she had left of him? We both know you will keep this child. That much was true.

  ‘I am not a soft woman,’ Bluebell said, meeting Withowind’s eye. ‘I cannot give a soft answer. If the baby should die in battle, then so be it. A world where Blicstowe is not free, where he is not free, is not a world I choose for him to live in. I will fight as though I am no different, as though I carry no precious cargo …’ Again, the thought of Snowy caught in her chest like a piece of seaweed on a reef. She breathed, trying to dislodge it. She continued, ‘I will take Beorin into battle and his arms and legs and heart will be fired in that forge. In the wild, mothers are fierce. There is nobody fiercer than me.’

  ‘So you will lead your army to Blicstowe?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Withowind smiled. ‘Then we will fight alongside you.’

  All the tests were passed. Now there could be motion.

  Bluebell hurried to the camp, hoping Ash would have returned by now but nobody had seen her. So she called for her thanes to gather in the tent she slept in, and paced while she waited for them all to arrive. She was restless to return to Thyrsland, to bring the war to Blicstowe, to end all this. Her thoughts were still caught on Snowy, on how urgently she wanted to tell him what had happened, and have him reassure her.

  One by one, her war band arrived. Tall, haunt-eyed Sal. Little, energetic Frida. The brothers. The ones who had been beside her for half-a-dozen years. The soldiers. As they assembled, she promised herself she would not tell anybody about the child growing in her womb. Not even Ash. Not a single person could be allowed to think she should act more carefully. Now was a time for reckless ferocity.

  When they were all ready and waiting, she said, ‘I have passed the final test and we will sail at dawn.’

  A cheer went up, and she spread her hands, smiling. ‘You sound relieved. Was there really any doubt among you that I would pass?’

  Laughter. She had a foretaste of victory. She and her thanes in the hall, fires blazing, meat roasting. Mead being drunk furiously.

  ‘The giants will meet us at the beach in the last hours of the night. We will help them load their own longboat and they will sail alongside us. Better than good weather is the luck of the giants. It all bodes well.’ Here she paused. ‘I need Princess Ash. She also has a part to play in the recovery of Blicstowe. I need the assembly split down the middle. Half will search the island for my sister; half will stay here and pack and load the boats. Sal, stay a moment. The rest of you, get on with it.’

  They broke up and filed out. Bluebell could already hear the shouts and commands. Their voices sounded buoyant. Soldiers were happiest when heading in or out of battle.

  When all but she and Sal remained, she said, ‘If we don’t find Ash today we have to leave without her.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Bluebell recalled her conversation with Withowind, who’d steadfastly insisted she did not know where Ash was. ‘You must know,’ Bluebell had said. But Withowind said Ash was likely reckoning with her magic, had slipped beyond sight, and could only return in her own time.

  ‘I cannot waste another day,’ Bluebell said to Sal. ‘I can come back for her, once the battle is won.’

  ‘The fires.’

  ‘We have giants. I trust this means the fighting will be over quickly. I doubt Willow has anything as powerful as a giant on her side.’ She slammed her fist into her palm. ‘We move.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ He bowed out of the tent and Bluebell was left alone.

  She lowered herself to Ash’s bedding, her hand pressed softly into the blankets. ‘Come back soon, Ash,’ she murmured. ‘This is not a time to be lost.’

  Ash had hours and hours to contemplate what the gods had told her. Her awe dissipated, leaving her body the way light leaves the afternoon sky. As it did, the chill dark came. A long twilit life awaited, living far from home in that little house. Dying alone under the sky as the last waykeeper, Elwine, had. Would Sighere follow her here? How could she even ask him such a thing?

  Perhaps she could give up her power and return to her family. Could the gods make her stay? Would she endanger her eternal soul by refusing?

  Ash pondered these questions over and over, as she walked up and down between the clifftop and the hollow where she had first entered Meregard, hoping to slip back through, desperate to talk with Bluebell. The foggy sky darkened. Her stomach ached with hunger. Was she to spend another night out here on the rocky island, waiting for them to make up their minds?

  ‘Hey!’ she called out, shortly after dusk. Her voice echoed, loud and lonely. She pressed her lips together. She would not speak again.

  Ash found the same grassy hollow she had slept in the night before. She gathered a few twigs and started a fire with her mind. Rain moved in and she effortlessly raised an invisible shield against it. Here, her power was intense, agile, and it felt marvellous. Impossible to give up.

  Ash waited. The gods did not return.

  Ash woke to a bright light on the other side of her eyelids. She struggled to sit, hand shielding her eyes. She had not even been aware that sleep had come. The ground was rough and her thoughts had skidded about like geese on a frozen pond. The sky was still dark, and the light in front of her was blinding.

  Then it faded, shimmered, and resolved in the image of the Great Mother. She looked slightly different this time. Her face was harder, more angled around the jaw.

  ‘Stand up, Ash,’ the Great Mother said.

  ‘Where is the Horse God?’

  ‘We made our decision together. He did not think it necessary to come.’ She smirked. ‘Bluebell passed her last test, so he and his hearthband are celebrating. They do love a good battle.’

  Ash got to her feet, heart pounding. ‘And what is your decision?’

  ‘You have one week, then you return to us.’

  Ash’s heart leapt. ‘And I can go with my full powers?’

  ‘Yes, but only for a week. Then we will bring you back.’

  ‘Bring me back?’

  ‘The journey will take too long. At dawn one week from now, as the sun breaks the horizon, you will slip out of Thyrsland and slip into Meregard. It
will not hurt. We will meet you, and help you back to the island to make your home there.’

  A flash of cold to her heart. ‘Can I bring somebody with me?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A man. We are meant to be married.’

  The Great Mother’s eyes grew sad. ‘Oh. Love.’

  ‘Can he come with me?’

  ‘He can sail here after you and join you, if that is what you both want. But, Ash … it may not be the best for him. It may not be a life he can be happy in.’

  Ash flinched, knowing the Great Mother spoke truth. Yet she could not help herself protesting: ‘We will have each other. There may be children …’

  Already the Great Mother was shaking her head. ‘All waykeepers are barren. I’m sorry. There is too much magic in your body for a child to grow.’

  The knowledge hit her with full force, like being slammed by cold waves. She screwed her eyes shut tightly and told herself she would not cry.

  ‘Ash?’

  Ash opened her eyes again. The Great Mother’s face had softened once more. She looked younger, prettier. A stiff wind had lifted her hair, whipping it across her face. The dark sky still held a tinge of the sulphurous colour. Everything about the Great Mother appeared to Ash’s eyes as more than real: the tangles in her hair, the texture of her clothes. And yet another sense deep beneath sight told her it wasn’t real; that she was looking at an approximation of something much grander and more powerful.

  ‘For you,’ the Great Mother said. She held out a polished black stone with a knotted string threaded through it.

  Ash took it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a god stone. The Horse God is worried that the battle will be fierce, and we know you would risk your life for Blicstowe. If you are injured mortally, close your hand around this stone and will it, and you will be here instantly, so we may save you.’ She smiled. ‘We rely on you.’

  Ash went to slip the god stone in her pocket, but the Great Mother reached over and helped her fasten it around her neck. ‘Don’t take it off,’ she said, touching it once lightly then withdrawing her fingers.