Maresi Red Mantle

by Maria Turtschaninoff

  “You mean like when Bendiro wed Venna? That is a thought.” She put down her cup and peered at me from across the table, between the burning candles. “You would make an excellent candidate for marriage. With you by his side the nádor would not dare make one false move.” She laughed at my horrified expression and shook her head. When she laughs she looks like a roguish little girl, and those are the moments I like her best. “Calm down, I am only jesting with you. It would never work—men never let themselves be advised and guided by women like you. Or like me.” She sighed gently. “Whoever becomes nádor needs a woman who can teach him about Rovas without him realizing that he is being taught.”

  “Perhaps that is true of the high-ranking men of Irindibul,” I said carefully. It is never wise to contradict the Queen too much.

  “You still have a different opinion of men from me, I see,” the Queen said dryly. “So it is agreed. I shall appoint as wise and loyal a nádor as can be found in that rotten palace of mine, and you shall help me appoint him a wife. But for now I need to know how many people you estimate reside in Rovas? I wonder if I could give them all a helping hand now that spring is approaching. You have shown me that manure is crucial for viable agriculture, but to get said manure each farm ought to have a cow.”

  And so we continued long into the night. We have been referring to those three long-established laws, and writing new instructions for the next nádor. I truly want to help the Queen, and therefore Rovas, as much as I can, but it is difficult when I am constantly made aware of my own ignorance. How many people live in Rovas? I can only guess, based on what I know about the villages and the size of the province. I have recommended that the Queen conduct a census. I have also told her that she should never expect high taxes from this province, for the climate is too harsh and the soil too meagre. But if she lets the inhabitants flourish she can count on loyal subjects, and protection from any possible attack from the Akkade people in the north, and many woodcutters and wild hunters, which is probably our wooded province’s greatest benefit for the Crown. At least I believe so. Nothing has prepared me for advising a queen in how to rule her queendom. Not even the Crone can help me with this.

  We have had long, and sometimes heated, discussions about the school as well. The Queen is not keen on it.

  “Subjects with too much knowledge are difficult to govern,” she says, pursing her lips every time I stubbornly bring the school back into the conversation. “I have already agreed to aid during hunger, and all manner of relief. You even convinced me to abolish taxation in the worst years of famine. Are you never satisfied, Maresi Enresdaughter?”

  “Your Majesty, you are correct in thinking that people who can read and write are not as easy to deceive,” I said. “But that also means that no nádor can deceive them like this one did. That makes it harder to deceive the Crown as well.”

  “I cannot say I am convinced,” she muttered. “But how dare I refuse someone who can release the dead among the living?”

  She rose, and then laughed. She is not really afraid of me. Not much, at least. And she did yield to the school, eventually. I explained that there is not much time to teach the children because they are always needed for work around the house and farm. Just some letters, some numbers, and the history of Urundien. I do intend to teach them more than that, of course, but there is no need for the Queen to know everything. At least not yet.

  In exchange she has demanded fines for hunting in the Crown forest, because the law goes both ways. I agreed, but when I was racking my brains as to how we could ever afford to pay them, she appeared with a signed parchment showing a figure of compensation for the trees felled in the name of the Crown on common land belonging to the Rovasians. The sums cancelled each other out.

  However, the greatest challenges of my time here in the castle have not been helping Her Majesty with figures and sound advice. Apparently a monarch’s duties also extend to holding balls and luncheons for important people. On these occasions she has expected me to join her at the table, eating fish and fowl stuffed with dried fruit and rare spices. She has dressed me up in her ladies’ garments, which are the most uncomfortable things I have worn in all my life. Talrana washed and combed my hair, but I drew the line at braiding it. “Who knows what storms it could cause,” I warned, and she let it be. Then I had to sit next to white-bearded men who spoke of people and events completely unknown to me, or who have seen fit to tell me all about Rovasian history (most of which was wrong), or I had to stand in a hot ballroom watching others dance to melodies on pipes and strings, bored and exhausted after all those sleepless nights with the Queen. Her Majesty never seems to be tired. She writes laws and dances with egotistical dukes and eats apple compote all with the same agreeable manner. It is only when we are alone that I can see the wide scope of her character, and the sharp intelligence hidden under those neatly formed braids.

  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,

  MARESI

  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 skimmed 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 te
aching 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 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 towards 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 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,

  MARESI

  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 me and Kárun 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 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 learnt 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,

  MARESI

  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 colours we could never create with our dyeing techniques; linen so thin that you can nearly see through it; several axe heads and knife blades; sewing needles; buttons of silver and bo
ne; 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 any more. I need him here at home. He takes care of all the practicalities of the schoolhouse—firewood, snow-shovelling 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.