The Scarecrow Queen

by Melinda Salisbury

  Kirin returns, drawing me out of my thoughts, but his expression forbids conversation and he picks the bottle up as he passes me, skulking off with it into the shadowy corner of the barn. I end up sitting back with Sister Hope, each of us on either side of Sister Courage, listening to her labored breaths, counting the seconds between each one. More than once I think she’s passed on and look down, only for her to rasp again as she clings to life. Again it strikes me how young she is, perhaps too young to be ensconced in a religious order. But then, the Sisters of Næht aren’t a religious order, not really.

  “May I ask something?” I say, my voice barely a whisper, when the fire has burned low enough to keep most of our faces concealed.

  Sister Hope nods.

  “None of the Sisters are alchemists, are they?”

  “No. If we were alchemists, we couldn’t perform our public role as a religious order.”

  “You’re not a religious order, are you? Not truly,” I say. She shakes her head, so I continue. “But as you say, the Sisters had a public role, so surely people approached you to join. How did you manage it, in a place like Lormere, without being completely hidden like the Conclave?”

  Again she dips her head in acknowledgment. “We hid in plain sight. There’s nothing suspicious about what’s right in front of you; Helewys had no reason to be interested in us. We were nuns, quiet and devout, nothing more. Of no threat or bother to her. On the rare occasions we were approached, we either pleaded illness or insisted there was simply no room. Besides, we were based in the East Mountains, difficult to get to, difficult to find.”

  My lips part as I remember something Merek told me moons ago. “There’s a closed order of women at the base of the East Mountains. She can spend her days there …” Helewys would have been delighted to find herself in the midst of all those alchemists; she’d have been back on her throne in days, and Merek’s whole plan would have backfired. I wonder briefly where Helewys is now, before turning my attention back to Sister Hope.

  “May I ask how you joined the Sisters?”

  She remains quiet for a moment. “Through my husband—Silas’s father. He was an alchemist, of course. I gave up my life to live in the commune, with him. I took orders after his death; I was fortunate that a place had become available.”

  “A place?”

  “There are only seven Sisters of Næht at any one time: Sisters Courage, Wisdom, Peace, Love, Truth, Honor, and Hope. Each of us is named for one of the seven towers of Tallith castle.”

  I mull this over. “So, have there been many Sister Hopes?”

  “According to our records, I am the twenty-ninth. When I am dead, the title will go to another. Or at least it will should the Sisterhood survive this. You have to understand, the commune of the Sisters is—was—much smaller than the Conclave. We had just twenty-two people living there, including the Sisters, and only nine were alchemists. The Conclave housed seventy souls; though less than half were alchemists. They’re a dying people.”

  Fewer than fifty alchemists in all the world.

  “Nia said only five escaped. Is that true?”

  Sister Hope lowers her head. “Hence the need to get them to Tressalyn as soon as possible.”

  I’m still not convinced that Tressalyn can be any safer than Tremayne was, and my face must once again betray my thoughts, because Sister Hope arches a brow before saying firmly: “The alchemists of Tregellan pay well for their privacy, and secrecy. A good amount of Tregellan’s coffers are filled with alchemic gold. The Council will want to protect their investment, especially with war here. They’ll be safe there. So will you.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “Only that you’ll be protected there by the finest guards we can muster, until it is safe.”

  “No,” I say loudly, causing Nia to mutter something and roll over. “No. I am not hiding.”

  “Sin— Twylla, you are our most valuable weapon against Aurek. Our only hope of stopping him.”

  For the third time I think of Lormere. Of my tower. My prison. “I said no—I won’t be shut away. If you want me to be safe, teach me how to protect myself. Teach me to fight. But I’m not going to sit in a room, quietly bleed into a bowl for you once we have the poison, and wait for all this to be over. Not again. Not ever again.”

  She gives me a long look. “Come, we should rest.” She looks over at Sister Courage, still clinging to life.

  “No, don’t do that. Don’t change the subject. I want your word,” I say. “That you won’t shut me away. I’ve been on the receiving end of ‘greater good’ manifestos before and it got me nowhere. Swear on your son that you will not imprison me in Tressalyn.”

  Her hawkish eyes bore into mine, her face all lines and hard edges in the dim light. The moment stretches, until finally she looks away. “I swear on Silas’s life that we won’t lock you away.” She moves, sitting once again beside her friend, and I curl up with my back to the wall of the barn, facing the fire and the unconscious form of Nia. To my right, deeper in the darkness, I hear Kirin shift. The floor is hard under me, and makes me aware of bones I didn’t know I had. It takes a long time for me to drift off, longer still to fight off Lief’s face from behind my eyes.

  * * *

  When the cold dawn light wakes us, Sister Courage is dead.

  We all stir at the same time, as though called by an alarm. Nia groans and holds her head, and Kirin looms out of the corner he’s kept to, his expression wary. It seems Sister Hope has replaced Sister Courage’s wimple in the night, and she looks peaceful, her eyes closed, her arms folded over her chest.

  Sister Hope stands over the body, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles have blanched. When she meets my eyes, there’s something different there. Something wild, and untethered. But then she blinks, and it’s gone, the stern, practical leader of the Sisters returning.

  “She is at rest,” Sister Hope says. “Once you’ve broken your fast and readied yourself, we’ll leave. Nia, you do the honors.” With that she turns and sweeps from the barn.

  My mouth feels dry, and there’s a nasty taste coating my tongue. I bend and rummage in the sack of food, pulling out one of the remaining apples and taking a bite, savoring the sour juice. The collection of knives I scavenged in Tremayne is in the second sack and I select the two sharpest-looking ones and tuck them into my belt before following Sister Hope outside.

  I gasp when I see she’s removed her own wimple. Her hair, gray as iron, is coiled around her head, and she turns at the sound of my surprise. She sets the hat down at her feet and I move to stand beside her. She seems smaller without it, and I see the softness to her face, the faint tracery of lines there. She’s discarded the vestment she wore, too; now she wears a simple black tunic, one of the cloaks Nia took around her shoulders. I offer her a small smile and she looks levelly at me in return before turning away.

  We wait silently in the wintry gray light for Kirin and Nia to join us. We’re perhaps a quarter of a mile away when I turn back and see a pillar of smoke, blue against the cloudy sky. The barn is on fire again. I look at Nia and she shrugs. Flames, I think. The Lormerian way to dispose of a body.

  * * *

  We trudge through the barren countryside, every sound and movement causing my heart to thump violently against my ribs. When a pheasant streaks across the path directly in front, wings beating wildly, Nia and I scream, and even Kirin clutches his tunic over his heart. Only Hope remains calm and alert. We walk on, slowly to accommodate Kirin’s leg, keeping one eye on the sun as it travels, a white hole glowing weakly in the dismal sky. We stop once to fill the water skins, taking turns to drink the brackish river water, and roll our shoulders, rub our calves. When we reach a wider road—the King’s Road, Kirin says to no one in particular—I see tracks where carts have carved deep grooves in the mud, and alongside them hoof- and boot prints, much shallower by comparison.

  “These look recent,” Kirin says, bending to peer at them.

  “Our peop
le had no horses,” Sister Hope says, crouching down beside them and pressing her fingers into them.

  The back of my neck prickles.

  “Perhaps they’re from people fleeing Tremayne,” Nia says hopefully before she inhales sharply. “Wait. What’s that?” She points into the distance and we all look up once more.

  Ahead of us, emerging over the horizon, is an indistinct mass, getting larger with each moment that passes, until it finally becomes clear. Men, on horseback. Riding toward us.

  Instantly, both Kirin and Sister Hope straighten and draw their weapons, Kirin pulling his sword from the scabbard on his belt and Sister Hope drawing one from inside her cloak. Nia holds a knife ready in each hand, and I unsheathe my sword, gripping the hilt with both hands. Though it’s heavy, and I have no idea how to use it, holding it makes me feel better.

  “Twylla, go,” Sister Hope barks at me. “Nia, go with her. Hide until we’re sure it’s safe.”

  “Hide where?” Nia says desperately.

  There is nowhere; we’re in the middle of a road, in the open countryside. Ahead of us the shapes become clearer. Three of them, two clad in black. And at their helm, a figure in silver.

  The Silver Knight.

  Lief.

  “What do we do?” I breathe.

  “We’ll hold them off,” Sister Hope says, looking to Kirin, who nods grimly. “You and Nia, run.”

  “We’ll never make it.” I glance around frantically. It’s all open fields—no trees or ditches. No cover.

  “Twylla.” Nia’s voice trembles, but her gaze is steady. “We have no choice.”

  So I run. I hear Nia behind me, then beside me, our legs and arms pumping as we pelt forward. It doesn’t take long for my lungs to start burning, for pain to blossom in my sides. Then I hear metal slamming into metal behind me and make the mistake of turning, still running, to look.

  Sister Hope has pulled one of the men from his horse, and I watch as her sword plunges into him. Kirin is battling the other man, who is still mounted, his horse rearing and screaming as it tries to avoid Kirin’s thrusts.

  And Lief is riding us down.

  He wears no helmet, but his mouth and nose are covered with a black cloth, his hair tied back from his face. As he gains on us, his green eyes fix on me, blazing with concentration.

  I run faster, the sound of hooves beating the ground behind me, getting louder. I glance at Nia and see the terror in her expression, her mouth open in a silent scream.

  I turn again, in time to see Lief raise his arm to swing his sword, and I shove Nia out of his path, sending us both sprawling to the ground.

  He thunders past, unable to stop the horse in time, and I take the chance to scramble to my feet and run across the fields, screaming at Nia to do the same.

  I’ve gambled on the fact that I’m the bigger prize and he’ll leave Nia alone, and I’m right; he turns the horse and comes after me.

  But I’ll be damned if he thinks he can get me that easily.

  I keep running, still clutching my sword. Again the sound of hooves lets me know he’s closing in and I turn to see that’s he’s almost on top of me, a hand outstretched, fingers reaching for me. I swing my sword wildly, missing both him and the horse, and then there’s a sharp pain in my neck, and my feet are whipped out from under me, as his fist closes around the hood of my cloak. I drop the sword, my hands scrabbling at my neck, struggling to breathe as I’m dragged after him.

  Someone screams and my vision begins to blur. I fumble at the clasp of the cloak, trying to release it. But it won’t give, instead it feels as though it’s getting tighter, and I realize if I can’t undo it, I’m going to die, here, now.

  My legs smash uselessly into the ground beneath me as Lief rides on, either not knowing or not caring that I’m being strangled, and there’s nothing, nothing, I can do to stop it, to save myself. Rage at my own helplessness floods me and I feel the final, frantic beats of my heart in every part of my body as darkness starts to close in. I tear at my throat, my chest on fire, my lungs screaming for air. No. Not like this.

  Then there’s a faint click, almost like a sigh, as the clasp finally opens and I’m free, sucking in a huge, gasping breath as I fall. I crash into the ground, rolling to a halt. Bright pain flares across my back but I don’t pause, forcing myself, coughing, to my knees, then my feet, ignoring the jolting pain that makes me want to vomit, the red rawness across my throat, fire still in my lungs as I gulp air inside.

  A glance over my shoulder shows Lief tossing my cloak to the ground as he slows his horse enough to wheel around, his eyes lit with malice. I turn to run and see Sister Hope riding toward me, her eyes wide, and I slow, looking between her and Lief as they both ride at me.

  Sister Hope reaches me first, holding out a hand, and I leap, somehow managing to get my foot into the stirrup, and swing myself over the broad back of the horse, landing roughly behind her. She turns the horse before I’ve properly found my seat, and I look back again to see Lief perhaps fifteen feet from us. The scarf has fallen and his features are twisted with fury: lips curled, his teeth bared. Before I know it, the knife at my belt is in my hand and I throw it desperately.

  His hands fly up too late to protect himself and, amazingly, the dagger hits home, burying itself in his face and sending him reeling to the ground. He lies there, very still.

  Sister Hope kicks at the horse, spurring it on, back to where Kirin is helping Nia onto the second one. Both of Lief’s men lie dead in the mud.

  “Vastel?” Kirin calls as he swings himself up behind Nia.

  “Just go,” Sister Hope screams.

  As we ride, I glance back once more and see Lief staggering upright, hands clutching his head. As though he feels my gaze, he lowers them.

  I see red where his face should be.

  * * *

  We get off the road as soon as we can, riding at speed across barren fields and through small woods, until we reach the river Penaluna and begin to follow it south. At first we gallop, desperate to put as many miles between us and Lief as we can, only slowing when it becomes apparent the horses cannot cope. Still: We change direction, going sideways, taking circuitous routes, trying to confuse the tracks we’re leaving. It’s only after hours have passed, the shadows lengthening on the grass, and we come across a small copse by the river, that Sister Hope nods grimly and draws the reins short, calling to Kirin and Nia that we’re going to stop. As soon as I’ve slid from the horse, sore after months out of the saddle, I take myself down to the riverbank and stare into the gray water, hoping it will clean the image of Lief’s bloody face from my mind.

  I’m surprised when Kirin comes and sits beside me, and I stay quiet, half lost in my own thoughts, half waiting for him to speak. It’s a long time before he finally does.

  “How’s your neck?” he says.

  I raise my hands to the raw skin across my throat. I’m lucky my windpipe wasn’t crushed.

  “Sore. But my head is still attached to it, so it could be worse.”

  He doesn’t smile.

  “Are you all right?” I ask after a while.

  “It’s just … I grew up with him. I feel as though …” He trails off, shaking his head. “Nia told me everything, while we were riding. About you. And him. And Errin. And what he did in Lormere, and in Tremayne.” He stares out over the water. “He was like a brother to me. The Lief I knew wouldn’t do this. Oh, I know,” he says swiftly when I open my mouth to argue, “that people can change. I saw what he did. But I can’t make that Lief match up to the one in my head, you know?”

  “Yes, I do,” I say so quietly I’m not sure he hears me. I know that feeling very well.

  We fall silent, but even so, I don’t hear Sister Hope come up behind us.

  “I’m worried,” she says, making us both jump. “Vastel was coming from the direction of the King’s Road. And that’s the road the Sisters and alchemists would have taken to Tressalyn …”

  Kirin frowns. “They had no captive
s with them just now.”

  Sister Hope’s mouth forms a line. “No. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t find them.”

  “I’ll go and look,” he offers.

  She hesitates, and I can see she’s torn. Then she shakes her head. “No. I don’t think splitting up is a good idea. Besides”—she looks up at the sky—“it’ll be dark within the hour. I suggest we camp here for the night and rise at first light.”

  “Camp here?” Nia has joined us, not looking any keener at this prospect than I am.

  “It’s sheltered, and close to water. It’s off the road. It’s the best we’re going to find.”

  Nia widens her eyes at me, as though expecting me to protest. I wish I could, but what choice do we have? I shrug.

  From the pinched set of her mouth, I suspect Nia has never slept out in the open, and neither have I. On the journey to Scarron, I, and the escort Merek provided me with, took rooms in inns, following a map laid out by him, detailing places to stay, people to ask for, even suggestions of Tregellian food to order for supper, all knowledge he learned on his progress. For a runaway, I was surprisingly well cared for. But I survived last night on the floor in the barn. Perhaps camping won’t be as bad as I think.

  * * *

  Predictably, it’s worse than I think. When the night starts to fall, it falls fast; we eat the last of the bread, share some water, and by then I can barely make out my companions as we bed down in our cloaks, seeking the softest patch of earth. The barn was warm, and sheltered. There were walls. I’d had no idea about the importance of walls.