Summer King, Winter Fool

by Lisa Goldstein

  “But you can’t regulate magic,” one of the priests said. “The Maegrim can’t control when their call comes, or who it’s intended for.”

  The assistant smiled. “You priests think you know all about magic,” he said, showing them out.

  As they left, one of the priests turned and said, “That last cast, the one that predicted ill fortune—that was meant for all of us, for the city of Etrara.”

  This priest and some of the others were arrested and caged a few days later. The cages grew more numerous, and the queen’s men began building cage supports north of the river, in upper Etrara. Women suspected of being Maegrim appeared in the cages too, and people living next door to unmarried women began to distrust their neighbors. But none of the Maegrim ever came forward.

  Officers began impressing young men into Callia’s army, and the sight of soldiers became a common one on the streets of Etrara. Excitement grew; it was an open secret that the army would invade the country of Shai soon. But at one of Duchess Sbarra’s gatherings the Queen’s Axe told Val, in whispers, that Callia had no money to pay the soldiers, that Gobro had emptied the treasury.

  Perhaps it was this that caused the people to turn against their queen. Folks began to feed the caged criminals, openly at first and then, when ordered to desist by the watch, at night and in secret. Satires about the queen and Duchess Mariel, about the Queen’s Coin, Pen and Axe, appeared overnight on the walls of the city, but despite the edict Callia issued against the satirists they were never caught.

  Callia took a poet-mage into her service. Folks laughed when they saw him, a pompous-looking man in an overlarge cloak. The age of magic is past, people said, nodding to one another sagely. It ended when King Tariel’s wizards died.

  And through it all Val watched and waited. As Callia grew more unpopular he thought it would soon be time to act, to speak to a few trusted men and women. If Callia fell from the ladder, he himself might rise.

  Callia waited at the council-chamber door as the herald announced her. She had ordered him to add “Queen of Shai” to her list of titles, and she listened with satisfaction as he spoke all the sonorous-sounding phrases, all the lands she owned. When he had finished she stepped into the council chamber.

  Everyone else, of course, had already arrived and was waiting for her. Mariel sat to the right of Callia’s chair at the head of the table, Arion and Talenor to the left. The Queen’s Pen, Coin and Axe were farther down the table. Penriel, the poet-mage, had taken a seat next to the Queen’s Axe and was bent toward him, deep in conversation.

  Callia nodded to Penriel as she sat. Gobro had been a fool not to have taken a wizard into his service, she thought.

  At the foot of the table sat Narrion and a few of the others who had helped Callia come to power. A scribe had taken his station at a small side table, ready to record whatever was said at the meeting.

  Arion looked at her expectantly. “When are we going to invade Shai?” he asked.

  “Soon,” she said. “But we need money to raise an army, and there, I think, Lord Carrow can help us.”

  The Queen’s Coin looked up from his notes and she smiled at him. Callia knew that he approved of her; she did not waste money on spectacle as Gobro had. And if the invasion of Shai succeeded they would all be far wealthier; Shai’s vineyards and vast silver mines would be theirs.

  “We can raise the taxes on the ships returning from the colonies in Astrion and Udriel,” the Queen’s Coin said. “And I have a list here of other items that can be taxed as well.”

  Carrow began to read. Arion stirred restlessly in his seat. He had always been impatient; when he and Callia had been small children together he had hated the pageantry and ritual of King Tariel’s court. “I don’t understand why we can’t invade now,” he said when Carrow had finished. “Gobro had a standing army, after all.”

  “Some of the army has been sent south,” Callia said.

  Mariel looked at her in alarm. Callia knew that Mariel thought her as stupid as Gobro, that her half-sister had intended to rule the country even though Callia wore the land-ring of Etrara. But Callia had proved less malleable than Mariel had hoped, and more capable of taking care of herself.

  “South?” Arion said. “What’s in the south?”

  “There’s been an uprising,” Callia said. “In Tobol—”

  “In several of the sea villages,” Mariel said, interrupting her. “Nothing important, but we have to see that we keep control of the ports. It would be ironic, wouldn’t it, if we won the war against the Shai but let the very ports we fought over slip from our grasp.”

  Arion was frowning. “But why wasn’t I told?” he said. “If there’s war—”

  “It’s not a war,” Mariel said. “Those villagers have never fought anyone in their lives. We could have sent the watch to take care of it, if we could have spared them. There’s no honor in battle there, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  Arion seemed satisfied. Callia sat back, relieved; it could prove disastrous if Arion went to Tobol An.

  She wondered why the men she had sent were taking so long to find the records she had asked for. The commander wrote her letters complaining about the stubbornness of the villagers, but she knew that there was always a remedy for stubbornness—the cage, and then, if that yielded nothing, torture on the ladder.

  Did Val know that he was the rightful heir? He’d been a little distant since he’d come back from Tobol An, but Mariel had said that that might be the result of exile, and of seeing his cousin marry the woman he had courted. Callia knew, as all the king’s children had known, that the records of the royal house were kept separate from the others, and she had heard rumors since she was a small child of a legitimate heir. But Mariel had assured her that those rumors had never left the palace; there was no reason to believe that Val had heard them too.

  Still, she would have to deal with Val sooner or later. He represented too great a danger to her throne.

  Lord Varra, the Queen’s Pen, was looking at her expectantly. She realized that he had asked her a question and was waiting for her reply. “I’m sorry?” she said.

  “I was told that several astronomer-priests came to see me the other day,” the Queen’s Pen said. “They wanted to protest your latest decree, the one about the Maegrim. It seems to me that challenging the Maegrim might not be wise at this time, that you might want to reconsider.…”

  “We want to know who the Maegrim are,” she said, smiling at the King’s Pen. “Uncontrolled magic is a danger to the throne.”

  “Why do you say that?” Varra asked. “The Maegrim are ordinary women, nothing more.”

  “How ordinary can women be who are possessed by the gods?” Callia asked.

  “This isn’t a fit subject for a council meeting,” Mariel said.

  “I would like to go on record—” Varra said.

  “Very well,” Callia said. “Lord Varra is on record as protesting our decree.” She smiled again. She would have to find another Pen, someone less argumentative. She certainly couldn’t rescind her decree now; she could not let the people think her weak.

  But even if she could back down she wouldn’t do it. Ever since she was a girl her mother, Lady Godemar, had stressed the importance of magic to a ruler. And there was no doubt in Callia’s mind that Godemar believed what she taught; she had been the one to poison Tariel’s wizards, though no one but Callia knew that. Her mother would have gone on to poison Tariel himself if she hadn’t died of the plague.

  What would Lady Godemar think if she could see her daughter now, wearing the land-ring of Etrara and presiding over her council meeting? Callia studied her councilors. “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  “Yes,” someone said.

  Callia looked down at the foot of the table. Narrion. She frowned a little; she had made him a council member because of the help he had given them, but she had intended the position to be an honorary one. She certainly hadn’t expected him to speak in council. “
Yes, what is it?” she asked.

  “As you know, my lady, I am a member of the Society of Fools, sworn to Scathiel, the winter god.”

  “Yes, yes,” Callia said impatiently.

  “I’ve talked to several members of the Society, and all of them say the same thing. The days continue to grow shorter. Callabrion did not ascend this year.”

  Penriel looked startled, Carrow thoughtful. Arion said, “Are you certain—” and at the same time Varra nodded and said, “Aye, I’ve heard something of this.”

  “I’m certain,” Narrion said.

  “What do you expect us to do about it?” Callia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Narrion said. He spread his fingers on the table. “But I think this news is more pressing than anything we’ve discussed in council so far. We cannot live without the summer god. If the days continue to grow shorter we will lose everything we’ve worked for.”

  “I don’t see how this is your concern,” Callia said. “You’re sworn to the winter god, you said so yourself. If he still rules in heaven, so much the better for you.”

  “There is a balance here,” Narrion said. “Summer and winter, life and death—”

  “This is a subject for philosophers at the university, not a council meeting,” Callia said. She waved a hand, dismissing him. “I’d like to hear more about the invasion of Shai. What are our plans for that?”

  Mariel’s head was pounding by the time her sister finally dismissed the council. All around her people were standing and bidding good fortune to their fellows; several council members extended invitations to others to continue some discussion over wine. The Queen’s Axe rolled up the parchment maps he had displayed, and her scribe capped his bottles of ink and carefully put his quills back into their pen case.

  “Good fortune, sister,” Callia said to her.

  “You shouldn’t let the meeting run away from you like that,” Mariel said. She hadn’t intended to sound so blunt, but her head hurt far too much for her to be polite. Everyone else had left the council chamber, though; she could say what she wanted without fear of being overheard.

  “What do you mean?”

  Mariel saw with surprise that Callia seemed pleased with the way the meeting had gone. “You don’t have to answer to Lord Varra,” Mariel said, rubbing her forehead wearily. “He’s your minister—he has to answer to you. When he asked about the Maegrim you should have changed the subject.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about Varra. I’ll have a new Pen soon enough.”

  “Do you think that people will let you? Varra has a great many supporters. And what about Narrion?”

  “What about him?”

  “Is what he said about Callabrion true? Why have we heard nothing about it?”

  “It’s a rumor, nothing more. Or a jest of that society of his, the Society of Fools. If it were true, the priests would have brought it to our attention.”

  “Why did he speak in council at all? We should never have given him a seat. The land we gave him should have been enough.”

  “He’s always tried to rise above his station. He should remember that his house is weak and nearly powerless. His and Val’s.”

  “No, sister,” Mariel said. “Not Val’s.”

  “True,” Callia said. She giggled. “Not Val’s.”

  “It’s fortunate we never told Narrion about Val’s birth,” Mariel said. “You and I are the only ones who know. But what will we do about Narrion?”

  “It’s simple. We’ll force him off the council.”

  “We can’t—he knows too much about our affairs. He’s a dangerous man.”

  “Well, then, we’ll have meetings without him, meetings of the inner council. Don’t worry—Narrion has no real power.”

  “And Talenor—”

  “Talenor? He never said a word during the entire meeting.”

  “That’s what I mean. What was he thinking? He’s plotting something, there’s no doubt of that.”

  Callia laughed. “He never takes his nose out of his books. Come, Mariel—your imagination’s running away with you.”

  “I don’t think so. Remember that he was the one to oppose you—”

  “Listen,” Callia said. Her voice was hard now. “We agreed that I should take the land-ring when Gobro died. I think you should trust me to act like a queen.”

  Mariel watched as her sister left the council chamber. That was the problem, she thought; her sister did act like a queen. Only there was no substance behind her actions; she might just as well have been impersonating someone in a history play, a queen long dead.

  Mariel leaned back in her chair. The meeting had been one disaster after another. Everyone now knew that Callia had business in the south, and had probably heard the name of the village that had aroused her interest. Not a few people would wonder what had happened there.

  And Varra, and Narrion, and Talenor … Dangers beset them from every direction. She had never realized how difficult it would be to govern, to protect the throne.

  She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. As soon as she did so she saw Gobro’s face as it had looked after they had given him the poison. He had been gasping, struggling for breath, and his hands had reached out to his half-sisters. Callia had giggled a little. Mariel had seen a terrible recognition in his eyes; he had known what was happening to him. And his skin had turned as blue as robins’ eggs. Narrion hadn’t said anything about his skin turning blue.

  She opened her eyes. She wondered if she would see the picture of Gobro dying before she went to sleep, as she had seen it every night since Callia had ascended to the throne. She rubbed her temples again, determined to visit another apothecary. The potion she had gotten from the last one hadn’t done her much good.

  Narrion walked up Palace Hill toward the observatory. Callia was a simpleton, and that blunt-witted council of hers was worse. Not one of them could face the truth: if Callabrion did not ascend, the crops would die. First the crops, then the people. And everything he had worked for would be lost.

  He would be excluded from the council after this, he knew. No one welcomed the bearer of ill news. Everyone on the council was busy planning the invasion of Shai, planning a thousand ways to rise on the ladder; they would take care not to see the approaching darkness. He would have to go his own way.

  He stopped at the observatory and knocked loudly. The porter opened the door. “I’d like to see Dorio,” Narrion said.

  “Wait here,” the porter said. He turned and went down the halls of white stone, and came back a few moments later with Dorio, Narrion’s friend from the university who had become an astronomer-priest.

  “I need to talk to you,” Narrion said when the porter had gone. “Where can we go that’s private?”

  Dorio hesitated. “What do you have to tell me that can’t be said here?” he asked.

  “Come, Dorio,” Narrion said. He stepped inside the observatory and moved closer to the other man. “We’re both of us keepers of mysteries, disciples of Scathiel and Callabrion. Surely there are things we might say that should not be overheard by anyone else.”

  Dorio nodded. “I’d heard you’d joined the Society of Fools. Strange—when we were together at the university I never thought of you as a religious man.”

  “I am. My god is Scathiel, though—the god of winter and death and misrule, god of the cold wind that whispers at your back. He’s very different from yours.”

  Dorio hesitated. “I’ll take you to one of the towers,” he said finally. The observatory had a differently shaped tower at each of its four corners; they stood even higher than the palace. “No one uses the telescopes during the day.”

  Narrion followed Dorio down the corridor, passing other men wearing the green and gold of Callabrion. They went through another corridor, then up a flight of stairs.

  They continued to climb. Shallow depressions hollowed the stone stairs. Generations of priests had come to the towers to study the heavens, at first using only their naked eyes a
nd then, beginning twenty-five years ago, the telescopes.

  They gained the top. A wooden telescope bound in brass stood there; its base was at least two feet around and its top broke through the roof of the tower. It was fitted with a brass wheel so it could be moved, and an oak ladder climbed to the eyepiece.

  As soon as they reached the top of the stairs Narrion closed the door behind him and turned to face Dorio. “You know, of course, that summer hasn’t come,” he said. “Callabrion hasn’t ascended.”

  Alarm showed on Dorio’s face. Narrion felt gratified to see it. “How—how do you know this?” Dorio asked.

  “You and your priests thought the secret safe within the observatory, didn’t you? Yet anyone who follows the track of the sun has noticed that it sets earlier each day. The Society of Fools knows this, and so do some of the farmers in the provinces. Callabrion did not wed the goddess Sbona—Scathiel still reigns in the heavens.”

  Dorio nodded. “We’re aware of that.”

  “Are you? And what will you do about it?”

  “Why does that concern you? Winter hasn’t ended—the disciples of Scathiel should be pleased. The god of winter rules still in heaven.”

  “What do they teach you in this place?” Narrion said, suddenly angry. Dorio stepped back a little. “Winter is brother to summer—you of all people should know that. Scathiel cannot rule alone. We have to convince Callabrion to return to the heavens. If he doesn’t everything will die. Our world will end.”

  “Is that what the Society of Fools says?”

  “The Society says nothing. We’re not an order like the priests, living separately in our observatories. We have no leaders, no followers, only men and women devoted to spreading misrule in the early months of winter. I’ve spoken to a few friends of mine, and they all agree that something should be done, but none of us knows what. That’s why I decided to talk to you. Because the two of us need to discuss such things, and to make certain that summer returns.”