Small comfort, said Ursus. He looked at his mother. I never thought you would do this to me. Not even at the end, with your paw raised over me.
My heart is torn out, said Boulderbash. She howled again, quick and low. Oh, Ursus, I can see your eyes again. They’re just as beautiful as I remembered.
I came so close, said Ursus. His eyes drifted upward. Above the roofless temple the clouds rolled away. Beyond was the clear night sky, and the glowing crescent of the new moon. No greater feat has been done on this earth of yours, Lady.
You are so beautiful, Boulderbash repeated, and then Ursus was dead.
The light faded from Boulderbash. She shrank to mortal size. Now the caul was only a bit of flesh. Boulderbash lowered her head, and the locket and caul on their silver chain fell to the ground by Ursus’ corpse.
The moon shone brighter in the sky. It seemed to Clovermead as if it had always before been obscured in haze and now shone clearly for the first time in her life.
Snuff bubbled laughter, bubbled blood, and Clovermead turned back to look at him. He lay broken on the ground. “Who’d have thought it? The baby I arranged to have stolen turns out to be my bane. There’s poetry in there.” He stared at Clovermead’s furry face. “Turn human, Milady.”
Clovermead’s bear-shape melted from her. She collapsed by Snuff’s side, her clothes in tatters. Sorrel ran to her, and he tore off his shirt as he ran. He knelt by Clovermead and ripped the cloth into bandages for her leg, her stomach, her shoulder, her everything. “Here I am, Snuff,” she said.
Snuff turned his head, spat blood on the ground, and turned to face Clovermead again. “I’ve been a faithful servant to Lord Ursus,” he gasped. “Often defeated, but loyal to the end. Unlike the others. Say that when you speak of me.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then forced them open again. “Leave my body unburied. I don’t have it in me to make a buzzard go hungry.” His eyes were glazing over. “My master is dead?”
“Just now,” said Clovermead.
“Then I can’t betray him any longer.” Snuff shuddered, and made himself focus on Clovermead. “Milady, ask Our Lady to have some mercy on my soul. I won’t abase myself before her, but I’d be glad if someone did.”
“What can I say to her?” whispered Clovermead. “That you were brave? That you were honorable? That you loved Ursus far better than he deserved? None of that matters.” Her voice shook. “Our Lady will say, ‘He’s the same murderer he ever was, the same torturer, and he never repented. How can you speak for him?’ How can I, Snuff?”
“There is no reason you should,” muttered Sorrel. He tied a strip of cloth tightly around Clovermead’s leg. He scowled at the bear-priest. “Better he’d had these thoughts before he had my Horde butchered. What right has Master Cruelty to ask for mercy? Do not trouble yourself for him, Clovermead.”
“The world is better off without me. I know that chorus.” Snuff coughed up more blood. “Tell Our Lady I put your shoulder back in place when we were in that gorge. Kept Boulderbash from killing you then and there. Tell her I gave you a chance to flee from my bear-priests afterward.” His face was gray. “Not two days ago I offered you a peaceful death, Milady. Offered to put an end to your torture.”
Sorrel laughed harshly. “By murder.” He looped a bandage around Clovermead’s arm.
“You have to start somewhere,” said Snuff. The bear-priest looked at Clovermead with desolate eyes. “Please, Milady.”
You have no right to ask me, thought Clovermead. Tears slid down her cheeks. You chose to serve Ursus. Face Our Lady’s judgment alone. It’s no more than you deserve.
Snuff was kind to me. Just a little.
You tell us to be merciful, Lady. You tell us to forgive. Lady, I can still smell the nun he burned. He crucified Sorrel’s mother—I saw the holes in her hands and feet. Clovermead shuddered, and her hands turned to bear-paws. Forgive him? I wish I’d killed him long ago.
Her claws trembled, eager to strike.
Your career freeing bears isn’t over, Ambrosius had said. Your task can’t be finished by the sword.
Your sword broke. Clovermead laughed, low and ugly. I couldn’t rely on it. I finished the job with teeth and claws, Father. Much more satisfying than using dead metal.
There was such fear on Snuff’s face as he waited for the darkness to swallow him forever.
I can’t leave him to die like that, thought Clovermead. Now she wept uncontrollably. Afraid, alone. In darkness. I wish he hadn’t asked me for help, but he has. I know everything Snuff’s done, I can’t forgive him, but I can’t abandon him either. Dear Lady, I can’t.
“All right, Father,” Clovermead whispered. Her paws shrank. She looked up at the moonlit night. Her tears could not stop flowing. “You gave me the power to free bears, Lady,” she said. “I never did enough with it, and now that Ursus is dead, they must be free already. I don’t have much use for the power now. Take it from me and—don’t leave Snuff in darkness. There’s a little kindness left in him. Whatever he deserves from you, I ask you to treat him better.”
A cool breeze blew from the west. Inside, Clovermead felt light vanish from her. Gentle moonlight fell on Snuff’s face. The features of the boy he had been glimmered in the man.
Welcome back, Lucifer, Our Lady whispered in the night. I have missed you so.
“I hear you, Lady,” said Snuff. “Thank you, Clovermead.” He grinned, and the moonlight shone from his bronzed teeth. “We nearly beat you, Master and I.” Then his eyes closed a last time. His chest ceased to move. As he lay in the ruins of the temple, more blood spilled from him, but the bear-priest was dead at last.
Clovermead made the crescent sign over Lucifer’s corpse.
It’s over, Clovermead said to herself. We’ve won. Boulderbash was howling. Some victory, thought Clovermead. Is this the way it had to end, Lady? Was there no better way than this? She could not stop crying, for her mother and for Chandlefort, for all the slain.
“I would not have done that,” said Sorrel. He began to bandage Clovermead’s stomach. “What will his victims say when Our Lady ushers him into her city?”
Poor Ursus, crooned Boulderbash. You’ve gotten so dirty. Haven’t you learned yet how to keep your coat clean? She wept over his black fur. I’m sorry, little one. I should have taught you better. I am so sorry.
The white bear began to lick the blood from her dead child’s coat.
Chapter Twenty-three
Ladyrest
The general of the bear-priests sent a messenger with a white flag to Waxmelt, and sued for peace. Waxmelt agreed, and the bear-priest army quickly retreated from Chandlefort. They marched south in good order. Waxmelt’s army accompanied them warily, to make sure that they evacuated Linstock. There was no fighting.
“The bear-priests will have battles enough down in the Thirty Towns,” said Waxmelt to Clovermead a week later as she rested in the farmhouse he had turned into his headquarters. She lay on a couch by a glass window, and warmed herself in the sun. “I’ve sent messengers down there to tell them that Ursus is dead. There’ll be risings in every town—and the refugee Queensmart soldiers have already ridden back to help. The bear-priests will keep a lid on a few of the risings, I suppose, but hardly all of them.” He shrugged. “It’s not our problem any longer. Without Ursus, the bear-priests are only ordinary tyrants—same as there’s always been, same as there’ll always be. The Townsmen will have our good wishes in their fight against the bear-priests, but we’re busy enough rebuilding here.” He paused a moment. “Unless you feel differently, Lady Cindertallow.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Clovermead. “That’s Mother. Never me.” She sighed. “It sounds like you know what you’re doing. Carry on.” She scrunched over a few inches, to stay in the sunbeam. “When will the refugees come back from Silverfalls?”
“I’ve asked the canal engineers and the farmers to come back first, to get the water flowing again and to sow what crops they can. After that I’ll want carpenters an
d masons, so we can start to rebuild the city. The rest of the townsmen should wait in Silverfalls until their new homes are ready.” He thought for a moment. “Half of them should be back before winter. I’ll make sure they’ve all returned by next summer.”
“Then the Abbess shouldn’t be too mad,” said Clovermead. She groaned softly. “I know I should care more, Father. I should do more—but I’ve been on the go for so long. Is it all right if I rest awhile?”
“Rest as long as you like,” said Waxmelt. “I can handle the work.”
“Better than I could,” said Clovermead, but her father had already bustled out of the farmhouse by the time she’d said it.
But she did have some work to do. The next day a detachment of soldiers burned Ursus’ body and caul in the middle of the temple ruins. Clovermead and Boulderbash watched his corpse blaze. When the blaze was done, Clovermead had Ursus’ ashes swept up and poured into a surprisingly small urn. Clovermead stoppered the urn tight and put it down before Boulderbash.
I will go with my son, said Boulderbash. North, to the ice. No part of Our Lady’s lands should be forced to hold his remains, so I will drop them into the sea. On a moonlit night, when the water is aflame with her light.
What will you do with yourself afterward? asked Clovermead.
Perhaps I will wander along those ice-rimmed beaches, said Boulderbash. Perhaps I will return to the woods around Snowchapel. I will not return here. I will stay in the land of winter until I die. I do not think that will be long.
We’ll always be in your debt, said Clovermead awkwardly. Whatever you need, whenever you need it—call on us, and we’ll be there for you.
I want nothing from you and your kind, changeling, said Boulderbash. Her growl was the sigh of an arctic wind. What I need now I must get from Our Lady. Rest and peace. Solitude and solace. With her jaws she picked up the urn with Ursus’ ashes. Then she was running north and away, a dwindling spot of white in the ruins of Chandlefort.
Saraband came the next week, with the first returning refugees. She found Clovermead sitting on the crumpled gates of the Castle, looking out at her mother’s makeshift grave. Saraband sat down by Clovermead’s side. “Penny for your thoughts, Cousin,” she said.
“I was remembering a blue dress I saw in a shop window last fall, and I was thinking, ‘I shouldn’t want to wear it,’” said Clovermead. “‘I should be in mourning for Mother, and blue isn’t a mourning color.’” She looked down at her heavily patched clothes. “I still haven’t been able to find a change of clothing. The weavers’ warehouses burned down, along with everything else. The only thing I was able to find that was clean was a box of yellow dresses for six-year-olds.” She smiled a little. “I figured Mother would find these clothes more appropriate, even if they are dirty.”
“She never was one to stand on ceremony,” said Saraband.
Was, thought Clovermead. Not “is.” She had to swallow back tears. She pointed at the heap of stones in front of her. “She’s under there. We’ll get her a proper grave in time, but she’s staying there for now. I wish—” She shook her head. “So many things, and none of them possible.” She looked sideways at Saraband. “It’s strange. You didn’t have a mother for thirteen years, and now you do, but mine’s gone.” She began to cry gently. “It isn’t fair.”
“Not particularly,” said Saraband. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Clovermead. Clovermead dabbed at her eyes. “Does the fact that you’re still alive comfort you?”
“Not particularly.” Clovermead snuffled. “Oh, yes it does, but”—she waved her hand at the pile of stones—”I still feel miserable. And worn out, down to the bone and down to the heart. I just want to rest.” She grimaced. “But I’m Lady Cindertallow. Father’s let me put up my feet these last few weeks, but I’ll have to take over at some point. Do my duty. And I just don’t want to. Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.”
“That sounds decided enough to me,” said Saraband. She smiled suddenly. “The trouble with you, Clovermead, is that you’re not solidly grounded in tradition. Tell me, do you remember the fate of the fifteenth Lady Cindertallow?”
“Fifteenth? I should know this.” Clovermead thought for a moment. “She’s the one who resigned being Lady and left Chandlefort.” Clovermead’s eyes went wide. “I couldn’t.”
“I can’t think of a better time. Ursus is dead, there’s no new threat just now, and I gather that Lord Wickward is handling the rebuilding of Chandlefort quite satisfactorily. And let’s not forget that the lords of Chandlefort are somewhat stunned at the moment. I think you could force them to agree to your resignation before they realized quite what was happening.”
“And I could play truant forever,” said Clovermead. Now she smiled too. “You just want company. You left off being Demoiselle, and now you’re tempting me to join you.”
“Let us say that the possibility of abandoning the duties of Chandlefort is more obvious for me than it is for most people.” Saraband took Clovermead’s hand in hers. “Let us say also that I am Clovermead Wickward’s friend more than I am Lady Cindertallow’s subject. Your subjects will give you a thousand reasons to stay on as Lady, but only your friend can tell you to stop your ears to them. Clovermead, you looked so disconsolate when I first saw you, and now I see a spark of hope in you. You’ve come alive again. With all my heart I think you should leave Chandlefort behind.”
“It’s my duty to stay here.”
“You’ve done your duty.” Saraband shrugged her shoulders. “Think about it.”
“I will,” said Clovermead. She looked around her at the rubble of the city, and then at Saraband. “Are you back here for good?”
“For a while. Mother’s deputed me to lead the nuns’ men who volunteered to help clear the rubble from Chandlefort, but I’ll return to Silverfalls in the autumn. I’ll spend the winter there with Mother. And Lacebark.” She glanced warily at Clovermead. “He’s still in Silverfalls. He didn’t think you or Sorrel would welcome seeing him.”
“Probably not. That was not the best-timed stunt to pull.”
“But all’s well in the end,” said Saraband, rather anxiously. “And he meant no harm.”
“But almost caused a great deal.” Clovermead frowned. “I won’t draw a sword on him when I see him, and neither will Sorrel. Just wait a few months before letting him in sight of either of us.” Now a slight smile replaced her frown. “Still fond of him?”
“Very much,” said Saraband. Her face filled with joy. “Forever and always.”
“I suppose he can’t be all bad,” Clovermead grumbled. She paused a moment. “If I do decide to leave Chandlefort, I’d like to go back to Timothy Vale and stay awhile. Maybe I could show you what it looks like.”
“I’d like that,” said Saraband. She stood up, and extended her arm to Clovermead. “Come with me, Cousin. Tell me what in the Vale is worth seeing.”
I’ll be back, Clovermead promised her mother. Then she got up and linked her arm with Saraband’s. They began to walk. “All sorts of things,” she said out loud. “To begin with, there’s the Goat River.”
Still talking, she left her mother’s grave behind.
That evening Clovermead strolled by herself alongside a dry canal. The air was unusually damp, gray clouds scudded in from the west, and the wounds on her thigh and foot ached more than usual. She leaned against a sycamore tree, and now she could feel the rest of her ache as well—head, hands, ribs, and stomach. Clovermead looked at the new, raw scar on her hand. She felt at the bandages all around her middle.
“I thought one scar was bad enough, Lady,” she said out loud. “Now I’ve got half a dozen! I’m glad Sorrel’s already used to the idea that I’m not a smooth-skinned young lady. And it’s a good thing I’ve got freckles. They camouflage the scars. A bit.”
Clovermead looked around, and she saw a broad stump a few feet away. She sat down on it, massaged her aching legs, and groaned. “Quick healing only goes so far,” she sighed. “I don’t
think I’m going to be myself again for a long time.” After a minute she looked around her at the canal and the fields, the orchards and the distant Heath.
“It is a beautiful land,” Clovermead said quietly. “It’s become home for me. Still, I don’t love it the way Mother did. If there’s anyplace I love, it’s Timothy Vale. And it’s not the sort of love that makes me want to set up as Baroness of Timothy Vale, or Marchioness of the Goat River. I don’t want to figure out who’s stolen a sheep from whom, or go chase robbers, or knock heads together in Council until some addlepated lords come to an agreement about who’s going to pay how much of what sort of taxes. I can do it, Lady. I’ve got the training. But I’d rather not.”
Clovermead smiled lopsidedly. “And, really, I don’t think I’d be all that good a Lady. I kept sloughing off my duties to Father all the way to Silverfalls. I think I had good reasons, and it’s all turned out for the best, but that isn’t how the Demoiselle’s supposed to behave, much less the Lady Cindertallow. Do you suppose I’ve gotten into the habit, Lady? What if I spend the rest of my life passing off my duties to other people? I don’t think that would be at all good for Chandlefort.” Her smile faded. “And my loving subjects will never be all that fond of me. The Bear-Queen. They’ll always stink a little bit of fear when they see me.”
Clovermead stood up, groaned—and sat down again. “Not quite yet,” she said. She dabbed beads of sweat from her forehead. She sat in silence for a minute.
“It’s a question of duty,” Clovermead said bleakly. “It’s all well and good to say I’m not best suited to be Lady, but I am Lady Cindertallow. I can’t just skip out and let what’s left of Chandlefort fall into ruin. Maybe if there were someone to take my place, but Saraband’s even less suited to be Lady. I suppose it has to be me—” Her mouth dropped open.
“That’s an idea, Lady,” she said thoughtfully. She saw a long stem of grass growing by the side of the stump, plucked it, and put the end into her mouth. With a smile she began to chew. “That just might work,” she said. She stayed on the stump, deep in thought, until long after darkness.
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