by Wendy Wang
Gordon scowled and picked up one of the wrapped sandwiches. “Is this roast beef?”
“Yes sir it is,” Cook said. “Her Majesty said it was your favorite. There's a little jar of horseradish to go with it too and mustard.”
“Well, I’d hate for that to go to waste.” He sniffed the paper. “So does the chief know?”
“Um, he will,” she said taking the sandwich out of his hand. “When he wakes.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Coward,” he said under his breath.
“I should have you put in the stocks for your impertinence.” She teased.
“Do as you will but it doesn’t make it any less true,” he chuckled. “All right, Cook could you pack this up for us? Preferably in something easy to carry.”
Neala quietly clapped her hands together. His stomach was always the easiest way to persuade him. Once they were on their way, she had no doubt his sense of adventure would kick in. “You won't regret it. I promise.”
“You know I'd take an arrow through the heart for you, Majesty, but when the chief comes after me, I’m throwing you between us.”
Neala laughed. “Now who’s the coward?”
******
Sorrel stopped at the edge of the mountain cliff. Her tears froze on her cheeks breaking away when she wiped them with the back of the fur-lined, leather sleeve. She pulled her pen from her pocket. The metal was cold against her skin, and didn't warm even when she closed her fingers around it. She wound her arm back ready to toss it into the sheet of snow and ice below her.
“Sorrel stop!” A familiar voice called out to her from behind. Jorgen Heard. She cursed under her breath.
“Don't c-c-cuh—” Why couldn't she just get her mouth to work? Why had the goddess cursed her this way?
“They’re wrong about you. You are a better seer than all of them put together.” Jorgen inched closer, his hands out. “Please don't jump.”
Don't jump? He honestly thought she was going to kill herself? She gritted her teeth together. “Jorgen,” she snapped, holding out her hand to show him her pen. “Th-th-this is the only thing going over the cliff t-t-today.”
“But you need it.” He was within feet of her now. Close enough to grab her if he wanted. She crept closer to the edge, her toes pushing rock and snow on to the mountain below.
“You know th-they're right,” she said quietly. “I will n-never be a great seer. Why shh-sh-should I even t-t-try?”
Close enough to touch now, he placed his hand over hers, covering the pen. “Because they're wrong.”
A sob pitched in her throat and he pulled her to him, wrapping her up in his arms, hugging her tight, her tears wetting his buckskin coat. She wanted to believe the way he did, that somehow her mouth would work right, and her painting would improve and she would finally be accepted as an apprentice to one of the seers in the village. But after today’s failure, she couldn’t see her way to his faith in her. She hugged him tighter.
“Did you really th-think I would leave you like th-that? With such dishonor?” She whispered.
“No. Not really.” He pressed his cheek against hers. She could feel his lips as they moved against her ear. “But you will leave me.”
Her head responded before her mouth could form the words, shaking in protest. She pulled out of his arms and stared into his coal colored eyes. Some found the blackness of them unnerving but she didn’t. They were beautiful, especially when they glittered with light. It reminded her of the volcanic rock she sometimes found on the side of the mountain in spring. Cast-abouts, her mother had called them. Her mother had believed the goddess had sprinkled them over the mountains when she made them so they would sparkle darkly alongside the gold of the Micah and blue of the granite. “For shadows of depth,” her mother had told her. “Because the goddess is an artist just like all the Kaels on this mountain.” All but her.
Jorgen was her shadow, had been since they were small but he was also her light—even when the darkness threatened to swallow her whole after her parents died. There he was, shining for her.
“I will n-never leave you,” she finally found her words.
He smiled but sadness tinged his eyes. “Yes you will. I’ve seen it.”
Her body went cold despite her fur-lined coat and gloves.
“And it’s all right. I want you to go—when the time comes.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. She shook her head again, fresh tears tickling the back of her throat. “You will need to go.”
She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in until she almost choked. He smelled of wood shavings and pine resin and the undertone of copper greening with age, which made sense since it was his favorite metal to command.
“No,” she whispered against his skin and he shivered.
“Yes,” he said firmly, squeezing his arms around her waist. “You told me once, your mother said you were destined for great things. She was a powerful seer. Was she wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. How could she be destined for such great things when she couldn’t even get accepted as an apprentice? Without it she was just another villager who could see but never change a thing. No. She would never do great things and no matter what Jorgen said, she would never leave this mountain.
******
Sorrel put another log on the fire, mesmerized by the sparks flying into the chimney. Sparks. She always saw them just before—
Her breath caught in her throat. Sparks—red, green, blue—danced in front of her eyes. She reached for a piece of paper from one of the stacks she kept all around her small cabin. She pressed the tip of her metal pen against the roughened surface and the metal ink flowed. Pictographs spilled onto the page. Some of the elders drew beautiful detailed paintings of their visions, so it made sense why they would look at her scribble and call it crude.
Her body wilted when the vision passed, and she looked at the picture she had drawn. Two children, a crown held between them, each pulling it towards herself until the crown broke into jagged pieces. Of all the visions she had had this one frightened her, even more than when she saw the queen die. She blew on it to dry the ink, rolled it up and fastened it with a piece of twine. If the elders found out, they would punish her but she didn’t care. Someone had to let the queen know how much danger she was in, they were all in. If the elders wouldn’t act, she would.
Pushing up the sash to her small window, she held out her arm. It only took a moment for the raven to appear. It flew from the sky and landed on her arm. She smiled at it and gently rubbed her finger across the slick dark feathers of its chest before putting it on the wooden perch Jorgen had built for her. She took the twine wrapped it twice around the raven’s leg and tied it in a knot.
“Take this to the queen,” she whispered. Whispering and singing were the only tricks she knew to keep her stutter at bay. The raven cawed and flew off into the cloudless sky.
Two
“Are you sure this is the way?” Gordon asked for the twentieth time. “It seems like we’ve been walking this way an awfully long time.”
“Yes Gordon,” she said trying not to sound too irritated. “This is the way.”
He frowned and shifted the pack on his back. “All right, so let's go over this one more time. You've been getting these notes from a raven.”
“Pictographs,” she corrected.
He shrugged and frowned. “Fine. Pictographs.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Do you even know what that means?”
“I know what a bloody pictograph is,” he snapped.
“Fine.”
“What? I do. It’s a drawing.” The lines of his forehead deepened and he used on of his hands to talk. “Of…some…sort.”
“Yes,” she chuckled. “A simple, symbolic drawing. They’re all over the walls of the ancient caves. My grandmother told me once they were drawn by the first people of the realms. Before there was even a queen to rule them.”
“All right,”
Gordon nodded. “Now that we’ve had our art history lesson for the day, let’s discuss why it didn't occur to you to show these drawings to anyone? Like say me? Or the chief?”
“I didn’t think you’d find them interesting.” Her voice sounded a little too high pitched in her ears. “I also thought you both might re-overreact a little. Read some danger into them that's not there.”
“Oh no.” Sarcasm shaded his words. “Why would either of us overreact to you receiving cryptic pictures? Excuse me pictographs.” He emphasized the last word. “And it never occurred to you these could be coming from Peter or one his subordinates?”
“Of course it did, I’m not an idiot or a child,” she snapped. “But they aren’t.”
“How do you know?”
“The ink is full of metal and when I touch the images—I can…see the artist and trust me, she’s not working for Peter.”
“What? In your head? You can see her in your head.”
“Yes,” Neala said.
“Well that’s interesting and just a little bit frightening. Have you ever done that before?”
“No. But I’ve never seen this type of ink before either.” She shrugged. “I promise you, if I felt like there was danger I would have told you.”
“No offense Majesty, but we both know when you’re intrigued by something, you sometimes let your curiosity get the best of you. What if these pictures are a trap? Did you think of that?”
“There is no danger Gordon. And if there is I’ll protect you. So no need to worry.” She patted his arm and gave him a reassuring smile.
“Well—” He stopped and put his hands on his hips. “I can think of quite a few pictures that have led us directly into danger.”
“And I can think of a couple of times where pictures have gotten us out of danger. What’s your point?” she snapped. It had only been six months since they’d escaped Nydia through a painting.
“All right, I’ll concede to that.” He nodded. “But it’s still reckless.”
“Fine. It’s reckless. I’m reckless. Feel better now?” She glared at him. He scowled but didn’t have a retort. Maybe she’d won. “I know in my gut these pictures are important. I just need to find the seer and then you’ll see—”
“Majesty? How long have you been at this?” He gave her a pointed look and crossed his arms.
“Not long, really. Why do you ask?”
“How. Long?” His dark green eyes narrowed, and locked on hers. He wasn’t going to let it go until she gave up the truth. She sighed and her shoulders slumped a little in defeat.
“Well—um, there are at least six villages with seers.” She glanced at the map in her hands. She folded it neatly and pushed it back into her bag.
“And how many have you visited?”
Neala looked him straight in the eye. There was no use lying to him, even though he had no Wood Kael abilities he was very good at guessing. And he could be relentless when he wanted to be. She knocked the toe of her boot against the ground, loosening the icy build-up on the leather.
“Majesty?” Gordon used his most serious tone. The one she’d only heard him use on soldiers who had truly made a mess of things.
“Four,” she finally said, refusing to be shamed like a child.
“Four!” His mouth gaped and his heavy brow furrowed making his bushy red-blond brows draw together like to furry caterpillars. “How have you been getting out of the palace without me?”
She waited, knowing he would get there on his own.
“Jerugia's crown! You’ve been using the tunnels again, haven't you?” His lips pressed into a flat line. Sometimes she hated him for his cleverness.
Neala scowled. “Just one and I always seal it behind me when I come home.”
He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. Redness crept from his neck into his cheeks and if steam could've released from his ears it probably would have. It was a rare sight to see Gordon truly angry and she didn't know whether to cringe or pick up a snowball and throw it at him to relieve some of the tension.
“Well? Don't just stand there and glare at me. Say something. Yell if you want to.”
“I would if I thought it would do any good. There’ll be plenty of yelling tonight when we get home, I s’pose.” He cast his eyes down at the ground and she almost felt guilty. Almost. “I think more than anything—I’m disappointed.”
An arrow through the heart would have been easier to take than those words. Neala shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look into his face any longer.
“You are queen now.”
“Yes,” she said. Her eyes flew open and anger bubbling up. “I am queen—and these drawings are important. I just…I just need to find the seer so I can understand them better.”
Gordon tipped his chin and shook his head.
“Don’t give me that look Gordon,” she said.
“Don’t give me a reason to,” he said.
Her cheeks burned at his admonition. A caw echoed above their heads making them both glance at the sky. A large black winged bird circled above them. Gordon reached for his baton, pointing a red tip ready to fire at any moment.
“No!” She pulled his arm down. The raven landed on a nearby rock.
“Majesty don't—” he started but she had already reached the bird before he could finish his sentence. She knelt next to the beautiful creature. It tugged at the twine around its leg until its sharp beak sliced through releasing the scroll into the queen's hands.
“Thank you,” she said softly, awed when the raven let her stroke its chest with her fingers. It focused its black eye on her, nodded its head forward as if it were bowing, and then lit off into the sky.
“What is it?” Gordon asked kneeling down next to her.
“Another drawing.” She unrolled it, staring at the strange picture. Touching her fingers to the ink she closed her eyes. An image of a girl filled her head. The girl couldn't have been more than eighteen. Her hair was as straight and as dark as the raven’s feathers. Her deep brown eyes were wide and soulful. There was something about the girl though? Anxiety? Fear? Something Neala couldn’t quite pin down.
“What is it Majesty?” Gordon asked.
“It’s her,” she said. “The seer and what she sees scares her.” She traced her fingers over the image. It looked like two children fighting. The ink sung against her fingertips. “It scares me a little too.” She shrugged. “I didn't tell either one of you because I didn't want you to stop me from finding her.”
“I know.” Gordon sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder.
She thought he might scold her more but he didn't. Instead he got to his feet brushed the snow off his pants and held his hand out for her. “Come on Majesty we're wasting daylight.”
She craned her neck, looking up into his kind strong face. “You don’t need to protect me you know.”
“I know.” His lips curled into a slight smile. “You’ve grown quite strong and you’ve always been brave. But I do worry sometimes about your decisions.”
“I promise I won’t get either of us killed,” she teased, hoping his good humor would return the lightness in his eyes.
“I’m not worried about dying, Majesty. I would follow you anywhere and die doing it if need be.”
“I know.” Neala cast her eyes towards the drawing, not wanting to feel the weight of his stare on hers anymore.
“But as a loyal follower, I need to know what you do, is done for all of us.”
“It is,” she said unable to stop the quiver in her bottom lip. “I mean that Gordon. I’m never gonna be like my mother—making decisions behind the safety of palace walls. I can’t tell you how I know, but these drawings are important not just to me but to every Kael. I know there is no logic in it. But finding the girl who drew them is one of the most important things we can do right now. We’re flying blind and that’s unacceptable to me. There are too many lives at stake.”
“That’s all you had to say Majesty.”
>
“I wish Cai was as easy to convince. Sometimes I think he just wants to lock me up in a box.” Neala rolled the drawing up and put it in her bag with the others.
“Maybe so. But maybe if you gave him some credit, he might surprise you.” Gordon grinned and held out his hand.
“Maybe.” Neala nodded, placing her hand in his. In one swift move he lifted her to her feet. “I guess all I can do is try, right?”
“That’s all any of us can do, Majesty.”
******
The news of the queen's arrival spread from one end of the village to the other, drawing people into the main road. Sorrel crept between the community house and the trading station, where people could buy and trade things they needed. She peeked around the corner of the building watching people greet the new queen, bowing down before her.
The queen was more beautiful than Sorrel had imagined. Her dark red hair had been braided and pinned at the base of her head and the cold left a perfect pink flush in her pale skin. All that was missing was a crown.
Paltrin Veit stepped forward and bowed before the queen. Sorrel leaned in closer, straining to hear.
“Your Majesty we are humbled you would come this far. Please come,” Paltrin gestured towards the community house. “You must be in need of refreshment. We have food and water or wine if you prefer.”
The queen smiled graciously, her blue eyes scanning the crowd gathered around them, as if she were looking for someone particular.
“That would be wonderful thank you.” Her voice sounded steady and confident. Sorrel slunk back into the shadows, and the queen followed Paltrin inside. Had the queen actually gotten the scrolls she’d sent? Sorrel’s belly fluttered and she pressed her hands against it to quiet it. A grin pulled at the corners of her mouth and she rushed into her cabin to change into her best clothes to meet the queen.
******
“So you see I would like to find the seer who painted these,” Neala said, unrolling the stack of drawings. “She is maybe seventeen or eighteen. Long dark hair, dark soulful eyes. Can you tell me is she here?”
