by Wendy Wang
Paltrin picked up one of the drawings and a shadow crossed the woman's face before she met Neala's eyes. She gave Neala of perfunctory smile and shook her head. “I’m sorry there is no seer here that draws this poorly.”
“Oh it's not poor quality by any means. Simple maybe but the quality is good. As good as any of the pictographs I’ve seen in the ancient caves of the original Kael settlements. I studied them as part of the Kael’s art history and these are actually very good. I don't fully understand the symbolism for some of them though. I assume the artist could enlighten me. Or at least that’s my hope.”
“I see,” Paltrin said. From the sour look on her face, the woman did not like Neala’s explanation of the artwork. Gordon cleared his throat.
“But if you think they didn’t come from here,” Neala said. “Then we won't waste your time. Thank you so much for your hospitality.” Neala rose to her feet, rolling up her pictures and fastening them again with twine.
“I know who painted them.” A voice came from the back of the crowd.
Paltrin stood in a hurry her mouth pushing into a frown. “Who said that? Show yourself.” The crowd fell silent. Paltrin's eyes narrowed and the wrinkles around her eyes deepened. “Jorgen Heard. Come forward.”
The crowd parted revealing a young man, with dark hair and eyes the color of the onyx. Neala could see him steeling himself for admonishment. He stepped forward, his chin jutting out, eyes full of defiance.
He bowed his head to Neala as he approached her. “Your Majesty.”
“Your name is Jorgen?” Neala asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Paltrin said. “Pay no mind to him though. He doesn’t know what he's saying.”
“He seems very clear of mind to me,” Neala said. Paltrin's mouth gaped. Clearly, she was not used to being spoken to that way. Neala bit back a smile. From the corner of her eye she caught Gordon rocking on his feet, fighting his own grin. “Tell me young man,” Neala asked even though he really wasn't that much younger than her. Maybe nineteen or twenty. “You know the painter?”
“Yes. Sorrel Qinsa.” He met her eyes, unwavering. It took real guts to stand up and defy his elders. Neala liked him immediately.
“Can you take me to her?” Neala smiled. “I’d like to tell her exactly how wonderful her work is.”
“Yes ma'am.” His face lit up and he nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Now wait just one moment,” Paltrin started her voice angry.
“Is there a problem?” Neala asked trying to sound as diplomatic as possible. It was a trick she had learned from her sister Francie.
“No ma'am of course it's not a problem,” Paltrin said. “You're welcome to speak to any of my people.”
“Thank you.” Neala called up a smile. “All right Jorgen. Take me to her.”
Jorgen grinned and gestured toward the door. Neala bit the inside of her cheek to keep her face from giving away too much.
Three
Jorgen led Neala through the village, passing tiny one and two room cabins, until they came to the smallest and shabbiest of them all.
“Can you wait here please?” Jorgen bowed his head again. “She's rather shy.”
“Of course,” Neala said.
He bounded over the two steps to the small covered porch and rapped his knuckles against the plank door. “Sorrel? Sorrel open the door it's me Jorgen. I have a surprise for you.” No answer. “Sorrel?”
Neala walked up the steps, ignoring the elders trailing behind them. The boy's eyes filled with concern but he managed a weak smile. He turned the knob, pushed open the door and stepped inside. Neala scanned the small room. The hair on the back of her neck pricked up and her hand reached beneath her coat, resting on the handle of her dagger. Paper was scattered everywhere and the small wooden table and chair lay on their sides. Dark ink bled across the floor.
“What have you done?” Jorgen rounded on the elders. Paltrin's mouth opened and closed like a fish stuck on the side of the riverbank.
“Prima Veit? Do you know something about this?” Neala really didn't want to get into the politics of the small village. But she also wanted answers.
“Your Majesty, this girl is often very flighty. I—”
A scream came from the distance. Gordon grabbed his baton and Neala pulled her dagger from its sheath. They both pushed past the crowd gathered around Sorrel’s cabin and ran towards the scream. Jorgen followed close behind. They found the girl with her arms bound behind her being dragged into the snowy forest by two of the elders.
“Stop!” Neala shouted. One of the women glanced over her shoulder and scowled, but she did not stop. Neala pointed her dagger at a large branch hanging above their path. A stream of blue fire erupted from the dagger’s tip and the branch broke away falling directly in front of them. Neala ran towards them and the elders pushed the girl into the snow face down.
“What is wrong with you?” Neala said fury flashing through her. “If the queen tells you to stop. You stop. Do you understand? I should have you both arrested for insubordination.” The two older women looked beyond Neala to their leader Paltrin, who caught up with them, but bent over, resting her hands on her knees, sucking in air.
“She is queen, do as she says,” Paltrin said between heavy breaths. Neala knelt next to the girl pulling her up onto her knees. Neala brushed away the snow and ice from the girl’s face and pulled her fur-lined hood away from her head, turning it inside out so the snow that was trapped there would not melt and make it wet.
“Are you all right?” Neala asked. The girl’s dark eyes darted around, as if she was trying to look everywhere at once. Finally, they locked onto Neala's face and a little whimper escaped her lips. Jorgen pushed his way to the front, and fell to his knees next to her on the ground. He touched her face gently.
“You're all right,” he said softly. “I'm here. You're all right.”
“Turn her around,” Neala said her voice soft and steady. Confusion striped Jorgen's brow and his eyes locked onto Neala's dagger. “It's all right I just want to cut her bindings.”
He leaned in close and whispered something into the girl’s ear. She shifted her weight and lifted the arms behind her back towards Neala. The blade sliced through the leather quickly and cleanly, falling into the snow.
“There,” Neala said returning her dagger to its sheath. “All better. I am Queen Neala. What’s your name?”
The girl glanced sideways at Jorgen, as if she was unsure what to say or do. “It's all right. You can tell her.”
“Sorrel,” the girl whispered. “My name is Sorrel Qinsa.” A smile played at the corners of Jorgen's mouth.
“It's very nice to meet you Sorrel Qinsa.” Neala reached into her bag and pulled out the stack pictographs. “I think these are yours.”
Sorrel shook her head, and pushed them back towards Neala. She whispered, “For you.”
Neala nodded and rolled them together again. “Thank you. Is there someplace we can go to talk about them? I really want to know what they mean.”
“Sorrel doesn't really talk much,” Jorgen said. “It’s difficult for her sometimes.”
“That's all right.” Neala said. “Did you know I like to paint?”
Sorrel's cheeks turned bright red and she shook her head.
“Well I do. I've been painting since I was five. It took me a while to get good at it and sometimes I'm still not all that great. But I love to do it. What about you? Do you paint?”
“D-draw,” Sorrel stuttered.
“Can you show me where you draw?” Neala asked.
Sorrel glanced at Jorgen and he nodded his head. “Yes,” Sorrel whispered. Her lips curved into a slight smile and she rose to her feet. “Th-this way.”
Neala stood and followed the girl back into the village.
******
Despite the size of the cabin, Neala thought it rather cozy. The corners were dark, and the dirty windows at the front of the cabin didn't let in much light but the large hearth and brig
ht fire drove back the shadows.
Neala and Gordon helped right the table and chair while Jorgen and Sorrel picked up all the paper and placed it in neat stacks on every available surface—her small dining table, the floor in front of the fire, even a stack on the end of her single cot tucked into a dark corner. There were only two chairs at the table, Sorrel sat in one and Neala in the other. Gordon stood watch at the door and Jorgen sat on the hearth close by in case the girl needed him.
Sorrel pulled a long metal rod from her pocket and pushed it across the table towards Neala.
“What is this?” Neala asked. Her fingers tingled when she picked it up.
Sorrel reached for a piece of paper and held her hand out. Neala placed the pen on the girl’s palm and watched in awe as Sorrel took the metal, pressed the end of it to the paper and ink began to flow. It all made sense now. The ink was made of metal. That’s why she could see the girl so clearly when she touched the pictures.
Sorrel wrote a few lines of text and pushed the paper towards Neala.
This is my pen. My mother made it and showed me how to use it when I was a little girl. She is gone now, just like your mother. I am sorry for your loss.
Neala almost choked on the lump in her throat as she read the words and she blinked back tears. “Thank you,” Neala said. “And I'm sorry for yours.”
Sorrel nodded.
“Have you been seen by a healer? For your—” Neala gestured towards her mouth unable to find the words to finish.
“She has,” Jorgen said. “There wasn’t much they could do though.”
Neala nodded. “Well that's all right. Sometimes there are things that even healers can't fix.” She pushed up the sleeves of her coat revealing her wrists. Two bright pink scars crossed each wrist. Reminders of her biggest mistake, trusting Peter Declan. “They can't heal these either. I've seen four different healers and none of them can make them go away.”
Sorrel brushed a single finger over the scar on Neala's left wrist. A shiver crawled down Neala's back.
“Sorrel,” Neala asked. “Would you consider coming to the palace with me? I think your visions could really help me and lots of other Kaels win this war.”
Sorrel's eyes widened and her already pale face, whitened. She shook her head quickly.
“I promise nothing would happen to you. I would keep you safe.”
“She's never been anywhere,” Jorgen said, offering up an explanation. “Just into the forest. Probably not even three miles from this place.”
“Hmmm.” Neala nodded. “You know up until about six months ago I'd never been anywhere either. It's scary going someplace new. Maybe if your friend Jorgen came with you it would be less scary.”
Sorrel looked to Jorgen, her expression a mix of fear and excitement.
“I wish I could come,” Jorgen said. “But I have to work and take care of my younger sister, Raemah. She’s my only family. But that shouldn’t stop you Sorrel.”
Sorrel face crumpled and she glanced down at her hands. She closed them into fists and her knuckles whitened. Sorrel shook her head again. “I’m s-s-sorry.”
Neala sighed, giving the girl a weary smile. “That's all right. I understand. I love my home too. I don’t know if I could ever leave it.”
“Majesty,” Gordon said stepping inside. “The sun’s started its descent. We should probably head home.”
Neala nodded. “Yes. Cai will be worried by now.”
“That’s an understatement,” Gordon muttered. Neala cast a sideways scowl at him. “Thank you so much Sorrel it was good to finally meet you. If you think of anything else that you need me to know. Any visions please write me a note and send it to me through your raven.”
Sorrel nodded her face a mix of fear and disappointment. Neala rose from the little table and headed out the door. Paltrin stepped away from the door too quickly and Neala knew the older woman had been listening at the door.
“Your Majesty.” Paltrin bowed her head. “Please let me offer one of my many seers. Any one of them would be more than happy to help you in your quest. Sorrel is a good girl but she is untrained and—”
“Perhaps, but she's also the only one who thought to send me the images of her vision,” Neala said, taking no care to mask her impatience with the woman.
“You’re right,” Paltrin said. “We haven’t reached out to you the way we did your mother and for that I am deeply sorry. But in our defense, your mother often didn’t take heed of our visions. She thought them unreliable.”
“Well, I am not my mother,” Neala said plainly. “And we live in different times.”
“Yes of course,” Paltrin said. “I believe any one of our seers could help you.”
“No thank you,” Neala said, making it clear with her tone that she was done with this conversation. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a very long day and I still have far to travel. Thank you for your hospitality. Peace be with you all.”
Paltrin bowed her head. “As you wish, Your Majesty. Peace be with you.”
******
“Have you lost your mind?” Jorgen rounded on her as soon as the door shut behind the queen.
“N-no,” Sorrel said poking the fire with a long iron rod.
“Are you really going to let this opportunity go?”
“You heard the P-Prima. She doesn’t th-th-ink I can do it. Doesn’t b-believe—”
Jorgen placed his hand on top of hers, quietly taking the iron poker from her. He leaned it against the fireplace before turning her to face him. His coal black eyes were steady on hers and she braced for a scolding.
“She is wrong,” he said. “I already told you that you would leave me. This is it Sorrel. Your chance.”
“No. The Prima is right. I am untrained. M-my paintings are t-t-too simple.”
“So what? You always do this! Don’t you give up on yourself today. You want to give up? Give up tomorrow. Today you push through.” His dark eyes flashed with frustration. “The queen believes in you and she doesn’t care how simple your drawings are.”
“Maybe she was just being nice,” Sorrel whispered.
“No. She meant it. And you heard her, she’s been painting since she was a child. Maybe if you went with her, she could help you. Did you think of that?”
Her breath caught in her throat and she sat down on the hearth. He was right. There was so much she could learn from the queen. Still going to Tamarik meant leaving him and home and the only life she’d ever known. Sorrel hung her head. “I’m s-s-scared.”
Jorgen sat down next to her and took her hands in his. He pressed his lips against her palm and nodded. “I’m scared too. What if you meet someone else? Tamarik is an exciting place filled with interesting people and handsome wardens. You and Raemah are my heart.”
Sorrel stared at their joined hands and whispered, “And you are mine.”
“I know.” His fingers tightened. “And that’s why you should go. You can do this. I believe in you.”
Sorrel squeezed her eyes shut. Part of her wanted to stay right here, never make another move. It would be so easy. Another part of her knew he was right but could she really be of help to the queen and the war effort? She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close.
“It’s all to right to go,” he whispered against her ear and she hid her face against his shoulder as the tears leaked from her eyes. He kissed her cheek. “I’ll write you every day. It will be just like you’re still here with me.”
Sorrel pulled out of his arms, her eyes steady on his. She nodded, tucked her pen in her pocket and headed out the door.
******
Neala and Gordon made their way towards the edge of the village so Gordon could port them back to the city. Neala dragged her feet, dreading the argument that was surely to come when she got home. She played different scenarios in her head trying to find the best one. Maybe if she just rushed into his arms and begged for his forgiveness she could bypass an argument tonight. It had worked before. Maybe
it would work again.
“Wh-wh-wait!” the girl called to them. “P-p-please.”
Neala turned and saw her running towards them, her face red as she struggled with the two words.
“Well looks like there’ll be one more for dinner,” Gordon said quietly.
“Hush,” Neala scolded under her breath. “I think it's wonderful.”
“Yes I know.” Gordon shook his head. “It's just these sorts of things always fall under be careful what you wish for. That's all I'm going to say on the matter.”
“Good,” Neala chuckled, grinning wide and waving. “Come on Sorrel. I'm so glad you decided to join us.”
“M-me t-t-too.” Sorrel smiled.
Four
Cai was pacing by the port stone near the palace when they arrived. His face looked thunderous and Neala threw herself into his arms without much thought. Water on fire. Hopefully it wouldn’t cause too much steam.
“Jerugia’s crown,” he said gripping her tightly to his chest. “You had me worried sick.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she said, placing a kiss against his neck. “Please forgive me.”
“This ask for forgiveness instead of permission mentality of yours makes it very hard sometimes,” he grumbled.
“I know. I’m sorry,” she smiled against the crook of his neck and kissed her way to his lips. His mouth was tight for a second before relenting and kissing her properly.
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Cai said, loosening his grip around her waist.
“I had Gordon with me,” she chuckled. “What could happen?”
“Indeed,” Cai scowled throwing a pointed look at Gordon, but he only shrugged and shook his head.
“Cai I want to introduce you to someone very special.” Neala held her hand out, gesturing Sorrel forward. “This is my new seer. Sorrel Qinsa. Sorrel, this is my husband Chief Commander of Wardens, Caius Declan. You can call him chief.”
