The Dragon Queen

by Alice Borchardt

  “Oh, God,” I whispered. “What happened?”

  “Oh, the next day,” Kyra said with a sigh, “Dunnel came, begging Dugald for mercy. He said he had no knowledge of what Bain had planned to do. But the boy was his son-in-law. Dugald said that, given the marks on his daughter’s face, marks seen by all, not just him, Dunnel should be glad to be rid of him.

  “Dunnel left angry and despairing. Then Bain’s wife came, with her child at her breast, I might add. She begged Dugald to spare its father. She had no better success with that vile-tempered old curmudgeon. And she left weeping, as if her heart would break.”

  “No,” I said. “This is bad news. He shouldn’t have—”

  Kyra lifted a hand. “At last, Gray came. He was angry, and he said matters were becoming serious. He said if the boy died, Dunnel was his kin and had a duty to avenge him. Was Dugald fool enough to engender a blood feud over such trash as Bain? We all took Gray’s side, and at last Dugald relented. And the whole gang of them wandered out of the fog along the shore that evening.”

  “Good God!” I whispered.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she said. “Two or three of them were close to mad, Bain among them. The rest, half dead with terror, hunger, and thirst.”

  “It made bad blood,” I said.

  “Yes.” Kyra sagged back, hands on her knees, eyes closed. “The village is a small place. If you mistreat others, word gets around very quickly. People take sides. Though most people probably sympathized with Dugald, what he did frightened them. They had thought him a tame wise man, who could be counted on in time of trouble. Then he turned and showed them his teeth.”

  Kyra shook her head. “We can’t go back. Too much has happened.”

  I agreed. “What now?” I asked.

  The fire was low; the steam had died down. We were beginning to feel the evening chill. Kyra didn’t answer my question until we dressed and left the sweat bath. I had clothes from her, but I put on my old deerskin britches and a white shirt.

  The Gray Watcher had set up a table in a bowl-shaped clearing under the trees. There was a whole boar on the spit, several fresh fish cooked in seaweed, fresh bread, butter, and curd cheese.

  I asked Kyra where they had gotten the milk. “We traded for it,” she told me.

  Yes. Black Leg and Maeniel were wonderful hunters.

  Even if I wasn’t completely happy with Black Leg, I still wanted his company. So we climbed the green, grassy bank that surrounded the clearing until we got to the top. From there, we could look down at the rest and out beyond the woods to the shore. The dragon was still there riding the swells, his head tucked back like a bird’s.

  I tried to tell Black Leg what happened to me, but when he heard about Arthur, he became very disgruntled.

  “Now you have met a king,” he said. “What do you think?”

  I remembered Arthur’s eyes on me, on the terrace, near his mother’s rooms. They had caressed me.

  “He was wonderful,” I said.

  “And I suppose I’m not wonderful.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs. I couldn’t believe it. He was jealous. I loved it.

  “Yes, you’re wonderful,” I said. “But not …” I leaned back a little to study him, and I realized he was beginning to attain his growth. He was taller than I am now but rawboned and gawky. So I continued, “But you’re not as handsome as he is.”

  I was sorry the minute I said it. I could see my words had bitten deep. But before I could apologize, he said, “I don’t know if I can believe you. Gray says you can’t trust women. Any women.”

  I was a little stung. “Why not?”

  Black Leg grinned. “How can you trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn’t die?”

  I walked right into it. But I’ll give myself credit. He never saw what was coming his way, either.

  My right fist.

  It connected with the side of his jaw a second later. My armor helped, of course, as did the extra strength the lady put in my right arm. I knew I’d hurt him when he went wolf in the air, then landed in a heap at the foot of the high bank without his breeches. His tunic was long enough to cover him, so he was still modest.

  He let out a yell and scrambled to his feet, in position to climb up the bank and go for me. Our eyes met, and I flashed on his growing maturity. He was as big as his father now, and though still gangly and a bit awkward, he was powerfully muscled and, wolflike, very, very fast. He was in the process of becoming a dangerous warrior, and I knew I’d stirred a hornet’s nest by attacking him unexpectedly.

  But we were not alone, and I was a woman he loved. I knew this as I saw the rage die out of his eyes. He loved me very much and always would. And in a number of ways. As a friend, a sister, a companion, and now at last as a woman. I knew all this in the frozen moment in time when we were alone together. Before the present rushed back to confront us.

  He was thinking about coming back up that bank and teaching me a lesson about smacking him without warning. There would be a scuffle, all right, but no one would get hurt. And we would find out how each other’s bodies felt.

  That would be good. Yes, and do neither of us any good at all.

  In the feasting hall at Tintigal, I had exchanged pledges with the king. And she had said I was to be a queen. Or much the same thing when she told me he was my destiny. I was shaken by the knowledge of his love, a complication I hadn’t thought of.

  But then, Maeniel had his son by the arm and was towing him from the field of honor. And the rest were staring at me standing on the little hill as though I’d turned into a wild bull, horns and all.

  I knew my hair was down, and I could feel it on my back. The green armor was flashing from my skin. They were looking at me the way Kyra had in the bath.

  Anna, Gray’s wife, made the sign of the cross. Gray stared at me in open-mouthed awe. Maeniel, restraining hand on his son’s arm, studied me appraisingly. Only Dugald didn’t seem surprised.

  “Come down,” he said. “Get some more pork.” Then, apropos of nothing, he added, “The Beltane fair, the Beltane fair, indeed. Maeniel, give your son a talking to.”

  “Don’t crow too quickly, old man,” Maeniel said. “You don’t know what this portends.”

  “He might not, but I do,” Kyra said quietly. “Dugald is right. She will marry a king, and even before that, she will be a queen.”

  That night, I slept with Kyra as I always have. We went a little apart form the men, closer to the beach, where we could watch the wheeling stars. After her statement this evening, no one had questioned Kyra’s words. Maeniel pulled Black Leg aside. He was a boy again, and we could both pretend nothing had happened.

  “She used to think things like that were funny,” he complained to Maeniel.

  “Obviously, times have changed,” Maeniel told him as they walked together. “She’s sensitive about certain changes taking place.… ”

  And that was all I heard, because they went into the woods together. The rest of us sat down at the table to eat. There was no further quarreling, and when darkness fell, we all went in search of our beds.

  I was wakeful. I had too much thinking to do. Kyra had said I would become a queen even before I married a king, and I was wondering how that was to be accomplished. Then I thought about the quarrel between Black Leg and myself. I remembered what he had said, and he was right. It was funny. He was right about another thing, also. In the past, I would have laughed. I laughed now, but at the moment my initiation into womanhood had been too new a burden to bear. So I was sorry and wanted to make up when I heard faint noises in the undergrowth around the space where Kyra and I were sleeping. I knew I had been allowed to hear the noises, and Black Leg was probably out there moving around, wanting to talk.

  I tossed my blankets aside and crawled quietly toward the noises. I could smell him—woodsmoke, warm bread, young skin, and a musk that said male animal. I can’t describe it. But ever since I could remember, he’d always carried that odor with hi
m. Only it was stronger now, much stronger than it had been when we parted in the realm of Dis.

  Yes, I thought. I am a woman, and he is becoming a man.

  His arms went around me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “So am I.” I giggled a little. It was funny.

  Then we kissed. He was warm, but uncertain. I heated in his embrace, and for the first time understood all the wiggling and crying out of the couples we had seen making love.

  He did, also, because I felt his shock and then urgency as his prick responded to my length of body against his own. We were both clothed. I still had my britches on, and so did he. But it came up hard and stiff, right between my thighs.

  I broke the kiss and threw back my head. Not to escape him; I didn’t want to. But to concentrate more completely on what was happening below.

  My legs tightened on the shaft. I saw in the starlight his mouth open. Wolflike, he made no sound, but I felt his whole body stiffen.

  The power of his embrace was so strong, it was painful. I felt my ribs give, but I didn’t care. He could hurt me like that all he wanted. He could hurt me like that all night.

  At the same moment, I felt my nails dig into his shoulder and back. Another second and we would both have been down on the pile of dead leaves where we were standing, clawing at each other, crazy with a pitiless hunger. I felt as though I were caught in a riptide. I had wandered into still waters, thinking them calm, and been seized from below and pulled down. I was helpless against this maelstrom.

  The flames leaping between us scorched, blinded, and terrified us. Kyra parted us with a log from the fire. We separated to escape the heat, and seconds later were scrambling alone, parted, struggling on the forest’s loamy floor.

  I jumped to my feet and ran across our bed ground, ran, slapped at the embers smoldering on my shirt. I had a glimpse of Black Leg, his shirt scorched and smoldering, his body thrown back against the trunk of a low, twisted, windblown pine, fists clenched, eyes closed. Kyra stood between us, torch blazing in her hand.

  The Gray Watcher stepped out of the darkness. His and Kyra’s eyes met.

  “That was a very near thing,” he said.

  Kyra nodded. “I had no idea things had gotten this far.”

  Black Leg came away from the tree and took a solid swing at his father. His fist landed with a loud crack in Maeniel’s left palm as he fended his son off with his right hand.

  I was crying so hard, I could barely see. “Stop! Oh, stop!” I spoke to Black Leg. “He hasn’t done anything but what he had to do.”

  “Yes.” Kyra spoke softly. “I can see you two didn’t know how matters stood between you, either.”

  “No,” Black Leg said. “I didn’t. At least I just came to apologize and maybe ask her if she wanted to do a little night fishing.”

  “Night fishing, eh?” Kyra said. “And what did you hope to catch?”

  “Not what I got. Only fish, Kyra, only fish,” he said dismally.

  She shook her head. “What a pair of innocents you are—the both of you. Come.” She gestured toward the fire. “Come. We need to talk.”

  Black Leg looked at his father. “Yes,” Maeniel said, “you, too.” Then he vanished silently into the darkness.

  We couldn’t look at each other. We both sat down by the fire. Kyra joined us.

  “Once,” she said, “men obeyed their mothers and the world was good.”

  Black Leg blinked and stared at her truculently. “What has that to do with anything?”

  “A lot,” Kyra replied. “And you will shut up and listen. As I said, once we women ruled the world. At that time, there was but little meadow and no plowed land. People moved from place to place, harvesting the great bounty of the earth. Near waters, we fished. Among the trees, we gathered acorns and hazelnuts. Both of you know they make good bread.

  “Among the trees, we hunted deer, elk, and the wild aurochs. All bellies were filled, and no man could call himself better than another because he wore a crown or his father bore a famous name. When decisions needed to be made, the people called on the dream walkers, and they read the future and told the people what they must do. Then one day the dreams of some of the women turned to nightmares.”

  Kyra was silent for a space, and for the first time I realized she was growing old and had begun to grow old among us.

  “It was their duty,” she continued, “to see the future, and they saw it too well. They saw human hands stretched out to control what was once freely given. A man planted crops, saw the crop mature, and harvested it for himself. Most saw that as a good thing. But one diviner understood that, while a good thing at first, it would turn bad in the end. And that once started down this road, we would not be able to turn back. There would be too many of us. The broad fabric of the ancient covenant between ourselves and the earth was torn open, and our lives would spill out through the ruined veil.

  “So she and her sisters created a kingdom of women. The paradise of women. I was taught there. Taught magic, war, and law by the Scathatch and her daughters.”

  “This is a real place?” Black Leg asked.

  “Real as the earth I sit on now,” Kyra answered. “We have all heard the stories about how the ancient sorceress saw the sea rise and drown the land. So she led her people north to the mountains, where they might found their own kingdom and keep alive the splendor of the old ways. And they became the Painted People, ruling in their mountain fastness for uncountable centuries.”

  “The land is poor there,” Black Leg said. “They have good reason to keep to the old ways.”

  “True,” Kyra said. “They do. But their life ways work. Most among them live in dignity and peace. On the Isle of Women, we are taught how to make them work, what we must do.”

  “War, law, and magic,” I said.

  “Yes,” Kyra answered. “War because envy, cruelty, and greed are universal. Sad to say, all good things must be defended. I forgot that, and my family died. Law so that disputes may be resolved and justice done.”

  “But magic, that’s another thing,” I said.

  Kyra smiled. “You are both creatures of magic. Magic protects the life of the universe. Because the universe is alive in its own way, and life and meaning are part of it, the way color is part of a flower or the fingers part of a hand.

  “Because you are magic, it matters very much what both of you do now. You must choose your lives. It is time. I thrust the torch between you to give you that choice before you were both swept up too far into the currents of desire.”

  “First,” I said, “I want to know why you believe your own mistakes caused your family’s deaths.”

  Kyra’s eyes turned inward. “Fair enough,” she answered. “The first sorceress who saw the land flood and the perishing of the good order of the world was one of a large family. Her line did not fail. I know; I am one of them, and so are you—as was your mother and even Merlin and Igrane. Power is, of course, not devoted to good or, for that matter, to evil. Earth, air, fire, and water are the components of everything. Both of you understand that.”

  “Yes. But what does that mean in practical terms?” I asked.

  “In practical terms, it means we of the Painted People have a tradition of training our leaders and choosing them from among those we think would be best suited to the task. I was one so chosen and so trained by the high priestess, known as Scathatch, on the Isle of Women. We are needed in times of crisis to deal with any problems that might arise.”

  “And what happened?” Black Leg asked.

  Kyra was silent for a space, and I could hear the fire burn and the wind sigh in the trees.

  “A great catastrophe happened among the Seal people. The queen’s line failed. There was a sickness and the women died—all of them—a terrible omen. A delegation was sent to Scathatch’s isle to find out what to do.

  “I was proud of my skill in divination. I almost always could point out a productive course of action. Indeed, when summoned by the Scathatch, I
knew without being told what was wrong. You see, there were five women; that was why no one thought the line could fail. When the ship drew up to the quay, I turned to go up to her seat in the fortress. I saw the first woman. I thought she was simply a child. I didn’t know. She passed me coming down. Then I saw her small feet left no footprints in the wet sand.

  “The second met me at a bend in the path. She was gazing out over the sea, but I could see the rock she sat on through her body. The third was only a shadow. I could see the fourth, but she cast two shadows. They died together. The fifth stood at the head of the path and glared at me with eyes of flame. She alone of them all spoke. ‘Choose well,’ she said.

  “I stopped because I didn’t want to pass through her, but as she spoke, she vanished.”

  “Did you?” I asked. “Choose well?”

  “No!” Kyra said very sharply. “I didn’t. That’s why I’m warning you now. Black Leg cannot be a king.”

  For the first time, Black Leg and I looked at each other.

  “No,” Black Leg said slowly. “No, I can’t.”

  “Is that what they wanted you for—to choose a king?” I asked.

  Kyra nodded. “This is the business of the royal line among the Painted People—to choose a king. And this is why your mother lay with the lords of the Sidhe and took on herself the curse of an early death—so that you might carry within your body sovereignty not just of the land but of the spirit of a whole people. On your body you carry the tokens of sovereignty. To you, it is but a gift of your father and an acknowledgment of paternity. But it speaks to the legitimacy of your claim to be known by right of blood as the king’s Flower Bride. Tell me, have you pledged your faith with the young king?”

  I was silent for a space. Then I turned and met Black Leg’s eyes. “I have!” I answered proudly.

  Kyra rose and walked away, out of the circle of firelight, leaving us alone.