The Dragon Queen

by Alice Borchardt

  “Each post tells a story,” Kyra said, her hand resting on the nearest one. “See? Down at the bottom kelp, samphire, dulse. There is the eel, coiling among the water plants. They are on an eel river and take their living from the sea.”

  Knot work spun among the living things, fishermen and women. No salmon, but shark, hake, and turbot. Above, oak leaves and hazel flowed out of the knot work toward the roof. Each pillar was different, each exquisite, each told of the life its people led.

  “I never taught you how to read them completely,” Kyra said with regret. “One with knowledge can tell not only the way they live but where, and even how many are in the particular village or villages.”

  She let her hand fall away from the post with a look of regret. We continued walking down the stair, toward the center of the hall. That’s where the seats of the queens were. They were not really chairs and yet they weren’t thrones either. Each marked the house of heaven they belonged to.

  The salmon, painted with the colors of the breeding fish, leaped from the back of one seat, the comb held sway at another. The wolves, a whole pack, attacked over the back and at each arm of the one next to the fish. All of the houses of heaven were similarly marked. They formed a rectangle, a long, wide rectangle, around the fire pit.

  The hall was filled with people, all working on the posts, painting the figures with bright enamels, putting up tables on the stone steps of the amphitheater, spreading weavings and cowhides on the stone seats and hanging banners from the roof. Though I knew some of the seats were empty, they had all been touched up with fresh enamel. All but one.

  The Dragon Throne.

  It stood alone at the end of the rectangle, looking past the six seats on each side. The wood, though as magnificently sculpted as the rest, was dark, dry, and blackened by age. The rather squat dragon body was part of the chair side; the long neck formed the back and coiled around to one side and above the person who would sit there.

  “Thirteen months?” I asked.

  Mondig stood at my elbow. “Their calendar had thirteen months. They reckoned time by the moon,” he said. “Now we use the sun. The dragon has no place among them.” He spoke dismissively. “And besides,” he added, “it is unlucky, since the last queen took her place. She died within an hour of taking up her position.”

  “I thought the dance floor fell into the sea?” I asked.

  “No, that was the one before her,” he answered. “They wouldn’t give up trying, though. The one after her died in childbirth. And still there was another. She slipped and fell on the path up to the top of the cliff. She never got to take her seat at all. By then the Dragon Throne was called the perilous seat, and we stopped trying. Besides, we are all enmity with the dragons. When we see them, we kill them. They are too fond of our salmon runs.”

  He scratched his stomach and looked at me sideways.

  “Yes,” I said. “You are not what you were.”

  “Girl,” he said, “don’t play with me and don’t take that seat. If you do, you might die even more quickly than the rest.”

  Gray, Maeniel, and Issa had pitched a tent in the oak woods near the great hall. Kyra helped me to dress. Maeniel had found a tolerably sheltered spot, but it was still cold. I shivered, even though the water in the wash bowl had been warmed at the fire.

  “How much power have the queens got?” I asked.

  “A lot,” Kyra said. “Don’t let that little rat Mondig fool you. Most control a faction among the people, and that faction will back their decisions, if it comes down to it.”

  “I don’t know anyone here,” I said.

  “Yes, you do,” she said. “Maeniel is widely respected, as is Dugald. They know him for a druid and a powerful one. Gray comes from a large family. They will back him. Yes, they are poor, but good fighters. Then there’s me, and I’m not completely forgotten. I have friends among Scathatch’s daughters from the Isle of Women. They are widely respected, also, and sometimes feared. Your mother had kin among the people and among the Irish at Dalraida. Remember, Riona was the wife of a king, and she had the reputation of being a woman of strong character. No, you are not alone.”

  She made me wear a white dress trimmed with gold and combed my hair down my back. I wore the amber-and-garnet necklace Maeniel bought me, and the moonstone ring. The shoes changed to white leather with lace-up tops, low boots, sort of.

  Maeniel came in. He was carrying the sword and belt under his arm. Unceremoniously, he drew the blade and folded my right hand around the hilt.

  I tightened my fingers and raised the blade. It shimmered like the moon on the waters of a lake. The steel seemed to glow from within.

  “I can’t …” I began.

  “Yes … yes, you can,” he said. “I’ll get it back.”

  “You will—worse luck,” I said. “Not many things live as long as you. It’s smaller than I thought.”

  “You have grown in more ways than one,” he told me. “I’ll get another belt and scabbard. These are too large for you.”

  “It wouldn’t be seemly to wear it tonight,” Kyra said.

  I nodded.

  “She might face a challenge,” the wolf said. Kyra turned abruptly and walked away, toward the door of the tent.

  “A challenge?” I asked.

  He looked at Kyra. “You didn’t tell her.”

  “No! It so seldom happens.”

  “But she is not well known here, and it might,” Maeniel said. “It behooves her to be ready—if and when. That’s why I made her the gift of the sword now instead of waiting for a more auspicious occasion. I want her to have a good weapon at hand.”

  Kyra was silent and stood at the door with her head bowed. “Few women can really defeat a man in single combat,” she said. “I know I couldn’t. In theory, the queen who is seated should be an expert in the martial arts, and once, God knows, they were. But long ago by several hundred years, the custom fell into abeyance and has never been revived. Besides, Mondig made a promise to me that if she didn’t take the Dragon Throne, he would make sure her acceptance would be voted by the people and she would be seated and welcomed as one of their own.”

  “What’s between you and Mondig?” I asked.

  “He owes me a favor,” Kyra said.

  “What kind of favor?” I asked.

  “I was married to his brother,” Kyra said.

  “He was,” I said, “the one you didn’t choose. The right one.”

  Kyra threw back her head, and her face became a mask of indescribable pain. But she didn’t answer.

  “He’s so ugly,” I said.

  Kyra pushed aside the curtain and left.

  “No one will be seated in the chairs tonight,” Maeniel told me. “Though the rest of us will join Dunnel and his family, Bain and Issa—we will sit together and you will be introduced to the company.”

  Dugald stepped into the tent. “In this, you will be guided by your elders, young lady. Kyra, Maeniel, and I have already spoken of this together, and our plans are made. Politics is the art of the possible, and whatever you may think, the thirteenth month and the Dragon Throne will be ignored by you. Do you understand me, young lady?” he said sternly.

  “Yes,” I answered quietly. “Yes, I do.”

  “I don’t like the look in her eye,” he told Maeniel. “I want your word you won’t do anything foolish or provocative tonight. Do you hear me?”

  “I give you my word. I won’t do anything either foolish or provocative tonight,” I answered.

  He was wearing his robes, his ceremonial robes, the ones with the ogam symbols on them. He had the gold crown of his order. It’s not really a crown, but a wreath. Gold oak leaves, acorns, the catkin flower, and the twisted roots completed it.

  “You will do magic,” I said.

  “I’m going to have to. They must be convinced of your bona fides. You know your mother’s genealogy?” he asked.

  “I’ve known my mother’s genealogy since I was five,” I answered. “And all
her family connections. You taught me. It was almost the first thing you taught me.”

  “Yes. Well, best have them at your fingertips, for you must recite them before the assembled company tonight. A lot of the people here will be relations of yours, albeit distant ones, and they will wonder how you fit into the sphere of the Painted People.”

  “The whole thing?” I said. “It goes back to before the Iceni queen and probably will take me an hour and a half to—”

  “Yes, yes,” he broke in fiercely. “All of it. Tell me,” he asked Maeniel, “do you think she looks innocent enough? They will have heard of the business with Arthur … it wouldn’t do for anyone to believe she had been compromised. An invitation to be a concubine is a slap in the face to a lady of your rank. You didn’t let him take any liberties with you? Or give him anything like a … like a … you know,” he said to Maeniel, “a down payment.”

  “What!” I screamed. “I still haven’t—I wasn’t—I wouldn’t have been able … What are you saying? What are you accusing me of?”

  At this minute Kyra reappeared at the door to the tent. She grabbed Dugald’s arm. “Oh, for God’s sake, you old fool. Belike the girl is on pins and needles. She has a terrifying ordeal ahead of her, and you have to make things worse by accusing her of all manner of nonsense. Of course she hasn’t done anything like what you’re suggesting. For heaven’s sake, old man, they were together for only a few moments, and they were never alone.”

  I caught the last word on the fly, because she pulled Dugald out of the tent and dragged him away. Maeniel and I stood alone. I found I was crying. Maeniel gave me a clean linen cloth, and I wiped my face and eyes.

  “They have it all arranged between them, just like Merlin, Igrane, and Arthur at Tintigal,” I spat.

  He made a noncommittal sound.

  “Do you trust Mondig?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered. “He reeks of duplicity.”

  “He threatened to kill me,” I said.

  I saw Maeniel’s eyes change. The shadow of the wolf was in them, and they shone like mirrors in the dim lamplight.

  “How very, very foolish of him,” Maeniel said. “He has Kyra and Dugald completely fooled.”

  “So you’re thinking the same thing I am,” I said.

  “Yes!” Maeniel said. “He’s relying on Kyra and Dugald to make you behave as he wishes.”

  “But it doesn’t matter, because sooner or later he will kill me anyway, no matter what I do,” I said.

  “Probably,” Maeniel said. “Once you and your people were not so wise, and the wolf taught you how to hunt. The ravens, like the wolf, led you to prey. The bear led others to colder lands, where the snow covered the ground and ice locked the mountain peaks. They watched the bear, and from him they learned how to fish, to wait until fruits and berries ripen, how to steal honey from hives, hunt among rotten logs for grubs, and kill deer.

  “The boar showed them how to forage for winter food among hazelnuts and acorns, and the ducks and geese taught them to gather the seeds of wild grasses. And among the best of all were the dragons. They gave humankind the infinite resources of the sea. Led them to shellfish, dulse, and kelp. This is why they placed the friendly beasts among the stars and offered them the homage they deserved.

  “But now all this is forgotten, and men believe the whole earth and all the good things thereof belong to them. They gobble and grab, kill and steal, and lay waste with both hands. Then murder anything that dares compete with them for the first place at the table of life. Do justice! This is the duty of a ruler.”

  “I made a promise to myself about the dragons,” I said.

  “Keep it,” he told me. “And watch the food.”

  “You can tell, can’t you?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Usually.”

  But I never had to worry about the food. We entered the hall. It was alight with banners; the fire was blazing in the center. Everyone had dressed in their gaudy best. The light gleamed on a thousand pieces of jewelry on both men and women.

  Each tribe, tuath, we call them, dyed their own cloth with their own subtle colors, a rainbow of reds, blues, greens, yellows, oranges, and even gray and black. Silk, linen, and wool flared on the people. In the center, the music had begun around the fire pit before the star seats. They were all painted and ready for their new occupants.

  All but the dragon. The old oak that formed it was almost black with age, and it gleamed with the unadorned beauty that old dense-grained, fine wood has.

  I saw Dunnel. Issa and Bain, Dugald and Kyra had already joined them in seats of honor at Mondig’s table, along with two other young girls. Those must be the tame God’s children, who would be made queens.

  But I walked past the table and toward the open space around the fire pit. Then I turned, walked past the musicians as the harp, pipe, and tabor fell silent.

  I didn’t have to think about it. I went to the dragon chair and turned and sat down.

  TWENTY-ONE

  HE CLOSER HE GOT TO THE TOWER, THE less forbidding it got. Arthur knew he was looking at something nothing in his earlier experience had prepared him for. Nothing about the tower had the look of impressive arrogance most human constructions had. Instead, it seemed a part of the earth, the way the bridge did.

  The vines twining the base looked almost as though they, and not human hands, had laid the foundations. In places where the stone was worn away by wind and rain, they closed the gaps with their thick, woody stems. Trees held the bigger boulders above, their roots stretched down to the ground to collect water and nutrients incidentally holding the larger stones in place like mortar.

  Espaliered?

  His people, like others, grew fruit trees against walls to save space. No, say rather the building was espaliered against the webwork of leaves, roots, and branches.

  Yes, the stones, dark stone like the bridge abutments, were smoothed by eons of wind and rain. No, the trees rising up and up held the tower together, not the tower the trees. There was no door, only a perforated wall, because the tower was part of the world, built to embrace it, not shut it out. But the opening formed by the vines’ fuzzy small, aromatic flowers was a door to darkness. And in that darkness, something laughed.

  Arthur felt a chill at the nape of his neck. No! he thought. I may die for it, but I must find out what this strangest of places contains.

  So he pushed the vines aside and went in.

  A big tree root, part of the willow, made an inviting bench near the door. He sat down and let his eyes get used to the light. A thick, very soft moss lay like a carpet on the stone floor. The light was diffuse, greenish-blue, and strangely the chamber seemed to lead down to the sea, for he saw the waves breaking on the other side of the room.

  His mind told him this was impossible, but his eyes refused to cooperate. So he rose and waded into the sea.

  The waves broke around his legs and ankles, but they didn’t wet him. So he walked deeper into the water, until it was up to his chin. His body continued dry, so he went a little farther, until the water was over his head.

  Something armored like a crab ran into his arm. It had many legs, and it began to crawl down his arm. It was blue on the back, as some crabs are, but its many legs were a rather light yellow, paling to white at the tips. He tried to reach over and catch it, to see if it was really present. It must have been there in some sense, because he felt the hard carapace. Alarmed, it curled itself into a ball, fell to the bottom, and was pulled away by the current.

  A school of fish flashed into view like flying needles, fleeing something. They turned left, then right, gleaming like tiny mirrors as they did so, then came straight ahead, breaking at the last moment to either side of him, and were gone.

  The predator that followed them stunned him. It was fish or fishlike, but it was as armored as the crablike creature. But the plates were an iridescent red above, shading to gold-green at the belly.

  Then Arthur drew back out of the surf and watched it foam on
the nonexistent beach. Real or not, the water was as changeable and beautiful as the summer sea he remembered as a boy. Again, he felt the strange peace that had invaded his mind when he reached the bottom of the cliff below his prison. The sun glow poured in through openings in the rock, flaming red between the green branches.

  Arthur saw the stair, formed from the twisting roots of the trees. Someone, only a vague shape, passed him and began to climb the stair, vanishing around the first bend.

  Yes, this is a place of the dead, he thought. And found himself in the midst of a great multitude moving toward the stair and up into light so bright that his eyes wouldn’t accept it. He turned away in self-defense to look back at the ocean, but it was gone.

  Fingers caressed his face, neck, shoulders, and back; and something kissed him on the lips. Then, to his horror, he found the lips on his were teeth, the fingers abrasive bone, and the stink of death overpowering. He tore away from whatever it was, retching.

  Beyond the flowered arch of the door, sunset glowed bloody on a meadow. “Run, little man! Run!” a voice whispered. “Spit the taste of death out of your mouth, spit away the fear that haunts you. Haunts us all. And know you are only a man.”

  Gagging, Arthur swallowed and staggered forward to climb the stair.

  TWENTY-TWO

  DIDN’T GET A CHANCE TO ENJOY SITTING on the Dragon Throne, though it was a comfortable chair. An absolute dead silence fell in the assembly hall of the Painted People. Every eye in the room was fixed on me, and I could feel each one of them.

  The emotions were a mixture of horror that any outsider would dare to commit such a massive transgression, anger that an ancient custom had been breached, rage and delight that some present had been given a truly wonderful excuse to kill me. And those were the ones I became concerned with first. Mondig must have packed the front benches of the assembly hall with his supporters.