Princess of the Wild Swans

by Diane Zahler

  I emerged from the damp mist into a clearing at the foot of the lake, the sharp V of its heart shape. At the very point of the V, a spring bubbled gently out from the rocks, and I moved closer to it. Where the spring rose up from the earth, there was a cavelike opening, a gap in the ground that seemed, at first sight, perfectly dark. When I looked again, though, I believed that I could see a welcoming radiance deep within it and hear the faint sound of lute and bells. The light and music pulled at me, and again I moved toward the chasm. I could almost make out voices in the song—or was it just the sound of water moving over rocks? The uncanny light issued forth, and with it came a wondrous fragrance: the scent of every delicious thing I had ever tasted and every beautiful flower I had ever smelled. I breathed in roses and lilacs, spun sugar and honey cakes and raspberries, until I was dizzy and breathless.

  And now the voices were even clearer. They sang my name and spoke to me: “Princess Meriel!” they murmured. “Come to us! Bide with us! We will dress you in silks and velvets; we will seat you on a golden throne. You will be loved and honored, and your brothers will return to you again. O Princess, come to us! Bide with us!”

  I looked into the springwater at my feet, and there I could see an empty golden throne. I knelt to view the scene more closely. Behind the throne were the forms of lovely women and handsome men, and I saw my brothers among them, restored to their human shapes, beckoning to me. How strong and handsome they looked! The vision was as clear as a painting. I knew that if only I could find my way into it, my hands would become white and smooth again, and I would be beautiful and beloved and completely happy. My face dipped lower toward the water, and the words Yes, yes, I am coming! tried to force themselves past my lips. I was utterly lost.

  6

  The Governess:

  And What She Knew

  Suddenly there came a violent yank on the back of my cloak, and I tumbled over onto my backside, a sharp rock digging into my leg. It was like awakening from the most wonderful dream—or was it the most frightful nightmare?

  “Meriel!” I heard Liam cry, in a voice that was equal parts worry and anger. “What are you doing? Get away from there!”

  I scrabbled backward, away from the chasm and the enchanted spring. I was light-headed and bewildered, and I could not seem to make my legs work properly. Liam hauled me to my feet as I shook my head, trying to throw off the spell I had been under.

  “That is the way to Faerie,” he admonished me, “and it is not for mortals. Did you think you could just stop by for a visit?”

  I—I do not know what I was thinking, I told him as my senses returned to me. I saw . . . something marvelous. There was a throne . . . there were people singing. . . .

  “Those were not people, and if you had gone, you would never have returned,” Liam said flatly, pulling me away. “The legends of this place are true—why do you think no one fishes or swims here? The spring leads to the lands below, and the rumors are right. The door is opening wide. If you go down, there is no escape.”

  I looked at the spring, and the deep, dark gash in the earth, and I shuddered. I wanted to go . . . , I said weakly.

  “They tell you what you want to hear and show you what you long to see,” Liam said, helping me over the rocks as we started back. “They promise you what you want most in the world.”

  My brothers . . .

  “But it is all a lie,” he told me fiercely. “You must never come here alone again, do you hear?”

  I nodded meekly. Now that I was away from the spring, the memory of what I had seen and heard and smelled no longer seemed wonderful, but terrible. I couldn’t imagine what my fate would have been had Liam not pulled me back.

  We joined Riona on the shore at the wide end of the lake, far from the menacing spring. Liam told her what had happened, and she looked horrified.

  “The spring is one of the gateways to Faerie, Meriel. Did you not believe the stories?” she asked me, and I shook my head. “They are all true, and there are tales no one has ever told as well, for those unfortunate ones never came back. Had you never heard—” She broke off, perhaps not wanting to frighten me.

  No, go on, I urged her. I wanted to know what I had escaped, to lessen the pull of the lovely vision I had seen.

  “Many, many years ago, there was a man named Fergus—a blacksmith, I think he was. As the story goes, he was fishing in the lake, as no one dares today, and went around to the far side, for he did not believe in the Faerie spring. He called to Faerie and challenged its inhabitants to appear. And up from the depths came a muirdris.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  A muirdris? I asked uneasily.

  “A monster so unbearably dreadful to look upon that to set eyes on it may kill the viewer. When Fergus saw it, his face froze in a grotesque mirror of the monster’s, and it stayed that way for the rest of his life.”

  “He lived in seclusion, they say, until he died,” Liam told me. “He dared not be seen by anyone, for fear that the horror of his own face would transform others as the muirdris had done to him.”

  I shivered, looking toward the narrow end of the lake and trying to imagine a creature so frightful that it could freeze men’s faces.

  “There are many beasts that terrible who live in the lands below,” Riona said. Then she patted my arm. “We are safe here, I think, but do not go near the spring again!”

  The lake sparkled innocently in the October sunlight, and leaves floated on its surface. I noticed that the flocks of ducks and geese seemed smaller. Some had surely flown south already, and the thought troubled me. Soon frost would rime the meadow grasses, and the lake would begin to freeze. What would my brothers do then?

  The swans came and settled among us. Riona warned them of the spring and told them what I had seen. Darrock clacked his beak reprovingly at me. Druce flapped his wings wildly, as if to say “Beware!” and I recalled that he had read books about the Faerie folk and knew much about them. My brothers all seemed to understand that they must stay away from the far end of the lake.

  They watched curiously as Riona and I set up the loom, and she told them what I was doing and why. I began to weave with her help, first looping warp threads from the top crosspiece of the loom to the bottom and back again. Then I passed the weft threads through the warp threads and pushed them down, making a row of woven fabric. Over and over I did this. It was not difficult or painful, like picking the nettles, only repetitive and tedious. As I wove, Cullan laid his sleek white head in Riona’s lap, and she began to sing in a clear, high voice.

  “‘We watch the swans that sleep in a shadowy place,

  And now and again one wakes and uplifts its head;

  How still you are—your gaze is on my face—

  We watch the swans and never a word is said.’”

  The Baird swan was entranced, his slender neck swaying to the rhythm of the tune, but the song was too sad for me, and tears came to my eyes. Seeing my distress, Liam leaped up and devised a game where he threw a small stone and the swans vied to catch it in their black beaks. Even in swan form, Aidan excelled at the sport. The sounds of Liam and Riona laughing and the swans clapping beaks gladdened me as I worked, making the time pass quickly, and I was astonished to see a brownish-colored fabric begin to emerge from the threads under my fingers. I interrupted the game, motioning Liam over to look.

  “That’s very good, Meriel,” he said kindly.

  It’s cloth! I exclaimed silently, annoyed that he did not appreciate it more.

  “Indeed it is,” he replied, suppressing a smile. It was little enough to him, but I had never made anything before, and to me it seemed almost magical. I worked intently until dusk and returned to the castle satisfied with what I had accomplished.

  Several days passed in this way. My brothers had now been in their swan guise for nearly three weeks. I had thus far managed to keep my distance from the queen, though one night at dinner I caught her looking at me, a strange expression on her face. Feeling more and more anxio
us, I sped up my work.

  The next morning I woke to rain and had to weave at the cottage. After that the weather changed. We wrapped blankets around us as we sat by the lake. My fingers grew stiff with the cold, and I had to stop now and then to warm them. When the wind blew, I thought longingly of the cozy hearth fire in the cottage, but I did not want to leave the lakeside. I was glad to be able to keep an eye on my brothers.

  I noticed, on a cold gray afternoon, that one of the swans seemed listless, a little dazed. I had spent enough time watching my brothers to know that it was Aidan who was ailing. He did not poke among the water plants for food, but floated sluggishly in the shallows.

  Liam, I said uneasily, is something wrong with Aidan?

  Liam looked across the water and grew troubled. “He doesn’t seem well,” he noted. He called the swans over, but Aidan did not come. Wincing at the chill of the lake, Liam waded out to him. He stroked the swan’s long neck gently and looked him over closely, then splashed back. I turned worried eyes to him when he told me, “Aidan may be ill, but I hope that he is simply tired and cold. Swans do not do well when the weather turns. I’ll see what we have at home that may help him.”

  I wove on anxiously, awaiting Liam’s return. Finally he came back bearing a small vessel with a tincture inside. “Black walnut, wormwood, goldenrod, and thyme. That will increase his energy and drive away any pests that may be bothering him.” When Riona nodded her approval, Liam waded out again and, with a dropper, fed the mixture to Aidan. By the next day he seemed livelier, and Liam gave him another dropperful and dosed the others, to prevent the same lethargy from striking them.

  Thank you, I said to him with gratitude. You have a true skill.

  He smiled at me. “Do you know what a group of swans is called?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “A group of most birds is a flock, but a gathering of swans is also called a lamentation. It’s strange, because ordinarily they don’t seem like sad birds.”

  It is perfect for this group, though, I said forlornly, gazing at my brothers as they swam. A lamentation of swans.

  The nights were bitter now, and I saw the water plants begin to wither. Each day I wove a little faster, until I was very nearly done weaving all the thread to cloth. Then one evening, I was called to dine with Father and the queen, for they were leaving in the morning to visit dignitaries in Coilin. Father had spoken of bringing me along; he did not like to leave me alone in the castle with my brothers gone, but Lady Orianna had convinced him that I would be safe enough with the guards and councilors and my governess for protection. I was greatly relieved.

  For the past several nights, I had eaten my dinner silently in my room with Mistress Tuileach. She did not press me to speak or say anything about my poor hands, and I wondered, not for the first time, why she had not asked me to explain where I went each day or what I did. I surmised that she must have told Father I was unwell, or I would not have been permitted to eat alone. But this night, there would be no reprieve.

  “You must wear this gown,” Mistress Tuileach advised me, laying out an overdress with long sleeves that ended in points over my hands, covering them most cleverly. I smiled at her gratefully and slipped on the dress. We went downstairs, and at the door to the dining hall she grasped my shoulders.

  “I will be just outside the door,” she said in a low voice. The concern in her eyes made me feel even more anxious myself. It was clear that Mistress Tuileach did not like the queen and avoided her at any cost. I had seen them in the same room only once, briefly, in Lady Orianna’s first week with us, and Mistress Tuileach had kept her head down and had spoken not a word. I wondered suddenly whether perhaps my governess feared the queen.

  The long table was laid for only three, with my father at the head and Lady Orianna, sumptuous in midnight-blue velvet, at his right. My place was opposite hers. My heart began to beat faster.

  The soup course did not go badly. Father spoke of his day—his meetings with advisors, his audiences with his subjects.

  “I cannot think why you allow those people in,” the queen complained. “They are only peasants. Their lives are good enough under your benevolent rule. What right do they have to complain?”

  “It is tradition, my dear,” Father said mildly. “I have always held audiences on Wednesdays. As their overlord, I am responsible for their well-being. If they are not living well or happily, and I can help them, should I not do it?” He sounded a little like my father of old, but there was no strength behind his words, and his eyes were always on the queen.

  “I do not think the audiences are necessary,” she told him. “I believe you should stop them.”

  “Stop them?” Father said. His expression was confused, but then he smiled, like a child. “Why yes, my dear, if that is what you wish.” I stared at the cloth covering the table, trying to keep my mind quiet, my thoughts calm.

  Lady Orianna dabbed delicately at her mouth with a linen napkin as servants removed the bowls and brought in plates of fowl. I tried not to breathe in the smell of them, for I had found in the last fortnight that I could no longer eat poultry of any kind. Even a chicken, roasted and laid on a platter, was a grim reminder of my swan brothers.

  “You are far too kind to your subjects, Gearalt,” the queen said. “Your indulgence is one of your greatest weaknesses.” Father looked hurt, and she quickly added, “But your generous heart was one of my foremost reasons for marrying you. I would have you no other way.”

  Father laughed and replied, “That is good, for you will get me no other way!” But I noted how the queen smiled to herself at his words.

  Then her gaze fell on me, and I lowered my eyes, wishing I were invisible.

  “And you, Meriel,” she said in a deceptively pleasant voice, “how have you spent the day? Your governess has told your father that you were ailing. Are you quite well now? Your appetite does not seem hearty.”

  I bought myself time by sipping from my goblet, then cleared my throat, forcing a cough that I hoped sounded authentic.

  “Speak up, child!” she urged me. “Your father was quite anxious about your health, but I kept him from you so he would not sicken himself. Are you fully recovered?”

  The idea that she had refused to let Father see me enraged me, but I held in my anger and pointed to my throat, trying to convince her that it was sore enough to prevent speaking. But to my dismay, the movement pulled back my sleeve, exposing a callused hand.

  Lady Orianna’s eyes narrowed at the sight, and Father looked shocked.

  “Meriel, what have you been doing with your hands?” he asked. “Show them to us!”

  Slowly, with fear building in me, I laid my hands on the table, staring down at them. Against the white cloth they looked terrible, chapped and red and rough.

  “She has been working as a washerwoman!” exclaimed Lady Orianna. “Or hoeing and scything in the fields!”

  “Is this true, Meriel?” Father asked, bewildered.

  I shook my head, trembling.

  “Why do you not speak, child?” Lady Orianna asked me. I tried as hard as I could to keep my mind a blank, afraid that she would hear the thoughts that raced through me. The more I tried to suppress them, though, the louder they seemed to chorus in my head. I dared not look at her, but when I lifted my gaze from the table I saw her reflected in the mirror she had hung at the end of the room. Our eyes met in the mirror, and I could see a sudden awareness dawning in her expression.

  I rose abruptly, rocking the table. As I stood, my goblet crashed to the floor, shattering into a hundred tiny pieces. At the sound, the door to the hall flew open. Mistress Tuileach stood there, and I ran to her.

  Help me! I thought in desperation.

  “I shall,” she replied quietly. My mouth dropped open in astonishment as she said to my father and the queen, “The princess is ill, and she must go straight to bed. Please excuse us, Your Majesties.” And with that, she put an arm around me and pulled me from the room.

/>   7

  The Spring:

  And What It Held

  Back in my bedchamber I quickly put on my nightdress and climbed into bed, for Mistress Tuileach feared that my father, in his concern, would follow us.

  You are a witch? I asked her silently as I settled myself. I had half suspected, wondering for weeks why she had not pressed me to speak, why she avoided the queen, why she watched me so closely yet said so little.

  “On my mother’s side only,” she told me, plumping up my pillows. “There are more of us half-witches about than you would guess! Now, tell me, at once. I have been studying you this past month, and I have figured some things out, but I do not know all.”

  I described the queen’s wicked enchantment and the cure, and she nodded, unsurprised. Then I told her of Riona and Liam and what I had accomplished so far in my task—the picking of the nettles, the spinning, the weaving.

  “So you have yet to stitch the shirts?” she asked, and I nodded. Her lips curled in a wry smile, and I knew she was thinking of the many ways I had found to avoid learning to sew.

  You knew best, I admitted, shamefaced.

  “Keep that in mind, Princess!” she admonished me, but her tone was fond. Then there was a knock at the door. I slipped down among my pillows and closed my eyes.

  Mistress Tuileach let Father in, and he hurried to my bedside.

  “She is asleep,” Mistress Tuileach whispered. “I think it was just a small relapse, brought on by worry and lack of rest. She has been missing her brothers dreadfully and has had many wakeful nights.”