Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1)

by Holden, Ryan

  There was not much talk that night. The next day they went for the bodies. Kerry nosed the stiffening bodies, snuffling and prodding them. Brian couldn't look at her. Devlin could hardly bring himself to make her haul her kind so they buried them, side by side, on a little hillock not far distant.

  “Why did they die?” Enda asked. She had insisted on coming along.

  “Sickness. Something that came on fast and hurt them from the inside. See, her eyes are still bright, but with a touch of fever or something,” Devlin answered. “Brian, don't let Kerry graze here.”

  Brian looked at him. He seemed to be repeating someone else's command, not saying something of the utmost importance. He'd heard enough warnings from his father whether it was fording a stream, helping a kardja birth, or climbing a mountain. Devlin was looking all about him on the ground.

  Enda nodded. “Like a poisonous plant, right?”

  “Something like that,” Devlin said.

  Eight

  The weeks passed. Gossip flowed through the valley like fire, reawakening the legends of the Accursed and adding a new twist: the Dispossessed. It was awful bad luck to lose one's kardja. No one could expound fully the misfortune of losing a herd to two successive and different causes, though many tried. Black looks accosted Brian whenever he went to Darach: very soon he hated coming within sight of it and stayed away. It wasn't much help, for the blackest looks were on his father's face.

  The merchant had left soon after. Some comment was made as to why he missed the shearing. Devlin slowly sheared Kerry and refused sale to half a dozen buyers offering top price, despite the village consensus of his bad luck, until Astra told him it was the fleece or the ring.

  Brian had walked in on them arguing over it. “Just tell me, Devlin, and I will sell the ring,” Astra said. He looked at them, wondering what they would say to his disruption. They just glanced at him and continued on.

  “No, no, that is yours, the only thing left of who you were, Astra, and I won't let you sell it. We'll figure something out,” Devlin said. Brian sat there and listened.

  “I trust you. I know there's a way. There has to be. We may just have to give up more than we thought possible.” Astra walked over behind where Brian sat and wrapped her arms around him. “Who I was is in the past. What's important is my family.”

  She looked down at Brian and took off her ring. “Take a look, son. Feel the ring, the weight of the metal, the fire in the stone. Isn't it beautiful?”

  He turned the ring over in his fingers. It had been years since he remembered last holding it.

  “It is famous in Avallonë. They call it the Ring of Artemis. Wars have been fought over it and it has broken many hearts. It is accounted one of the Treasures, though not one of the Gifts.” His heart beat faster. She squeezed him, leaned forward and whispered. “But beside you, my son, it is but a pretty trinket.”

  She kissed him. Tears came to his eyes. All her stories rushed upon him—the throne room, flowing dresses, rivers flowing down waterfalls through the middle of the court, the look in her eyes as she told him—and she had given it all up. And for what now? A destitute, beggarly family.

  Devlin stood before them. “My love and my pride,” he declared. “My son, today I give you a new name. A name chosen before your birth. A name hidden until the cloaking darkness would be cast aside.” He put his hand on Brian's collar. “A name that you will put on once you return to the land of your mother's kin. I name you Orion.” Devlin gripped his hand. “Orion.” Devlin touched his brow. “Orion.” Devlin laid his palm over his heart.

  His mother released him to his father's grasp. He didn't know what to think. Orion. He liked the sound of it. It would take some getting used to, though, so for the moment he avoided what thoughts he could. “Return? Why do you say that, father?”

  His father laughed. The seriousness of the moment dissipated with the sound but his earnestness remained. “The time will come when you must go. You will not always live here.”

  “But I love it here.” His words sounded tinny and distant.

  “Really?” his father said gently. “Your body has lived nowhere else and so would not know. But where does your heart soar when you lay beside the grazing kardja?”

  “But when? And why can't we go together?”

  “When the time is right, you will know,” Astra said. “I will never go back. And that is not your father's home.”

  Orion lived through the next days as a dream. What they had said, earlier conversations, his new name—Orion, his lips tasted the creation of the word—throbbed in him. He thought about it as he watched his father sell Kerry's coat. He thought about it as he gathered firewood, built fires, cleaned the house, or did a dozen other chores. He thought about it as he wandered through Darach, helping Kerdae with the odd thing.

  He wanted to tell Enda when he saw her but didn't want to at the same time. It felt strange and normal all at the same time. Was he Brian still, just playacting Orion? Or was Brian a fake the whole time, just the hodgepodge amalgamation of a hundred different people's expectations? It was wonderful to be given the name Orion.

  He could be that young lord he dreamed of. His mother had been a princess, so why not? He stood at the brink of a cliff—waves licking at the cliff foot, the horizon far in the distance, the sensuous sea beckoning him into her unfathomable depths.

  Who was he?

  Orion didn't see them buy anything with the money from the fleece. He knew where they kept it hidden, along with some other saved from previous years. They didn't keep much. Unlike kardja gold didn't grow or multiply. It just sat there. It was always a time of celebration when they had enough to buy a new animal, especially in the early years before Devlin's stock became known for their quality. But gold doesn't die, Brian thought, and rued last year's purchase, one of those whose carcass lay on the side of the mountain.

  One day Astra ran out of things to keep him busy and as Devlin was off finding the right piece of wood for cabin furniture, a recent fixation of his, she sent him off to Kerdae's with a “Make yourself useful.” This soon repeated itself and after a few weeks it became routine. More days than not he went to Darach, trying to avoid all but Kerdae and Enda. Sometimes he brought Kerry, sometimes not.

  This time Enda was darning a hole in Kerdae's other pants. Orion liked watching her at her craft: the simple movements, yet quick and fluid, quietly making the hole disappear. It kept her green eyes occupied, too, and made silence comfortable. He heard a rush of birds and a low rumble in the distance past the village.

  “What is it, Brian?” she asked. She sat leaning against a tree facing the northeast and could not see without getting up.

  “I don't know.” A raven flew through the village, croaking. It circled near them and then disappeared to the north. The rumbling sound continued. All of a sudden panic gripped Brian—he'd heard something similar before. He couldn't place it until a clack of Enda's needle for some reason made him think of rain. His stomach clenched. Kardja running in terror, hooves beating on the mountainside.

  “Brian, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I'm fine.” It wasn't kardja but horses. Like those the merchants had for their carts. But these were bigger. Each had a rider, blond-haired men in greens and browns with occasional purple or gold tassels or light shirts peeping through the robes.

  “What is it?” Enda asked again.

  “A whole bunch of people. Riding horses. Like soldiers.” He noted the spears in their boots and boughs—what was the word?—with the feathered little spears on their backs. His father had made him one when he was eight and he played with it for a fortnight before it broke. He hadn't asked him for another.

  “Soldiers? Here?” Enda whispered.

  “No, hunters, I think.” He wasn't sure, but no reason to worry her yet. He glanced at Kerry. Her ears had perked up at the distant snorting and stamping and and nostrils flared in the wind. Orion tried to figure the distance to the deer path where he was pretty sure no horse wou
ld follow. He made himself breath slowly.

  Enda placed her darning in her bag. He motioned for her to stay where she was. She stood up and pressed herself against the tree.

  By this time most of the cavalcade had dismounted. They reminded him of his father, only younger. He wondered why. Then he realized that they did not fear anyone, unlike the craven weavers and the superstitious herders. He hated them for it, and feared them, and wondered where his father was.

  “Ho boy!” the man called out.

  Orion froze. Gulping, he started walking towards them. They had stopped in front of the blacksmith shop and were calling for him, amidst yells for ale and wine. He knew Kerdae was there; that was the only thing that kept him walking forward.

  “Where's the blacksmith lad? We need a horse shod. And quick.” His accent was different. The rest of the men fell silent as they looked at him walk up. He was as tall as they were though of slighter build.

  Why am I thinking about his accent right now? Brian asked Orion. For that matter, why am I going towards them? Orion shushed him. These are just Anatolians. You are Orion, remember?

  “This is his place, sir,” he said.

  “Don't 'sir' me, fool,” the man spat, “and to think I don't know what a smithy looks like?” The other young men laughed.

  “I will go for him, if it pleases you, my lord.” The words tasted like bile. But he'd heard his father say the same once, several years ago to a man he thought unfit, so Orion figured he could do it too.

  The young lord looked at him closely. “The clothes of a peasant, and the tongue of a squire! This is not the game we came for, friends, but is it not gamey?” More laughs. Orion wondered if this is how all lordly people acted—one leader, the rest a herd. Kerry had more spirit than these fools. “Yes, get you off, but ho! What have we here? The maiden with sunburned locks hides from us. Come, come!”

  Orion stopped walking away. The other men, dismounted with halters in their hands, joined the lord. Orion counted six, less than he had first thought.

  “How coy these country rustics are! Perhaps I should teach her some of our manners?”

  “Manners must be learned first.” Orion jumped, Kerdae's voice sounding right next to him. “Take Enda to your mother,” he said under his breath. “Now.”

  Orion nodded and walked back to Enda. He didn't hear what the young horsemen were saying at the latest show of country entertainment. When he got to Enda his dry mouth wouldn't obey so he took her by the arm and then laid hold of Kerry's halter. They walked into the forest and then mounted, leaving the calls of the men to fall unheard on the leafy ground.

  They were halfway to the cabin before Orion felt Enda relax. Her arms loosened and allowed him to breathe better and her cheek fell against his shoulder blade. He didn't say anything until he heard her make the quivering breath that usually precedes a cry.

  “Enda, are you okay?” He could not have said this even two weeks ago. Why ask a question you know the answer to? Or worse, open a problem you can't fix? But he was not thinking of himself right now.

  The arms tightened again. But it was a clasping tightness, not a frozen stiffness, this time. In a few moments the arms relaxed again. “Fine,” she said. Orion made a note that this was the first conversation they had had where he had said more than she had.

  As if that mattered.

  He let her down at the cabin. His mom stood at the door, wondering at the visit, but in a glance changed to one of unabashed welcome. “Enda, dear, welcome.” She led her in the house.

  Orion knew better than to follow, given his mother's parting look, so he rode to the stream and let Kerry drink. He lay there, listening to the water gurgle on its way downhill, and thought about the horsemen. He wanted to hit them.

  Was he just being rude, a stupid peasant? Of course people from different places acted differently, and why blame them: shouldn't he, of all people, know that? But the look in Kerdae's eyes came back. It was not he alone that thought so. The way they talked to her. Worse, about her. Like she was a thing, not a person. His friend.

  He sighed. Maybe that was why his mother left. Maybe the young lord and the Heir of Westernesse were not that different. Maybe the whole world was cracked. He shuddered, the choking dust of this one afternoon sifting down over all he had heard.

  But this was just one person. Maybe someday he could go west. He would know what a peasant felt like when a noble talked over him. He would know the peasant's pride, love of his family, his understanding and love-hate of his lot in life.

  As the sun fell he walked through the woods, silent. What could he do? Nothing came to mind. He wondered what his mother thought. She would know, if anyone did, but how could he explain his thoughts to her? He couldn't explain them to himself.

  Nothing was said of the matter until supper was underway. Devlin spoke up. “I will be gone early tomorrow for some weeks. On a hunting trip.”

  “This is sudden. What will you be hunting?” Astra asked. Orion stiffened at her expression.

  “I don't know. Some lords of Anatolia hired me as a guide.” He took another bite.

  Enda, Orion, and Astra all started. Devlin chewed for awhile then, noticing the silence, looking up. “What?”

  “The same men who were insulting our children this afternoon?” Astra asked. There was ice in her voice.

  Delvin gulped. “Children?” He looked from Orion to Enda. “Oh, I'm sorry. It all makes sense now.” He hurried on. “I mean, no sense at all. Those senseless men... with no sense.”

  Silence.

  “I just figured if they want to spend money I may as well take it,” he said lightly. No good.

  He tried again, “I mean, I do know where every weak cliff edge and quicksand pit is between here and Mt. Finola.”

  The women relaxed a little bit.

  “Also, they'll be gone in the morning and no more trouble. No more trouble at all.”

  “Some weeks you said?” Astra asked.

  “Yes. I would have asked you but, this is what we've been waiting for, right? I mean, I used to do this before we had the kardja herd.”

  “Exactly,” Astra said, then she blushed.

  “I'll be fine,” he said with a pointed look, “now let's not ruin our time together. I gave them a two-for-one deal, told them Orion was almost as handy as I was and lighter on his feet. Astra, at the price he promised we'll be set. A new start.”

  Orion quickly looked around, trying to read their faces without his gaze being returned. The two parents' eyes were locked and Enda was looking at her hands.

  “You're right,” she finally said. “It is fortunate.”

  “Orion?” Enda asked.

  Devlin gulped again.

  “Why don't you tell her, Orion?” Astra said with emphasis on his name. “Go outside. It's still light and she's been cooped up in here for hours.”

  Orion and Enda walked outside. “Orion? Is that your name?” she asked. He explained it to her.

  She was very interested. “My mother was from far away west, too. I wonder if she would call me something different.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “You never told me your name.”

  “I didn't know until recently.” He picked up a stick and swung at the grass. “What was she like?”

  “My mother? I don't know. She died before we came here and I was just a baby. I imagine she's just like your mother, but with red hair.”

  Nine

  Kerdae didn't send for Enda. Orion wasn't two bites into breakfast before Devlin spoke through the day's happenings. Orion was to take Kerry and ride by the Western Spire, load her up with cheeses and dried meats bought from herders there, and meet his father and the Anatolians further east on one of Mt Finola's meadows. From there Devlin didn't say more. Orion guessed they would travel along the crags from water to water or as Anatolian whim dictated.

  Devlin left before Orion was done breakfast. Kerry was already awake when he finished, a few grass stalks in her mo
uth. “Come on, girl,” he said and slipped the leather halter over her nose. With a quick jump and twist he was on her back. He directed her northeast by east and gave her lots of slack.

  He wondered what game they would find. Only those seeking vengeance after a mauling sought one creature in particular: otherwise, one came across all sorts on the high ground.

  That was what local wisdom held, anyways. Farmers on the westward plains kept the kardja on the hillsides; the kardja, in turn, pushed the human-shy wildlife further up the mountain. Orion hadn't heard what the Anatolians wanted. Bear would be in lower valleys not far from trout-filled streams, mountain sheep high on the peaks where few others ventured, and the rest of the hunter's desire spread between.

  Orion thought they were going on a hunting trip. Why had Devlin asked for him to stock up so much food? Either they would be hunting for a very long time or his father didn't think much of the Anatolians' skill.

  The day passed quietly. He had almost forgotten what it was like. No other human to talk to, listen to, or mind. It was delightful. The crisp morning air of early fall stimulated his lungs. A few times he jumped off Kerry to jog along with her, stirring the blood through his legs. It was no far journey for kardja and rider but it had been awhile. He was not a freeman responding to Liam's muster and there was no need to rush.

  He flung himself on the ground and napped for a half hour in the late morning. Kerry drank at the nearby pool and wandered about, cropping the grass here and there. He woke, watched her graze for some minutes, then turned to see the trees above him. Leaves looked different from directly underneath than sideways. The light greens, nowhere tinted with the soon-to-come reds and golds, were no longer hid by their darker topsides.