Princess Juniper of the Anju

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

“That’s a certain fact. What stories we shall have to tell her when we get back to the palace!”

  And so, backset by this busy patter, the last few steps fell away, until abruptly the bridge was behind them and Juniper was stamping her boots on solid stone again. Tippy launched off the last few steps and flung herself at the ground. Seizing a nearby tree stump, she wrapped her skinny arms as far around as they would go and clung on for dear life.

  “Oh, sweet stony earth!” she murmured. “Never again shall I complain of you! Sweetest land of my heart . . .”

  Alta shook her head. “For the dough’s sake, Tippy!”

  Juniper hid a grin and studied their surroundings. They were in a wide clearing that seemed at least partially manmade, to judge by the many tree stumps scattered across the wide-open space (including the one from which Tippy was now rising). The ground bore a thin quilting of snow, and the peak that crested high overhead was scratched out of the same stark black stone as on the other side of the bridge. Tippy blew out, and her breath swirled around her head in a chilly white cloud, making her clap in delight.

  If it was this cold in summer, what must the place be like in winter?

  Juniper reached into her carry-bag and pulled out the volume Erick had given her. “Mountain Ranges of the Lower Continent,” she mused, turning from page to page and trying to connect the carefully mapped-out zones with the land around them. After a moment, Cyril snatched the book from her hand and flipped the pages expertly.

  “There we are,” he said, tapping one with a manicured finger (though when he’d managed to groom his nails on this expedition was beyond her). “Midrange. Those three mountains clustered so tight like that? Mount Ichor, Mount Perichor, and Mount Lung. Your Basin is cupped right in their apex, the spot where the three come together. We scaled Ichor, tunneled clear on through it following that cave, and came out the other side. So here we have Topmost Bridge, linking us to Mount Rahze. And that peak aloft there can only be the Claw.” Cyril sniffed. “A pretentious name if ever I heard one.”

  “You would know,” quipped Alta.

  “The Claw!” Tippy swung around to face the peak in question, gasping out another puff into the frosty air. “Only look at that shape—do you not see such a very claw-shaped Claw? For I can spot it, plain as day, casting its long and sinister shadow over us all.”

  The rest of the mountain visible from where they stood was steep and lumpy, with bands of snow-dusted forest striped across its stone face. But this all came to a sharp peak much higher than the other mountaintops in the near distance. The peak rose, then crested over like the top of a foaming wave, like a menacing downturned scowl.

  Like a claw.

  There was no denying it was aptly named.

  “Well, ain’t that the bright and shining welcome,” said Alta into the silence.

  As Juniper gazed at the Claw, she could have sworn she saw a wisp of dark smoke curling out of the opening and drifting into the hazy blue sky. She shuddered. “I think we’d best be—” she began, then cut off abruptly.

  As she refocused on the clearing around her, she noticed three things in quick succession: First, Alta had gone very still, eyes wide. Only her hand settled down to rest on her sword’s scabbard. Second, the bushes around them began to rustle—almost as though there was something within them, something on the way out. Last of all came a loud voice, booming from the trees and echoing across the clearing: “Halt, intruders! Lift your hands high above your heads and do not move another muscle.”

  Juniper did not need to be told twice. She raised her hands slowly in the air, but her mind took quick stock of her surroundings. Tippy still sat on her stump, her jaw dropped open and her eyes wide with fright. Cyril had been in the act of sitting down himself, and the command froze him in an awkward half crouch, which would have made Juniper laugh at any other time. Alta seemed to be wrestling with her better sense; her hand hovered above her sword belt, then her shoulders slumped and she raised her hands as well, for which Juniper gave silent thanks.

  Confident that no one was about to do anything rash, Juniper narrowed her eyes and addressed the rustling foliage. She kept her hands high and steady, but made her voice as sharp as bone. “We are no intruders! We are citizens of Torr passing time in these mountains by the command of King Regis, my father. We have broken no laws and done no harm. Now I demand that you show yourselves so that we might know with whom we speak.”

  She caught Alta’s gaze, and knew they were both thinking of the intruders Cyril and Jessamyn had glimpsed on that dark, fateful night—the ones who had brazenly stolen their horses and had made the tracks that led to this very spot. Had the horse thieves been found at last? And, if so . . . then what? Juniper wished she had thought a little more about exactly who or what she was expecting to meet, if their journey was successful. And what she planned to do next.

  Still, this was the Lower Continent. Folks were civilized around here. She hoped.

  The rustling increased, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

  Juniper’s gaze was drawn to a point directly opposite her.

  The snow-capped branches parted, and a figure stepped out.

  Juniper blinked. It was a young man—impossibly tall and slim with long pale hair, wrapped in furs that engulfed his entire body, nearly obscuring even his face. The furs were the same scattered white-on-black pattern as the snow in the trees, so that he—and his companions, for Juniper quickly realized there were at least three of them—blended nearly unnoticed into their surroundings.

  “Children of Torr,” the stranger boomed. His voice was rough and gravelly, with none of the lilting accent of the Gaulians, nor the harsh staccato tones of Monsia. “What brings you so far from your home? This is no place for unwashed youth to play!”

  Juniper’s hands dropped to her hips in a rush of queenly indignation, but Tippy got the first words out: “Unwashed?” She shook a churlish fist. “Why, this very yestermorning I went a-dipping in our own stream, good and warm it was, too. If I were any more washed, I shouldn’t know myself in the darkness.”

  “Hush, pet,” said Alta in an undertone, inching over to swallow Tippy’s further comments in the crook of her arm.

  Juniper narrowed her gaze on the newcomers. “We are not children!” she snapped. “We are delegates of Torr, but we are also citizens of Queen’s Basin, of which land I am the queen.”

  “Queen’s Basin?” the stranger snorted. “I know of no such place.” He exchanged glances with his nearest companion. They rode no animals, and Juniper couldn’t see any visible weapons, but their air carried menace enough.

  They did not comment on Juniper’s lowered arms, however, which she took as a positive sign.

  Composing herself, she stepped forward. “We are a new country, that’s true. A dependency of Torr, if you will. My father, King Regis, endowed the land to me and my citizens, and we have established it this very summer. Today we venture out from our appointed land in search of certain aggressors who have done harm to our settlement.” She met the stranger’s gaze head-on. “Not two weeks past, our valley was invaded and our mounts taken by force. Do you know anything about the theft of nine fine riding horses?”

  There was a beat of silence. Juniper noticed the tall youth again exchange glances with one of the others.

  As they shifted in place, Juniper’s gaze was drawn toward the ground. Their feet! Even from this distance, she could tell that the tall one had extremely large feet—they all did, come to that—and wore an odd sort of shoe she couldn’t quite make out. What she could just make out was the prints left by those shoes, very familiar prints: the same ones she’d seen around the horse enclosure back in the Basin.

  Juniper clenched her fists. “I can see that you know what I am referring to. We have introduced ourselves to you, yet I have heard no such return from your side. Who are you, that we may know our aggressors?”

/>   The tall stranger gave her a superior smile. “Who are we? Why, we are the Anju.”

  Juniper felt her entire world tilt, then flip over in a full somersault. The Anju? Her mother’s people, the ones of whom Juniper had heard tantalizing stories in her youth but nothing further since her mother’s death so many years ago?

  Juniper’s breath fluttered shallow in her chest.

  The tall Anju was watching her with concern, clearly wondering at the emotional tug-of-war that played across her face. After all these years, all her wanting and wondering, all the questions and the doubts and uncertainty . . . after all this, to be so casually faced with her mother’s living heritage, her own heritage.

  It was quite a lot to take in.

  But Juniper was born a princess and crowned a queen. She would not let herself be so easily ruffled. Quashing down her emotions, she kept her voice as even as she could. “You have committed an offense against our settlement,” she said. “I demand that you take us to your ruler. We must have our mounts returned to us or due recompense made.”

  There was a shifting behind Juniper as the other kids lowered their hands to match hers. Juniper glanced over in time to see a flash of admiration on Cyril’s face. Before she could properly enjoy this rare treat, however, the tall Anju spoke again.

  “We cannot confirm this offense of which you speak. You come to us saying—”

  “No!” Juniper cut him cleanly off. “We will not be trifled with like this. Take us to your ruler immediately, or suffer the consequences.” She swallowed. Consequences? Hopefully they wouldn’t test her on this.

  But the stranger dipped his head a fraction, then nodded at the others. “Very well,” he said to her. “Follow where I lead. If you’re able to keep up.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and seemed to quite literally vanish into the woods. Before Juniper could blink, his companions were gone as well.

  The four adventurers stood alone at the mountain’s edge.

  “That went well,” said Cyril. “Exceptionally lovable, that group.”

  “The Anju?” Alta whispered. “Juniper, are you all right?”

  Juniper’s mind raced. Were they really going to traipse into a dark forest following these strangers—these horse-thieving ruffians—Anju or not? Yet what other choice did they have, if they wanted to get back their mounts? Juniper felt a sharp tug in her chest, a pulling match between risk and reason. What was the queenly thing to do in this case? What would Erick, her chief adviser, recommend—caution or courage?

  “I’m fine,” she said to Alta, fighting down the pressure to move, move, move, knowing that every moment was taking the Anju farther from them. “But what do you all think of their ‘invitation’?”

  “You know me, Juniper,” Alta said slowly. “I’m not one to shy from adventure. Trek me through the hills, put a sword in my hand, and I’m happy as a bun in an oven. But those fellows looked right fierce, and no mistake. Your mother’s people or not, we’ve no idea where they’re leading us! And if they did take our horses . . .”

  Live bold! Risk big! screamed Juniper’s heart. And: They’re your mother’s people. Would they really do you harm? And: How can you pass up this opportunity to explore your heritage?

  She looked at Cyril, who snorted. “Far be it from me to agree with the baker’s wench, but I have no interest in the Anju, nor do I trust them any farther than I could throw them.” This seemed to distract him, and he started flexing his biceps like he was trying to calculate his throwing distance.

  It was true that she knew next to nothing about the Anju. They could be led right into a trap. They were unprotected settlers, and young ones at that—but by the goshawk, this lead was all they had. And they needed those horses. The longer Juniper thought, the more the feeling hardened inside her, the certainty that this was a trail leading her inexorably toward her destiny. She couldn’t think of this as a risk she was taking, not really.

  They’d keep going forward.

  They would follow this breadcrumb path wherever it led.

  7

  ONLY MOMENTS LATER, THOUGH, IT SEEMED like their trek might be over before it had properly begun.

  “We’ll never be able to keep up with them!” said Alta.

  “Keep up with them?” Cyril grumbled. “We’ll have to find them first.”

  “We know where to start, at least,” said Juniper, darting over to inspect the tracks the Anju had left in the light snow on the edges of the clearing. Large, oddly shaped prints they were, lumpen and tipped with strange sharp points.

  “It’s like they’ve got claws all over their feet,” said Tippy with a shudder. “That can’t be normal.”

  “All over their shoes, Tippy,” said Alta. “They’re people just like us.” She didn’t stop frowning at the prints, though.

  “Take your eyeful here,” said Cyril. “For that’s all the prints to be found about these parts. I cannot see another anywhere.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Alta. “How could they leave no tracks at all?”

  “There’s no snow under the tree cover,” remarked Cyril. “They kept to the dry patches. Obviously they didn’t want us to follow, whatever they said.” His voice indicated this was perfectly all right with him.

  Juniper wasn’t so sure. “I agree they don’t really want us to follow. But what they said . . . it sounded almost like a challenge. Like they didn’t think we could, but that we might just prove them wrong—if we’re able.”

  “Hiyo! Lookie down here,” said Tippy suddenly. She’d squatted by a bush, and was now gleefully doing the chicken-walk around it.

  “What is it?” said Juniper, leaning down to look.

  “They are leaving us tracks,” said Tippy. “Can you see them?”

  Alta squinted. “That bent-off twig?”

  “It’s not bent—it’s snapped. And all twisty-turny, so it’s pointing ahead. Do you see?”

  “What a little dreamer,” griped Cyril. But his jibe lacked its usual punch.

  “Here’s another,” Juniper called. “I do believe you’re right, Tipster! How do you notice so much?”

  “I’m closer to the ground, maybe?” she said mischievously. Never had Juniper been happier about the little girl’s freakish attention to detail.

  The trail—if it even was that; it was hard to tell for sure—did seem to point a way through the stark, frosty greenery. As Cyril had noted, there was little to no snow on the ground here, but the green that was there stood out all the more clearly in the sparse landscape. Still, it took all of them working together to keep track of the faint guideposts, which often seemed like little more than the markings of forest creatures. Eventually, though, one or the other of them would notice an outlying branch set like a pointing finger. Stripped for visibility, the mere tip broken off, the whole thing bent to show direction.

  Subtle, but effective.

  So they continued along their way. And when they finally crested a rise and heard the high, warning crack of a whistle coming from the trees, Juniper knew they had arrived.

  “Stop!” she called to the others. “I think we’ve reached our greeting party.”

  She strode to the front, with Alta and Cyril just behind her and Tippy weaving around them like a wobbly gourd doll. The forest they’d been crossing had looked much the same for their entire trek, but the copse they entered now felt different: The trees were fatter, the foliage thicker overhead, the air noticeably warmer, as though better protected from the elements. And . . .

  “Is that roasting meat I smell?” Tippy whispered, lower lip visibly quivering. The smell was there—faint and far-off, but unmistakable to their growling bellies.

  “Shhh,” said Juniper.

  The whistle came again. The far branches parted. In moments the adventurers were faced with a long row of strangers—a full dozen of them, men and women ali
ke. Each was beanpole-tall, clad in heavy, pale furs, with a chiseled face and eyes as silvery-hard as stone. The row flexed and parted, and a figure stepped to the front: a wizened old woman whose long fur cap and robe swept out to both sides, revealing a pair of snug leather trousers.

  Her voice, when it came, was sharp as flint. “Name yourselves, intruders.”

  Juniper stepped forward, casting her legs wide in as firm a stance as she could manage on the uneven ground. “We are no intruders. We are citizens of Queen’s Basin, a dependency of the land of Torr. We are here upon the invitation of your scouts”—she indicated the tall youth skulking (the coward!) on the far edge of the row—“who have led us to this spot by their identifying markers.”

  “What is this you say?” the old woman demanded. “Kohr?”

  The Anju in question shuffled forward, head down. “We encountered the strangers at the bridge. They demanded a meeting. We imagined they would become lost among the trees.”

  “You challenged us to follow and left a clear path that we might do so,” Juniper retorted. “Thus, we are here at your invitation. I should have thought you would also communicate this to your superiors, but no matter. Let’s get down to business. Why are we here? To reclaim what is rightfully ours. I believe your people know something of the nine horses that were stolen from our settlement these weeks past? We require the return of these animals immediately.”

  The old woman narrowed her eyes. “Your settlement? And who are you, then?”

  Juniper straightened further, lifting her head high. “I am Juniper Torrence, only daughter of King Regis of Torr, appointed ruler of Queen’s Basin of the Hourglass Mountains. And who are you?”

  A murmur ran down the row, and Juniper shifted uncomfortably. What was going on?

  “Juniper . . . Torrence,” the old voice creaked, then the woman barked out a laugh. “Well, the way turns as the road leads. I should not have thought it, but . . .” Before Juniper could react, the woman strode with surprising speed across the open space toward her. She stretched out both arms. “You are welcome in our settlement, Juniper Torrence. My name is Odessa, daughter of Amadia—Mother Odessa, they call me. Well met.”