Princess Juniper of the Anju

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  Juniper turned to Cyril. “Well done, team,” she said.

  Cyril rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome.” But his smile was the most genuine one Juniper had seen from him yet.

  Off to the side, Juniper caught sight of Odessa, staring transfixed at the newly added images. There was no way she could make out much detail from her place on the ground, but the look on her face—pain and regret and an exquisite sort of relief—told Juniper that she knew well what had been added.

  And that she approved.

  With the excitement over, Juniper felt her aching muscles turn to mush as the morning’s exhaustion swept back. She was glad to be done early today, for her body screamed its need of a good night’s sleep.

  First, though, they had one more task to see through.

  “Cyril,” she said, “before we turn in for the day . . . how do you fancy a jaunt over to explore some stumps?”

  18

  THE JAGGED SNORING DREW JUNIPER TO THE right stump immediately. She peered into the hollow, and her heart sank: Fleeter was curled up in the identical position in which they’d left him almost two days before.

  “Fleeter, my bootstraps!” sniped Cyril. “Snoozer is more like it.”

  Juniper reached in and extracted the comatose cat, taking a moment to stroke his stubbly back. Then—because why not check?—she unhooked the clasp of the pouch that hung around the creature’s neck. Her fingers closed on a folded parchment sheet. “Cyril! This isn’t my note. Fleeter must have been and gone already—he’s delivered after all!”

  Cyril raised an eyebrow.

  “Aren’t you a goodsy little spy cat?” Juniper crooned, tickling the creature behind the ears and doing her best Tippy imitation. The jollity did the trick, wiping the scornful look right off Cyril’s face as he let out a bark of unexpected laughter. Juniper grinned in return. “Let’s see what news our intrepid feline has to share, shall we?”

  “How did he come back to settle again in this very stump? I confess I doubted that talk of super smells and such . . .” Cyril trailed off, shrugging like he didn’t much care one way or another. But he was clearly impressed.

  What with one thing and another, Cyril was becoming scarcely recognizable of late.

  In the next moment, all thoughts of Cyril fled Juniper’s mind, as she pushed the paper’s edges apart and tumbled into the familiar, beloved world of the Basin.

  Dear Juniper,

  A lot has happened since the last time I wrote. First, everyone is well, and work continues at a staggering rate. In preparation for the out-journey, we’ve moved the horses up to the Cavern, and have all the saddles completely packed and ready to load on. This return trip shall come none too soon, I might add, for our food stores are dangerously low. Though Paul of the Garden informs us that pea shoots are peeping out (you see what I did there?), and we enjoyed our first official crop today: spiced radishes! Not everyone celebrates this peppery vegetable, but the freshness can’t be beat. Root has also been having some success with his hunting—dwarf rabbits and quail thus far, but he has an eye out for bigger game, and we all (hungrily) hope for the best.

  But what am I going on about? I have neglected the biggest news of all: We’ve had a wing from the palace! As Jess predicted, her sister, Egg, did indeed receive our message and has sent a brief note to state this fact. The missive had little news other than word of her safety and confirmation of the palace’s takeover and the capture of her father, as well as yours. We are heavy of heart, yet take comfort in knowing for certain how things stand. We have sent back a reply and await more news.

  I will keep you abreast as we learn more.

  Something else is odd around here: The river’s gone hot on us. That’s strange, isn’t it? I’ve been digging through my books to try and figure out the reason, and how I perish for want of all the study resources back at the palace! I know there’s something I’m overlooking, for there’s a familiarity to this that niggles but doesn’t quite land. At any rate, we’re unable to use the swimming hole at the waterfall—it’s gone beyond warmth to a jolly unsettling hot. The stream is still tolerable—quite pleasant, actually, and most soothing on the feet with all those knobby stones to tread. Hopefully the temperature will rise no higher. I daresay this gathering heat has something to do with all the infernal sunstone herearound, but I’m dashed if I know what.

  You can bet I have my thinking hat on and will report as soon as I have further news.

  Till then, I remain,

  Your faithful friend (and chief adviser),

  Erick Dufrayne

  Juniper released her fingers, and the parchment snapped shut. How she wished that she could just hitch up her skirts and fly-leap across the mountain chasm to land on that nearby peak! Queen’s Basin was not far at all—just across this break in the mountain range. In fact, if Erick’s book was to be believed, the Hourglass Mountains all shared a common spine that linked them right up from their cores. How quickly she could be home, with her friends. She could make it in hours, she knew, or even less.

  “Juniper?”

  She shook herself as Cyril’s voice brought her back to reality.

  The Trials. The Anju. The third test.

  “It’s not like they aren’t vastly better off without you there, you know,” he went on, only this time the dripping scorn was as fake as snow in summer. “Do yourself a favor and let them toddle on their own a bit more. Your little country will still be there when you’re done knocking off this Anju task.”

  Juniper could have hugged him. She didn’t, of course—that would just have been weird—but she refolded the parchment into a tight flat square and tucked it inside her waist pouch. She pried another sheet from the back of her journal, though it pained her to see the dwindling pages, and set down a few words about the latest in the Trials and what was still to come.

  If all goes well, she wrote, I shall complete the last task with the same success we have met thus far. But one way or another, all shall be resolved by the second sunrise from this one. Then we shall know what is in store for my future, and with it, the future of all Torr. One way or another, we must ready ourselves to head back in defense of the palace—and the king.

  Juniper looked up. Cyril had leaned in to read over her shoulder. She frowned and swatted at his face, but he just ducked and moved to a different angle and kept reading. She scowled.

  I have determined that I cannot allow myself to fail in this task. We need this army, and I have seen nothing here thus far that I cannot overcome. For your part there, it is time now to gather everyone together, complete any final packing tasks, and make ready the provisions for our journey.

  Torr Palace must be reclaimed. My father, and all the other captives, must be rescued.

  Upon my return, we move out.

  With luck, we shall have the Anju army at our back when we do so.

  • • •

  The walk back to the Anju camp was a quiet one. Juniper felt weighed down by all she’d spelled out in her letter. Why did it all feel so much realer, the burden somehow heavier, once she’d put her desires and intents into words? She recalled a memory of her mother pulling her aside after a particularly odious lecture from her Comportment Master, who had spoken at length about how young ladies must be seen and not heard.

  Spoken words hold power, her mother had said, putting a hand on each of Juniper’s little shoulders. To say it is to believe it, and belief is the magic that makes anything possible. Don’t ever let anyone tell you what you can or cannot do. Speak your dreams aloud, then go and make them happen.

  To this day, Juniper sometimes fought a nagging sense that assertiveness was not fully ladylike. And yet, was not confidence the spine of leadership? Self-belief didn’t take any more energy than self-doubt, and it was a good deal more comfortable to live with.

  She could not make herself win, but she could certainly walk a wi
nner’s walk.

  As they left the clearing, the ground shivered slightly under their feet.

  Cyril looked up. “Did you feel that? Where’s it coming from?”

  The shaking of the ground was no stronger than when they’d exploded the sweetcrystal mine, but Juniper couldn’t tell where this rumbling originated.

  “It’s not coming from Torr,” she whispered, squinting off into the horizon. The late afternoon sky was clear; there were no flashes or distant smoke like they had seen several weeks before, when Monsia had first invaded.

  That didn’t mean the enemy wasn’t out there, though, scheming and plotting and moving ahead with their dastardly plans.

  The ground shook again. Juniper looked sideways at Cyril, her thoughts still on Torr. “How could you do it?” she asked him. “Betray your country like that? You knew the attack on the palace was going to happen, and you never said a word. Helped them, even. Or your father did, anyway, which is much the same.”

  He bit his lip. “It’s not that easy, is it? You’ve got your father and your country all on the same side, nice and tidy. It’s easy to be loyal then, isn’t it? Plain and simple. But split them up, put them on two opposite sides . . .” He shook his head. “Who gets your loyalty now? And what wouldn’t you do for someone you love, when it comes right down to it?”

  They walked back to the camp in silence.

  19

  The Chieftain Trials: Test of Mettle

  The final test is upon you, candidates!

  This test is the darkest and most risky of all, yet also holds the most potential for reward. This is where the true leader will rise above the rest. The task is simple:

  You will identify the greatest danger to our people.

  You will seek it out and engage it.

  You will subdue and bring this element under your control so that it no longer poses any threat.

  The one who brings demonstrable proof of the greatest threat so contained shall be the winner of this final Test, and shall be named chief.

  May the best prevail!

  • • •

  Juniper’s mouth dropped all the way open. “Danger?” she echoed, looking at Cyril. “What greatest danger?”

  The last two candidates and their seconds—for Libba never had begun her attempt on the Memory Wall and at daybreak had been disqualified—stood opposite each other in a loose semicircle, hemmed in by Odessa and the other Elders. A scatter of early-rising Anju stood nearby, ogling the action. Juniper herself had entered the clearing feeling ready to take on the world: Her gown and cloak were still hopelessly unkempt, but she’d slept long and soundly, scrubbed her teeth with a good chew of licorice root, and washed and combed her hair through twice with her own carved comb. She felt as bright as a newly minted coin.

  This task, however, set her back on her heels. “I need more information before I can proceed,” she said to Odessa. Zetta and her second were conferring avidly, waving their hands and nodding as though the task was already half done. Juniper crumpled the parchment in her hand. “Come on—it’s only right.”

  Odessa opened her mouth, but Zetta stopped talking and stepped into the silence. “Right?” Zetta said icily, and in the next moment her controlled façade crumbled altogether. “I don’t think right is a word that has any part in these Trials, does it? I’m not afraid of you, Juniper, daughter of Alaina the Deserter. Oh, hadn’t you heard that name?” she said, into Juniper’s flinch. “Yes, that’s what we call her. Never mind that, though. I know you’re not one of us, so how would you know of our dangers? I’ll tell you what I’ve decided to tackle, shall I?” Zetta waved away an Elder’s protest, her shoulders now shaking with barely controlled fury. “It’s only right, isn’t it? Now, listen up. The Claw. Perhaps you saw it as you dropped in the other day . . . ominous-looking mountain-tip? Smoky fissure in the rocks? Well. Something lives up there. A creature, which happens to have been very active these many months, venturing down to attack our settlement and causing a great deal of damage.”

  Juniper squirmed, but Zetta’s words came so hard and fast that she couldn’t get a word in edgewise—nor, honestly, would she have known what to say if she could have.

  “The creature of the Claw is something of an aberration, if you must know—a fire salamander. Never heard of that?” She laughed, a harsh grating sound. “How about fiery draco, does that ring any bells? Huge, lizardlike creature? Breathes fire if you get too near?”

  Juniper blanched. A draco? Was this a practical joke?

  “We’ve been a little too much on the receiving end of that fiery side, these last seasons. But no more. I am going to pay a visit to that mighty draco and see what can be seen. Now. What say you, blood sister?” Zetta clamped a hand on her guard’s arm and turned to go. “Shall I see you there?”

  “She can’t be serious,” Cyril whispered in Juniper’s ear. But Juniper knew Zetta was telling the truth—she knew it from the desperate throb in her words, from the tremulous looks of the Elders, from Odessa’s stern, skewering glare.

  Zetta was going to face the mythical fiery draco in his den. And where was Juniper supposed to find a threat to top that one? This was clearly the Anju’s number one concern. Juniper had no choice but to follow right alongside.

  Oh, by the goshawk. What had she gotten herself into?

  “One other thing.” Zetta was almost out of earshot, and her words felt like an afterthought. But the calculating look was back in her eye, and Juniper’s pulse quickened. What was her rival scheming up now?

  Zetta barreled on. “Your little settlement? It’s not nearly so safe as you think. If I were you, I’d finish up my test very quickly and get back over to deliver them a safety warning—if they’re still even there by then.”

  “What?” Juniper shouted at Zetta’s retreating back. “What are you talking about?”

  Zetta shrugged without turning. “I just thought you should know.”

  “KNOW WHAT?” Juniper exploded. “Stop speaking in riddles, you fur-bundled monster of a girl! WHAT has put my settlement in danger?”

  Zetta sighed dramatically and turned. “Why, the Peakseason Floods, don’t you know?” She snorted. “Or didn’t you wonder why that lovely, cunning little valley lies deserted when it should be a far more pleasant place for us to live than this scrub-covered mountaintop? It was an Anju settlement, long ago. Why is it no longer, do you suppose?”

  Images clicked into place in Juniper’s mind—a story she had seen on the Memory Wall but not connected. A rounded valley, well settled . . . a bubbling, raging spout of water clawing from belowground . . . a raging, steaming flood . . . people swept away . . . bodies, bodies everywhere—

  “What’s going to happen?” she shouted. “And when? What is it we don’t know?”

  “Zetta, daughter of Darla!” Odessa’s voice cracked like a whip. “Your actions are far out of line, and ill-befitting a candidate in these Trials.” She turned to Juniper. “She is correct about the Peakseason Floods. Our people settled that valley a dozen decades past, and it is a lush living place most of the year round. But once a year, the lake overflows its banks; the wellsprings within the spine of the Hourglass churn up and release a torrent of boiling water—enough to flood the whole valley bowl, right up to the lip of the caves. The waters do not linger, but they rage fierce and swift, with temperatures hot enough to scald an ibex. Anything in its path is in grave danger.”

  “But—but—why wouldn’t you have said something?” Juniper felt herself starting to run away, back toward the Basin. She had to warn them, had to—

  “Child,” said Odessa, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Settle, I beg you. It is a peakseason threat. There is no danger now, not for months ahead—we are in the heart of midseason. Zetta has no cause to rattle you so. You would do well to move your camp out of that valley before too long—or settle upon higher ground as the time nears
. But while the flood itself is flash-violent, it is not entirely unexpected. First come days of heightened water levels, of steadily increasing river temperatures, unusual ground shaking. There is ample warning.”

  “Heightened water levels?” Juniper echoed. Her hand strayed to Erick’s recent letter. “Increased temperatures? Shaking ground?” Her legs began to tremble uncontrollably.

  Zetta saw, and smirked. “Oh, did I forget to mention?” She turned and bowed to Odessa. “My Elder: The sweetcrystal which my counterpart delivered two days past did not come from any of the recommended mines. She got it from the forbidden cave—from the Core.”

  Juniper stared. “But you—” Oh. Of course. Zetta had sent her to that cave . . . but why? What was this Core?

  Odessa paled. “Child, what have you done?”

  Zetta’s voice took on an instructive tone. “The Core has a direct conduit to the underground wellsprings. Am I right in suspecting that you chipped away some of that large bundle you brought back from off the center pillar? Maybe even more than some of it?”

  “We . . .” Juniper swallowed. “The pillar . . . Well, it sort of—”

  “We had to explode it,” Cyril cut in. “It was the only way to get the crystal out. The stuff was too gummy to extract otherwise.”

  Now Zetta went still. “Wait. You—the whole pillar? It’s gone?” She looked aghast, as though the little schemer hadn’t led them right into that trap.

  “Will someone please explain exactly what’s going on?” Juniper said, her sense of urgency mounting like the very floods under discussion.

  “The Peakseason Floods happen naturally every year,” said Zetta. She looked uncertain now. “But they can be precipitated, too. By peakseason, the accumulated heat and increased water pressure grows too concentrated within the Core, and pushes outward. The Core gradually dissolves, and that’s what triggers the floods, eventually. It takes a long time—months more. But if you’ve blown apart the whole pillar . . .”