by J. D. Vaughn
The Moon Guild white slippers were a poor choice for traveling up a steep, narrow mountain pass, and Brindl wished she’d thought to borrow some boots as well. She wondered how she would make them presentable in the morning, as every step put another layer of dirt upon their delicate surface. Oh well. One problem at a time. The fishergirls were kind, but Brindl tried to outmaneuver their curiosity.
“So are you a servant in the palace kitchens?” the older sister asked.
“No,” Brindl answered, unsure of how much to reveal.
“Where then?” asked the younger sister, reaching for a branch as she climbed.
“The aviary,” Brindl answered.
“It must be so exciting to work in the Queen’s Palace,” the younger one said, the mirror image of her older sister, just a size or two smaller.
“I suppose,” Brindl said. “What’s it like to live in a floating village?”
The younger sister, who obviously loved to talk as much as breathe, went on and on about being out on the water, helping their brother, training the magnificent fishing birds. It did not take much prodding to keep her talking all the way to the logger’s village. Brindl was reminded of Lili, whom she suddenly missed. The older, quieter sister attempted to divert the discussion back to Brindl, but a few well-timed questions about training the fishing birds ended that. Brindl thought of Lord Yonda then, and his clever ability to steer conversations in the direction of his choosing. I think he’d be quite proud of me right now.
In less than an hour they reached the logger’s village, which was just as amazing as Lake Soga’s floating village. The trees themselves were beyond comprehension, so tall were they. Brindl craned her neck back but could still not see the tops of them. Ten logger men, with giant arms outstretched, would not be big enough to span their girth.
The cabins, built so that they became part of the trees themselves, looked like birdhouses tucked inside the natural hollows of the forest. Plank bridges crisscrossed between the cabins like spokes on a wheel, and connected in the middle, where an enormous covered platform hung suspended high above the ground.
“The trees…” Brindl said, in wonder.
“It is the Mother’s Wood,” the elder sister answered, “sacred to the loggers.”
“I thought the Mother’s Wood was a whimsytale,” Brindl said, her voice just above a whisper. It seemed a holy place, where the Gods would walk.
“The first time you see it is the best!” the young one said, enjoying Brindl’s delight.
“Why, just one of these trees could provide homes for an entire village,” Brindl said, still craning her neck. “More perhaps.”
“But the loggers only harvest those that die naturally,” the older sister said, pointing at a fallen tree in the distance. “Machué provides for her own.”
“Praise the Mother,” Brindl answered, as the custom required, though more than ever the words resonated deep inside her. Humbled by the amazing forest, she forgot for a moment why she’d come.
“We need to find our friends,” the older sister said, as they finally approached a great open-air pavilion among the trees. “Will you be fine from here?”
“Yes, thank you so much for your company,” Brindl said. “I’m sure I can find my cousin now.”
“Enjoy the dance!” the girls sang over their shoulders, then skipped off.
“I shall!” Brindl answered, and turned to scan the pavilion. The light was fading through the leaves and the patterns danced among the forest floor, as if practicing for the night’s festivities. A six-piece band set up on a raised platform, while banquet tables slowly filled with piles of goodies and drinks as more people arrived. Brindl loved this, perhaps best of all, the way Earth Guild families would each cobble together ingredients for signature dishes and bring them to festivals for sharing. Food prepared by someone who loved those she made it for always tasted best, Brindl decided.
She looked around to see whom she might ask about Manco, but the crowd had already begun to circle around the pavilion floor, vying for the best spots to watch the dancers. Apparently, not only did the fishermen and loggers test their skills on the water, but on the dance floor as well. Brindl found herself swept up in the anticipation and decided that Manco would have to wait until later, as everyone’s attention was now firmly occupied.
First up was a young logger couple who took to the dance floor like they’d been raised on it. The band played a tune that Brindl didn’t recognize but was an obvious favorite of the crowd. The girl twirled and jumped in and out of her partner’s arms without missing a single beat. Her plain Earth Guild clothes had been dressed up for the occasion, with fresh flowers pinned along the hem. The couple danced barefoot and sometimes their brown feet moved so fast it was hard to distinguish them from the wooden floor. When the music stopped, they bowed to each other, then the audience, and waved as they left the stage.
The next couple, obviously fisherpeople, danced to a slower piece, their moves fluid and graceful. Brindl was reminded of fisher birds, of wings opening and effortlessly taking flight. The way the two dancers looked at each other, their gaze never wavering, made Brindl feel wistful, almost lonely in the crowd of hundreds. The applause was more subdued, but equally respectful when they finished their lovely duet.
One more couple took the floor and Brindl was surprised when the male dancer was introduced as Manco. He and his partner were the last contestants. Though much taller than his companion, they shared the same wild, curly hair, and Brindl wondered if they were siblings. Again the band played a bright tune, one that Brindl recognized, a folksong played at weddings and sometimes the funerals of jolly people as well. The crowd came to life, clapping in time with the dancers’ fast feet. Manco threw his partner around his body and over it, tossing her like a rag doll, as she called out to the audience, encouraging them to stomp their feet and sing along.
Brindl loved the whimsical moves and the obvious joy written on their faces, and she wasn’t the only one. The judges had no difficulty awarding the prize to Manco and his partner. The crowd erupted in cheers. Then, the dancing began for everyone. Brindl saw her chance to get to Manco, hoping she could get him alone briefly to deliver the message. She wove through the tangle of people, careful to keep him in view as she made her way across the floor. Finally, she found herself face-to-face with the man.
“Manco?” Brindl asked, with a slight curtsy.
“That’s me,” he answered, smiling. He wiped a drop of sweat off his brow with his sleeve, then offered his palm to her.
Brindl slid a hand on top of his and introduced herself.
“I have a message for you. From the Shadow Guard,” she said, lowering her voice. Manco nodded and pulled Brindl off the dance floor toward the outskirts of the pavilion. He walked quickly, his long legs forcing Brindl to double her steps until they reached a quiet table. He held out his hand for the message and Brindl pulled the letter from her apron pocket. He cracked the dark wax seal and began to read, a flash of concern crossing his face. Brindl resisted the urge to peek over his huge shoulder.
“So it is time.…Tell them it shall be done,” he said, slipping the letter into the pocket of his shirt. “Now would you share some nut punch with me?”
“I would,” Brindl said. “Thank you.”
“Wait here.” A minute later Manco returned with two cups balanced in his hands.
A group of people walked by, clapping Manco on the shoulder for his win. He nodded and thanked them, but the cheerful light in his eyes earlier had been snuffed out by the letter. What could it have said? And what shall be done? Brindl’s stomach turned over. What had she gotten herself into? Again, she wondered why the Diosa had chosen her for this task.
“So how did you come to be in this part of Tequende?” Manco asked, once they were alone again.
“I am traveling with the Queen’s caravan, as lady’s maid to the princess.”
Manco’s eyes swept over her Earth Guild attire, noting the discrepancy bet
ween her words and appearance, but did not comment on it. “The loggers have requested an audience with the Queen.”
“And when will she receive you?” Brindl asked, taking a sip of the punch. It was an odd flavor, earthy and bitter, like a liquid version of the roasted nuts her mother used to serve on festival days.
“She will not receive us. We request an audience with her each year, and every time it is denied.”
“I see,” Brindl said quietly, trying to think of something better to say but failing.
“Never has she made time for us, but here she is at our festival to impress rich men from Far Worlds. And still she refuses.”
Brindl could not blame him for his ire. She chose her next words carefully. “Not all the Royals are as unsympathetic as she.”
“Well, I have met none of them,” he said, leaning closer. “Listen, Brindl. If you are working with the Shadow Guard, you know that change is needed in Tequende. The only people Queen Twenty-two will take audience with are her own Moon Guild counselors, inkers all of them, who’ve never worked an honest day’s labor in their lives.”
Brindl cringed at Manco’s words, and thought of Zarif, his hands so often covered in ink.
“The Earth Guild has been quiet for too long,” he continued. “If the Queen won’t listen to us, then we shall make ourselves heard. With pick and axe, if necessary.”
Brindl furrowed her brow in alarm and clasped her knees under the table. “You speak of rebellion? Armed rebellion?”
“Sometimes there is no other way.”
“But there is!” she insisted. “Seek audience with Princess Xiomara.” Brindl knew she had just greatly overstepped her role as lady’s maid, but still she pressed on. “Her interest in each Guild is genuine. She would listen to you. And no one need get hurt.”
Manco shrugged. “She is not the one with power.”
“Not yet, but she will be the next Queen.” I hope, Brindl thought, remembering Twenty-two’s threat to marry Xiomara off to a Far World prince.
“And while we wait twenty more years for her to be crowned—and I have little faith your princess will be any better than the current Queen—that is twenty years too many. My people will continue to be used for their labor, overworked, undercompensated, and called ‘dirts’ for their pains. No, Brindl. I will not wait. I will die first before I raise my children in a realm where they are less than others due to their name, their birth.” Though Manco had not raised his voice, it had become thick with emotion and his hands tightened around his cup.
Brindl sat forward in her chair. “I understand, I do. But taking up arms against the Queen will prove nothing. How do you expect to stand against the Queen’s army, the Second Guard?”
Manco smiled thinly. “Oh, I know the Guard well.”
“You’re a second-born? You served?”
Manco nodded. “I did, and beyond my four years.”
“Did you like it then?” Brindl asked, curious.
“Loved the Guard, hated my centurio,” he answered.
“Why was that?”
“Service in the Guard is supposed to wipe out loyalty to your Guild. But dirts…we’re always dirts, aren’t we?”
Brindl looked down at her borrowed Earth Guild tunic and said nothing. The band played a quieter tune now and couples paired off, holding each other closely. Young children mimicked their parents in little twosomes at their knees.
“We were grunts in shiny armor. Well-fed, well-dressed servants trained to kill for our Queen.” Manco’s voice now sounded bitter. “Do you know how many of the current one hundred centurios are from the Earth Guild?” he asked, pointedly.
Brindl shook her head, but suspected she could guess the answer.
“Exactly none,” he answered, then stood up and offered his hand to Brindl.
They parted after that. Brindl tried to enjoy the music, even took a plate of the beautiful food. But his words played over and again in her mind, stealing the pleasure from each morsel.
Grunts in shiny armor.
Trained to kill for our Queen.
Exactly none.
“It is Brindl come back from the mountains!” Tail said, motioning her to join them on the deck where chairs had been pulled together.
Brindl smiled, cheered to be back among friends after the intense conversation with Manco. For an instant it felt as if she’d stepped into Saavedra’s small cottage at the Alcazar. So many evenings they’d spent together, just like this, though Xiomara now sat in the chair that would’ve been his. How strange to think that despite the distance and divide between them—a farmer, a tradeboater, a miner, a scholar, a princess—Saavedra was their common ingredient.
Tali popped up from her seat and offered Brindl hers. “I’ll grab another,” she said.
“I’ve eaten to the point of illness.” Chey clutched at his stomach.
“I’ve never been weak for sweets,” Zarif said, “but Nel’s pudding could change all that.”
“I’m not sure which of the dishes was my favorite,” Princess Xiomara added, “but how fun to be part of a real Sun Guild family for an evening.”
“My family would welcome you any time.” Tali pulled her chair into the circle. “And how was your evening, Brin? Did you find your cousin well?”
“Quite well,” Brindl said, forcing cheer into her voice. “Recovered and happy with a babe in arms, just five weeks old but so chubby!”
“I do love a fat baby.” Princess Xiomara sighed. “They are possibly the best thing on Machué’s apron.”
“I would respectfully disagree,” Zarif said, making a face. “I find babies so…unsanitary, perpetually sticky.”
The others laughed at his description. Brindl noticed Princess Xiomara was fiddling with something in her hands.
“What is it that you have there, Xia?” Brindl asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from her cousin and imaginary baby. How easy the lies slipped off her tongue!
“It’s a carving, a gift from the loggers.” Princess Xiomara handed the small object to Brindl, who held it up to the lantern on the table. It was a miniature replica of a Mother’s Tree, complete with a tiny house tucked into a hollow.
“It’s lovely, but I hope you will see the Mother’s Wood in person someday,” Brindl said, handing the carving back to Xia carefully. “It is a wonder to behold.”
“The Queen received one, too—even grander. The regents took great interest in them.”
“Did the loggers not offer one to them as well?” Zarif asked, turning back to his position as royal counselor.
“No.” Xiomara shook her head. “Though the regents offered to buy one from them. The loggers refused. Apparently, it is against their code to profit from any part of a Mother’s Tree.”
“Fascinating,” Zarif said, gesturing toward the carving so he might study it. “But why would the loggers not see it as a valuable resource? Clearly they could profit dearly from it.”
“Let the questions begin!” Tali said, reaching for ale on the small table in front of her.
“Could we skip questions for just one night?” Chey asked, though he grinned.
Zarif threw his hands in the air. “What is wrong with curiosity?”
“A question for a question!” Tali demanded.
“I can answer your question, Zarif,” Brindl chimed in, “if you’d like to know.”
Princess Xiomara winked at Brindl. “Well of course he must know.”
“It’s a godtale I heard just tonight while walking back down the mountain,” Brindl continued, “though I doubt I can do it justice.”
“Do try.” Princess Xiomara placed the little tree on the table, which cast a shadow nearly as magnificent as the carving itself.
“Long, long ago,” Brindl began, “Machué’s people struggled to find their way after she gave away so many gifts to her greedy children. Daily they suffered, trying to provide for themselves under the hot gaze of Intiq. At night, they could not rest long under Elia before they had to w
ake and toil again. To make matters worse, Machué’s apron began to wear, threadbare from too many crops planted and not enough rain. Long gashes opened in her apron, and even the Magda River went dry. Then, a mighty storm came, but rather than parch the thirst of the land and her people, it swept many to their deaths. The loggers and fisherpeople suffered much. The great wave of water off the mountain washed away their homes.
“But Machué could not bear to see her people suffer, and so she led them up the mountain to a clearing made by the washout. Higher and higher they went, farther than ever before. There they found a great grove of trees, the Mother’s Wood, whose astounding size brought all to their knees. They knew this grove of trees was a sacred gift, a sanctuary of the Gods. Machué made them promise never to fell these blessed trees, but to wait until one died a natural death before they would harvest it. Always have they kept this promise and always has there been enough. For Machué provides for her own.”
“Praise the Mother,” answered Chey in a whisper.
The silence lasted for another moment before the others woke from the spell that Brindl had cast upon them.
Xiomara picked up the little tree again and turned it over in her hands. “Praise the Mother,” she repeated.
All palace attire must be impeccably clean and polished. Never allow your clothes, shoes, or hair to be in disarray. Wear your white uniform with pride, for it is a symbol of your service to the Queen.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
Intiq arose the next morning shortly after Brindl had fallen asleep, or so it seemed. She stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes.
“Good morning,” said Xiomara, who was already neatly dressed and sitting on her cabin bed. “For all the tossing and turning we did last night, we should have stayed awake and played cards with Chey and Tali.”
“True,” replied Brindl, exchanging a rueful smile with the princess.
Though they made light of the subject, last night’s discovery had been anything but pleasant. As they’d all left the deck and returned to their cabins, Brindl and Xiomara had opened their door and jumped to find a rank, soiled bundle of cloth on the pristine white sheets of Xiomara’s bed.
