“Good in a forest,” said Will, thoughtfully. He turned to N’tombe. “I was planning on trying these on horseback. What do you think?”
I’d never seen him in the riding arena. “I didn’t know you rode.”
“Everyone can ride,” he said, then smiled. “Nay, I’ve been taking lessons, Lady.”
N’tombe made a face. “Horses and I are not friends.”
* * *
N’tombe and the Sergeant talked to my father, explained why I should leave the Castle. My father, perhaps, felt guilty; possibly he realized I might never have another opportunity. Rather surprisingly, he said yes.
It was pleasant to be outside the stone walls of the Castle, pleasant to be in the woodland. The air smelt damp, as though rain was coming. The light, filtered through slim spring leaves, gleamed green-gold.
“Let’s just ride for a while,” called Will. “Get a feeling for the land. I want to see what shooting from a horse is like.”
We trotted along forest tracks, Will in front, N’tombe at the rear. His seat was good, but at times he gripped the reins too hard. An agreeable thought, to know I was better at this thing than him.
Above us, branches stirred in the wind. The track lead out from the trees into a small moorland clearing, where the bracken grew high. The Castle and the tower were hidden. I felt free.
In a whir of wings, a heavy body flashed past my face. On reflex I nocked arrow to bow. Too slow. The pheasant crashed into the undergrowth, escaping to safety.
“Good try,” said N’tombe.
“The wind throws me off.” The bow had twisted in the slight breeze, slowing my draw. Why didn’t we bring dogs?”
“Let’s make for the thick forest,” called Will. “I want to see if we can find some deer.”
The sun grew brighter. I should have worn a hat. We turned onto a small side track that steamed in the sun’s warmth.
That was when it happened. That was when the world changed.
I had little warning. The sun seemed to lurch. Then, from the empty sky, a bolt of light fell toward me; a spear of hissing fire.
“Ware!” called N’tombe.
I pulled my horse to one side.
Beside me, a golden spear had thrust into the ground, its handle quivering. The sun’s heat beat down, the steam lifting up, drifting like a dream. Hissing, another ray of golden fire fell, pierced the soil.
N’tombe stared up at the sky, her expression fierce. “So, it begins.”
I pulled my horse around. Back, away. Who was throwing these things? They were transparent, like golden glass, like no spear I’d ever seen. For all they seemed to come from the sun, they gave off no heat. I reached out to it.
“Don’t touch!” N’tombe called.
Hissing like water on a hot pan, more spears fell, their tips digging into the ground until they looked like a line of golden staves pointing upright to the sun.
Our horses startled, turning with a clattering of hooves and snorting of nostrils. My mount put her head down and charged back along the track, Will’s mare galloping behind. Mud sprayed from their hooves and their breath was harsh, urgent with fear. My mare’s ears were back and she pulled at the bit, trying to bolt. I fought with the reins, sitting upright in the saddle, clinging tight with my legs.
N’tombe’s left foot slipped from the stirrup. She clung to the pommel as her mare surged forward, trying to bolt. I pushed my horse forwards, off the track, crashing through the deep bracken, and drew in front of her. Pulled my mare to a canter and then to a trot. Finally, calmed by my horse, N’tombe’s own horse slowed.
“What was that?” I called.
“I’m not sure.” She tried to untangle her reins.
Will pulled up behind her, panting. “My saddle’s twisted. I think my girth is loose.”
N’tombe put her head to one side, as though listening. All I could hear was the wind rustling the bracken and the spiraling call of the larks. “I think we’ve lost them.”
We reached a small brook. I dismounted and fixed Will’s saddle.
“What was that about?” Will asked.
I stared up at him. “Didn’t you see?”
“See what?” He sounded angry. “We’re riding along, then for no reason you’re off! Making hell for leather back along the track. What’s with you?”
“The horses knew they were there.” I pushed the buckle home.
“What do you mean? What was there?”
N’tombe put up her hand. “Children! Quiet!” she turned to me, her voice tense. “They’ve found us.”
My horse turned uneasily as I set my food into the stirrup. As soon as I was in the saddle she was off, cantering through the brook, splashing water in a muddy spray.
“Those spears,” N’tombe called.
“Spears?” asked Will.
“There were spears,” I said. “Golden ones. Came from the sky.” Whoever had thrown them had a very strong arm.
“They’re magic,” said N’tombe.
“I didn’t see anything.” Will sounded doubtful, like he didn’t believe us.
“What are they for?” I called.
“A way of noting where we are, probably. Rosa will know. We need to get back to the Castle.”
We reached the trees. Here, at last, I knew where I was. The Great Ride, the long swathe of mown grass, where horsemen could gallop at speed. Above the treetops, the tower’s flag fluttered. As children, my brothers spoke of racing each other along this smooth turf, and I’d listened, envious, because I was confined to the Castle.
The Ride stretched to the road, meeting it just by the gatehouse, like an arrow pointing directly to safety.
At first I thought it was the wind in the grass. It grew louder, closer, a high-pitched pulsing. Behind me Will’s mount was restless, probably because Will, not aware of our pursuers, sat on her like a block of wood.
Behind us, down the Ride, came a row of golden spears, hissing as they fell, standing in a golden line.
“Come on,” I pushed the mare forward, trying to keep to an even canter. My hair blew in the breeze, my cloak streamed behind like a sail. “Come on, girl,”
But behind us, the line of spears was gaining. A rabbit, unnoticed in the long grass, bounded forward into their pathway. A sharp ssttt, a shrill cry and the rabbit fell in a twitching heap.
Will’s horse neighed, flinching from the sudden movement.
“Aah!” As Will lurched sideways, his saddle twisted. I hadn’t done the girth up tightly enough.
“Will!” I called.
Too late. Like a heavy sack, he fell from his horse. At the last moment the horse picked up her feet and jumped over him. Then, free of her rider, she put her head down and bolted for the roadway, stirrups clattering.
My horse’s ears were flat on her neck, her eyes restless. She wanted to bolt too. But Will lay directly in front of those spears. He couldn’t see them; he wouldn’t realize his peril.
N’tombe’s horse had the bit between her teeth. She would not stop, and in the rush, N’tombe had dropped her reins. She clung to the pommel, bouncing like a doll.
“Will!” I shouted. “Move! You must move!”
Will put his hand over his forehead, shielding his face from the light. He seemed dazed. Maybe he’d hit his head as he fell.
I pulled my mare off the Ride, slid off her back. If I couldn’t tie her to something she’d be off too, haring up the avenue after N’tombe and then where would I be? I looped the reins around a low branch, knotting them tight, as I did after a riding lesson. Behind me the hissing grew louder, like rain, or leaves in a high wind.
Will just lay, groaning. I pulled on his doublet. “Come on!”
“Oh, my head!”
“Will!” I grabbed his shoulder, dragged him toward the edge of the Ride, into the deeper grass. From this angle the spears seemed taller and their tips pointed to the sky like the bars of a giant cage.
As I dragged Will toward the longer grass the direction of thei
r pursuit changed. Instead of heading straight up the Ride, as I hoped they’d do, they began to follow us.
Will’s face was pale. “I feel sick.”
The spears were thicker than my wrist and flat as planed timber. As though they were golden glass, I could see my face in them. But my reflection was strange; my face appeared wider, my eyes pulled apart.
There seemed little point in running. Stepping away from Will, I stood directly in front of things. Let them come!
The line seemed to hesitate as it moved closer, until it stopped, right in front of me. I felt a faint trembling, a tickle on the side of my cheek. I looked along a row of transparent stakes, stretching into the distance below me. They were seeking me. And their intentions were not kindly.
As in combat with the Sergeant, the moment seemed to slow. The seeds lifting from the grasses, the rise and fall of Will’s chest, the wind blowing the clouds; each movement seemed to take an age.
Help! I hurled the thought upward, into the heavens, hoping N’tombe or Rosa or a kindly disposed god would hear it and intervene. Above me another spear formed and fell toward my heart. I put my hands together, reached them above my head.
Who was this person who sought me out, though I’d done nothing wrong?
“No!” I screamed.
Like a suddenly struck match my left hand warmed, igniting a light that spread down my outstretched arms, into my head, until my whole body was aglow. And above me, a multi-faceted star bloomed. It rushed to join the golden spears.
“Go!” I screamed. Or was it “No!”, and through my mind a deeper voice called out, a rusty, creaky voice that seemed unused to speaking.
My left hand, the one wearing the copper ring, moved without my control, turning so the palm faced outward. Above me the star turned, twisting over my head like a shield.
And the spear hit, striking with such force I felt the shock traveling through my outstretched palm, down my elbows, into my feet, but I, or whoever controlled my arms, held the shield firm and the spear stopped, wavering.
“Go!” I called again, out loud or in my head, I did not know, but my voice sounded strange, not mine at all.
I flipped the shield, turning it so the points of the star twisted, blurring like a hard swung sword. My hand closed, squeezing into a fist. Then my fingers straightened, flicking open.
The golden spear flew into the sky, turning and sparkling in the sunlight until it was just a mote of dust that flickered and disappeared. And then, following like a rope that’s been spun and lifted, the other spears rose, turning transparent as they flew, until like water in sunlight they vanished.
The world snapped back. I sank to my knees, cradled my hand against my chest. It felt as though it was broken, yet the skin was undamaged.
I lay beside Will in the grass and my mare nuzzled at my hair.
Finally, Will sat up. His voice was shaky. “That is the last time I ever go hunting with you, Dana.”
“That’s the first time,” I reached out to touch his shoulder.
“First, and last.”
“Not the hunting, stupid.” His shoulder was too high for my heavy arm, so I stroked the back of his hand instead. “That’s the first time you’ve called me by my name.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lessons
The surgeon put Will to bed for a week.
“He must have been shaken badly in that fall. Keeps babbling about “bright lights”.” Daddy put his arm about my shoulders. “You did well to bring him back. It must have been hard getting him up the ride, to the road.”
We were in his study, arguing over why I wasn’t able to see Will. “I don’t see what’s so wrong with me visiting him.”
Daddy took his arm away. “Young lady, Princesses do not visit barracks.”
“You’re so old-fashioned.”
“Even so, Dana, you’re not going.”
“Daddy! He’s my ...” I stopped. What was Will, anyway? A teacher? My friend? When I thought of Will, with his serious face and sudden smile that dawned like sunlight after rain, neither of those labels felt right.
Fortunately, Daddy didn’t notice my hesitation. “A princess needs to think of her reputation.”
“I’m not a princess, though, am I? I’m a tool.” My voice grew shrill. “I won’t grow up to get married and have lots of little babies for you to dote on. My precious reputation shouldn’t matter. Not as long as I can put on the stupid necklace and protect you and Mother and all the rest of this stupid Kingdom.” I tried to pull the copper circlet off my finger but it was stuck fast. A pity. It would have been effective to throw it at him. I settled for tears instead.
“Dana, honey.”
I stormed from his study, running down the stairs and out through the long gallery. Stupid ancestors with their passive, inbred faces and their pathetic reputations. I ran past them all. I didn’t look at the Guardians. It was too easy to see my face up there on the wall.
N’tombe was in the schoolroom. “Are you ready, Lady?”
“What for?”
“To see Rosa.”
“I’m not going,” I said, sniffing.
She took my wrist, lifting my hand so it was level with my face. “Thumb man, pointer, long man, ring man,” she counted off my fingers. “Pinky.” She tapped the ring on my little finger significantly. “Aren’t you just the least bit interested, Lady?”
I twisted my hand from her grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who speaks to you in your dreams, Princess?”
“What?” I stepped away from her.
“You know what I mean, Lady.”
I sniffed again, for form’s sake. I did know what she meant. “Very well,” I conceded. “I’ll come.”
* * *
The dreams began the evening of our failed hunting trip. When I closed my eyes, I saw Will, lying with a sick face, his body jerking as a hissing spear pierced his side. No blood, just Will screaming, convulsing. I jerked awake. Unable to return back to sleep, I just lay, just staring up at the folds of the bed curtains.
The next night I left the curtains open. Maybe it would be better if I could see the moon through my window.
When I finally feel asleep, I dreamt I was flying high above the world.
I followed the coastline, a ridge of brown against the endlessly moving ocean. And I realized that we are wrong to think of the land as always there. The sea is the constant; it is the land that moves. Cliffs fall, mountains explode. But always, there are the waves and the sighing of the wind.
“With that thought comes wisdom,” a voice whispered.
A fat man with a smile and a cloth skirt lay on a cloud. Startled, I looked down and realized that I, too, rested on a cloud.
“I’ll fall!” Panicked, I grabbed for something firm and dependable, like the ground. I dropped like a stone. The air rushed past my face as I screamed. And then, thinking of my father, who’d kept my future from me, I realized another truth: nothing is firm. Like a cork held under the water, I bobbed up again, settling into place beside the fat man.
He seemed unsurprised by my sudden fall and ascent. “Very good.” He laughed suddenly. “Truly, all is illusion.”
He was bald but his bright eyes shone and when he laughed all his wrinkles turned upward, so his smile extended all the way across his face.
“Do you know something?” he whispered.
I was too shaken to speak, so I shook my head.
“Excellent!” the little man beamed. “You do know something, after all.”
I laughed. This dream was mad. “That’s right! I know I know nothing.”
My cloud jerked under me, as if laughing too.
“A realization of ignorance marks the beginning of knowledge.” He stretched his hand toward me. I copied him, reaching out until we touched, brown skin, white skin, connected across the cloud-gap. “I am Rinpoche. Which means precious one, teacher. Wise one. I will teach you. But first you must sleep. Dreams are usef
ul, but sleep also is necessary.”
“Wait!” I called, as the little man vanished, blown out like a soap bubble.
Too late. I grew heavier, sinking into the cloud. It wrapped itself around me, nestling into my body. Cradled in cloud, I slept deeply until roused by the sun on my face.
It was only in the next morning that I realized I’d heard the voice of the fat man before. And his winking face was strangely familiar.
* * *
“You did well, Dana,” said Rosa. As usual, she was at her table. The wind whipped through the open windows like a gale, rustling the pages of the book in front of her.
“I thought I was going to die,” I said honestly, remembering the spears, the rabbit lying so still.
“Were you scared for yourself ?”
I shook my head. “Not really. It was Will I was worried about.”
“Why was that?”
“Because he couldn’t see the…things. How could he escape if he didn’t even understand the threat?”
“Ah,” she steepled her fingers. “Yes. And so you rescued him and yourself. Well done.”
“I don’t know what I did, though.”
She smiled. “Come. There’s something I want you to see.”
I have read books, of course. Everyone does. But I’m not an avid reader; I’d rather be outside on horseback or in the practice arena. The only time I bother with books is when the weather is too disgusting for training. And the stories I like to read are usually about brave heroes battling incredible odds. The only thing that annoys me about those stories is that they’re always about princes, who generally get rewarded with a princess. Never the other way around.
Rosa’s book didn’t seem to be the sort of tale I would enjoy. The book was thick and fat, the size of a small piece of furniture. And probably as exciting. The cover was pretty though; embossed with gold and inlaid with polished stones. The pages swished as she turned them, and blew back on themselves because of the wind.
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 18
