The SoulNecklace Stories

by R. L. Stedman

  There was another murmur.

  “Please, Madam,” asked an elderly woman, one of those who had picked me up and dusted me down when I’d landed on my face on the floor on that awful afternoon. “I cannot use a bow. I cannot play tennis, or any sport. What can I do?”

  I smiled at her. “Lady Gerva. You have a kind heart. Go to the surgeons. I am sure they will have need of your talents.”

  There was another murmur. “And those of you who cannot stand the sight of blood and cannot help on the battlements; you can make bandages, or care for little ones whose mothers are fighting.”

  Was it my imagination, or did some of these partridges look horrified at the idea of doing something useful? There. A defiant crackle of silk and, at the back of the crowd, straight-backed hostility, even a raised fan and a whisper. I lifted my hand and gold flared again in the mirror, flickering like flames.

  “Do you want your homeland to burn?” I said. “Unless everyone, everyone, is prepared to help, there will be no more silk, no more music, no more dancing.” Best not to talk about heads getting cut off. “Those who are coming have no mercy. I have seen it in my dreams, and I tell you this: we can defeat them. But we must stand together, and we must fight!”

  I lifted my unencumbered arm high, and the gold in the mirrors arched, a fountain of light that fell on the fireplace, the candles, the chandeliers, and they lit, bursting into flames with a roar, as the women gasped. They cheered, a thin, reedy sound at first, but growing into a great thunder.

  “Dana! Lady Dana!” They turned, swelling out the rear door of the chamber, rigid with fervor. I hoped Owein could find duties for them all.

  “Dana,” said Mother faintly.

  “What?”

  “You did very well, my dear. Very well indeed.” She stepped away from me, straightened herself as if inserting wires into her spine. Looked me up and down. “That dress,” she said, “is beautiful on you. But you look pudgy around the middle.”

  “I know, Mother,” I put my arm about her waist to help her from the room. “I’ve put on a bit of weight.”

  She gasped.

  “Yes, I know. Terrible, isn’t it?”

  “Dear,” she asked, as we descended down the stair. “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll take you to your chamber, and you can rest. And I want to talk to the prisoner. Where is she?”

  “In the guard room,” she looked surprised. “Why?”

  “I think she may know something useful.”

  “I don’t want to go to my chamber,” she said. “I want to be of use. As you said.” She patted my cheek. “Whoever would have thought? My little Dana setting things alight? Just think how strong you’ll be when you have that necklace.”

  I stared at her.

  “What? What did I say?”

  “Nothing.”

  * * *

  As we crossed the main courtyard, the atmosphere seemed less panicked, somehow more orderly. The servants moved briskly to their tasks. Above, flags cracked in the wind and crows fluttered, calling harshly to one another. They smell armies and fighting and dead bodies, I thought, and shivered. Is that all we really are to them? Food?

  The sunlit morning was hot and humid and smelt of rain. Just visible beyond the battlements were the tops of thunderheads, blue-tipped like the distant mountains. Crammed down here in the courtyard, hemmed in by stone, I felt confined; I longed to climb the towers and watch the storm building. But no. I, too, had work to do.

  The guardhouse was a hive of activity. A gray-haired veteran called in a deep voice. “Bows! I need all the bowmen out here! Quick! On the double!”

  Down the stairs clattered a group of fresh-faced boys, bows in their hands, quivers at their backs. They retreated in confusion as we entered.

  Their commanding officer yelled “Come on!” Catching them staring at us, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh. Sorry Madam, Lady.” He bowed perfunctorily.

  “We want to see the prisoner, Captain.”

  “Ron!” The boy at the front stepped forward. “Take these ladies to the prisoner. Then hurry back, lad. Lots to do.”

  In the corridor there were no torches and no windows to the outside. We were in the middle of the walls of the outer keep, and the only light came through small windows in the doors that lined the corridor. I peeped through them, seeing offices, desks cluttered with paper, or weapons piled high and sorted by type: bows, quivers in one, armor in another, swords and knives. At the end of the corridor was an oak door. Fatima was housed in a storeroom, a tiny space down a back corridor.

  “We didn’t want to put her in the prison cells,” said Ron. “Not after they escaped earlier. Hello, Frizzer.”

  “Hello.” A lad sitting on a three legged stool stared desolately up at us.

  “These ladies have come to see the prisoner.”

  “Sorry,” Frizzer shook his head. “No one in or out, that’s what the Captain said.”

  “Frizzer!” Ron nudged him with his toe. “It’s the Queen! And the Princess!”

  Frizzer jumped to his feet so fast that the stool fell clattering on the stone floor. “Sorry, Madam, Miss, Your Highnesses. Didn’t recognize you. Too dark.” He tugged his forelock – a vague lifting of arm and elbow – unlocked the door and motioned us inside.

  Stretched out on the bench beneath the window slit, Fatima lay still as a carven figure on a grave. She seemed not to notice us as we entered, and for a moment I wondered if she’d died, her spirit fading out the narrow window. No, her chest still rose and fell.

  I walked toward her. “We’ve come to talk.”

  The room was sparsely furnished: a desk, a chair and the low window-bench that she rested on. Dusty, empty shelves lined the stone walls. The place seemed unused, forgotten. It would be a useful place for archers, though, if the enemy arrived at our gates, for this narrow gap of a window looked directly out over the road.

  “I need to know about the general, the warrior. The one you call TeSin.”

  She opened her eyes, staring up at the wooden ceiling.

  “We can’t find him,” I said. “No sign of your husband either. Or the servants. We think they drowned. I don’t think you’ll miss him, though. I know what he did to you.” I perched beside her on the bench. “I saw you in a dream, Fatima. Your husband denied you. Trying for a younger woman, wasn’t he?”

  She looked at me then and I knew she saw me. Then she blinked and looked away. She was not going to talk.

  “Really, Dana,” Mother whispered, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. She clearly doesn’t understand you.”

  “She speaks our language perfectly, Mother. She’s the one that got them into the Kingdom.” I put my hands on either side of her head. If it worked for N’tombe, I thought grimly, it might work for me. “You wanted to come here, didn’t you Fatima. Why?”

  Across my mind rolled an image of a tall man, magnificent in multi-layered robes and golden rings. He reached out, handing me a tiny seed. Magic, he whispered. The key to a magical kingdom.

  “Where did he find it, Fatima?”

  Another image of the same man. The same nose, the same beard but now seen from above, for he lay supine. Fatima’s father lifted skeletal hands and his gold tooth flashed as he spoke. His breath smelt of cinnamon. Their king gave it to me, bidding me to return. I bequeath it to you. Daughter, keep it safe. Keep it safe.

  I let go of her head. Had the king been my grandfather, famed for his gold and jewels and pride? Not fond of his children, though. He’d never visited Rosa in her tower, had little to do with my father. But he’d invited merchants, and entertained them most lavishly, and dispensed entry tokens like sweets. And now another lord, also powerful, had heard of our Kingdom. Old sins, they say, cast long shadows.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  I stared down at her, feeling no pity. She’d led an enemy to our gates. Why should I feel sadness for her? “I thought,” she whispered again, and licked cracke
d lips. Strands of moisture beaded her mouth. “I hoped.”

  I leant closer. “What?”

  “You have power. You could behead the dragon,” she said, with difficulty.

  What did she mean? I put my hands to her head. Her thoughts were becoming cloudy.

  Mother crept up behind me, stared at the woman. “She’s dying. She won’t be much help to us. Come on, Dana.”

  “Just a minute.”

  Fatima’s lips moved again. Her voice was growing weaker. I bent over to catch what she was saying.

  “Thought you might,” she stopped, gasped. Her eyes rolled back. “Bring freedom.”

  A faint image passed through her mind: a horde of men on horseback, a golden tent, a man on an ornamented throne. So gnarled and bald and toothless was he that, strangely, the creature he most resembled was an infant.

  “The dragon,” she grasped my wrists with whitening fingers. “Destroy the dragon. Freedom.”

  Freedom?

  A chill wind pushed my skirts about my legs, lifted my hair. Purple storm clouds moved south, towering against the blue of the sky, blocking out the sun. The air smelt of snow and hail. Fatima stared out of the narrow window and sighed.

  “Well,” said Mother briskly, “she’s dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Soul-Breaker

  Dana. Rosa’s voice whispered in my mind like a dream. I need you. Without hesitation I turned, leaving Fatima’s body lying on the shelf beneath the window. Mayhap her spirit would soar out that narrow gap and find peace in the clouds.

  Mother grabbed my skirt. “Where are you going?”

  “Rosa needs me.”

  “I need you.”

  I turned. “No you don’t.”

  “You can’t leave me here.”

  I didn’t have time for this. “Frizzer.”

  The boy appeared at the door. In the light of day he looked barely thirteen, but was already tall and broad-shouldered. “Can you escort my mother to my brother? He’s in the courtyard.”

  He looked doubtfully at Fatima. “The prisoner. Captain said I was to guard her.”

  “She’s dead.”

  He still looked doubtful. “Captain will need to be told.”

  Well,” I said patiently, “first, escort my mother to the Prince. Then you can tell your captain that the prisoner’s passed on.”

  He bowed again and looked relieved to have his actions planned for him.

  “Go with Frizzer, Mother. He’ll look after you.”

  Dana!

  I ran toward the door, out the corridor, across the courtyard. When the Guardian called in urgency, one had little choice but to obey.

  Owein had achieved some sort of order in the courtyard. People were placing weapons in piles at the base of the tower stairwells, making ready for transport to the battlements. Owein cried to me, but I waved at him and, picking up my skirts, tore across the cobbles toward the inner keep, through the dark stone gateway, up to the base of the stone tower.

  Rosa’s guards stood waiting. But there was no doorway. “How?” I panted.

  They both reached for me, in a strange mirror image, one on the right, the other on the left.

  “Hold on,” one of them – was it Reginald or Gregor? – grunted, and pulled me into the tower. I felt the cold stone seeping through me, and I spun, like a lettuce drying, up and up along the tower, until I emerged dizzily outside Rosa’s door. The guards kept hold of me, which was good, for without them I would have fallen.

  “Thank you for coming,” Rosa said gratefully.

  I stepped into the room. “What do you need?”

  “Come and see,” she handed me the crystal. I took the heavy thing from her, and stared into its clear depths.

  Dimly, I heard her say, “You’d better sit,” and my legs folded, just as my consciousness left the room and fell into–

  Somewhere else.

  Suspended in empty air, I fought for balance in an empty space of wind and cold. Clouds towered around me like castles. Crows poured in a stream of black, their wings so close they brushed against my face, before spiraling into the clouds. Crash! The heavens split. A shaft of light arced down, down. Then the rain began, lines of water that seemed to burn as they fell.

  I pushed hair from my face, blinking to see in the downpour. Far below, foam-flecked waves rose and fell. Flashes of light smashed and crackled into the raging water. I drifted lower, trying to avoid the lightning.

  Below were ships, storm-tossed and struggling in the waves. Strange, misshapen craft with forests of masts and ragged sails. Men struggled desperately to turn their boats into the wind. Some did not succeed; many craft had capsized. The upturned hulls looked like toy boats.

  In the distance were the mountains, topped with white snow. At the base of the mountains was something small. A boat with one empty mast. Passing away from the drowning flotilla, it drifted toward the land.

  Help them, whispered Rosa.

  I skimmed across the water toward the little boat. It looked like a fisherman, caught by the storm. Surely, no one would have gone fishing with those storm clouds looming.

  A rolling wave slapped into the boat, lifted it. For an eyeblink the vessel hung. Then it fell, plummeting into the trough. A wave broke over its side. Two men, small as ants, clung to the railing. Another wave took it. The boat bucked like a horse, tipped into the swell and capsized.

  I dived into the water. There were no heads on the surface, just bundles of soaked clothing. Where were the passengers?

  A pounding, thudding on the hull. They were under the boat! I swam deeper, falling into a cascade of bubbles. My legs tangled in my skirts, my hair flew into my eyes, but I kicked out, moving through the tumbling water until I reached the darker shape of the boat. Two men, legs dangling beneath the bow’s prow, beat frantically on the upturned hull. Their calls echoed through the water.

  I pulled one from under the boat, dragged him onto the wooden hull. He lay, gasping. I dived again. The other man’s legs floated unmoving, as the trapped air leeched away. I dragged him out, heaving him up onto the hull, next to his fellow. He choked and gulped, and finally took a deep breath.

  The wind and tide caught the little boat, and the low hills of the Kingdom rose steadily against the horizon. The storm was moving south to the mountains of the mainland but here, the wind was beginning to calm. I swam behind the boat, one hand on its wooden hull, until I could see high cliffs above a sandy beach. Shipwreck Cove. How appropriate. The men, resting on the upturned hull, stirred.

  Return, said Rosa.

  A wave slapped over me, pulled me under. I drifted in crackling bubbles in an ever-shifting sea. Above, the boat floated gently, pointing like an arrow toward home. As though stepping over a sill, I crossed into light and air and warmth, and lay gasping on the floor of Rosa’s chamber.

  I handed her the globe. “Here.”

  “Well done.” She wrapped a blanket about my shoulders.

  N’tombe gave me a cup of hot tea. I blew the steam gently, enjoying the fragrance of jasmine and rose.

  “Was that your storm?” I asked.

  Rosa nodded. “Of course.”

  “I saw the ships.” I stared down at the china cup, thought of the choking water, the clinging waves. How many had died?

  “Drink your tea. You will need your energy,” said Rosa. “There remains an army to the south.”

  “The storm will reach them soon,” said N’tombe.

  Holding my tea, I crossed to the window. The blue hills of the mainland looked close enough to touch. Even as I watched, the sunlight faded and they were gone; smothered in gray cloud. But here in the Kingdom the sun shone from a sky swept clear of clouds. Steam rose from the puddles. Even from the tower’s height I could smell the damp warmth. It reminded me of washday, the day I stood outside the laundry hut and crept onto the collier’s cart.

  “That was a long time ago,” said Rosa softly.

  “Three years.” A lot had happened since t
hen.

  The towers were alive with guards. Below the muddy turf of the parade ground had filled with carts and livestock; it looked like everyone who could make it to the Castle had done so.

  “By nightfall,” said N’tombe, “it will be best if everyone is behind walls.”

  My breath caught. Was the enemy so close?

  “You do not need to fear,” said Rosa. “This land has its own defenses.”

  There were soldiers, true, and each village had its own little militia, kept for emergencies like fire or flood. But would they be effective against the type of army Will had seen?

  “I do not refer to the militia,” said N’tombe. “Are you really as unaware as you pretend?”

  “Hush,” said Rosa. “Remember, she is tired. She has done well today.” I tried to look modest. “And she is part of the Kingdom. She will not feel the protection as you do.”

  N’tombe sighed. “Dana. You recall the fireworks?”

  Only two days ago. So much had happened since then. “Of course.”

  “Most think that the battle was won by the Castle’s defenders and their pitch-soaked barrels.”

  “But that’s what happened.”

  Rosa shook her head. “The Kingdom has many shields.”

  I looked at the necklace, gleaming gold, that rose and fell with her harsh breathing. “Did the Guardian ...?”

  “Of course.”

  “What will you do?” I asked.

  N’tombe handed me a platter. Meat and bread.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Sit,” she said, pointing at a chair, “and eat. We must be on our way.”

  “Our way?”

  N’tombe frowned. “Eat.”

  I placed the meat on top of the bread.

  “A sandwich!” she sounded surprised.

  “What?”

  “At my school the teachers made sandwiches for lunch.”

  Sometimes she did not make sense. “It’s just bread and meat.”

  “Never mind,” she looked at Rosa. “We must leave soon.”

  I swallowed. “What? Why must we leave?”