Auralia's Colors

by Jeffrey Overstreet

  “All the questions?” Auralia laughed. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “What questions do you have? If I don’t know the answer, I know who does.”

  Auralia smiled suspiciously. “Okay. This sounds like a game. What are the Northchildren, and why do they lurk in the shadows? And the Keeper? Where does he come from, and why is he here?”

  “Easy,” the child said sternly. “There’s no such thing as Northchildren. They’re just a lie made up to scare folks. And there’s no such thing as the Keeper. It’s just a bad dream that’ll go away when I grow big like my mum.”

  Auralia’s smile faded. The room was growing strangely warm. “Where did Abascar come from?”

  “We came down from the mountains to the north a long, long time ago to get away from the darkness and the storms. We got stronger and smarter. And now we’re the envy of the land.”

  “Do you even know what envy means?”

  The little girl blinked. “Umm. I suppose it means we’re leaders. Or the best. Or the smartest…or something.”

  “It’s what they told you to say.”

  “It means Abascar’s the best house in the Expanse. We’re safe from the badness beyond these walls.” As she spoke, her eyes strayed to the cloak spread across the table. “These colors…they’re against the rules.”

  The child’s words, an empty chant, made Auralia recoil. A sudden fear swept over her, and she climbed off the stool, dragging the cape toward the questioner as if to save her from a chill. “Nobody owns the colors. Can’t you see? They’re free. They’re what trees do. They’re what water and sky do. Fields. Hills. Mountains. No matter how much you give them away, there’ll always be more.”

  The house cat jumped onto the sliding cloth and buried his nose in the folds of the colors, his resonant purr vibrating from whiskers and fur.

  “It’s better to keep treasure locked away, so no one gets jealous,” the child said, searching her library of answers. “Better to put them away, where they’ll be guarded and safe.”

  “I want to go back outside the walls!” Auralia cried.

  “But it’s scary there, Auralia.” The dutiful girl walked slowly around the table, ignoring the stains beneath her bare feet, reaching for Auralia with her small, pale hand. “Stay here. Be safe. Safe from the monsters in the woods.”

  “I’ve seen the monsters in the woods,” Auralia whispered. “It’s you that scares me.”

  This took the girl by surprise. “You’ve…seen the monsters in the woods? But they’d have killed you.”

  Auralia smiled. “Yes. And much more besides.” She lifted a corner of her radiant weave. “You see these threads? They’re applecat whiskers. And these here dark strands? Vulture feathers. Bats have fur this color. And I even have hair from a beastman’s mane. Look at the goldness. Look at the shine. This pearly white, it’s grasshopper blood, and this intricate glisten, their wings.”

  Curious, the child touched a spread of silky blue. “And this?”

  “I call it Evening Lakewater. The color of waves when the sun’s just gone down. It’s made from peacock feathers.”

  A few minutes later impatient guards burst in. Ghosty, who had settled on Auralia’s shoulder, vanished out the door. The servant girl—Auralia had coaxed out her name, Jarlet—realized she had strayed from her task. She began to shake and cry, and the guards had to pry Auralia’s colors from the little girl’s hands. “I want one!” she ranted as they pulled her away. “I want to have one for my own. Auralia, make one for me!”

  Another guard grabbed Auralia by the hair. She clutched the colors to her and was hauled out of the room, her face contorted as hair ripped from her scalp. She stumbled and found her feet, and they let her walk ahead of them up the corridor.

  Auralia draped the weave over her head like a hood. She walked not like a punished child, but like a weary queen, victorious when tested, her promises kept, bringing light unspoiled wherever she walked.

  Even to the dungeons.

  Auralia had always loved how a cave could echo, how tunnels could whisper on their way into mystery. She could sit for hours in her caves and stare out at the world, pretending she was hiding in the Keeper’s eye. She loved the exhilaration of bursting into the open in the morning as if being born anew.

  But this cell was not like any of her caves. It was cramped, wet, and crooked, with walls of rugged earth. A door of heavy iron bars drew stark lines across the pale light, and there was no view but the filthy corridor and more bars across the passage with a tormented shadow beyond.

  Her hours of waiting had begun, and Auralia lost track of day and night.

  When she closed her eyes, the lifeless blue of the prison transformed into the royal blue bud of a queen’s cup surrounded by broad green leaves. She knew that where queen’s cup grew, she would also find yellow ankle bushes, and among those bushes she would see white-winged grasshoppers that traveled in grand triangular formations like little herds of deer, bounding and soaring. And where there were grasshoppers, she was sure to find black ravens and red lynx that pursued and ate them.

  The colors and memories of her wild home folded around her in the cloak, and she slept, a hot ember in a cold sea.

  17

  RADEGAN’S GAMBLE

  S hards of marrowwood shot past Radegan’s head as the ax found its mark. Releasing the haft, he stepped back, stared at the cleanly split stump, and smiled. This afternoon’s work, done in secret, had earned him a stack of firewood that would bring a good price in trade among the Gatherers.

  Marrowwood burnt hotter and lasted longer than any other fuel. Marrowwood trees rarely grew in this part of the forest, and when they did, the king’s woodcutters guarded them and sparingly cut branches for the palace fireplaces. When Radegan had found this tree—its ancient boughs unmoving in the wind, deep red leaves filtering sunlight to drench the glade in purple—he’d vowed to make it his own.

  With malicious delight, he tossed a rude gesture back toward House Abascar. This woodpile was nothing compared to his famous Underkeep robberies, but nevertheless, he was pleased to get away with something like this behind the duty officers’ backs.

  Inside he had been “The Fox,” a masked visitor to Housefolk, trading everything from royal ale and desserts to garments, lamps, jewelry, and even pipes. That was, until he had been snared by Captain Ark-robin himself. The strategist had cleverly and famously captured him in an actual fox trap, just so he could gloat in the arrest. That blasted girl Stricia had lured him to the snare with kisses and overtures. She was the only thief cleverer than he—that became clearer every day.

  If only House Abascar could learn how much she had enjoyed playing the bait.

  Now he was called the Dog, thrown to the Gatherers with a jagged scar as his reward. Many asked why he had not been thrown into the dungeon. But a big man, with more muscle than three ordinary men, might prove a formidable soldier should his heart ever prove malleable. Prince Cal-raven was willing to give him that chance.

  “How’s that, Cal-marcus, O wise and mighty judge of men? When I trade what’s left of this grandpappy of the woods, I’ll have what I need for my journey to Bel Amica. You wanted to teach me a lesson, and there it is. I’m gone.”

  It unnerved him the way the forest could seem aware, alive, perhaps already grieving the loss of the marrowwood. He was not a man inclined to waste time worrying about consequences; he preferred to live life as if fleeing pursuers in a mad downhill dash, just thrilled at the speed.

  He frowned, piling brush to disguise the even lines of marrowwood logs and hide them from the officers and Gatherers who would love to steal his treasure.

  He was covering the last of them when three Gatherer women appeared suddenly. The trees were dense here; people could stumble into each other without noticing their approach. The women laughed and whispered, watching the bare-chested giant catch his breath.

  The golden-haired woman wore a smart smile. She carried a bowsnapper with an arro
w nocked to the string. These were dangerous woods.

  The others cradled pouches bulging with fresh harvest. One watched him through a frame of ragged red hair much like his own, the other through a fall of black curls. In the evening sun, their eyes glittered.

  “M’ladies! Evenin’!” He made a sweeping bow, all the better to flaunt his shoulders.

  The first gestured to the cloth pouches carried by the others. “Streamertail eggs there, in Tarlyn’s pouch. And in Merya’s, red goose eggs and berries. It’s been a rewarding day.”

  “And what have you been doin’, Valla Rey, while they’ve been stealin’ eggs? Wardin’ off the beastmen?”

  The archer playfully aimed her arrow at him.

  “I might have something to offer in trade for some of those eggs.”

  “In a mood to bargain, Dog?” said Valla Rey. “Bring some of that marrowwood you’re trying to steal for yourself.” She flashed a lascivious grin and turned to strut into the trees. The others laughed and veered to follow, secure in the sharpness of Valla Rey’s arrows.

  Radegan reached and grabbed Tarlyn’s sleeve. She complained, but she was smiling. A streamertail’s purple egg spilled from her harvesting pouch. He caught it an inch above the ground. She was too distracted by his nearness to notice he only pretended to return it to her pouch. “Tarlyn, my sweet, can I borrow your friend Merya for a bit?”

  Disappointed, Tarlyn bit her lower lip. Merya took a step back.

  “I caught some news this afternoon,” he continued. “Merya’s husband has fallen sick. Let me escort her to the medicine tent.” He turned a compassionate gaze to Merya, who bowed her head and trembled. White cottonwood strands were caught in her hair, giving her the appearance of more than her thirty years. “Sorry to have to tell you this, Merya. But Corvah’s drinking has cost him his health.”

  “You’d better be tellin’ the truth, Dog.” Tarlyn spoke bitterly without looking at Merya. “Have you forgotten why Merya and her husband are being punished? Corvah punched an officer. He’ll punch a Gatherer too, if he sees one making a move for his woman. You should consider more…available options.”

  “We’ve got a long way to go,” Valla Rey called, barely visible through the trees. “Night’s coming, and I’m your protection.”

  “Tarlyn, that necklace…” It had caught Radegan’s eye the moment she stepped through the trees. He would have it by tomorrow evening, something else to trade for something better. “Are those riverstones?”

  She blushed. “Auralia collected them for me. I was wearing this when the rest of her gifts were stolen.”

  “Pfft…Auralia never gave me anything,” Radegan scoffed, “so I had nothing to lose. I asked her to make me a pillow once upon a time.” He winked at Merya, who was watching him still. “I told her to make the pillow big enough for two.”

  Placing a hand on Tarlyn’s shoulder, he grinned a crooked grin. “It’s almost time for beastmen to lurk ’round here. Better catch up to Valla Rey.”

  As Tarlyn reluctantly left them behind, Radegan grasped Merya’s free hand. “Not much time before sundown. Come on. I’ll take you to the medicine tent.” He leaned close and whispered. “And I want to let you in on a secret.”

  “A secret?”

  “Yes. A secret plan.”

  They stood together, still and silent, while Tarlyn and Valla Rey’s footsteps faded into the woods. “And if my plan works,” Radegan then continued, “you’ll never have to worry again about that drunkard who thinks he owns you. We’ll get enough to buy our way into House Bel Amica. We’ll pose as traders.”

  “But you said my husband is…”

  “Corvah’s not sick. I made it up just to get rid of your bodyguards. But I’d bet all this marrowwood that your cantankerous husband is already drunk. He won’t notice if you’re late gettin’ home.”

  Radegan led her down corridors of peelbarks to a glade of gigantic shrug trees, which grew skyward from serpentine foundations of unearthed roots. She held her harvest pouch close, startling when shadows shifted in the trees around them. He ignored her worries, reaching into the tangled roots until he found the hidden lever.

  “Cal-marcus’s soldiers once used this tree as a highwatch.” There was a snap, and a heavy wooden plank descended on two ropes, bringing a shower of leaves from the dense ceiling of boughs. The plank stopped shy of the ground and swung there as the leaves settled around it.

  Merya pushed aside her hair, and her inquisitive, soft white face emerged, amazed. He gestured for her to sit on the swing as it twisted and swayed. She laid the pouch of eggs and berries against the base of the trunk and sat down with the hint of a smile.

  He reached into the roots again. There was a sharp snap. She shrieked in surprise. He sprang to join her, his feet on the plank and his hands grasping the ropes. The swing shot upward, swift as a bird taking flight, and carried them up through an open square in a wooden platform. Radegan and Merya came to a stop with their heads above the leafy canopy in the light of the setting sun. Around them, a watchman’s perch spread across the crowns of several trees.

  Merya stepped nervously onto the platform to take in the dizzying view. From such a height the Expanse looked like a different world—rolling hills carpeted with leaves of red, gold, and green. She sank to her knees.

  Radegan reclined beside her, gleefully watching the awe in her eyes. “Like my little hideaway? Go ahead and laugh. Shout. Sing the Early Evening Verse! Nobody can hear us.” He ran his fingertip gently across her wrinkled forehead, up over her crown of black hair, then slowly down her back until she closed her eyes and trembled at his audacity.

  An hour later, when the day was but a stroke of distant purple, Merya found herself wrapped in Radegan’s embrace. She clung to her thin gown and felt the evening chill. Her heavier work garments lay in a heap beside her. The platform creaked and shifted with the swaying of the trees.

  It had been many years since a man, even her husband, had held her like this. Her eyes followed a pair of red geese as they pursued the setting sun.

  “This isn’t your hideaway, young man,” she said. “It belongs to soldiers.”

  “Don’t you think I know? Highwatches help them send messages across the forest.”

  “Someday they’ll find you here. Then what will you do?”

  “We’ll be long gone soon. Listen to me.”

  She leaned into him, keeping an eye on the swinglift that had carried them here. She wondered how it worked, how she might make an escape. “I’m not supposed to be up here with you,” she said, for the third or fourth time. “If my husband hears about this…”

  “Merya, your days of fearin’ Corvah’s tantrums are over. Both of us can get out from under Abascar’s shadow for good. After what they’ve done to Auralia, how can the Gatherers bear it? Poor girl’s trapped in a dungeon cell. All she did was play with colors from the forest. You can’t make laws against that. Rules are supposed to protect us.”

  “Not all rules are bad,” she murmured. “We’re breaking some of the good ones right here.”

  Radegan grasped her small shoulders, lifted her as though she were a cat, and set her in his lap to face him. “The king’s got what don’t belong to him. He takes Auralia. He takes the colors. He takes the best of everything and says he’s lookin’ out for us. He took away your freedom to love any man you choose. Your parents forced you to marry old Corvah. And they call me a thief?”

  “You’re always grabbin’ what doesn’t belong to you,” she protested.

  “But there’s a difference. I’m going to do something good with what I’ve taken.”

  She cocked her head. “Liar.”

  “I’m going to buy us a way out of here. You and me, we’re going to House Bel Amica.”

  “How?” She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “They’ll never let us in.”

  “I’ve made a bargain, Merya. You won’t believe it when I tell you.” He leaned in close, his forehead touching hers, but she refused
to meet his gaze. She looked instead at his powerful arms.

  “What am I doing?” she whispered. “I need a responsible man. Not an overgrown pickpocket.”

  She pretended not to notice that his fingers were wandering from her lips to her chin and slowly down her neck. She was trembling again, and it angered her to be so easily manipulated. She knew Radegan’s every move was calculated. Yet she remained still.

  “You’ll never know passion,” Radegan said softly, “if you follow the king’s orders. You can’t deny your heart anymore.”

  She playfully pounded on his shoulder with her fist. “But my heart’s a mess, and yours is reckless. If we’re true to ourselves, we’re in trouble. That’s what promises are for, like the promise Corvah made me.” She looked into the shadows of the trees. “They give you something to bind yourself to, so you don’t get carried off on a whim.”

  The strength of her conviction awakened the will to strike back against Radegan’s wiles. She pushed him away and staggered to her feet, careful to keep an eye on the edge of the platform. “If we go to Bel Amica, you’ll run off after some new conquest. You just follow your appetite like an animal.”

  “Maybe that’s because Abascar treats me like one,” he snarled. “But I don’t have to stay here. I’m going to get respectable among respectable people. Forget Abascar.”

  “Bel Amica won’t let you in.”

  “They will if I make a good bargain. Listen, Merya, I’ve made a deal. I found something that will persuade the summoner to let me back into the Underkeep. I can collect enough treasure for us to buy our way into Bel Amica. That’s a promise.”

  She shook her head laughing. “Nothing will buy a summoner’s favor, Radegan. What did you promise her?”

  Then she gasped and covered her mouth. She sank to her knees. “No, you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t, Radegan. Tell me you aren’t the one who stole Auralia’s beautiful gifts.”