by Anthea Sharp
The last promise I made my twin was that I would use some of the silver to go to the city and apply at the University, to pursue my music and become the great performer I had always dreamed of becoming. I made the promise with my hands crossed behind me, unsure I could pursue a dream bought with the freedom of my closest friend and brother.
At dusk Cortland went to the wood. I followed him, unwilling to let him go without one last goodbye, but the wood seemed to twist and tangle around me, my skirt getting caught in every briar, branches catching at my braid. I soon lost sight of him and by the time I found an oak tree so big ten men couldn’t have linked arms around it, there was no door, no twin. Only a few paw prints in the fallen leaf mold. The way was shut.
For three days I did my chores but played no music. Callie and Sabitha were unhappy that Cortland was gone, but the meat and flour and warm quilt the silver bought us helped them forget. To them, he was gone off on a grand adventure in the big city that Callie couldn’t even remember and in a few years Sabitha likely wouldn’t recall clearly either.
On the third night, I dreamed.
I stood in a huge stone hall. The ceiling was so high that the light of the sconces ringed around the giant space left its dome in shadow. Bears of all sizes and colors lounged on furs and rushes beside low tables. Harried men and women in rags rushed to and fro to serve them. A tall youth with dark red curls caught my eye. Cortland. His clothes were in better shape than most of the servants, but his face was tired and full of fear. He carried a huge goblet toward a dais at the front of the hall where the largest bear, its fur like a snow drift, lay atop a pile of gold and treasure. As he reached it, he tripped. A huge clawed paw came down, smacking him back. Wine drenched my brother and he crumpled.
There was no sound in my dream, no smell either, but it seemed as though the Bear King roared and those around my fallen brother laughed. Then the dream changed.
Cortland, his clothing more ragged and covered in red stains, crawled onto a pile of straw beneath a staircase, every movement a picture of exhaustion. I watched him sleep, unsure if this was my fear making itself manifest. Then a bent, old woman came to him and shook him awake. She said something and Cortland nodded. He rose, though he had slept no time at all, and brushed his clothing down. The dream shifted to him standing in a room packed with scrolls and books. My twin stood at a tall desk, copying down columns of numbers under the watch a huge brown bear. The bear carried a horsehair whip, which it raised in threat every time my brother made a mistake and had to blot his work.
I felt like a ghost, helpless in my own dream, watching from a distance that was too close and yet as far as the horizon. I tried to call his name but I had no throat, no mouth. I raised my hands and saw nothing there.
Then, as though he sensed my presence, Cortland looked up. His eyes met mine and I saw him mouth my name. The bear raised its whip and I awoke with a soundless scream.
We had shared the same womb with our hearts beating side by side. I knew my twin, and I knew a true dreaming.
Mother had taken to emptying the velvet purse into an old milk jug every night and then tucking the purse away to refill with the dawn. I crept from my blankets, careful not to wake anything, and slipped into the kitchen, glad for once that the cold meant I slept in all my clothing.
Dawn was a blush on the horizon as weak pink light spilled through the single glass window in the kitchen. I gently emptied the purse one last time into the jug. The silver would be enough to get my family through multiple winters, to save them if I failed. Then I packed a loaf of bread, a skin of wine we had bought from the Beer Hall, and, remembering how thorny the Tanglewood had been, my sewing kit and a little pot of healing salve into a small bag that I tied onto my back. I slung my violin, reluctant to leave it though I was unsure what good it would do me in the wood. Its case was hard and waterproof, however, so I tucked the velvet bag into it.
I had no idea how to find the Bear King’s hall. I knew only what Cortland had told me. But I knew of the herb wives in the Tanglewood and I had hope I could get knowledge of how to find such a place from one of them. With that in mind, I took ten pieces of silver, tucking them in with my wine and bread.
The day had dawned clear and cold. I walked into the shadows of the Tanglewood and followed a narrow path that some in the village had said would lead to the home of an herb wife if one had need. The sun was high as it shown through the leafless trees overhead when I came to a small brook. The water looked clear and cold, so I stopped to drink.
A horrible keening cry started as I finished rinsing my fingers. Somewhere to my left it sounded like a bird was being horribly killed. I had no knife but I picked up a large stick and made my way toward the sound, unable to ignore the pure song of suffering I heard. Every terrible story I’d been told was in my head begging me to run from it, but pain was pain, and I knew my brother would never have ignored it.
I came to a clearing filled with brambles. A bird unlike any I had seen was trapped and flailing, the horrible sound I had heard was its desperate cries as it struggled to be free of the thorns. The bird was no bigger than two of my fists together, with crimson and gold plumage and a royal purple head. I set down my pack and my violin case and carefully picked my way toward it.
The bird’s struggles renewed as it saw me but I made what I hoped were gentle, reassuring noises. When that didn’t work, I started to hum a lullaby my mother used to soothe all her babies. The bird calmed immediately. As carefully as I could, I loosened the bramble vines from its form until it could fly free. The beautiful bird flew up into the branches and then began a thorough check of its feathers with its beak as it stared down at me.
“You are welcome,” I said. “Perhaps don’t fly so low in the future.”
The bird sang a little song and then flew away, a bright spot of gold and red among the dark branches that quickly faded from sight.
I scratched my legs getting out of the brambles, but at least one little creature was better off, I thought. I found my way back to the path, glad the Tanglewood was not all horror and magic like we’d been told.
The sun had crossed my head and started its fall toward the west when I found the little stone house. I entered through the little gate, surprised that the garden was still in full bloom of summer and air here far warmer. I knew I must have reached the herb wife’s domain. I knocked with some trepidation on the gnarled wooden door.
An old woman opened the door, her face creased with long life, her hair iron-grey and pulled into a tight ring of braids around her head.
“Unwanted child?” she said, giving me an appraising look.
For a moment I was speechless but I quickly found my tongue again as I realized what she meant.
“No, auntie,” I said, being as respectful as I could. “I seek only knowledge of a place.”
“Come in, come in,” she said.
The inside of the cottage was a single room with a large hearth on which burned a cheery fire. The smell of fresh bread and crushed herbs greeted me, the cottage not smoky at all. There was a large table that reminded me of the one at home in the middle of the room, with a bed covered in bright quilts along the far wall. Racks of herbs and plants dominated all the other walls.
I sat at the table as she urged.
“I smell wine, yes?” the old woman said, looking at my sack as I set it down beside me.
“Yes, auntie,” I said. I pulled the wine skin out. It did not matter if she drank it all, I reasoned. I could fill it with water at the next stream.
She gathered two horn cups and I filled them with wine, being stingy with my own and generous with hers.
“So what knowledge do you seek, dearie?” she said after she had drained her cup with a smack. She motioned for me to refill it.
“I want to know how to get to the Bear King’s hall,” I said, seeing no reason to lie. I had a gut feeling that lying to an herb wife would be very unwise.
“Why would anyone wish to know that?” she
asked, draining the second cup of wine as quickly as she had the first.
I refilled her cup a third time, emptying my wine skin. “I need to save my brother, who is being ill-used in the Bear King’s service,” I said.
The herb wife threw back her head and laughed until I began to worry her ribs might break. I set my mouth into a stubborn line, lifted my chin, folded my arms, and waited for her mirth to subside.
“His castle is east of the sun and west of the moon, and no one I know can reach it,” she said as her chuckles died down. She drank the last cup of wine in the same single gulp as the first two.
“Then I will keep walking until I find someone who does know,” I said. I refused to let despair take me. There would be someone in this cursed wood who knew, there had to be. If the door in the tree could get the Bear King between the wood and his castle, there would be others who had knowledge of him. I had to believe, for Cortland’s sake.
“You are so determined?” Her eyes were dark and shiny, like a crow’s.
“He’s my twin,” I said, spreading my hands.
“There is a path behind my house,” she said. “Stay on it until it forks. It will be dark by then. Take the fork that is lit with moonlight and walk until morning. You will reach a cliff. At the top of cliff is the home of the North Wind. If anyone will know where to find the Bear King’s castle, it will be him for he blows as far and wide as the whole of the world.”
I thanked her and left, eager to make my way forward. I had not known the winds were beings, but I made myself promise not to fear. Not if it would save Cortland and bring my family back together. I made my way up the path and as the herb wife had said after night had fallen and I was left with only moon and starlight to show me the way, I came to a fork. One path lay deep in shadow, the other was silver-bright in the moonlight. I took the bright path and walked until I was too tired to take another step. Afraid of the dark wood to either side of the path, I curled in place, and slept without dreams until the touch of the sun woke me.
After spreading more salve on my cuts and taking a quick bite of bread, I made my way up the path until the woods stopped and a long rocky field spread out before me. The path continued through the boulders and ended at a tall cliff. The way up was steep but I saw a narrow trail cutting its way across the cliff. With my sack and my violin secured to my back, I climbed and edged my way up the cliff. My arms ached and my hands carried new abrasions by the time I reached the top.
At the top of the cliff stood a grand pavilion. It had white walls and a deep blue top with blue and silver pennants flying from its poles. When Cortland and I were seven, papa had taken us to a faire in the city center. There had been tents and a pavilion with acrobats, fire-eaters, and a great olyphant. It had been one of the better days of my life, in that time before it all went wrong.
Pushing aside the bright memory and the pain it brought, I made my way to the pavilion. Its flaps stood open so I cautiously stepped into the well-lit interior.
Cushions of every shape and color decorated the floor. Beneath them were rugs woven in patterns that told stories. Hunters chased wiley foxes, women in veils danced for women in gold with crowns atop their heads. I lost myself for a moment looking down at the patterns beneath my dusty shoes.
“Who dares disturb me?” A voice boomed. A gust of wind hit me, strong enough to throw me out of the entrance. I twisted as I fell, rolling onto my side to protect my violin in its case.
“Please,” I said, coming up to my knees. Tears stung my eyes from the wind that kept blowing as I struggled to stay upright. “Hear me out.”
The wind stopped. As I blinked the tears from my vision, the largest man I had ever seen stepped from the pavilion. He was easily the height of two people toe to chin, with broad shoulders and hands like dinner truncheons. He wore loose pants striped with blue and silver but his chest was bare. A cloak of gossamer floated around his shoulders. His eyes refused to stay a single color as I met his gaze, changing from black to blue to silver on apparent whim.
I gathered my sack, which now held only ten pieces of precious silver, and prepared to make my case to the North Wind.
“The herb wife said you might know, mighty Wind, where the Bear King’s castle is.” I bowed my head, thinking that humility and deference might calm him.
“I know where it is. East of the sun and west of the moon. I blew that far once and had to rest for days to get home. Why would you want to go there?” His voice still hurt my ears as it boomed.
Hope bloomed in my heart. “Can you take me?” I asked. I poured the ten silver into my palm. “I can pay, I will give you all I have.”
The North Wind scowled and when he opened his mouth the winds rose again. I flew backward, catching myself at the edge of the cliff with my aching fingers, my feet dangling free over the steep drop below. The silver coins flew in all directions, scattering beyond my reach.
“Please,” I yelled again. My strength was failing, my fingers slipping on the rocks. “Please.” It was all I could manage as the storm winds stole my breath.
The wind stopped and then a huge hand pulled me back to solid ground.
“You are a stubborn girl,” the North Wind said. “But no silver will make me blow that far again, not for some human’s whim.”
“It’s not a whim,” I said, my tongue sharper than I meant. My heart raced in my chest. I had not come so far to fail Cortland, not now. “The Bear King keeps and tortures my brother, ill-using him in his service. I must go save him.”
“Your brother?” The North Wind’s voice was almost bearable now, which must have been a whisper for him.
“My twin,” I said. “Please, you have scattered my silver, but I would do anything you wish to get him back. I have to go to him.”
“I have three brothers,” the North Wind said. “I would be most angry if someone were cruel to them. But I cannot help you.”
My hands clenched into fists. “Then tell me who can,” I said, struggling not to yell.
The North Wind reached up and undid his cloak. The gossamer folds swirled around as he loosed it. “My wings are torn and I have no way to mend them. I cannot fly so far without them.”
Carefully, cautiously, I reached out, feeling the wings. They were the softest, lightest thing I had ever touched, their silky folds catching on my calloused hands. I felt the tear in them, a long rent down one side. The wings were a cloud of softness, but they had substance, edges, just as cloth did.
Relief flooded through me. Finally a problem I could solve with my own meager skills. “Fetch my sack, if you can see where you blew it to,” I said. “I can mend your wings.”
The North Wind found my sack, though not the silver. But my sewing kit was intact. I took the little box of thread, pins, and needle, and set to work inside the pavilion while the North Wind skulked around me, hovering like a nervous parent. My mother had made us all, even Cortland, learn to set a stitch so as to make the mend invisible. She had hovered over us much as the North Wind was doing now, critiquing our work, urging us to improve. I cared more for music than sewing, but those long hours of careful embroidery and mending flowed through my fingers as smoothly now as my music was wont to do.
I set the last stitch and tied off the string. I had no fine a thread worthy of the fabric so I had chosen a sky-blue skein, hoping that the colors of the pavilion would be fitting enough for the North Wind’s wing.
“There,” I said, holding up my work.
The North Wind swirled his wings away from me and back up onto his huge shoulders. He leapt from the pavilion and into the sky in a swirl. I stayed in the entrance of the pavilion where the powerful winds of his joy did not seem to reach and watched him frolic in the sky.
After a time he came back down, settling gently on the ground as though his bulk weighed nothing at all.
“All right, human,” he said. “I will take you east of the sun and west of the moon, but you might regret it.”
“That’s for me to decide,�
�� I said, my own heart lighter now. My mad quest to try to find my brother was nearly at its end, I felt. I would go to the Bear King and return his velvet purse. Then he would have no hold on Cortland and we could use the door in the oak to come home.
“Then come here into my arms and I will carry you to the Bear King,” said the North Wind, and I did exactly as he asked.
His chest was warm, his heartbeat fast like a bird’s. I curled in his giant arms and clung as the North Wind climbed into the sky and began to blow. The air grew thin and cold as we flew and I was grateful for the heat of his body if not the musky scent of his sweat as he labored to fly farther and farther.
We flew until the sun was behind us. We flew until the sun was gone and the moon was behind us. Finally, after the moonlight itself was a distant memory and even the stars had faded leaving a flat grey sky in their wake, we reached a huge meadow surrounded on all sides by a sea of thorns.
The North Wind, his chest heaving with the effort, dropped down into the meadow and let me go. I slid from his arms and stood in the meadow, looking toward where a huge stone castle loomed. A tall spire crowned it, rising from the middle and piercing the sky.
“Good luck, human,” the North Wind said. He curled up and went to sleep without even waiting for a reply.
I smiled at him and thanked him even though he couldn’t hear me. If I had flown so long and so far, I would be sleeping too, I figured.
The gates of the castle were opened. Harried looking men and women, wearing the rags they had in my dreams, dashed from meadow to castle, carrying baskets of flowers or jugs of water or bundles of wood. Bears lounged here and there, calling out spiteful encouragement to the laboring humans. No one looked twice at me as I made my way to the huge stone hall in the center of the castle grounds. I felt invisible, and invincible. On the steps of the hall I paused and removed the purse from my violin case, checking on my instrument. The strings were a little out of tune, but nothing looked worse for wear.
Carrying the blue velvet pouch, now heavy with silver again, in one hand, I entered the hall.
