Red Mantle

by Maria Turtschaninoff

  “Ain’t had such fine food all summer,” he said, and slurped down the hot porridge. “These here houses have given me more to eat than I managed to scrape together from ten villages.” He peered at me from over the edge of his bowl. “I could barely find this place, you know. The paths that I knew should be there in the forest had faded and disappeared. But my wife’s mother was from Sáru, so I knew the village was here, oh yes. I didn’t give up. Followed the river, I did, and then on to the west. Kept pushing on slowly. There was something resisting, but you can’t keep out the likes of me. No soldiers have bothered me here, oh no. Not like on the country roads. Not like in them other villages.”

  I wanted to get up and leave. I wanted to block out his truths. Deep down though, Sister O, I already knew. Something prevented me from leaving, and I continued husking peas without looking up. “Are there many soldiers on the roads then?” I asked, almost managing to maintain composure in my voice.

  He scoffed, but it sounded almost like a laugh. “Many? An honest man can’t walk from one crossroads to another without bumping into them, being ridden down and struck with the broad side of a sword. They tend to leave the likes of me in peace though. They’ve already taken everything I got. The nádor took it all.” He spat on the ground, and I looked up in surprise. Nobody dares criticize the nádor openly. One never knows who might be listening. “He took my farm and my animals when I couldn’t pay my taxes. But the harvest had failed—what could I do? So we took to the road, my wife and daughter and I. Spring before last, it was.”

  I quickly looked down at my peas again. The husks were green and healthy, and the peas I squeezed out of them were round and sweet. The pig and goats would get the husks, and I would dry the peas by the hearth, where the animals could not reach them.

  “Now I’m the only one left. Does the young lady have any more of that cheese?”

  I got up, spilling pea husks from my lap, and ran inside for more cheese. When I came out again I could not sit down and remained standing with arms crossed. The beggar gobbled up the cheese in several large bites and then carefully picked every crumb out of his beard.

  “Life is hard in the villages, you know. Soldiers hound them. Count every hen, measure every field, weigh every sack of flour. The taxes are gonna be brutal this autumn. Mark my words.” He peered at me with shrewd eyes. “But not here. No, the young lady sees to that.”

  “And what do you know about that?” I snapped.

  “I may be old and I may be poor,” he said, and sucked air through his teeth in a particularly unpleasant way. “But there ain’t nothing wrong with my nose. The young lady smells, she does. Can’t hide the smell from the likes of me.”

  I did not understand what he meant at the time. But one night, as I was lying awake, it struck me that Mother had also sniffed me on occasion. My powers, the things that I do, leave a scent on me, and Mother, who is clearly aware of much more than I gave her credit for, has recognized it. I always thought she was smelling the lavender that I keep with my clothes. Now I know the truth.

  Others recognize it too, and not only women. It is a great surprise—but I see now that there are many ways in which I have been mistaken.

  ϖ

  My homeland is suffering, Venerable Mother. Suddenly everything is overwhelming and difficult—the world is too vast. There is so much to be done. I was feeling content with my school, but now I see that it is not nearly enough.

  I ask myself: what would Sister O do? What would the Venerable Mother advise me? And the answer is here somewhere, very close. For I know that you would do something and not simply crawl into a hole and hide, like the hare that hopes the fox will carry on by.

  The fox is approaching ever nearer, already sniffing the mouth of the burrow, as I lie inside quivering with fear.

  Respectfully,

  AUTUMN

  My dear Ennike Rose,

  The harvest is over, and soon it will be time to open the school again. Many families remain busy with various tasks, and the harvest festival is still to come. But when all that is done, finally I will be able to stand on the crest of the hill again and see my little students come traipsing up the grassy slope. Frost has started to cover the grass in the mornings. Autumn certainly is coming early this year, and, alas, the frost took all our winter apples. They did not have enough time to ripen.

  Speaking of which, do you know what I have been missing of late? Lemons! It is far too cold here for lemon trees. I remember how you and I used to grimace when Jai would sink her teeth into the sour yellow rind, but lemons add a wonderful flavor to cooking. Sister Ers’s succulent whole-roasted chicken stuffed with lemons, olives and thyme! Oh, sometimes I long for Abbey food so intensely that my mouth waters. We always used to get so many delicious treats in the autumn. Well, you still do, of course. Sister Ers’s honey and nut cakes! And that fish stew with mussels and korr-root and masses of spices . . .

  As thanks for relieving Feira’s toothache enough for Jannarl to help pull her tooth out, Haiman gave me some coarse brown linen that I am trying to sew into a pair of trousers for myself. Mother refuses to help because she is still of the opinion that I ought to wear only skirts and braid my hair. She has come to terms with everything else by now, but not my appearance. At least she has stopped picking on me for it. She has become very fatigued over harvest time; her cough shows no signs of improvement and none of the teas I make her help. Sometimes there is a nasty wheezing sound when she breathes. I wish Sister Nar were here to advise me. And how I wish Jai were here with her nimble fingers! She would have finished sewing these trousers long ago. I have been struggling with them every evening for several days now. There is always a point at which the frustration becomes too much for me, and I toss my sewing in a corner and swear never to touch it again. And yet I must have a new pair of trousers, for my old ones are too worn and will not survive another winter.

  However, this was not at all what I intended to write about. Yesterday, early in the morning, I went to my little schoolhouse for the first time in a while. I wanted to check that all was as it should be before leaving it unattended for the first time. My parents are going to the market that takes place after harvest festival in the village of Murik, and they want me to go with them while the school is still closed. My father’s sister married into a large farmstead in Murik, where her son Bernáti has taken over the farm. He is married to Jannarl’s sister, so Jannarl and Náraes want to come as well.

  Murik, which lies two days’ walk to the west, is a much larger village than Jóla or Sáru, and its market attracts tradesmen from near and far. Seeing as no one can find their way to our villages these days, we are in want of certain things. Father needs a new ax head, Mother a new kettle. Náraes hopes to buy some sheep, for we are in desperate need of wool for clothes. I want to buy more paper and ink, as usual. A little sugar would be nice, if there is any to be found, and our salt supply is nearly finished. Salt can only be bought from the nádor’s official merchants, whose store is strongly guarded by soldiers. I feel a little uneasy about this journey, but I understand that it is necessary.

  Anyway, I was going to write about what happened yesterday. Off I went to my school through the frosty grass, past wild-rose bushes heavy with rosehips. I was wearing gloves that Mother had knit for me, and my red mantle, and my boots.

  The rays of the autumn sun fell on my frost-covered schoolhouse, making it glitter like the palace of Irindibul. To my surprise, smoke was streaming from the chimney. I hurried over and threw open the door.

  “Hello? Who is there?” I called sternly.

  The room smelled of smoke and fresh timber. I stopped in the doorway, astonished. In the center of the room was a long table with benches, yet it was a most peculiar table, with a raised edge all the way around, like a shallow box.

  “It’s only me, Maresi,” came a quiet voice.

  Kárun was standing over by the fireplace and stacking firewood. He brushed bark from his hands and smiled at me. He was we
aring a new shirt, a blue one, which he must have bought in Irindibul. It made him look foreign. Like a blue bird that flew here instead of south for the winter. His shirtsleeves were rolled up. I had forgotten how broad his shoulders are. The blue brought out the warm color of his eyes. I was happy to see him, I must admit. I misjudged him when I met him that first spring. He is a good man.

  “Kárun!” I exclaimed. “You are back!” I beamed at him, which immediately made him smile too.

  “Well, I’ve been back a while already, but I’ve been busy here. Wanted to arrange a few things before it was time for you to open the school again.” He nodded at the table. “It’s not really finished yet.”

  “It is very handsome!” I said, and admired the beautiful light-wood table. “But why is the edge like this?”

  “I heard tell that the rich boys’ teachers in Irindibul have them practice their writing in sand. So I got a few sacks of fine sand from the riverbanks down by Lady Falls.” His enthusiasm was growing as he spoke. “And that’s why I built these edges. You can fill the space between them with sand, and then the children can write with sticks. And I’ll build a couple of light covers for the table, so it can also be used as normal when they’re doing something else.”

  “Kárun!” I exclaimed, too amazed and astonished to say anything else.

  “Is it a very silly idea? Perhaps that’s not how you teach writing at all.” He crossed his arms over his chest. I rushed over to him and touched him on the arm.

  “It is a wonderful idea,” I said, unable to prevent the tears from welling up in my eyes. “It has been such a headache figuring out how they might practice writing letters and words. This is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  Kárun looked down at my hand on his arm. I quickly removed it. We were standing very close to one another. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. I could clearly see the beard stubble on his chin. He looked at me, and I felt my cheeks start to heat up. Suddenly I wished I had left my hand where it was.

  “I built some shelves over here,” he said, without breaking eye contact. “And there’s a few things I bought in Irindibul.”

  I looked over at the woodpile. Behind it stood a slender, chestnut-brown bookshelf. On one of the shelves was an abacus with brightly colored beads, painted in the typical ornate patterns of Irindibul. But I paid little attention to that, for beside it were two books! I let out a cry and rushed over to them. Two leather-bound books, Ennike! I was speechless as I ran my fingers over the spines. I carefully pulled out first one, then the other, opened them and read the beautiful handwritten title pages. One was entitled Sovereigns of Urundien and Their Reigns, and the other thinner book was called Four Plays by Andero and a Selection of Ofoli’s Wisdoms and Aphorisms. Brand-new books. Books I had never even heard of—that not even Sister O knows of. I could hardly wait to sit down and start reading.

  But you know the price of a book, Ennike. You know how much work goes into every single page.

  “There wasn’t much to choose from,” Kárun said from behind me. “I hope these can be of some use.”

  I swallowed a few times before turning around.

  “This is too much,” I said, and looked up at him. “You must have spent all your earnings on these books and the abacus. I cannot accept them.”

  “They’re not for you,” he replied, looking me straight in the eye. “They’re for the school.”

  And I could not argue with that.

  “Besides, they weren’t all that expensive,” he said softly, and started pulling on his leather waistcoat. “Now I’ll go out and make a cover for the table. If you think it’s a good idea.”

  I am convinced that he was lying about the books not being expensive, but I did not say so. I told him that the sand-filled table was an excellent idea, and I would be very grateful if he built a cover. He pulled on the gloves I had made him and went outside. It felt remarkably cool inside, despite the fire. Taking a look around, I discovered something I had not seen before. Next to the far wall, by the fireplace, a mattress was laid out on the bare floor. A coarse blanket lay on top of it. Was Kárun sleeping in the school? And if so, why? But I had no time to think about it. I grabbed the books, hugged them to my breast and rushed home with such haste that I stumbled several times and nearly fell. I hid in my room and sat reading late into the night, and I have been reading all day today. Mother and Father can say what they like. To read a book I have never read before, to see completely new words and discover new thoughts and worlds—I have missed it so much, Ennike! I must write and tell Jai about it also, for I know she would understand how I feel. Or maybe you could read her that last part about the books, so that I can continue reading now instead.

  But you could leave out some of the things I wrote about Kárun.

  Yours,

  Venerable Sister O,

  I have two new books! Or rather, the school has two new books. They are from Irindibul and are written in the language shared by Rovas and Irindibul. One is a rather thin volume containing four short plays by a man named Andero, who I believe lived around a hundred years ago. They are entertaining as stories. I am pleased to have some plays to teach my pupils about drama, and perhaps even stage a little performance. But the second section of the book is of greater interest to me because it contains the aphorisms and wisdoms of a man by name of Ofoli, with exquisite illustrations. Have you heard of him? I am studying them carefully, for it seems that a greater, more complex truth is hiding among his often banal and commonplace maxims.

  The larger book, bound in midnight-black leather, is called Sovereigns of Urundien and Their Reigns and is very informative. I realize that it must have been commissioned by some monarch or other, and accordingly I am taking some of its claims with a grain of salt. For example, I hardly believe that a hundred thousand Lavorian warriors stood against Bendiro’s army during the time of Arra and Surando. Lavora was a small land and would have struggled to mobilize so many men. But I am learning much of our realm, most of which is new to me. There are maps also—the first I have seen that include my province. The book contains a list of sovereigns, several myths about the conquest and rise of Urundien, who married whom and why, how various regions were conquered (or in some case, like Lavora, escaped conquest), and the great achievements of various rulers. One interesting thing I have learned is that Evendilana, who is named in the legend of Arra in Erva’s book, does seem to have been a real person. As a woman, her mention is only brief, but fascinating and utterly perplexing.

  When Bendiro the Truthful perished, his daughter Evendilana was the only heir to the throne. For a time the realm was governed by Bendiro’s second wife and his principal adviser, the Duke of Marena. The Princess was expected to marry the Duke but thenceforth came to rule the kingdom in her own right for ten years. It was said that she was greatly skilled in all musical instruments and that her playing could bring grown men to tears. Thereafter the land was ruled by Kamarel the Righteous, who conquered the Tungarian mountains and the nine silver mines.

  Curiously, it does not say that Evendilana died when her rule ended. The deaths of all other sovereigns have been carefully recorded. Neither does it say that she married Kamarel, for the book goes on to mention his three wives and the children he had with them. It would appear that Evendilana was Bendiro’s daughter with his first wife, who is mentioned a little earlier in the text.

  On his twenty-first birthday, Bendiro wed Venna, daughter of a governor of the province of Rovas, thus sealing the union between the poor province and mighty kingdom. Venna was known for her beauty, but she was against the alliance, more between Rovas and Urundien than between her and Bendiro, and she perished a few years after marriage. Bendiro then married the daughter of his aunt’s husband’s sister, Tarenna of Tandari. She brought thirty horses, seven warships and a peacock with her into the marriage.

  This means that Evendilana, the unfortunate little princess from the stories, has Rovasian blood! This discovery has delighted me greatl
y.

  Your novice,

  Dearest Jai,

  So much has happened since I wrote to you last. I still have not fully recovered. All the things I have seen and experienced are hugely important, but I do not yet know how to act, nor what they mean for me or for Rovas.

  As Ennike may have told you, Father and Mother wanted to go to the Murik market to buy various items, and seeing as Jannarl’s sister also lives in Murik, Jannarl and Náraes came along too. Traveling in a big group felt safer. Before setting off I visited the schoolhouse with some bed linen the villagers had given me as payment for teaching. Since Kárun donated the furniture and books for the school, I thought it was the least I could do in return. It seems that he is currently living in the school while he makes the final preparations for winter, and I can understand why. His own cabin is of the old style, with a smoke hatch and no proper chimney, and it is dark and drafty. The autumn has been very cold and there is frost every night. When I arrived at the school Kárun was nowhere to be seen, but a high, neat pile of firewood was stacked against the eastern wall. I made his bed and left a little food on the table: some boiled eggs, rye bread and goat cheese I had made myself. After all, he is a bachelor without farmland, and I imagine that his diet is rather monotonous.

  We set off at dawn six days ago. Gray Lady pulled a little cart we had borrowed, while I walked by her head with my staff as support. I was wearing the new trousers I had sewn. They do not fit well, but at least they are warm and have no holes. But I had made an effort to look presentable, as the market is a festive occasion. I chose a day with somewhat milder weather to wash my body and hair with homemade soap in a tub of heated water in the barn. I had used my Abbey comb to tame my hair. I was wearing a linen blouse that Náraes had embroidered, a gray sweater Mother had knit and the boots Kárun had given me. I also had on a headscarf of fine wool that I had received as payment for teaching, and Mother’s white, black and red belt around my waist. Your red cloak is still the finest thing I own, and no one else in Rovas has anything to compare.