The Medievals 2 Read online

  Richard returns her smile, and then his eyes meet hers as he asks, “And what about you? Are you planning to leave as well? Or will you consider staying on here in the kingdom?”

  Wendolyn considers the question for a long moment, long enough to shake Richard’s confidence perhaps just slightly.

  “Before I can answer that question, there is something I must first do. Something I must do alone,” Wendolyn says.

  Richard nods, and then the two of them walk back across the dock together.

  {Wendolyn}

  Wendolyn looks at her own face, upside down in the water.

  Snip-snip. A lock of her hair falls onto the surface of the lake and stirs the reflection of a cloud. Then another strand of hair again disturbs the water, and another. The freed threads of Wendolyn’s hair swirl slowly on the surface, performing a rippling dance for her in the low, warm light of this late spring morning.

  Wendolyn and Mulan have journeyed to the Cumbrian mountains, and they have stopped here at the lake on their way to Wendolyn’s old home.

  When she was last in Cumbria, the cold air bore sharp teeth that bit her neck and ankles, and the snowy branches had come alive as they grabbed at Wendolyn’s arms and legs. But now, as spring readies itself to shake hands with summer, the air greets her with a smile, and the branches are filled with blooms.

  Seeing the lake once more as Wendolyn and Mulan made their way through Cumbria, Wendolyn was met by the memory of Thorne cutting her hair so that she could appear like a warrior maiden, and the memory inspired her to remake herself in that image.

  In the reflection of the watery mirror, Wendolyn can see the blindfolded Mulan leaning over her, her hands guiding the blades as she cuts away the hair.

  No matter the task, it seems that the blindfold over Mulan’s eyes does not hinder her: she easily overcomes her lack of sight using touch, smell, and sound. But what must it be like to no longer be able to see the world around her for all its beauty?

  “Could the Sorcerer’s Staff restore your sight?” Wendolyn wonders aloud, knowing that the staff waits nearby for her on the saddle of the horse that carried her here from the kingdom.

  “In the hands of the Descendant, the staff is capable of a great many things, even restoring sight to the blind I would think,” Mulan responds, continuing to cut Wendolyn’s hair without pause. “But the return of my sight is not something I desire. I live in my darkness to preserve the light of the Descendants.”

  Mulan’s voice is grave, and it reminds Wendolyn of the words spoken by the Blind Shen back in Waldron’s Memory Chamber: “It is I who banished myself to the desert, not the Order. And it is I who took my sight, not the sun.” And Wendolyn also remembers that Mulan had not denied Waldron’s claim that she had once lost a Descendant that she had sworn to protect.

  “What was the Descendant’s name?” Wendolyn asks as another strand of her hair curls into the surface of the lake.

  “Kaysu,” the Blind Shen answers, and it is clear that the name lives on the edge of her tongue, always. “His name was Kaysu, and he was the son of Neeri, the sister of Mali, your great grandmother.”

  As Wendolyn maps out her ancestry in her mind using the names that the Lady of the Lake had spoken, she realizes that this Descendant, Kaysu, is a distant cousin to her.

  But Wendolyn also realizes another truth that has been hidden from her: if Mali is Wendolyn’s great grandmother, and Mulan was the protector of Mali’s nephew, then the Blind Shen must be far older than her appearance betrays.

  “Like you, the Caemon and the Shen live enduring lives, far longer than the humans,” Mulan says, responding to Wendolyn’s unvoiced question.

  “How much longer?”

  “If humans are the trees that grow in this forest around us, then we are the trees that grow in the Eternal Forest.”

  Wendolyn tries to imagine what it must be like to live as long as the leviathans spawned by the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots. At first, it sounds enticing: all the things one could do with more time, all the emotions one could feel. But then her mind turns to Mulan, and Wendolyn wonders what it must be like to live with her guilt as a constant companion in a prolonged existence.

  “How long will you punish yourself?” Wendolyn asks Mulan.

  “Until I find him again.”

  “You believe he is still alive?”

  “I cannot be certain. But until I am, I will keep searching for Kaysu. He was a child when he was taken by the Djinn, younger than you are now.”

  “The Djinn?” Wendolyn asks, unfamiliar with the word.

  “They are magical spirits that live to the north of the Silk Lands. They can shape themselves into many forms. One of them took the form of a Caemon I was training, a Caemon that I...”

  Mulan stops herself, but Wendolyn is able to interpret the meaning behind the unspoken words: the Shen had fallen in love with a Caemon.

  Wendolyn’s mind flashes to a memory that had revealed itself to her in the Memory Chamber, the suppressed memory of Bwalen assuring Danara that Thorne would be a good protector for their child because he was trained by the Blind Shen.

  “Did you love Thorne?” Wendolyn asks, the question escaping her mouth before she can consider its propriety.

  For the first time, Mulan’s thoughts keep her from her task, and she pauses as she stands over Wendolyn. In the watery reflection, Wendolyn sees emotion taking shape in the woman’s face.

  “When I joined the Order, I renounced all earthly desires,” Mulan explains solemnly. “In a moment of weakness, I broke that sacred vow, and the Descendant paid dearly for my error in judgement.”

  While Mulan does not speak the name of Thorne in her confession, Wendolyn finds the answer hidden between her words. But before Wendolyn can gain a fuller understanding of the relationship between Mulan and Thorne, the Blind Shen quickly dismisses her feelings, burying them once again in whatever place she hides them.

  “There, you are now a warrior maiden,” Mulan exclaims, putting a coda on their conversation of her past.

  Wendolyn eyes her own reflection on the surface of the lake, and she sees that Mulan is finished cutting her hair. The top is short, and only the single strand remains. Her heart is warmed by the memory of Thorne clipping her hair in just this way many years ago.

  Then her eyes follow that lone strand of hair as it curls down to her shoulder, where it touches the mark on the crest of her back, the mark put there by her own father.

  And it is as if that single strand of hair is once again pointing to her destiny.

  ◆◆◆

  The cottage that remains is only a ghost of the home that Wendolyn knew.

  The thatched roof that she had once lain upon to study the stars above is no longer there, eaten whole by the fire that Thorne had flamed. The back room where Wendolyn prepared the fish, gutting them on the scarred table before they went to market, is also gone. Amid the ruins, only two of the walls are still standing, scorched and blackened, with empty holes where doors once opened and closed.

  Nearly a full season has passed since Wendolyn last saw this place, and in that time, the ash and charred timber has been visited by snow and rain and sun, weathering the final remains of her old life. As more seasons pass, the ash and wood will return to the earth, enriching the soil below.

  With Mulan watching on, Wendolyn steps through what was once the entrance to her home, and her memory suddenly puts the cottage back together: the bearskin curtains over the windows, the fireplace, the table with two chairs, the cabinet that hid the glowing plant, her bed.

  Then, a bird flutters in through the window remade in her mind. It is a sparrow, and it bounces around the room, searching for an escape. From behind her, she hears a laugh: it is Thorne, standing in the doorway, amused by the trapped bird. He grabs a blanket and tries to shoo it from the cottage. In his attempt, the sparrow lands on Thorne’s head, and swirls about the room until he tumbles into the stack of firewood. Wendolyn smiles at Thorne as he laughs from the g
round. And then, as the bird flies out the front entrance…

  The living memory disappears, and the walls, and bed, and windows disappear with it. As does the image of Thorne.

  Wendolyn has come here to Cumbria to say goodbye to Thorne one last time. But she does know how to say goodbye to this man she believed was her father for all of her years until now.

  Her emotions for her father-pretender remain complicated, and there still exists within her the sense that Thorne betrayed her by never telling her the truth about who he was, and who she is.

  As Wendolyn considers her feelings for Thorne, Mulan steps through the doorway, joining Wendolyn among the ruins. The Blind Shen reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pouch, handing it to Wendolyn.

  “These belong to you,” Mulan says.

  Wendolyn examines the pouch, which is almost without weight in the palm of her hand. She opens it to discover something glowing from within. As Wendolyn looks closer, she realizes that the pouch holds the luminous petals from the Flower of the Descendant, the petals that Thorne sent off into the cold winter air to call for help.

  “When planted in the soil and nurtured with your blood, these petals will grow into a flower once more,” Mulan explains.

  Wendolyn reaches into the pouch, and she takes one of the glowing petals between two of her fingers. And as she touches the petal, her mind flashes to a memory, a memory deep within her:

  In a shadowy room lit only by a single candle, Bwalen slices the skin of Thorne’s finger with a knife, and his blood trickles onto the Flower of the Descendant. Then, Bwalen pricks Wendolyn’s own tiny finger, and her blood mixes with Thorne’s in the soil that holds the plant. And then, the green leaves of the young plant come alive with an iridescence.

  Suddenly, Wendolyn’s mind is taken from this memory made familiar to her in the Memory Chamber, and she is ushered to a new memory, one that she has not experienced until now:

  Wendolyn is tucked into a blanket, the night stars shining brightly above her, tiny holes poked into the vast firmament. She is in a small boat bobbing on the open ocean, and Thorne is there, rowing. The still expression on his face proves the work of a busy mind.

  Wendolyn mewls, and Thorne looks down at her in the base of the boat.

  “You are awake,” Thorne says quietly, and his pensive stare into the distance quickly transforms into a smile meant to cheer a plaintive baby.

  The features of his face are softer than what Wendolyn would come to know as she grew older. His beard shows no signs of gray. And his eyes hide any sign of worry. Wendolyn realizes that, in this moment, Thorne’s spirit has yet to be captured by the Nameless Fear.

  Thorne sets the oars down and gently takes Wendolyn into his arms. He rocks her for a moment, whispering, “Do not cry, little one. Do not cry.”

  But Wendolyn continues to cry.

  “Is that not the way?” Thorne asks solicitously, wanting only to calm her.

  He tries another position, turning Wendolyn in his arms, but still Wendolyn grows even more querulous, her cries now sounding out over the starlit waters.

  “Here,” Thorne says, pulling her close to his own chest now. Then, he begins to softly sing: “Fire fairies coming out, fire fairies dance about, bringing us your light...”

  As he sings, Thorne slowly moves Wendolyn’s tiny body around his chest and shoulders, as if he is searching for just the right positioning. Then, he tucks her head between his chin and his chest, the very spot that Wendolyn would come to know as her sanctuary. And Wendolyn stops crying.

  “There it is,” Thorne whispers. “You are safe there.”

  After a long moment in which Wendolyn can hear the beating of Thorne’s heart, Thorne removes Wendolyn from her newfound sanctuary so that he can look into her eyes.

  “I will tell you this now, before you understand the meaning behind my words,” Thorne begins, his eyes looking deeply into Wendolyn. “I have been married to this task by the Order, and so I will perform my duties as your protector. I will shield you, the daughter of Bwalen and Danara, the Descendant of Merlin, against all evils that wish to harm you. And I will do this until all the blood has left my body. But while I know that I can protect you, and while I can teach you the ways of the Order, I fear that I cannot offer you what you may come to need most in this world.”

  Thorne pauses, emotion beginning to sew itself into his words.

  “I do not know how to raise a child,” he confesses. “I do not know how to be a father. I am a man of many skills, but I am afraid such a skill as this does not live within me. If I am honest with you, this is a twist of fate I could not have foreseen, and it is a fate for which I am not prepared. And so I am asking you now, perhaps unfairly so, to forgive me all my failings to come.”

  With tears forming in his eyes, Thorne leans in and kisses Wendolyn on her forehead, and then…

  Wendolyn’s mind pulls her out of the memory, leaving her standing there in the middle of the half-gone cottage, caught in a downward drift of light that cuts through the forest trees.

  Tears rush in. Wendolyn’s chest tightens. Her heaving breaths come quickly, and without pause.

  And then she is on her knees, sobbing, abandoning herself to emotions that have suddenly taken over her entire body. These are ancient emotions she did not realize were hiding deep within her, just as this memory of Thorne has been hiding inside her mind all of her life.

  Mulan kneels down next to Wendolyn among the dried ash and rubs her hand gently on Wendolyn’s back, soothing her.

  “I loved him,” Wendolyn tries to say, although her throat is closed up, and she is not certain which words actually survived.

  “He knew that,” Mulan assures Wendolyn.

  Wendolyn continues to weep, her heart torturing her with this newfound understanding that Thorne had given every piece of himself to her, that he had devoted his life to her in a way that was rare and true.

  “He was my father,” Wendolyn manages.

  And as the words leave her mouth, she feels the full weight of their meaning, embroidered with all of the love and forgiveness that she can offer.

  With Mulan’s hand still rubbing the small of her back, Wendolyn begins to feel her body calming. Her breathing comes more slowly, bringing more air to her lungs. And her heart and mind once again find their centers.

  After a few moments, Wendolyn stands. And Mulan stands with her, wrapping her arms around Wendolyn to embrace her.

  “He loved you, too, in his own way. You must know that,” Mulan says.

  “I know,” Wendolyn nods.

  Then, as Mulan continues to hug Wendolyn close, Wendolyn hears a familiar sound. It is the neighing of a horse. But not just any horse.

  She turns her head away from the Blind Shen and there, standing within the shade of the trees, is Zongshi. Her always-horse.

  Wendolyn runs to the horse and hugs its neck, and he licks her in return.

  “Zongshi, how--?” Wendolyn starts to ask, and then she sees the answer to her question waiting not far behind the beautiful white horse.

  Her old friends from the village are standing there in the leaf-dappled sunlight: Leeta, Etan, Landon, and even Galen.

  “He came to the village after you disappeared, searching for help,” Leeta explains. “All of us, the entire village, we came searching for you, only to find the cottage burned.”

  “We were so worried about you,” Etan says, and Landon nods in agreement.

  “Wendolyn,” Leeta starts, her hands pulling at her own shirt as if she knows not what to do with them. “I said things…”

  In the silence that chases after Leeta’s unfinished thought, Wendolyn remembers the things Leeta said back at Sanctuary Rock: “Witch. The witch has found us.”

  But Wendolyn realizes that the scars from those words have long since healed.

  “It is okay, Leeta,” Wendolyn assures her.

  “No, it was not. And I am sorry,” Leeta says, her whole heart in the apology.

  Then
, Galen hesitantly steps forward, clearing his throat: “Me, too. We are all sorry.”

  She can tell that it is not an easy gesture for Galen, but it is a sincere one.

  Wendolyn nods, wordlessly accepting their apologies.

  “Thank you for bringing my horse back to me,” Wendolyn says with a grateful smile.

  Then, she gives Zongshi another hug, this time nuzzling her nose against his cheek. And for a moment, she feels as if Thorne is with her here once again.

  ◆◆◆

  Wendolyn holds the Sorcerer’s Staff out before her, her fingers feeling the etchings along the timber, like an ancient message intended for her.

  She is still acquainting herself with the staff: its texture, its thickness, its secrets. And she knows that, even though she was able to use the staff to defeat Waldron, she has much to learn about the extent of its powers.

  She is standing beneath the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots, Mulan at her side, Truscans filling the vast canopy.

  In front of Wendolyn, floating in the River of Tears that wends its way through the massive roots of the immense tree, is the Lady of the Lake, with rays of warm evening sunlight angling through her lucid body. The Lady of the Lake is waiting with anticipation. She is waiting for Wendolyn to free her from her watery hold.

  Wendolyn and Mulan arrived at the Tree of Ten Thousand Roots in the early afternoon, Wendolyn having travelled here on the back of Zongshi. (As they passed through the Mori Gates into the Beyond, Wendolyn was pleased by the sight of the Northern Barrier already being knocked down in accordance with Richard’s decree.) Upon seeing the Lady of the Lake, Wendolyn offered to use the powers of the staff to release her great ancestor from Merlin’s spell that had fettered her to the water for centuries, and the Lady of the Lake accepted.

  But while Wendolyn had eagerly made the proposal, she is now uncertain whether she is actually capable of reversing a spell cast long ago by a magical being far greater and wiser than she is. And the Lady of the Lake notices Wendolyn’s sudden infection of doubt.

  “It is within you,” the Lady of the Lake assures her.