Roses (19 page)

“Dousal all heard bout yur going to the Forest Village too,” said Isole.

It was the day Owaine was to leave, and she had turned up that morning for a surprise visit that acutally surprised no one. Sitting by the fire in the cottage, she had been chattering to her father about nothing all afternoon, waylaying his packing.

“Yur be famous around all the Hillands soon, Papa. Imwane used to be a tiny, unknown village. Yur made it known to all.”

“It be Beauty that’s done that.”

The fire spat and Isole poked at it.

“I should remind yur to be careful on yur travels, Papa. Manwelly tells me it be dangerous outside the Hillands. Be sure to remember yur grandchildren while yur be gone also.”

The weak-looking children blinked at him from where they were crouching by the fire.

“I can never forget them,” muttered Owaine, gathering together his saddlebags.

Beauty was outside readying Sable and Owaine carried his luggage to her. She had been very quiet all morning, performing her chores with a solemn demeanor that she hoped he had not noticed.

“Everything is set,” she said, stepping away and biting on her thumb.

Champ was loitering behind her, his ears turned back.

“Yur be upset, Beauty. Champ tells me so.”

“Well, of course.”

The horses to be sold were waiting in a long line by the temple, already tethered together and minded by Hally until Owaine was packed and ready to leave.

“I wishes yur could come with me, child. Yur knows that, don’t yur?”

She nodded.

“Beauty . . . be there anything that I can buy you from the Forest Villages?”

“I suspect that Isole has already asked you for ribbons.”

“Yes ’em.”

“I only ask that you come back soon.”

He smiled at her and stroked the top of her smooth hair.

“Would yur like dresses or ribbons or pearls?”

Beauty laughed. “I want nothing.”

But Owaine did not look satisfied. “I’ll find yur something, child. Those sticks be yurs anyway, not mine.”

Isole and the weak-looking children came out to say their goodbyes, while Owaine heaved himself into Sable’s saddle and pointed the mare in the direction of the temple.

“Take care, Beauty. I be back with yur soon.”

She nodded; she could not speak, and then he was gone.

She had not been without Owaine for seasons and seasons, and she surprised herself with how deeply she felt the loss. As soon as he was gone, Isole promptly left, towing the children behind her, without even a parting word; and then Beauty was very alone.

“Champ,” she whispered that evening, stepping out of the cottage after a long, solitary dinner.

He was waiting for her and trotted over as she appeared, placing his large head in her open arms. She traced the outline of his white blaze with her forefinger, tickling the whorl in the middle of his forehead. He sighed, pushing his soft muzzle against her silver chest.

She looked up at the autumn sky smattered with stars that clustered about a full moon. She had always noticed how wide and clear the sky was in the Hillands compared to the foggy narrowness of Sago. She thought of Owaine somewhere on the road, camping in a shepherd’s hut or under the shelter of a tree.

She kissed Champ’s nose and reluctantly went back inside the cottage.

That night she dreamt of the red rose, and gray shadows crowded her mind. She awoke in the early hours of the morning and she was fearful.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

The Gray Shadow

A
moon-cycle passed, and Beauty spent the chilly days tending horses and keeping the cottage clean. She spoke little to anyone and felt painfully lonely. Champ, at least, was able to offer her some comfort, but she could not shake off a sense of dread that grew steadily darker within her. Her dreams were worsening each night and the forest felt as if it were creeping nearer. She caught herself staring at it sometimes and had to quickly look away.

One morning, Hally brought her a message as she worked with a wild dun mare in the valley. The mare was newly caught by Imwane rustlers and in the early stages of training. Beauty was trying to get her used to human company and she was sitting in front of her pen, cleaning tack and singing Hilland songs quietly. The mare’s dull golden sides had once heaved with terrified, hurried breaths, but listening to Beauty’s soft voice had helped her to gradually calm down. She no longer cantered in agitated circles or bucked to be let out. A few days from now, Beauty planned to try grooming her and
depending on how the mare received that, she would know when she could begin breaking her.

“Beauty! Beauty! Yur won’t believe it!”

The mare’s head shot up and she flattened her ears, bucking and shying away to the other side of her pen.

Beauty grimaced.

“I’m sorry for that, but yur have to hear this,” puffed Hally, running to her side. He held out a piece of paper to her and she took it, pretending to read the writing.

“Ain’t yur rejoiced?”

“Yes . . .”

“I can’t barely believe that man gone and bought
all
the horses. I were hopeful for five or six, but all!”

Beauty gasped. “Owaine is on his way back?”

“Yes ’em, so he says there.”

She grinned. “Thank you for this information. I truly am overjoyed.”

Hally grinned back. “Sorry ’bout the mare, but yur see now why I rushed. I hope Owaine’s gone and sold them for a good price. Oh, it’s better than any one of us thought!”

Hally continued to babble, but something over his shoulder caught Beauty’s eye. There was movement in the depths of the dark forest that bled over this side of the valley, and suddenly a bird screeched. A white-feathered thing soared into the air, disappearing into the wet sky. The dun mare whinnied shrilly and Beauty shuddered.

“It be cold and getting colder,” said Hally.

“Yes, I have noticed.” Beauty looked at the blank sky behind him.

“I be seeing yur, Beauty.” Hally nodded a farewell before hurrying off to spread the news.

“Champ!”

The stallion trotted over to Beauty and she leaned against him, her heart beating quickly.

“Another moon-cycle and he will be back,” she said, staring at the forest.

She had dreamt of strange things every night since Owaine left and she longed for his safe return. She hoped that he returned before . . . before whatever was going to happen came to be.

The harsh Hilland winter arrived early and a moon-cycle after she had received the message about Owaine, Beauty was chopping wood when snowflakes began to fall. They fluttered from the gaping sky like pearly droplets, quickly layering on the ground. She watched them, her chest heavy with foreboding, as they came thicker and faster.

It had been bitterly cold lately, and the villagers had prayed at every ceremony in the temple that the snow would hold off. In this weather the hills would be treacherous and sleeping in little shelter would be almost impossible. Beauty hoped that Owaine had not set out from town yet and could wait out the snow there. She pleaded to the sky to wait until he returned, but inside, she knew winter was here to stay.

Throwing down her axe, she ran to the next valley. It was eerily deserted and she began herding the horses to a shelter. The rest of the men must have finished already and taken refuge for the night. The snow was increasing rapidly and already coating the ground in a film of white. There were clumps in Champ’s mane and tail, and she tried to put him away with the other horses but he would not let her.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Freeze then!”

But she knew he would not and he waited outside for her as he always did.

She moved around the cottage restlessly, picking up and replacing pots and pans and anything that came within her reach. Her eyes flicked constantly to the dark windows, which were gradually becoming white. Wind grated against the walls and whistled and roared outside. The fire was low in the grate and she should have been preparing dinner, but she did not feel hungry.

Taking a candle, she opened the door and peered out, seeing snow everywhere. The blustery gale dragged at her flame before blowing it out, and a biting chill tore through her furs and hit her to the bone. She squinted through the blizzard looking for Champ and saw him standing hunched under a tree down the hillside. He would be safe there, but she worried all the same. With great effort she closed the door once more and retreated into the cottage.

She felt feverish. Her forehead burned and her hands had turned glittering silver. She thought that she must be dreaming. Grabbing an extra blanket, she stumbled up the ladder to the attic and tumbled onto her bedroll. She pulled the covers over her, her head woozy, and she thought she saw her amulet swinging above her before she was pulled into a dark sleep.

She dreamt of the red rose once again and it called to her. The blood of death. The blood of battle. She remembered hearing something long ago about a war that lasted generations and painted Pervorocco scarlet red with bloodshed. The rose in her dream was suddenly crowded with gray shadows that were drawing near. They were upon it, chasing it. She woke to the roar of a beast. She was drenched in sweat and gasping. Above her, hanging from the rusty nail, the amulet was deadly still.

Throwing off her covers, she scrambled down the ladder and threw open the cottage door once more. The cold hit her with a rush and a vision came to her clearly. At the top of the hill, outside the temple of Imwane, stood a gray shadow. The State officials had found her, and they were led by Eli.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

The Proposal

B
eauty knew better than to try and run, so she waited instead. The unceasing whirling of the blizzard had stopped and flakes now fell steadily. The ground was thick with snow, fresh and blistering white. It crumpled beneath her feet as she went to retrieve Champ, and it almost leaked over the top of her boots.

As golden dawn reached over the hills, she hand-fed Champ maize, as she used to when he was a sickly colt. He enjoyed it immensely and licked her fingers as they both shivered in the gnawing chill.

Beauty concentrated on tending to her horse to keep herself calm. She allowed herself one glance at the temple but that was all. She thought that she saw shadows around it, but she could not be sure.

After an hour, villagers began to emerge from their cottages and clear paths to their doors. Children wandered out to play, dogs scrambled in the whiteness barking, the men shouted to one another about a day off work, and the gray shadow traveled down the hillside.

Beauty saw it right away but it took the villagers a little longer to notice. Someone yelled and several women screamed, and then there was a mad dash in a white flurry as people ran to their cottages. The thundering of the State officials’ horses echoed across the valley and their gray uniforms blazed in the icy clear.

“We claim this villages as ours!” boomed a voice. “Come out of your houses at once!”

There were more screams and cries and shouting.

The State officials charged into the center of Imwane where Hally’s house stood, brandishing their sabers and rifles. There were twenty of them in all—not many to fight against, but Hillanders did not fight. They did not even own weapons.

“Come out!” she heard Eli yell.

He rode at the head of the troop, a sword raised in one hand and a rifle in the other. He wore the gray State uniform, but he had a golden sash across his shoulders and several badges on his lapel. He had grown into a handsome, terrible, man, as Beauty always knew he would.

“I said, come out!”

A shot was fired into the air, and those outside threw themselves on the ground, crying.

“What be the meaning of this?” cried Hally, striding from his cottage. He stared at the State officials in shock and Duna cowered behind him.

“Are you the leader here?” Eli asked.

“Y-yes ’em.”

“I am claiming this village as my own until you hand over a young woman to me. Her name is Beauty House of Rose and I have learned that she is here.”

There were gasps.

“There be no one—”

“I warn you, punishment is death.” Eli pointed his rifle at Hally and Duna screeched.

“P-p-please,” stammered Hally. “Have mercy on us, we be—” He paused and stared.

Everyone turned to see Beauty and Champ. She walked slowly and carefully in the snow toward them, her hand pressed to her horse’s neck.

“I believe you are looking for me.”

She did not feel as brave as she looked—her teeth ached she was clenching them so fiercely.

Eli smiled and let out a long, deep breath. “You have been hard to find.”

“I did not want to be found.”

Beauty glanced at the terrified villagers around her. “Leave these people, they have done nothing wrong.”

Eli turned to his troops. “Surround the village. No one goes anywhere until I say so. I will speak with you,” he pointed at Beauty. “Alone.”

She turned and began walking away.

“Stop!” Eli screeched.

“If you wish to speak to me, then you shall be invited into my cottage. It is the Hilland way.”