Authors: Heather Tomlinson
“What's that?” Another dark head joined the first.
In the far corner of the garden, swan-Doucette seized a bramble cane in her beak and pulled until the branch came free. Lifting her neck high, she dragged her prize to the garden's waste pile.
She waddled back to the bramble bush, caught another branch, and tugged.
“A swan's clearing our garden,” Eri said.
Jaume said nothing.
Eri frowned. “Have you ever seen the like?”
Doucette deposited another branch on the growing waste pile. She arched her neck, fanned her wings, and gave a plaintive, barking honk.
Do you remember?
She pleaded silently with the tall figure at the window.
Do you remember how you once cleared brambles for my sake?
“No,” Jaume said, and disappeared from view. Eri lingered at the window while the swan dismantled the bush, branch by thorny branch.
Inside the house, voices called. Footsteps pounded up and down the stairs. As the morning advanced, other faces watched from other windows, but none of Jaume's brothers interrupted the strange gardener's labor.
When Doucette finished her task, she preened her feathers. Thorns had pierced her skin and stung like dots of fire. As patiently as she had pulled apart and finally uprooted the bramble, she cleared her gray-tipped feathers of the prickly stems, blood, and dirt.
No one ventured into the garden.
Neck arched, she paraded around the chestnut tree, past the tall blue irises, the fragrant lilies. Jaume had recognized her. She knew it, though the set of his face had told her he was angry and hurt. She didn't blame him, nor did that change what she needed to do.
The garden door remained closed.
Then Doucette heard the tramp of many feet in the street outside. A horn sounded a flurry of silver notes: a wedding march. Fists pounded on the front door.
Had the groom's party come to collect him? If so, she had less time than she thought.
Shaded by a chestnut tree, Doucette changed. The familiar intoxication flooded her, tempting her to fly high and far. She resisted. If a sorceress needed her mind on her spells, a courting woman had better keep her eyes on her beloved.
In duck form, she flapped out of the garden to catch the procession. The man with the horn went first, flanked by a smiling Na Eleno and an older man Doucette thought must be Jaume's father, Om Bernat. Dressed in fine wool tunics, Jaume and his brothers followed.
Duck-Doucette peered down at them. Jaume walked at a measured pace. Next to him, Tinou carried his shoulders stiffly. A group of boisterous young men, including Vitor, ranged around them, but the joking and laughter didn't touch either Jaume or Tinou. Both seemed lost in their own thoughts.
Eri, the youngest, lagged behind the rest. He craned his neck to follow the whistling noise of Doucette's wings.
She spied their destination. In the square by the guild hall, the trestle tables that vendors used on market day had been set end to end and decorated with flowers. Approaching from another direction, a line of festively dressed women sang as they walked.
Doucette folded her wings and plummeted into the middle of the street, fifty paces from the head of Jaume's procession. She scraped at the dirt with one webbed foot and jabbed her beak into the ground. Again and again, she dug, though to no great effect. The street had been packed hard by generations of feet and cart wheels. A metal blade would have had difficulty cutting through it; a duck's beak was completely unsuited to the task. She ignored the pain and worked harder.
The leader pointed his horn at Doucette. “Hey there,” he said. “A digging duck!”
“Go back to your pond, silly thing.” Na Eleno flapped her skirts.
Doucette held her ground.
“The bird's crazed.” Tinou would have kicked her aside, but Jaume held him back.
“No. Not crazed.”
“Then what?”
Jaume shook his head.
“An ill omen for your wedding day, Brother,” Tinou said, his voice bitter.
Doucette fixed Jaume with her round duck eyes.
Do you remember?
she asked without words.
Do you remember how you dug a pond for my sake?
“No,” Jaume said, but his brows knitted together and his footsteps slowed.
Doucette quacked forlornly. So close. He had almost softened. He had almost stopped.
The rest of Jaume's party gave Doucette a wide berth, except for one young man who bent down to catch her. She flapped her wings and snapped her beak in his face. To the taunts of the others, the man yelped and jumped back as if she had taken off his nose.
Eri shooed the rest of the men forward. Several times, he turned to watch the duck until the street curved around the side of the guild hall and he, too, disappeared.
Doucette folded her wings and changed again. Once more she would remind Jaume of his promise, and then she would abide by his decision.
The groom's procession met the bride's in the square. Little Beatris threw flower petals as a group of smiling girls pushed a veiled maiden from within their ranks. The horn sounded, but Jaume stayed where he was, his face thoughtful.
“Son.” His mother tapped her foot.
“Three trials,” Jaume said to no one. “First was clearing brambles, then digging the pond. Last, finding the golden bird, so⦔ He looked up, searching the sky. When he spotted the gold-winged hawk circling overhead, his expression cleared. He nodded once and stepped away from his parents. Instead of taking the veiled woman's hand, he lifted his arms to the sky.
“Doucette,” he called. “Love, return to me.”
The hawk screamed in answer. Then, like a star falling from the heavens, the golden shape hurtled toward Jaume.
“Help!” Na Eleno shrieked.
Flinching, the bride covered her head.
“Mireyo!” Tinou ran to stand guard over the veiled woman.
Before the hawk's talons touched Jaume's fist, the air shimmered. In her own form, Doucette alit to stand beside him. She paid no attention to the shouting men and crying girls. “Marrying the wrong woman, aren't you?” she asked Jaume.
“Me? You're the one who left.” His voice challenged her, but the light in his eyes gave her the courage to go on.
Doucette lifted her chin and spoke in a carrying voice, so the people gathered around them could hear. “Do you remember, Jaume of Vent'roux, how you suffered many trials and enchantments for my sake, and vowed you would love only me?”
“I remember, well enough,” Jaume said. “All this winter, I thought you had forgotten.”
He deserved an explanation. Doucette blushed, admitting her fault. “I shouldn't have asked for the last.”
“What?”
Doucette was taken aback to see Jaume's joyful expression sag into despair. “No, no, you mistake me,” she said. Stepping forward, she rested her hands on his chest, over his heart. “I was wrong to envy your affection for your family, and theirs for you. It's their care made you the man you are, the man who loved me better than my own kin. I was also wrong, my love, to count my magic more important than our promises. Will you forgive me?”
Jaume's beautiful smile spread across his face. His arms wrapped around Doucette, keeping her where she most wanted to be. “Oh, aye,” he said. “If you'll forgive my mistrusting that same sorcery as saved both our lives.”
“I will,” Doucette said. “I've learned to take care, great care, with my spells.” Her lip curled in the tiniest pout. “Now, if Fidele has not stolen all the kisses meant for me, I'd like to remind you of your last promise.”
Jaume laughed and obliged her, taking his time. Doucette kissed him back with a will. The young men in the crowd were hooting and stamping when the two parted. Doucette could feel herself blushing again, but she didn't care who saw it.
“Three cheers for theâ” Eri's shout ended raggedly when a well-dressed matron marched out from behind the now-giggling girls. Na Jonselet seized the veiled woman's arm and dragged her next to Jaume. “What of your promises to my daughter Mireyo?” she said in a hard voice.
“Ask Tinou,” Jaume said. “I think he will honor them in my stead.”
“Gladly.” Tinou stepped up to Mireyo's other side. The young woman's hand reached out from under the veil and clasped Tinou's.
Na Jonselet snorted. “A second son? No offense intended to you, Om Bernat, Na Eleno, but that was not our agreement.”
“Beware, Na Jonselet,” Eri said. “If Jaume's pretty sorceress turns you into a crow, what will you care about inheritances?”
Doucette was briefly tempted by the woman's gasp of fright. But after another look at Mireyo's hand holding Tinou's so tightly, Doucette remembered that even the humorless Na Jonselet would be part of her new family. Besides, today was a good dayâthe best dayâto be done with misusing her power out of temper.
“Be easy, Na Jonselet,” she said. “I have no desire to steal Mireyo's future, nor she mine.”
Mireyo's veiled head nodded vigorously.
“I won't see my daughter cheated,” Na Jonselet insisted.
Slowly, Doucette unclasped her pearl earrings, the only token that remained of her home. She hesitated, then leaned forward and tucked them into Mireyo's free hand.
If Doucette wanted to adorn herself with pearls, she could make them. “No artifice, these, but true jewels, Na Jonselet. Will such a bride-gift settle your mind?”
Na Jonselet's eyes widened as she calculated the pearls' worth. “Aye,” she said. “The match has my blessing.”
Mireyo lifted the corner of her veil to smile shyly at Doucette. “Thank you.”
“A hundred thanks.” Tinou bowed to Doucette and winked at his brother. “Jaume has found a great sorceress, indeed, to make all our wishes come true at once. Shall we have a double wedding?”
“Oh, aye.” Doucette and Jaume spoke as one.
This time, Eri led the others in a cheer that went on and on until Om Bernat raised his hand for silence. Jaume tucked Doucette's arm in his, and they faced his parents together.
“You see how it is, Mother, Father,” Jaume said. “Like the old riddle. If I had lost the key to the salt box and ordered a new one but then found the first again, which one would you have me keep? The old key or the new?”
Na Eleno and Om Bernat exchanged a long, silent look. Om Bernat nodded at his wife.
Na Eleno's shoulders drooped. “The first one, Son,” Jaume's mother said in a low voice. She bowed, a little stiffly, in Doucette's direction. “It was made for the lock.”
“So will I keep Doucette,” Jaume said. “I lost her once, but now she is returned to me. I will not be so careless again.”
Doucette's heart sang at the love that shone in Jaume's dark eyes. She nestled close to him. “Whatever form I take,” she promised, “I'll always come home to you, beloved.”
Writing is a solitary endeavor, but making a book takes all kinds of people. Stellar critique partners Heide Boyden, Michael Fickes, Nicole Schreiber, Greg Trine, and Gina Young make all my first drafts better. Robbie Mayes and many kind, gifted, and generous SCBWI members gave encouragement at critical points. Reka Simonsen shaped
The Swan Maiden
into a coherent story; the Holt team launched it into the world. Thanks to Erin Murphy for sage counsel and to the Sunbelt gang for adventures in the book biz. Last but never least,
merci beaucoup
to family and friends for their loving support, and for sharing my excitement when “the call” came.
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Text copyright © 2007 by Heather Tomlinson
Illustrations copyright © 2007 Julia Breckenreid
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Tomlinson, Heather.
The swan maiden / Heather Tomlinson.â1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Raised as a chastelaine-in-training unlike her sisters who are learning the arts of sorcery, Doucette discovers when she is sixteen years old that she too has magic in her blood, and she must brave her mother's wrathâand the loss of the man she lovesâin order to follow her birthright.
ISBN-13: 978-0-8050-8275-3
ISBN-10: 0-8050-8275-1
[1. Fairy tales.   2. MagicâFiction.   3. IdentityâFiction.]   I. Title.
PZ8.T536Sw 2007Â Â Â [Fic]âdc22Â Â Â 2006033774
First Editionâ2007
eISBN 9781466843301
First eBook edition: March 2013