The Foretelling (9 page)

The baby was coming too soon. It had happened before to other women, but not to our Queen, my mother. All of the women who knew how to bring daughters into this word had been summoned. They made my mother walk, even though she was so weak, to try to stop the baby from coming.

We need the priestess,
Penthe told me.

She looked as ill as the Queen, pale, shaking, but she thought of my mother first, as she always had. She sent me to get Deborah. I didn't bother with my heaviest shirts; I just pulled on my boots and ran. There was a crust of ice over the snow and I ran fast, flying. But Deborah could not come with me. She was too old to get there in time. She could barely move out of her blankets. I knew from her expression that she had no hope. All the same, she sent her daughter, Greeya, with me. Greeya was wise in the ways of babies and she was quick. I could barely keep up with her as we ran across the ice.

We could hear the Queen wailing before we got there. Her voice was shaking the branches in the trees, and then it stopped. We ran faster. Most of the women who knew how to bring forth daughters were on their knees, praying to the goddess for guidance. Greeya sat down and had Penthe lift my mother's blankets and her clothes so she could reach inside the Queen. This was a birth that had gone wrong; there was too much blood, not enough time, nothing anyone could do. My mother screamed like a warrior. And then, like a woman in pain.

I could not watch that. I turned away. I covered my ears with my hands.

Greeya murmured that one life was being lit while another was burning out at the very same time.

Then kill it,
I heard Penthe say.
Maybe that will save her. Do anything!

But it was too late. The baby was already being born. The Queen was already dying.

Greeya helped to bring the baby out into the light, this child who was meant to be Queen. She quickly untangled it and cleared out its mouth with one finger.

All I could hear was Penthe, raging, weeping. She threw herself across Alina until there was as much blood on her as there was on my mother.

It was silent again, everywhere, except for Penthe's sobbing. I turned and saw the spirit leave my mother, a cloud of air rising from her pale lips. I saw the look on Greeya's face and I knew.

My brother had arrived in this world.

Kill it,
Penthe said.

Asteria and Astella and my mother's sister, Cybelle, came to kneel and honor the Queen. They all echoed Penthe's words. But I remembered what Deborah had said. Greeya picked up the baby that had made us lose our Queen and tucked it inside her shirt. I led her back to the mouth of the cave, then I stopped her.

Don't kill him,
I said.

You heard what they told me! And it's not for you to tell a priestess what should be. Lead me back!

Bring him to Deborah, and do what I say or I'll find you and send you to the next world. Do it!

Greeya looked at me in a different way. She nodded, though I knew she didn't want to.

Penthe and Io prepared the Queen for the next world. They washed her hair with melted stream water, then plaited it with honey. They bathed her body and covered it with a fine film of honey to protect her skin. Two golden bracelets were placed upon her arms. A dozen of the best warriors sat together and stitched a death blanket for the Queen, the finest there was, with horsehair thread from her own beloved horse. Then Cybelle and the bee women wrapped the Queen in half a dozen blankets, bound with leather and brass bells.

All through the caves women who had no fear of any man sat weeping.

Asteria and Astella rode my mother's great war horse, Pearl, into the catacombs where our Queens are buried, the largest kurgan, the burial mounds made in the time of our great-grandmothers. The kurgan rose like a mountain at the edge of the pasture, covered with blue ice and snow. The archers rode into the kurgan at the secret opening, and then they killed the Queen's horse, weeping as they did. This was our holy ground, a catacomb so wide across it was like a bowl made for the goddess. Along with the Queen's horse Asteria and Astella buried all of my mother's weapons, her bronze mirror, her rings, her whetstone for sharpening knives and axes, her carved bone spoon, fourteen amulets given to her by our fourteen priestesses.

The priestesses all came; they carried Deborah and chanted for an entire night and then a day and through another night. They ate the ritual horsemeat that had been coated with herbs; they covered their bodies with the paste from the red flowers and sat in a trance. With one foot in this world and one in the world to come they could help my mother move into the next world accompanied by those who loved her.

Because Penthe was not of our people, she was not allowed to join the mystery. She sat outside the catacomb, dragging her fingernails across her face until she was bleeding. I told her when I went inside I would say a prayer for my mother in her name. Penthe grabbed my hand, but she did not speak. I had no choice but to leave her, and go inside the kurgan.

In honor of my mother, I tore my finest shirt. I painted my face with the yellow earth. Then I sat before the priestesses and had four blue lines tattooed on my face, without first drinking koumiss. I didn't cry out, not once. I brought my treasured bear claws to place beside my mother, so that Usha would find Alina in the next world and protect her. When I went to place my gift beside my mother, everyone took a step away and bowed their heads, and then I understood. Because my sister had not come, they had no choice but to do so.

I was now the Queen.

The edges of the snow had begun to melt in the bright light of the last day of our mourning. But it was cold, too cold for Penthe to be outside weeping. Io took her mother back to the cave; I had other things to do. I went with the priestesses, helping to carry Deborah. When the high priestess was beneath her blanket, and the others couldn't hear, I asked for him. My brother.

Deborah clucked her tongue and drew her dark cloak around her shoulders.
He's weak. Weak babies don't last. He's been alone for three days.

If you can keep him till the snow melts I'll bring him to his father's people.

If I go on feeding him with mares’ milk the way I've been doing, I warn you. It will make him strong,
the priestess told me.
It will make your heart strong for him as well.

Here was my secret: I wanted him to be strong. I wanted him to live.

When I could finally get away I went to see him. He was in a little cavern that had been chipped into the cave long ago by melting ice. He'd been wrapped in a blanket and he knew enough not to cry. There was a bit of blanket soaked in mares’ milk for him to suck on. He stared right at me, unafraid. Like me, he had yellow eyes. His hair was black, like mine.

Deborah had dragged herself out of her blanket. She was watching us. We were never to name boy babies, for they wouldn't be with us long. They would be disposed of, or given back to the people from which they had come. Name something, and it belongs to you. Everyone knew that.

But I went against the rules.

Anto,
I said. It was our word for black horse.

Deborah nodded. She knew I had chosen the right name for my brother. She did not berate me for breaking the rules.

He's the one you dreamt,
the priestess said.
Now your fortune is upon you.

In the age of

I
N THE AGE OF WOMANHOOD
you cannot know what will happen. You were one thing as a girl, but who will you become? I had been rain, sorrow, the sister of the bear, the keeper of the horses, and now I was the Queen. We traveled back to our spring pastures, our summerlands. Slowly, in grief for all we had lost. We left behind our Queen and our highest priestess, cared for by her daughter, since Deborah was unable to complete the journey. We left behind the horses that had not made it through the hardest winter in memory. We left behind who we had been when we'd been in service to our Queen. But we were coming back to the summerlands with twelve new daughters, all bundled into blankets that were tied to their mothers’ backs.

It took us nearly a month to make this journey. And in this time I saw Astella and Asteria whispering to each other, arguing, I think. But I never could tell for certain; they always made themselves quiet whenever I was near. My aunt, Cybelle, rode beside me, to give me her blessing and try to stop the talk that I was not my mother's daughter, not the one she'd had in mind as the leader for her people.

Let them buzz,
Cybelle whispered.
Just like the bees. Soon enough they'll stop and go about their business.

Io rode with her mother, for Penthe couldn't be trusted not to flee and wander back the way we'd come. She had refused to leave the Queen. When we left, we'd had to drag her away from the catacombs and tie her with rope to the neck of her horse. Even now, Io had to keep a close eye on her mother.

In front of us the pastures were green, like a sea. I rode standing up, to honor my mother's spirit. We built our city of tents as soon as we arrived in good pastureland, and mine went in the place of the rightful Queen. That night, before anyone rested or ate, I was bathed in mares’ milk and a huge platter of meat was set before me. I was given new boots and a new shirt, one the young girls had been working on since the Queen had died. People lowered their eyes when they spoke to me, but I could tell, all wasn't well. There were rumors and a division amongst us. The archers stayed off by themselves. They did not offer me their allegiance or sit beside me. They never once called me their Queen.

One night Penthe came to me. She bowed as though I were truly the Queen and I asked her not to do so. She was Penthe, and I was Rain, neither needed to bow to the other. All the same, Penthe wasn't the same as she had been; her hair had turned white and her red henna tattoos were fading. She had one foot in the spirit world searching for her beloved Queen and the other foot in our world.

They say you haven't even killed three men,
Penthe said.

I haven't killed three, I've killed six. The Jour who killed Usha, my bear, and two in my first battle.

Penthe nodded, understanding I had not told anyone about this because I had not wanted to attend the festival.

Well, then they say you haven't killed the boy.

Penthe was looking directly into my face. It was the time of bees and there were logs all over our city filled with the Queen bee's servants, each one dripping honey. The air was sweet, but now it was cloying. Too much. Too sweet.

What boy?
My chest hurt with my deceit.

You need to get rid of him. Otherwise there might be a king someday who wants a thousand wives to serve him.

That will never happen,
I said.

Send him to the next world.
Penthe had a huge heart, but not for this boy, my brother the black horse.
And let everyone know that's what you're doing. You'll be no one's Queen until you make this sacrifice.

There was a gathering on the first full moon since we'd come to the pasturelands. I covered my face with ochre and chalk. I dressed in my finest clothes. I painted my mare yellow and red, my mother's favorite colors. I came to the meeting with every weapon I had been given as the new Queen, all strapped to my back with rope.

I am going off to kill the boy, my brother, who killed the Queen. This is what you expect of me, and this is what I intend to do.

My aunt Cybelle came to embrace me. A war cry went up and I felt that cry in my blood.

We will wait for you,
Cybelle said.

But Asteria came riding up.

You're so ready to be the Queen,
Asteria said.
But once you said it wouldn't suit you. Perhaps you'd like another who's more sure of herself to step forward.

Even Astella looked at Asteria, shocked by her nerve.

I'm sure of myself
I said. At that moment I was. I knew what I was about to do. I had already made choices I hadn't expected; the decisions of a Queen.

My archers would like to come with you. To serve you, of course. In case you say you'll get rid of the child, and then change your mind, we will he there in your place.

If you don't trust me enough to do it, why should I trust you enough to accompany me?

The archers looked at each other; there was no answer for that.

No, I'll leave myself in the morning.

That night as I was getting ready, Io came to me and said she would go with me. To protect me, she said. My sister who had never been in battle, never lifted the scythe I'd had made for her until she gave it back to me.

Stay here and take care of Penthe.

Then let me sing to you so you can sleep and be refreshed for your journey,
Io insisted.

My sister wrapped her arms around me and sang me to sleep, the song from the north storm country whose words I didn't understand. Maybe that was why I woke in the middle of the night. Or maybe it was my dream of the black horse calling to me. I would not bother to wait for morning. I would let the dark cover me, and make certain I rode alone.