The Black Swan (27 page)

O
DILE woke slowly to the sounds of birds and an empty “room.” She stretched lazily, considering the slant of the sunlight outside the door, left open by the departing swans. She had slept the night through and long into the day; she guessed, as she rose from her bed of bracken and used a touch of magic to freshen her dress, that it was probably mid-afternoon at the earliest.

She brushed a few stray bits of grass off her skirt, and went out into the daylight to see what the lake looked like under the sun.
If this is going to be our home for a while, I hope it isn't as grim as it looked last night.

Though sunlight and birdsong helped, the scene she surveyed from the shelter was not particularly welcoming. Around her, the forest seemed empty, without the little sounds of life that small creatures made, scurrying about the underbrush. The lake's dark waters did not shelter much in the way of waterfowl, either. The forest surrounding the lake was predominantly of black pine—tall, with heavily drooping boughs and needles of the very deep green that gave them their name, for at any distance, they looked black. There were other trees growing amid the pines, more oaks, some hazels, chestnuts, walnuts, but they were decidedly in the minority and didn't do a great deal to disperse the general air of solemn gloom. The clearing she now stood in actually extended right to the shore, though not to the spot where the low bank had allowed them to clamber out of the water. Her view out into the lake was thus unobstructed, and included a picturesque, high cliff at the point where this arm of the lake joined the main body.

The flock was nowhere in sight, but Odile wasn't in the least worried that they had fled.
This
was the place where Odette would have her chance to win them all free of von Rothbart's spells; wherever they had gone, they would be back, for that chance alone.

Probably they're off foraging, but I don't think they'll have a great deal of luck.
There wasn't much sign of the water plants and wild grains they needed for real feeding on this arm of the lake, and Odile rather doubted that the other arms would prove any different.

And speaking of foraging. . . .
She turned back to the shelter, her stomach grumbling. There were more than a few things she needed to fetch from the manor, and after the first decent sleep in weeks, she finally had the strength she would need to get it all done in a single afternoon.

She didn't want to waste any time, however, so after she appropriated a good stock of commonplace foodstuffs taken from the manor's pantry, she made a portable luncheon of chunks of bread, sausage, and cheese that she could eat while continuing to work. Within an hour, she had brought more creature-comforts to the shelter, linens, for one. She'd made real beds of the bracken, by tucking a heavy sheet over the bracken to make a mattress and pillow, and she'd added folded blankets to the foot of each bed. When she stepped back and looked her handiwork over, she chuckled; because she had made the beds of roots, or rather, rootlets all twined and bound together, the beds actually resembled large baskets. With the sheets smoothed over the bracken, they looked like a row of laundry baskets waiting for maids to hang out the clothes.

After consideration of the damage that pests could do, she called a trunk-sized storage cabinet from the manor to seal the food into, and she next brought an assortment of cups, plates and cutlery and stacked them atop the cabinet. Although she planned to bring fresh foodstuffs every night, if something happened to exhaust her, or if any of the flock hungered when
she
wasn't available, she wanted to have some basics on hand. There was also the possibility that something could happen to her, for magic did not render one immune from illness; it was better to be prepared and not have the need.

She also brought a couple of buckets for fresh water, then soap, towels, and a basin—though like the flock, she
could
wash as a swan and it would carry over to her human form. Small things made a difference, though, and she remembered all the wistful wishes of the journey, so the combs, brushes, hairpins, and the like she also brought would make all of them feel less disheveled. And lastly, she created shelves within the hollow oaks to place all these things on, and a curious cupboard to hold her personal possessions.

Then she brought what, for her, was the most important of all; her books and the magical apparatus she thought she might need. There wasn't a great deal; she had gotten beyond the point where she required apparatus to create magic. Like her father, she had entered the realm where only concentration, words and gestures created whatever she needed.

Last of all (and after a rest), just before sundown, she brought in bags of the grain the swans ate, storing most of them inside the oaks. She dropped one in the clearing, near the shoreline, breaking it open so that she could spread it out where the flock would see it easily as they returned “home.”

With that final duty accomplished, she felt justified in simply sitting with her back braced against a sun-warmed boulder, watching the sun set, with the pines circling the lake making a jagged black fence against the flaming sky. It was a dramatic and beautiful sunset, though its beauty had a touch of the uncanny about it.
It's like a woman, a stunning and breathtaking sorceress without a heart—you have to stare and marvel, but you can feel the ice where her soul should be, and you know there are going to be storms wherever she goes.
That didn't stop her from admiring the view, although she could have wished for a softer setting for her temporary home.

She watched the clouds take fire and burn, let her muscles relax, and thought about what she would bring for dinner. And then, of course, when all the work was done, her father appeared.

He walked out of the forest with no warning; he just appeared out of the shadows, like a shadow himself, shrouded in his owlfeather cape. He looked around the clearing with somber approval, even entering briefly into the shelter and emerging to join Odile at the side of the lake.

She rose slowly to her feet, and waited silently for his judgment. For he
would
cast judgment on what she had done, and never mind that he hadn't bothered to contribute even a little to her efforts. For a moment, she clenched her jaw and fought to master her resentment.
I don't know what he's been doing, and I have no right to ask. This is my father's duty, and he allows me to share it.

“Very neat, Odile,” he said, after a moment of gazing at the sunset beside her. “Very efficient. It did not occur to me to make furnishings of the oak itself; that was a thrifty and wise use of power.”

I didn't have much choice, given how little I had left last night!
she wanted to shout, but instead, she bent her head and replied with a soft, “Thank you, Father.”
For all I know, he was more exhausted than I.

“I see that I can leave you in charge of the flock with no misgivings,” he continued. “There are things that I must pursue; I will need your eyes and ears here, during the moonlit hours when the flock becomes human. You are an integral part of this trial.”

She perked up a little at that; this was real responsibility, and exactly what she craved. “Give me your orders, Father,” she said with more enthusiasm. “You know that I will follow them as you wish.”

He smiled—a very small curve of the lips, but a smile all the same. “Obviously, while the flock are swans, you need not concern yourself about them. Nor need you concern yourself with the movements of the young man who will provide Odette with her test, for
I
will be marking his path and actions when he is not with her. But I do wish you to observe the two of them together, and Odette when she is alone but human, and mark it all well so that you may report it fairly to me.” At her nod of understanding, he continued. “If the young man should sight me, he would no doubt regard me as his enemy and attempt to attack me. He cannot possibly harm me, of course, but such encounters would accomplish nothing and waste his time with Odette. You, on the other hand, will not be seen as a threat; he will concentrate on Odette and nothing else if you are the observer. Other than that—keep yourself and the flock tended and fed, and that is all I shall require of you.”

She dropped to the grass in a curtsy. “As you will, Father,” she said, bending her head in submission to his orders. And when she looked up, he was gone.

She didn't rise again, for weariness fell over her shoulders like a too-heavy cloak. Instead, she occupied herself with a task so simple and ordinary that she didn't have to think to accomplish it. She unpinned her hair from its heavy coil at the back of her neck, unbraided it, and began to comb it out.

She didn't often have to tend to her own hair, for at home the invisible servants appeared to take care of it as soon as she removed the first pin. But there was something soothing in letting it down now, and combing it out, so long as she moved very slowly and took the time to untangle knots with exacting patience.
I think I see why so many girls can do this for hours on end. It's hypnotic. Perhaps I ought to do this the next time I want to meditate or enter a trance.

She hadn't thought about how long her hair had gotten before she undid it; the servants did little more than comb it out, braid it up, and occasionally trim the ends, and they were so deft that they were finished binding it up in minutes. She simply hadn't noticed its length; it reached far past her waist now, which made it difficult for one person to handle.

As the sun dropped below the trees and the sky darkened from flame to rose, from rose to cobalt, a movement, a flash of white across the sky, caught her attention, and she looked up to see the flock circling above, coming in to land.

An unaccustomed feeling of contentment came over her, despite being so very tired.
Everything is ready; if they haven't foraged enough, there's grain, and if they want to nibble a bit as girls, they can share my dinner. They'll have real beds and some comforts tonight. I do believe they'll be surprised and pleased.

She continued to comb out her hair, pulling the locks she had brushed out over her shoulder to lie across her breast and lap. In the last light, it looked like raw, unspun silk, cobweb-fine and silver-blond. A strange color, given what a violent red her father's was.

Then again, he could make his hair any color he chose, and mine, too, for that matter. He could have changed mine when I was a child, and I would never know. He might not have wanted it to be so obvious that I was his child. An enemy could have taken me to use against him.
She considered a moment, and reflected that if he had changed her hair color, it was probably a good thing.
I don't think I'd care for flaming hair. I'm too pale, I've no color at all. Better to look like a spirit than to look like a bleached little stick attached to a red mop.

The swans glided into view, swimming swiftly across the still mirror of the lake led by Odette; they crossed Odile's field of vision, and disappeared behind the trees. A moment later, however, she heard the muffled padding of their feet as they moved toward her across the grass in a stately progression, necks straight, and heads held high. The others went straight to the grain and began eating, but Odette paced close to Odile, keeping her round black eyes fixed on the sorceress until she was certain she had Odile's attention. Then she bowed her head in an unmistakable gesture of graceful thanks, and only then joined the rest.

As full dark settled on them, the swans shimmered in the starlight, and the lake lapped softly against the shore, sparks of starlight caught in the tops of the wavelets and thrown back at the sky. Odile finished combing out the last lock of hair and leaned back against the tree, watching as the stars came out and glistened in a way no mere gem could match in the soft, ebony sky.

And then, just as a lone nightingale started to sing, the moon showed its first sliver of pearl above the treetops.

Odile started as someone took the comb from her loose grip.

“Here,” said Odette, with the same oddly kind tone in her voice she'd had last night. “Let me finish that for you.”

Odile felt herself flush, but nodded. “Thank you,” she said, feeling awkward. “I had no idea there was so much of it; the Silent Ones take care of it at home. It's such a bother to do by myself—”

“Especially without a mirror,” Odette agreed, deftly braiding the heavy mane of silk, and arranging it in a kind of crown around Odile's head. “I've never known—why doesn't von Rothbart permit any mirrors?”

“Because mirrors show the truth,” Odile replied, unable to suppress a yawn. “If you, as a swan, were reflected in a mirror, it would be your human shape that was in the reflection, not the swan. I don't know why.”

“Oh.” Odette put the final pin in place and gave her construction a pat to test its solidity. “Here, I think this will hold better than the knot you've been wearing.”

Odile moved her head experimentally. “It's certainly not as heavy,” she agreed, pleased, and yawned again. “I can't believe I'm so tired! I only woke up a few hours ago, and I'm ready to go to sleep as soon as I get dinner.”

“I can,” Odette said, and the odd, grim tone in her voice made Odile turn to stare at her, startled. She looked into the older girl's dark eyes, and saw things there that she hadn't anticipated. Much of the wariness was gone, replaced by an intent concentration.

“Why?” she asked.
What does she know that I should? And why is she going to tell me?

Odette hesitated a moment, biting her lip. “Von Rothbart was here, wasn't he?” she asked. Then without waiting for Odile to reply, continued, “And you didn't feel tired until
after
he was gone, right? Nor is this the first time that's happened. In fact,
most
times that he leaves, you feel tired. No, not tired—
drained.
”