The Spellcoats (20 page)

“For as long as anyone knows, my father told me, Majesty,” Robin replied.

“Hmm,” said our King. “Your family must once have been a very important one, young lady, did you know that? And you truly put him in a fire every year after the floods?”

“Every year,” said Robin. “My father said we have never once missed.”

“That was the sign by which I knew him,” our King said, turning the One over. “You have been faithful to the bargain your ancestors made with him. Do you know who he is, this golden gentleman?” He waved the One toward us, from side to side, not wholly respectfully.

“Yes,” I said. “He's the One.”

“That's a silly sort of name,” said our King. “You told me his real names earlier. My fluffy-haired maiden, he is the River—the great River himself! What do you think of that?”

“I think it isn't true,” I said.

“Oh, yes, it is true,” said he, still waving the One about. “We Kings have a hard time of it and have to put up with a great deal from our subjects—flat contradictions from little girls, among other things—but our reward is that we are told more than most people. I know about your One. As a matter of fact, I had him searched for when the Heathen came. If only Jay had found him when he came to Shelling, I wouldn't be in this pickle now. He could have got us out of it. Only fancy him turning up like this! You'd almost think he did it on purpose. What do you think you're playing at, you stupid golden beggar?” he said to the One. “It wasn't nice to hide away!” This was not quite a joke—or only a joke in the way that everything our King says is a sort of joke. I could see Robin was shocked.

“How do you know he's the River?” Hern asked bluntly. I could say that Hern was tired out after our day's troubles, and it would be true. On the other hand, I have never once heard him speak respectfully to our King.

“Knowledge is handed down from King to King,” said our King. “When our people first came to this land, there was a Queen called Cenblith, who may have been a many-greats-grandmother of yours as well as mine, I think. She found a way to bind the River to the service of man. They say she was a witch. I think it just as possible she was simply very pretty, and the River fell for her like a waterfall. Anyway, he submitted to be bound. He agreed among other things to support our people in battle with his not inconsiderable strength, which strength he obligingly let Cenblith put into this small image of himself. But he made one condition: that he be put into a fire once a year. When his dross was purged and he turned to gold, then he would be at his utmost power. And here he is, golden and too late!” The King's eyes twinkled almost as if they were wet, as he looked at the One between his hands.

I remember looking at the One and wondering about the great floods and Kankredin's struggle with the River. I still do not believe the One and the River are the same—or not quite the same.

“He was daft to let himself be bound,” Duck said.

“I agree, but I am very glad he did,” said our King. He held the One up toward the colored roof of the tent. “Now we can prosper and succeed together,” he said. “Now I've got you, you slippery golden beggar!”

“Majesty,” said Robin, “the One is ours.”

“So he is, young lady,” said our King. “You shall stay with me and keep him for me.” He passed the One to Robin. “There. Back to his rightful guardians. Keep him safe. We have a lot of traveling before us, now the floods are down.”

And travel we did that next morning. This is what has made Robin so ill. She has been hurried here and bumped there and made to sit in the rain until the King is ready. After the first day's travel our King had his physician see her. He said it was the River fever and, as she had had it once, she would soon be well and was quite fit to travel. It is this same physician who took off Jay's arm. Jay says if it were not for that physician, he would still have two arms. I share Jay's opinion. Robin does
not
get well, even resting.

The King has taken a fancy to Hern. He gave him a pony to ride, while the rest of us bumped and creaked in the baggage carts. Every evening, I had to attend to Hern's saddle sores, before I could see to Robin. Now I know why Robin so often exclaimed “Why does nobody help me!” Everything falls on me. For the rest of the day the King has Hern beside him. “Fetching and carrying,” Hern calls it. He is not in the least grateful. The trouble is, our King loves people who are rude and familiar with him. This is why he is so fond of Jay. So the crosser Hern is, the more the King admires him.

Hern is in a black mood. He does not show half of it to our King. He says he went down the River to rescue Gull or avenge him. He did not believe in enchantments. Yet first Tanamil and then Kankredin defeated him with spells. He could do less than Duck or I could. He was forced to admit that enchantments exist. This has damaged his respect for his own mind.

“But enchantments are of the mind, too,” I said.

“Not of
my
mind,” said Hern. “That's why I'm a failure. I wasn't even sure people had souls. Then I saw the souls in the net and knew I was looking failure in the face. It's an awful feeling.” Yet that was not the whole story, as I found out later.

Duck is gloomy, too, because he is bored.

All this while our King hastened with us across the country. He does not stay near houses or in any one place for long, for fear of the Heathens. Whenever we come to a farm or a village, the King's men knock at doors and run into houses shouting that the King has come. If the place is empty because of the floods or the Heathens, they take what they can find. When there are people, the King orders what he needs. The people often protest; I know how we should feel if they came banging at our door and carried off all we had saved from winter before the supplies had grown again. The King promises payment and takes so much that we sit high up in the carts on piles of corn and dead sheep. Collet is our King's memory man, and he memorizes the debt. He tells me that he holds many thousand payments in his head, for food or promised rewards. He does not think they will ever be paid.

It was very rough traveling after the floods. Robin suffered more and more because after a while she became too weak to get out and walk in the worst places. “I can't
stand
this anymore!” she said one evening when the sun was down, but we still went jolting on.

Hern had looked in on us, and he saw how ill Robin was. He went and asked the King if we could stop.

“Oh, the light's good for miles more yet,” said our King. “Besides, there seem to be Heathens coming up behind.” Our King gets news of Heathens from everyone we encounter. And we went on.

I was so angry that I jumped down from the cart and ran among the horses to the King. “Majesty,” I shouted. “The One wants us to stop here!”

I did not think the King would listen, but he did. We stopped at once. After that I chose our camping place every day, speaking for the One. We spared Robin a good deal of jolting like that. It amazes me that our King believes I know the One's wishes, but I think it is the one thing he takes seriously. I have become spokesman for the One. Every day the King asks me jestingly, “And what has the golden gentleman to say to me today, fluffyhead?” I could tell him anything.

“If he believes you, he'd believe anything!” Hern said scornfully.

Our King, of course, talks to everyone, freely and cheerfully, but he talked to me much more after that. I cannot be familiar with him. The weight of kingship and all our Kings before him makes him a heavy matter to me. Our position oppresses me, too. We cannot be called prisoners, yet what else are we? So when he makes his jokes, I do not laugh.

“Fluffyhead, you do come of a serious-minded family,” he said to me one day, in a brown field, where the grass lay plastered down with mud in long ripples. “Can't you laugh? I know you've had your troubles, but look at me. I've lost my two sons, my wife, and my kingdom, and I can still laugh.”

“I expect you're looking forward to conquering the Heathen and getting your kingdom back, Majesty,” I said, “and I'm not.”

“Great One!” he said, twinkling his eyes at me. “Do you think so, solemn face? I gave up that idea months ago. The most I hope for is to save my skin until I can get a new heir. It will be my son who benefits from the One's help, not me.”

I thought this was just his joke at the time, but it has now become clear to me that our King has indeed no intention of fighting the Heathen again. He inquires daily about the Heathen, but this is in order to avoid them.

Many times it has been on the tip of my tongue to tell him that the Heathen he is running from is only Kars Adon—though I think there are other little bands, too, as Kars Adon said—and that the real menace is Kankredin. But I have not said. Kars Adon is a Heathen and an enemy, but his way is better than our King's. I do not blame our King. Jay has told me how terrible the wars were. But I will not tell him about Kars Adon. Duck will not tell him either. He says our King bores him, and nobody can do anything about Kankredin. As for Hern—well, I found out when we had news of Kars Adon at last.

Summer drew on us as we traveled. We approached the River again, which seemed to revive Robin, and came into the hills at the end of the great lake. The lake was beautiful. It was blue as solid sky. The many trees around it were reflected upside down in the blue. But it was spoiled for me by the people there. They said we were Heathens and stoned us. Duck has a scar from it which will last all his life.

Jay stopped the stoning by saying we were Heathen princes under the protection of the mages. Robin was very angry with Jay.

“What should I have said, lady?” Jay asked. “You try telling them the truth.”

While we were there, some men came over the broken bridge, very pleased with themselves. They had fought Kars Adon. They knew it was him by the flags. Kars Adon's people had been surrounded in a valley across the River. Numbers of them were killed before they could fight free.

“Why didn't you kill them all?” our King asked pleasantly.

Hern told me this with a pale face. “The
fool
!” he said. “The stupid fool! Fancy getting himself penned in on low ground!”

Now I know the other part of Hern's misery. As Hern has failed in what he set himself to do, he has taken comfort in the dreams of Kars Adon. He knows it is wrong—that is why he is so moody—but he cannot help himself. I had often wondered why Hern listened so eagerly to the King's daily messages about the Heathen.

He was hoping for news of Kars Adon. Now we have it, it is bad news. Poor Hern. It is lucky our King does not intend to fight the Heathen. Hern would be on both sides at once.

2