The Oathbreaker, Pt XXV

Having given my orders for the collection of names, I then sent for scribes, dozens of them.  They were to go through the lists, both written and oral, and record each unique name.  Then they were to combine the lists, again and again, until I had a master list that I could read from that night.  I summoned a woodworker, to create something that would allow me to scroll continuously.  I summoned the cook and gave her careful instructions on how to prepare a potion that would allow me to speak for hours without going hoarse.  While my people worked, I laid down and slept.  I would need all my faculties about me, to make it through the coming night.

My maid woke me, as instructed, an hour before sunset.  There lay before me an enormous scroll, mounted on a contraption that had two prongs, with a handle attached to each.  The woodworker showed me, proudly, how all I had to do was rotate one to move forward, the other back.  The cook presented me with a large flagon, and a quick sip proved that she had brewed it correctly.  I smiled and thanked them both, then shooed them- and everyone else- from the room.  My daughter I sent with a wet nurse.  As much as I longed to keep her closer to me than ever before, I could not give her the care she would need tonight.  And I did not want her any closer to the creature than necessary.

The shadows moved steadily up the wall as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared, and I blessed the length of winter’s nights, and the extra hours it would give me to guess.

Then the last of the cold light vanished, and the creatures stepped forward from the corner.

“It sees?  One does not wasting a minutes of it’s precious chance, no no,” it announced.  “One does not cheat, no no.  One keeps it one’s word, yes yes.”  It leapt on the bed and sat at attention, tail curled neatly about its haunces, eyeing me eagerly.  “It begins?”

I did not answer, save to begin reading.

“Ardent?  Ansel?  Anna?”

“No”.

“Jemima?  John? Jade?”

“No.”

“Christopher?  Chelsea?  Calvin?”

“No.”

“Michaela?  Mercury?  Mason?”

“No.”

“Riley?  Rebecca?  River?”

“No.”

“Eli?  Eleanor?  Ethan?”

“No.”

“Silja?  Saul?  Stibnite?”

“No.”

“Isaac?  Ivanna?  Igneous?”

“No.”

“Pyrite?  Patrick?  Pauline?”

“No.”

And on, and on, and on.  The first time I cranked the scroll to move it upwards, the creature leapt down and investigated the device thoroughly, continuing to give its negative answers even as it did so, chuckling now and again as it discovered something new.  Before too long it was back up on the bed, in a more relaxed position, like a cat curled up for a nap.

Every time my throat began to tire, I sipped the potion, and was refreshed.  The first time I did so, the creature’s head came up, it’s tongue out, and it inhaled deeply.  Then it’s mouth opened into that sharp-toothed grin.

“Clever clever,” it remarked, before settling its head back on its claws, half-closing its eyes.

For those first few hours the creature seemed greatly entertained by my efforts, but before the moon had reached its apex, it became bored, even sullen.  By the time the sky outside my windows began to grow silver, its pose had become downright sulky.

“No,” it snapped, eyes closed and tail draped over its nose.  It’s ears were laid flat along its back in irritation.  “It does not even come close.  Not so clever, perhaps.  Not so clever at all.  Suddenly the ears perked up, the eyes snapped open.  “But if it fails,” it said, as though to itself, “One gets so many lovely sufferings, yes yes!  Hah!  Yes yes, one will return.  It should try to be more clever.  But not too clever,” it cackled.  Then it twisted in on itself, slowly, and left me to weep my frustration and despair into my pillow.

The Oathbreaker, Pt XXIV

“One spun for three nights, so one will give it three nights to guess one’s name.”  The creature was all business now, sitting up straight and attentive, ears swiveled towards me.  “Have we a bargain?  A firstborn for a true name?  A failure for all the children?”

“My firstborn for a true name,” I said warily.  The creature grinned.

“It’s firstborn for one’s name,” it countered.  “And all it’s children, should it fail.”

“I swear it,” I said, and felt the magic ripple across my skin again.  This time, however, I could almost see part of it fall on my daughter, like a fine mist.  I resisted the urge to wipe her face, knowing I could not erase what had been done.

“Shall we begin?” the creature asked, settling itself down into a lounging position.

“I think not,” I said sharply.  “You said three nights.  This night is halfway gone.  Return tomorrow at sunset, and the game will begin in earnest.”  I hoped it could not hear the way my heart thundered at my own audacity, but the creature only chuckled.

“Yes yes, clever clever. One shall return when the too-bright sun is gone again.”  It rolled onto its back, showing me its belly much as a cat would, then flipped over and slithered off the bed and into the shadows, leaving nothing behind but the smell of burning clove.

I allowed myself three deep breaths to feel my fear, my despair, my panic.  And then with the final exhale I banished it.  Time to be clever.  Time to be wise.  I pulled the cord that would summon my serving girl.

“Yes, your majesty?” she appeared, fresh as a daisy, and I wondered briefly if she ever slept.

“I need you to fetch me the castle steward,” I said.

“Now, Ma’am?”

“Please, dear.  And be quick about it.”

She scampered off, and I thought furiously.  I felt certain that the creature’s name wouldn’t be in any of the kingdom’s censuses- none of the helpful spirits or sprites I’d ever met had human names, so it seemed unlikely that this creature would, either, but it was a place to start.  I could also call for the castle scholars, and alchemists.  They would have truck with more archane names.  And the wise women of the area!  I would not be so foolish as to overlook the knowledge base of my own gender.

I pulled the cord again.

The Oathbreaker, Pt XXIII

The creature threw back its head and laughed that strange, coughing yip.  “Oh, its desperation is sweet indeed!  It would truly promise such a wealth of misery, knowing how much it hurts to give up even one?”

“I just need a chance,” I said, ignoring the twist in my guts.  My mother believed in my cleverness- I had to, too.  “I had no choice, before, no way to… just give me a chance!”

It picked its tail up an examined is nonchalantly.  “One might be willing to do this.  One might be willing to give it a chance... a chance to win the right to keep its girl-child.  A game of chance!”  It cackled.

“Yes,” I said, glancing down at my daughter.  “Please, I’ll play any game you wish.”

The creature smoothed its tail and wrapped it neatly around its haunches.  “Yes yes, a game, a game.  A guessing game!  It will guess!  Such a simple thing!”  The sharp-toothed smile grew sly.  “It already knows what it needs to know.  The only thing as precious as a firstborn.  An equal trade.”

Precious as a firstborn?  Precious to the creature.  Something that would pain it for me to know, something I must have mentioned before...  my thoughts sped back over those three horrible nights, and suddenly I remembered.

“Your name,” I said, feeling cold.  “You want me to guess your name.”  The name that not even my mother, with her spirit-born powers, knew.

The creature cackled again.  “Clever clever!  Yes yes, such a worthy challenger.  One’s name.  One’s secret name, never told. If it can guess one’s name-”

“I’ll have power over you,” I finished.  “And you cannot take my child.”

“It sees!  It knows.  The old laws.  The old magics.  But how clever is it, really?”  The eyes caught the moonlight, gleaming and alien.  “Is it clever enough, to ferret out one’s most precious possession, to save its own?"

The Oathbreaker, Pt XXII

I expected the creature to reappear the night that my daughter was born- but it did not.  Nor did it arrive the night after, and I began to wonder when it would.  Because I knew it would, eventually- my mother’s words echoed in my ears: it knows how much greater the pain will be, if first you have had hope.  The creature was trying to make me hope it had forgotten our bargain, and if I had not had that conversation with my mother, I surely would have.  Hope born of desperate longing, but hope nonetheless.  Instead the delay just increased my dread, drove me to the edge of panic, and made it impossible to fully enjoy my first days with my daughter as I should have.

The king, of course, was utterly disgusted with me for delivering a worthless girl rather than a strapping boy, and he showed his pique by retiring immediately to one of his pleasure palaces, with a bevy of his favorite nobles.  I could not have been more pleased, for at least I didn’t have to worry about smiling for him on top of everything else.  Instead I spent the time attempting to plan.  Attempting.

Three weeks after my daughter was born, as the moon rose near-full on the horizon, the creature appeared, perched on the richly carved footboard of my bed.

“It has bred a lovely girl-child,” it said, pleasure evident in its gaping grin.  My daughter, nursing, did not react to its dark scratchy voice, but my arms tightened involuntarily about her warm body.

“You came,”I said, and my voice shook with terror and suppressed rage.  Plan or no plan, I could not be calm in the face of losing my child.

“Yes, one has come to let it fulfill its oath.  And it has done so well,” the creature stretched out, coming closer and peering with satisfaction at my daughter’s sweetly curved cheek.  It inhaled deeply, closing its eyes in delight.  “Yes yes, this will more than repay the magic one used for its straw-spun gold.”

“Please,” I whispered.  “Please don’t take my baby.”  Tears filled my eyes, slipped down my face.  “Please, I’ll give you anything else.  I’m queen now, I can give you anything!”

“One doesn’t want anything else,” the creature said smoothly, crawling up onto my blanketed legs until it was close enough to touch my daughter.  “One wants what was promised one.”  It began to sway, much as a mother holding a child would, but it made no move to take her.  I wondered if it wasn’t savoring the moment, like a glutton inhaling the scent of a fine feast.

“Please,” I said.  “Give me a chance to win her back!”

The creature paused mid-sway.  “Chance?” It said, long ears moving upwards.

“Yes!”  I said, desperation coloring my voice.  “You- you said you liked a good gamble!  Let’s raise the stakes, and if I win, I get to keep my daughter.”

The creature cocked its head to the side, considering.  “And if it loses?”

I had already thought of this, and knowing the creature desired pain, offered up the only thing I could think would increase the pain of losing my firstborn.

“You take her and… and any other children I might have after her.”

The Oathbreaker, PT XXI

I went straight to my mother’s grave, not daring to visit my father first, just in case something happened to call me back to the palace.  The guard stood a respectful distance back, and if he thought it strange that the king was apparently unaware that the mother I’d gone to visit was, in fact, dead, he made no comment.

I knelt awkwardly on the lush green grass before her headstone, and prayed a wordless prayer.  Then I spoke her true name aloud, and for the second time my mother’s spirit appeared before me.

“Yes, my daughter?”

I burst into tears as soon as I heard her voice, and she moved nearer to me, as though she would touch me if she could.  And how, how I wished she could.  Great, heaving sobs tore out of me as I folded forward over the round swell of the child growing within me.  My fingers dug into the the good dark earth beneath the grass, and my tears fell like a hot rain.

“Oh daughter,” my mother said.  “Oh my poor daughter,” and the way she said it, as though her heart were breaking, I knew she knew.  I would not have to say anything of what had led to this moment, and for that I found myself disproportionately grateful.  I cried a bit longer, then sat up and wiped my face on the back of my hand.  It was the gesture of a miller’s daughter, not a queen, and it comforted me.  My mother’s spirit smiled encouragingly, and I took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I disobeyed you, mother.  I dealt with a creature whose name I did not know, and soon it will come to collect what I so recklessly bargained away.”

“Tell me more of this creature,” she said, and so I did, going back over all three nights I’d spent with it.  Occasionally she’d stop me, ask for clarification on a point, or greater detail, but in the end she shook her head.

“It’s not one I know, my daughter,” she said.  Tears began to well up again, but she held up a hand to stall them.  “But from what you say- it enjoys a challenge, the game.  You say it appreciated you attempting to outwit it?”

“Yes,” I said, wondering where this was leading.

“You must attempt to outwit it again,” she said.  “It will give you the chance if you ask: it’s too vain not to.  But this time, you must succeed.”

My fingers spasmed into fists.  “But how, mother?”

“Challenge it.  Ask it for a chance to win back your firstborn.”

“But- but why on earth would it take such a chance?”

My mother smiled sadly.  “Because it would never believe that you, magicless mortal that you are, might actually succeed against it.  And because it knows how much greater the pain will be, if first you have had hope."

The Oathbreaker, Pt XX

And once I realized I loved it, the fear came soon after.  Because if I could love it this much now, when it was nothing more than the stroke of a butterfly’s wing against my womb, how much more would I love it when I held it, a fully formed child, small and helpless in my arms?

Only then did I begin to realize the price I had paid for a building full of stupid spun gold.  Gold which was used not to enrich the kingdom, as I had naively imagined, but rather to amuse the king, impress his minions, and humiliate his enemies.  I was dressed in an endless array of golden gowns, and I grew to loathe the color almost as much as the pale green of the king’s eyes.

If I’d thought I hated the king before that time, it was nothing compared to the hatred that swept through me during those too-short months of pregnancy.  I found I could not bring myself to hate the creature with whom I’d bargained- it had been very honest with me that the greater the magic the greater the pain required.  And it was a great deal of magic, indeed, it had worked that final night.  I was the fool who had dreamed I might get away without paying.  But it was the king- the selfish, mad king- who had put me in a position to make such an evil bargain in the first place.

The king, of course, was delighted by my delicate state- delighted enough to leave me alone, which was a great relief.  True, I was still visited daily by the court sycophants, but at least none could ignore my dismissal- and dismiss them I did, claiming any number of ailments.  There were many spies amongst the servants, but also a few whose love of me might just outweigh their fear of the king- but I did my best never to put them in the position to find out.  It wasn’t fair to ask so much of them, and I knew better than anyone the shame of being utterly powerless to protect one’s self, or the ones you loved.

The day I felt my child kick beneath the hand I’d pressed to my gently swelling belly, I realized I would burn the kingdom to the ground before I let the creature touch it.

It was time to visit my mother.

At first I was not going to ask the king.  I was the queen, after all- theoretically I could do as I wished, especially now that I was carrying his heir.  But… the fact that I was carrying his heir might make him all the more unreasonable.  He might decide to murder my entire village for kidnapping the royal heir.  I decided not to take the chance, and instead began to very conspicuously pine.  I pined, and turned away my meals (one of my maids brought me food in the middle of the night) until at last the king sent his physician to examine me.

I was not particularly fond of the physician, a man much in love with the perks of court life and skeptical of the rural healing traditions, but I knew how to manipulate him, and in the end he made his report to the king: I was suffering from a peculiar female hysterical ailment that only a visit with female kin would remedy.  He recommended I be sent to the countryside at once, for the curative powers of fresh air, and the calming effects of maternal love.

The king would not be satisfied unless I went with a retinue of dozens, nevermind that they would slow my progress, or the strain that would put on my village’s resources.  During the year we had been married, however, I had learned a thing or two about manipulating the his ego, and his paranoia, and it did not take long for me to convince him that it was his idea to send me alone but for a single, trusted guard.

“We’ll tell the court you’re ill,” he said decisively, “And cannot see or be seen by anyone, lest it endanger the baby.  You will travel disguised as a miller’s daughter and her brother, on their way to visit their ailing parents.  My enemies will never suspect the ruse!”  He chuckled at his own genius, then stroked my belly possessively.  “They’ll have neither of you, my precious treasures” he said softly, and I smiled serenely, as inwardly I imagined castrating him with a paring knife.

The Oathbreaker, Pt XIX

I will not bore you with a recitation of the events of the following day- one wedding is much like another, if it is not your own, and since I was not a willing bride, in this instance, it did not even hold the charm of being my own.  Suffice to say, by sunset I was wedded and bedded in the very worst of the old customs.

I understand that the physical act of love does not have to be terrible- but I imagine that is because it is a physical act of love.  What happened to me, while physical, had nothing to do with love.  Well, not beyond the king’s love of his own self, of course.  Each night he came to me, and I retreated into my mind as much as possible.  Each morning, as he slept, I chewed the herbs that would prevent his seed from taking root.  Each day I longed for him to return to his many mistresses, and bother me no longer.  But the kingdom required an heir, and so he kept at his work, as unenthusiastic as he found me.  At times I toyed with the idea of letting it happen, just for a few month’s reprieve : after all, the creature would take the child off my hands as soon as it arrived, and no one could say I hadn’t done my duty to the kingdom.  But I couldn’t bring myself to doom an innocent child to such a dubious fate, blood of the king’s blood or not.

Unfortunately for my scruples, the winter held on longer than anyone expected, and the plants stayed sleeping, locked beneath the frozen earth.  I discovered, to my horror, that I had not put aside enough of the dried herb to outlast this delay- and before the first moon cycle had passed without it, I was with child.

I considered doing away with it, of course- I was a wise woman, after all, and knew how.  Had known my mother to help other women when the time was not right for them.  But I found that, for myself, I could not do it.  Much as I hated the king, hated my life, I could not bring myself to hate the potential growing within my body.  And then I felt it move, and found that I loved it, poor unwanted thing.