The Oathbreaker, Pt XXIX

I did call the others, one helpful spirit after the next, but none of them knew the dark creature’s name any more than the air spirit had.  There were all, however, absolutely delighted by my daughter, and most- if not all- stayed to coo over her as I called and questioned still more of their ranks.

At last I had called them all, every last name my mother had taught me- and all had sadly shaken their heads.

“Not that one,” they said, time after time.  “That one has no truck with us.”

The hope I’d fought so hard to keep from rising began to fall, crushing my heart beneath it.  My eyes burned and filled, and at last the tears began to fall.  I had no more wisdom, no more tricks- nothing else.  I had failed.  I would lose my daughter- and any others that came after.

“Aw, no cry lady!  No cry, no cry!” I was swarmed by dozens of spirits, some no larger than my pinkie, others as large as a hare, all patting me in comfort.

“But you were my last hope,” I sobbed.  “The creature said no mortal knows its name, so I thought perhaps one of you…” I couldn’t continued, and instead hid my face in my hands.

Suddenly a warm, crackling sort of voice said, “We don’t know that one’s name, but we may know one who does.”

I looked up and saw a spirit made of flames sitting on a rock.  Its features were difficult to make out, dancing and shifting as they were, but it appeared to be somewhat reptilian in form.  All around it the snow had melted, and it cocked a maned head as it considered me from its perch.

“We have seen that one- it loves to play and hide in the darkest shadows we cast.  We have never heard it utter its name, but we have seen it dance with another of its kind.  Perhaps that other one knows that one’s name.”

I stared at the flame spirit, hardly daring to open myself up to this new thread of hope.  Another creature!  Would it know its compatriot’s name?  It might!  But what would it demand, in exchange for such a precious boon?  Pain, of course- but what pain could I offer it that would be greater than my current pain?

Nothing.  Anything I offered, it would know I must not actually value… I must trick it into asking for something, as the first creature had.  I  hadn’t known how much future pain I was trading- I must trick the new creature into thinking I remained naive to the nature of pain.

“Can you bring it here?” I asked slowly.  “Will it come in the daytime?”

The flame spirit fluffed itself up, then sleeked itself back down, much as a bird might.  “Yes yes, that other one will come.  It is already drawn by your pain, but our presence keeps it at a distance.  We do not like that other one, no more than we like that one.  And it knows it.”  The little paw-like hands hands stretched out and I saw what looked like little claws kneading at the rock, leaving scorch marks in their wake.

“Would you… would you all disappear for a bit, so I can talk to it?  Please?”

A few of the spirits disappeared immediately, but more scowled and slunk about my skirts, making noises of disapproval.

“Lady should not trust that other one,” came one voice from among the many.  “It is just as bad as that one.”

“Oh my friends,” I gave a shaky laugh.  “I do not trust it, not at all.  But I need it.  Please.  I need to save my daughter.”

One by one the others disappeared, until at last only the flame and air spirits remained.  The flame spirit stretched, gave it’s mane a shake that sent sparks flying, and then eyed me knowingly.

“Lady must be wise, like lady’s mother,” it said.

“I know,” I said.  “Thank you.”  It leaped into the air, and was gone.

Now only the little air spirit was left, and its stance was worried.

“Careful, lady, careful,” it said, and kissed my cheek.  “It will want what is most precious,”

“Well it can’t have it,” I said as reassuringly as I could.  “But it can have the next-most-precious thing, if it likes.”

“Careful,” the spirit whispered again, and zipped away into the sky.

I was alone again, save for my now-sleeping daughter, and the sun had risen high above the horizon.  The pond was liquid one more, and I watched the wavelets sparkle in the clear winter’s light as I thought about what my next-most-precious thing might be.

“Come out now, please,” I said to the cold, sharp air.  “I know you’re nearby, and I know you can… help me.”

The Oathbreaker, Pt XXVIII

I turned my head, slowly, and came nose-to-tiny-nose with the air spirit.  It smiled cheerfully, a swirl of silver-white in the warm morning sun.

“Hello hello!” It’s voice tinkled like frost-covered leaves blowing in a playful breeze, and I couldn’t help but smile back at its evident joy.

“Hello there,” I said softly, and then, because it seemed polite, I glanced downward and said, “Would you like to meet my daughter?”  The spirit gave a shriek of delight and dove towards my daughter’s head.  I closed the shawl just in time.  “Perhaps from a distance?” I asked.  “She’s very small yet, and not used to the cold air.”

“Sorry sorry!” the spirit was contrite, but still vibrating with excitement.  I pulled back the shawl once more and it floated a respectful distance above us.

“Ooo,” it said.  “So soft and warm!  So pretty!  Pretty pretty!”

“I think so,” I said, warmth blossoming in my chest.

“But… why did lady call if not for cooling?”  It asked at last, landing next to the leftover cheese and applying itself industriously.

“I need to know if you can help me with a name.”

“Name?  Name for girl child?”  the spirit looked up, curious.

“No, she has a name.  I need the name of…” I paused, considering.  How to describe the creature?

“I made a bargain with something… sort of like you.  But not of the air.  More like… of the shadows.  But stronger.  Bigger.  More solid.  Very pleased with its own cleverness, and its knowledge of the old magics.  All black, with long ears and a long tail, and eyes that glow in the moonlight.  And a great many sharp teeth.  Do you know it?”

The spirit gave a little shudder.  “Bad bad bad,” it said.  “Lady should not deal with such as that one.”

“That I know,” I said.  “But I had no choice.  And now I need to know its name, so I can undo what harm I’ve done.”

The spirit shook its head.  “Don’t know,” it said, sadly.  “Don’t know that one’s name.  Sorry, sorry.  That one is sly, and keeps its secrets well.”

I swallowed my disappointment.  Of course it would not be so easy.  “That’s alright,” I said, reaching out to give it a little caress along its finely feathered back.  It giggled with pleasure, and took off again.

“Call the others,” it advised.  “Maybe a more powerful one knows that one’s name.”

The Oathbreaker, Pt XXVII

The sun broke over the horizon.

I stared at it, numbly.

One more night to be a mother, it had said.  One more night.  The fear rose up from my stomach to choke my heart, my throat.  One more night.

And one more day, whispered a calm voice in the back of my head, sounding so much like my own mother that I shuddered.

I pulled the cord, and sent my maid to fetch the wet nurse, and my daughter.  And some food.

When my daughter was safe in my arms I sent everyone away, and did not summon anyone else.  Instead I wrapped her to my chest and threw a pair of shawls about the two of us, then picked up the basket full of food the kitchen had sent.  Balancing carefully, I descended from my chambers into the main portion of the palace, and from there out into the pleasure gardens.

They were empty of people, this time of year, but still beautiful.  The rising sun turned the stretches unbroken snow into a blanket of glittering rose and peach, pierced through here and there by the beautiful black lattice of bare branches.

So very, very beautiful.

The cold air hurt my chest, but then my chest was hurting anyway, so I paid it no mind.  I leaned my head down and kissed my daughter’s head, nestled in the warm pocket on my breast.  She smelled of milk and honey and the languor of summer.  She was far more magical than an entire castle-full of straw-spun gold.

I walked until I came to the edge of one of the decorative ponds, which had a thin skin of ice on it, gleaming in the early morning light.  It would not last long- even now a fine steam was beginning to rise from the brittle surface, as the sun spread out along it.  There were benches arranged around the pond, but I ignored them, instead spreading out one of the shawls on top of the snow.  I smiled to see there, dancing pattern of black, white, and coal-banked red.  It was the shawl I’d woven a lifetime ago, as a miller’s daughter.  Simple as it was, it was still the finest piece of clothing I owned, golden gowns be damned.

I laid the basket of food down, then settled myself in the center.  The wool protected me entirely from the chill beneath, and I reached into the second shawl to adjust my daughter and let her take her own breakfast.

We sat in the stillness of the morning, and I watched the sun climb higher in the sky, and I tried to think what I would do with my final night.

How I would spend my final day.

I ate the bread and cheese and sweetened oat cakes of my breakfast slowly, carefully, savoring their flavor.  I left a little of each, as my mother had taught me, for the good spirits.

The good spirits.

...no mortal knows one’s name...

But the spirits were not mortal.

My heart lurched.  Could it be so simple?  Could they know what my mother’s spirit had not?  I tried to force down the hope, not wanting to give that creature an ounce more pain if I could help it, but hope pays no heed to the wishes of humans, and rise it did.

Mouth dry, hands shaking, I called the name of an air spirit, one who had kindly cooled me on some of the hottest summer days.  Nothing.  I took a sip of the warm wine that was in the basket and tried again, louder.

Something tickled a lock of loose hair by my cheek.

The Oathbreaker, Pt XXVI

I did not allow myself the luxury of a long wallow- time was passing, and even as I had blessed the length of the night for the extra time to guess, so now did I curse the shortness of the day in which I had to prepare.  For prepare I must do.  I summoned the court’s ambassadors, for they would have knowledge of foreign names my people had never encountered.  I summoned the court’s priests, for they would know the names of gods and angels and demons I’d never knowingly had truck with.  I summoned children- dozens and dozens of children, for they have their own secret languages and names for things.  And I summoned my daughter, for I would not sleep without her by my side, and sleep I must, if I was to stay awake another long winter’s night.  Perhaps in my dreams more names would come to be.

I woke six hours later, again with an hour before sunset.  I ate what was put before me as I eyed the new scroll on the device.  It was not so large as the one from the night before, not even with the names I’d not gotten to added to it.  I would not run short of time this evening.

In the light remaining I sent my daughter off with the wet nurse, and called my maid to help me change.  Since becoming queen I’d had a few simple gowns, gowns like those I’d worn as a miller’s daughter, fashioned for me.  I wore them only when my husband would not be around, as a sort of reminder of who I really was.  A sort of comfort.  I needed that comfort tonight.  I needed to be a miller’s daughter, a wise woman’s daughter, not the wife of a king.

I shooed the maid out as the last of the light disappeared, and the creature stepped out of the shadow the closing door created.

“Is it feeling more clever this evening?” It asked politely.  I took a deep breath, and began to read.

Name after name, some so hopelessly complex I had no hope of pronouncing them correctly.  The creature laughed at some of the more outlandish attempts, but answered in the negative to all.  Just as before, it began interested and engaged, but eventually grew bored.  Unlike the previous night, however, it seemed to remember much earlier that if I failed, it won.  This began to perk it up, and as the night wore on it began giggling its “No.”s, which only served to make me stammer and stumble over the strange names all the more.

I came to the end of the scroll as the stars began disappearing.  For a long moment there was silence as my brain scrambled for more names- Say something! my mind screamed.  Don’t waste any of this time!  But I knew no more names.  Until, suddenly, I realized I did.

My mouth opened, and out came the names of all the good and helpful spirits my mother had shown me.  At first the creature looked stricken, then baffled- then disgusted and finally, amused.

“How can those be one’s name?” It finally asked, laughing.  “Those names all belong to others.  Weak, useless others.  It should know that- it has had truck with the others, or it would not know the other’s names.  The others are far too careless with their names, not like one.  One is too clever for that: no mortal knows one’s name.”  The last was said smugly, and I fought the urge to throw my silver flagon at its pitch-black head.

“No mortal knows it yet,” I said instead, digging my fingernails into my palms.  “Don’t forget, I have one more night of guessing.”

“Yes yes,” it said, complacent.  “One more night of guessing, one more night of hope to sweeten the pain, yes yes.”  It yawned, stretched, and slithered off the bed towards the corner.  “One more night for it to be a mother,” it added, and disappeared.

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?"