Read Online The Song of Andiene by Elisa Blaisdell - Free Book Online
Authors: Elisa Blaisdell
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rock that had shattered her boat must have torn the ring from her hand. It had sunk unnoticed into the sea.
Its loss angered her. That ring was no mere symbol. If men went by law, it could be her passport back to a palace. It would open the way, and then the city itself would speak, and know her for its rightful sovereign. She still clung to that belief, though now the wide sea stretched between her and her birthright.
But the ring was gone, and rage would do her no good. She was thirsty. She went to seek fresh water. The stream was cold and clear, running over rocks in rapids, and pooling in deep stillnesses. She bent over a pool and drank long and deep of the sweet water, and washed the dried salt from her skin. Her weariness was greater than her hunger. She would search for food after she had slept.
When Andiene woke, her hunger was greater, but she did not know how to satisfy it. She looked up the deep gorge, its walls draped with flowers. Sangry, bittery, and eye-of-the-sun grew red and orange and yellow. Skyglass, sleepbalm, and sweetsnow grew blue and purple and white. She knew their names, for they sprang in the palace courtyards from every handspan of unpaved soil. But they gave her no promise of food; she did not know their uses.
She knelt on a clump of sleepbalm, oblivious to the crushed leaves, and watched the sparkling water, and the slim red fish that lay bankside in mats of roots, then flashed quicker than a frightened heartbeat into the shelter of the opposite bank.
The air was filled with a sharp scent like the paste that Nane had used on scrapes and bruises. Andiene remembered … just a few days before … she had come running down the stone stairs that led from courtyard to the cellars, slipping and rolling down the whole flight.
Nane, her nurse, had rubbed her with heal-all paste from sole to crown, till none of her brothers or sisters cared to be in the same room with her. Her face grew more grim, as she remembered, but she did not weep.
Something touched her mind like the brush of a cobweb. Then the calling began.
“Come, child,” it whispered. Pictures flashed through her mind, of peace and comfort, love, laughter, a home with fire in winter and cool refuge in summer.
It drew her for a moment, then she laughed. “Find some other bait for your trap,” she shouted.
The call came again, that dry powerful whisper. “Come, Andiene, come. Your kin have been slaughtered. Blood calls for blood. Your benefactors have been taken and tortured. Do you not owe them revenge?”
Visions came again, scenes of torture and bloodshed, ones she had seen, others she had never seen. Nahil was in all of them, smiling as he ordered his men to kill. And in one scene, a gentler one that roused her to greater rage, he smiled as he watched his lady, Amile, cradle her new-born son, the heir to the kingdom.
The call came from up the green gorge. “Will you let him live in peace and joy? Come and you will have revenge.”
Andiene clenched her right hand around a tuft of sangry leaves. The saw-toothed blades cut deep. The pain cleared her mind, the calling died away, but when she opened her hand, a dozen cuts sprang open. She sank her hand in the cold water. If she held her fingers curved slightly and motionless, the pain was less. Bloodfish gathered and lipped her skin curiously, but flickered away at the slightest motion of her fingers.
Silence. A watchful silence. No sound echoing in mind or air. So easy a victory? Hunger reminded her of her first need. The tri-fold Gifts, Tree and Grain and Thorn, were nowhere to be seen. All she could see were the fish that flickered to and fro, and how was she to catch them?
An answer came, a memory of her brother boasting to the younger children of his trip to the eastern mountains with a tutor who believed that even lords of a kingdom ought to know how to survive in the wilderness.
By the time that the sun had passed its height, Andiene regretted her idea. She lay flat on
Its loss angered her. That ring was no mere symbol. If men went by law, it could be her passport back to a palace. It would open the way, and then the city itself would speak, and know her for its rightful sovereign. She still clung to that belief, though now the wide sea stretched between her and her birthright.
But the ring was gone, and rage would do her no good. She was thirsty. She went to seek fresh water. The stream was cold and clear, running over rocks in rapids, and pooling in deep stillnesses. She bent over a pool and drank long and deep of the sweet water, and washed the dried salt from her skin. Her weariness was greater than her hunger. She would search for food after she had slept.
When Andiene woke, her hunger was greater, but she did not know how to satisfy it. She looked up the deep gorge, its walls draped with flowers. Sangry, bittery, and eye-of-the-sun grew red and orange and yellow. Skyglass, sleepbalm, and sweetsnow grew blue and purple and white. She knew their names, for they sprang in the palace courtyards from every handspan of unpaved soil. But they gave her no promise of food; she did not know their uses.
She knelt on a clump of sleepbalm, oblivious to the crushed leaves, and watched the sparkling water, and the slim red fish that lay bankside in mats of roots, then flashed quicker than a frightened heartbeat into the shelter of the opposite bank.
The air was filled with a sharp scent like the paste that Nane had used on scrapes and bruises. Andiene remembered … just a few days before … she had come running down the stone stairs that led from courtyard to the cellars, slipping and rolling down the whole flight.
Nane, her nurse, had rubbed her with heal-all paste from sole to crown, till none of her brothers or sisters cared to be in the same room with her. Her face grew more grim, as she remembered, but she did not weep.
Something touched her mind like the brush of a cobweb. Then the calling began.
“Come, child,” it whispered. Pictures flashed through her mind, of peace and comfort, love, laughter, a home with fire in winter and cool refuge in summer.
It drew her for a moment, then she laughed. “Find some other bait for your trap,” she shouted.
The call came again, that dry powerful whisper. “Come, Andiene, come. Your kin have been slaughtered. Blood calls for blood. Your benefactors have been taken and tortured. Do you not owe them revenge?”
Visions came again, scenes of torture and bloodshed, ones she had seen, others she had never seen. Nahil was in all of them, smiling as he ordered his men to kill. And in one scene, a gentler one that roused her to greater rage, he smiled as he watched his lady, Amile, cradle her new-born son, the heir to the kingdom.
The call came from up the green gorge. “Will you let him live in peace and joy? Come and you will have revenge.”
Andiene clenched her right hand around a tuft of sangry leaves. The saw-toothed blades cut deep. The pain cleared her mind, the calling died away, but when she opened her hand, a dozen cuts sprang open. She sank her hand in the cold water. If she held her fingers curved slightly and motionless, the pain was less. Bloodfish gathered and lipped her skin curiously, but flickered away at the slightest motion of her fingers.
Silence. A watchful silence. No sound echoing in mind or air. So easy a victory? Hunger reminded her of her first need. The tri-fold Gifts, Tree and Grain and Thorn, were nowhere to be seen. All she could see were the fish that flickered to and fro, and how was she to catch them?
An answer came, a memory of her brother boasting to the younger children of his trip to the eastern mountains with a tutor who believed that even lords of a kingdom ought to know how to survive in the wilderness.
By the time that the sun had passed its height, Andiene regretted her idea. She lay flat on
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