An Errand on the Mountain

“I don’t see why I have to come, Mother…”

Katorna vi Sumnir took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  Sensing her mood, Rage stomped up the mountain trail, driving her hoofs into the ground with extra force. Windrush noticed the older war mare’s warning and widened the distance slightly.  Her rider, however, was oblivious, lost to reciting the chronicle of her grievances.

“…After all, it is not truly necessary…”

Aspects, give me strength.

Katorna was never one of those people who naturally gravitated toward children. Her grandmother would pick up every baby she saw, but she never had an urge to cuddle random infants. Babies were fragile and easily hurt. She never planned her own wedding either. She’d known from a very young age that marriage was a matter of duty, and so was childbearing and child raising. She had delayed her marriage, and then she had delayed having children.

It wasn’t until Petra was born that she finally realized what it meant to be a mother.  One day, about three weeks after giving birth, she looked into her daughter’s green eyes and was overcome by a sudden, fierce need to protect her. That urge had gripped her for fourteen years now, and she had recently realized that it had done damage to them both.

“…for I am too, a person…”

There was a time, somewhere between Petra turning two years of age and reaching twelve, when Katorna found unexpected joy in motherhood. It was a time when Petra moved through the world, wide-eyed, and every day brought some new discovery or adventure. She was smart, caring, and sensible, or as sensible as a child could be expected to be.

“… I had plans.  Plans nobody seems to ever care about…”

But this age… This was intolerable. They had left Wilkair an hour ago, riding up a steep trail into the Selvan mountains through the early morning, and still Petra droned on.

It wasn’t just the incessant whining. It was the casual dismissal, as if their roles had been switched and she, Katorna, was a foolish fledgling in need of guidance. Her daughter had become a selfish creature, focused completely inward to the detriment of everything else. Her own feelings loomed so large within her that their presence had blocked the very idea that others, too, had feelings.

“… I had made an appointment to spend time with Haward…”

Petra’s studies had stagnated. She lost interest in training. She only had three years until adulthood, and already danger loomed on every turn, yet she was willfully oblivious to it.

“…We were supposed to view the recent improvements to the rigging of the…”

Was she that insufferable at this age?  Surely not.

“… have no interest in riding into the mountains first thing in the morning without being given even a hint of a reason for it.”

“I’ve spoiled you.”

Petra paused for a moment, her mouth open, thrown off her thought path.

“I’ve sheltered you because I love you and because losing your father left a raw wound in my soul. You have become complacent and shallow, and I will not tolerate that weakness any longer, Petraline.”

Her daughter glared back at her, her pretty face flushed. She looked so much like Cellan right now, it was truly uncanny. A thin scalding needle of pain pierced Katorna’s heart and sat there, burning. He was gone.   

“Mother, you give me no credit!”

“Remind me, who is Haward’s uncle?”

Another death glare. “Lord Mren vi Jerrad.”

“Did Haward approach you or did you approach him?”

She threw her arms up. “Why does it matter?”

“If it matters not, why don’t you answer?”

“Because you will twist everything I say.”

“I cannot twist a fact, Petra. Who approached whom?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. You never care about my plans, my needs.  I didn’t want to come here in the first place. Am I not a person? I’m going back to Wilkair!”

“Leave, then. I shall go by myself, and in a few weeks, we shall have another landslide.”

Petra spun in the saddle. “Ramond wouldn’t…”

“Who?” Katorna sank steel into her voice.

Her daughter flinched, then swallowed.  “His Grace.”

“That’s right. His Grace.” Katorna chiseled every word into stone. “You must never forget that your cousin is the Lord of Selva. When he comes to our home to celebrate the Winter Crest, when he smiles at you as he hands you a gift on your birthday, when he comes to check on you after you catch an illness and makes you laugh while you rest in bed, he is always Ramond vi Everard, the Sleepless Duke. His duty is to Selva first. As is yours and mine.”

“He would not do that,” Petra said.

The quiet conviction in her voice almost melted Katorna’s resolve. Almost.

“He would do it in a moment, and he would not waver.”

“Why do you hate me?” Petra’s voice spiked. “Why don’t you want me to be happy? What have I ever done to you?”

“Your happiness is exactly why we are having this conversation now, while there is still time to turn things from a disastrous course. You are an Everard by blood. Your marriage is a matter of state, not of love.”

“You married father!”

For a moment Katorna simply stared at her. “Petra, sweetheart, do you think your father and I were a love match?”

“Everyone knows he fought Torvan vi Sert for your hand!”

“Your father challenged Sert because he’d become convinced that if that man remained in command of the Western Passes, his incompetence would cause the Okulan border to collapse. He did it with full blessing of my brother. It had nothing to do with wanting me to be his wife.”

Petra stared at her, shocked. “But there is a poem…”

“Poems don’t change what truly happened. I love your father with all of my heart and soul. I mourn him daily.  But when I came to our wedding, I could barely recall what he looked like.”

“This makes no sense,” Petra whispered.

Katorna softened her voice.

“What you feel for Haward isn’t love, it’s infatuation. It is a powerful feeling, a kind of obsession that makes you wait for a glimpse of him and causes your heart to flutter. You think you have found someone who truly understands you. But infatuation is deceiving. It obscures the true nature of the other person and hides their faults. A priest of the Nurturer once told me that it is the Divine’s way to ensure that we continue our lines for if we truly understood all of the flaws of our future partners, none of us would ever wed.”

They rounded the mountain and turned left, climbing higher up the trail.

“What your father promised me on our wedding night wasn’t love.  It was something much more powerful. He promised me loyalty.”

“I don’t understand,” Petra murmured.

“A pledge of loyalty assured me that I would never have to kill him to protect the Dukedom. I would never find him in another’s bed. He would never undermine me, he would protect and support me, and everything we achieved would be a credit to us both. He hadn’t asked me to make the same oath. He simply stated how he would conduct himself and left it at that. Your father had honored his promise, and I came to love him. For me, there will never be another.”

Petra opened her mouth and shut it without saying a word.

“Infatuation hides the flaws, but love makes you clearsighted. You see the person as they truly are, and you cherish them for their talents and their shortcomings. Now, let’s return to Haward.”

“He approached me.”

“Was it before or after the Winter Summit?”

Petra stared straight ahead. “After.”

“And what did Haward’s uncle, Lord Jerrad, learn at the Winter Summit?”

Petra stared straight ahead.

“You must decide if you are still a child who cannot comprehend adult matters or if you can walk through this world without your hand held.”

“He learned that he will not be getting the command of Rozgort as he wanted. Instead, it will be overseen by Uncle Glann.”

There was hope for her yet. “What is the value of Rozgort? What is it Jerrad hopes to gain?”

“The Rozgort Fort guards the town of Brigak on the Eastern Coast. Its lord oversees the sea trade with the Goryni, the Kullans, and the northern edge of the Empire. As to what he would gain…” Petra frowned. “He is greedy.  He wants coin.  Wealth. He wouldn’t collect tariffs.  That is the duty of the portitor.”

“But the lord of Rozgort does determine who has the right to land at the Brigak harbor.  He has the power to bar any vessel from it.”

Petra narrowed her eyes. “Bribes?”

“Yes, my sweet. If we can see it, His Grace can see it as well.  Your Uncle cannot oversee Brigak for too long.  He has other commitments elsewhere.”

Her brother-in-law had his hands full as it was.  

“This was a temporary appointment,” Petra said.

“Yes. His Grace communicated two things to Jerrad.  First, the Rozgort would be given to someone he trusted, and second, he was willing to wait for Jerrad to prove himself.  There were so many things Jerrad could’ve done to prove his loyalty. Instead, he decided to become our in-law and sent his handsome nephew to court you.”

Petra stared straight ahead.

“How many times have you run into Jerrad on your outings with Haward? Does he happen to appear coincidentally where the two of you might be? Does he offer compliments to you? Does he tell you that you are intelligent and wise beyond your years and your beauty is incomparable? Does he treat you like a precious jewel, implying that I or His Grace do not fully recognize you for the gift you are?”

Petra gave her a sharp glance.

“You were always perceptive, Petra, much too perceptive to be swayed by honeyed words. Ask yourself, have any of your achievements so far warranted such effusive praise? Have you earned it?”

She was hurting her precious daughter with every word, but it had to be said.

“I am your mother, sweetheart. Nobody in this world wants you to excel more than I do. Nobody is more proud even of your slightest gains. Would I, your parent who is deeply biased, have offered you the same praise? Would your father?”

Petra clenched her teeth.

“When Jerrad sees you, he hears the sound of gold grests clinking as they fall into his purse. You are still three years from being an adult, and he is impatient. He also knows the mediocre achievements of his bloodline are far too few to ensure a union with an Everard. Unless, of course, something dishonorable were to happen.  Has it?”

“No!”

“In that case, Haward may continue breathing for a while longer.”

They made another turn. The trees grew taller, denser, hugging the path. The summit wasn’t too far off.

The look on Petra’s face was terrifying.

Now she finally looks like me.

“How much do you trust Nezetta?” she asked. “Think carefully and be honest, for what I am about to suggest may cost you a friend.”

Petra considered it.

“I trust her. She would not betray me.”

“Have her approach Haward and feign interest. If he’s truly devoted to you, he will rebuff her. If not, you will know where you stand.”

“Is that because she is prettier than me?”

“No. Haward turned seventeen this year. No man of his age likes to be told whom to court. If I am right, you are a task he must complete, while Nezetta would be…”

“Entertainment,” Petra finished grimly.

“Yes.”

The green echo of fatefire flashed in Petra’s eyes.

Yes, there you are. Good.

“How do I stop it?”

“Jerrad and Haward?”

“No.” Petra turned to her. “How do I ensure that I am not traded off to some other country for an alliance? How do I control whom I marry?”

“Distinguish yourself. Become so valuable that Selva cannot afford to lose you. Like I did.”

“But you still had to marry father.”

“Oh no, sweetheart. I didn’t have to marry him. I chose to do it. I was the one who suggested it to solidify my brother’s hold on the Dukedom. I wasn’t a prize Cellan won. I had appointed myself his watcher.”

Petra blinked.

The path turned, and a small house came into view, perched near the top of the mountain, surrounded by trees. The horses walked toward it at a slow pace.

“What do you know about the Aspect of the Prophet?”

“His worship is not permitted, although I don’t understand why.”

“It’s because knowledge of the future corrupts those who obtain it. Centuries ago, the Sacred Order of the Prophet chose to meddle in the affairs of the Kingdom and the Empire, seeking power and control. They aimed to become shadow rulers, but their plot was discovered. They were eliminated, and the Temples of the Prophet were razed.”

An older woman, her hair touched with grey, stepped out of the house, and bowed.

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Edna.  She is no one, an old woman who lives on the mountain. Her family has a farmstead in the valley below.”

Katorna looked at her daughter to make sure she marked the gravity of what was about to be said.

“The Aspects are reflections of the Divine, Petra. They never truly perish, and there will always be someone ready to whisper forbidden prayers. Tell no one of this meeting. Not Nezetta, not Unna, not your diary. Keep this knowledge secret for there may come a time you will have to use it. Your presence here is proof of the trust I place in you.”

They reached the house and dismounted. Katorna reached into her pocket and dropped a gold grest into the priest’s palm. “A donation for your shrine.”

“The One Who Gazes Forward thanks you, my lady. How can I serve?”

“His Grace departed for Kair Toren three weeks ago,” Katorna said. “He should’ve returned by now, but something caused him to veer from his original goal.”

The report she received was short and confusing. Her nephew had abandoned his knights, and for a time nobody knew where he was, not even Solentine. According to her spy, when Dagarra finally found him, Ramond had been discovered in a house with a young woman and a motley gathering of mercenaries and orphans.

Every day in Kair Toren meant risking discovery, and Sauven, that despicable buzzard, would cherish nothing more than catching the Sleepless Duke breaking the Accords. Ramond understood that, and still he lingered.

“He is behaving oddly, and there is a woman involved,” she said. “I need you to look into her future and his.”

The priest bowed her head and went inside.

“A woman?” Petra whispered.

Katorna nodded.

She had never approved of the way Lorest approached Ramond’s upbringing, although she had understood why it was necessary. Her brother had forged her nephew into a weapon. Ramond did not permit himself the luxury of feelings. Courtship and lovemaking were just another skill in his arsenal.

Her nephew had a smattering of casual liaisons over the years. She knew of at least two cases where he must’ve felt something deeper, for he severed those budding relationships cleanly and completely before they had a chance to grow.

It was utterly unlike him to be diverted from his goal. This wasn’t a romantic entanglement.  This was something else, something urgent and dangerous. It worried her.

Edna returned with a basin of water. She set it on a stump before the house, retrieved a bundle of dried herbs from a shed, and crumbled them into the water.

Katorna crossed her arms. Watching Edna commune with her Aspect always disturbed her. It was proof of powerful forces beyond human understanding. Forces that could not be cut even by the Fatefire.

Edna knelt before the stump, dipped her hands into the water, rested her palms on the bottom of the basin, and shut her eyes.

Silence stretched.  Birds sang in the trees. A lazy blue butterfly floated by.

Edna’s eyes snapped open. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” Katorna asked.

“The knowledge you seek is beyond my reach.”

There it was again, the same sense of unease she felt every time she thought of Ramond’s trip to Kair Toren.

“Edna, you know me.  I have done well by your family.”

“You have, my lady.”

“I need you to try one more time.  Please. It is important.”

“I will try,” Edna promised.

She shut her eyes and leaned into the basin.

Her hands trembled. The tremors spread up her arms to her shoulders, then to her chest and face.  Her whole body shuddered.

Edna gasped and vomited blood into the water.

Petra gasped.

Blood tears dropped from the priest’s eyes. Edna struggled, contorting, trying to break free, but staying put as if her hands were glued to the basin.

Katorna lunged, grasped her by her shoulders, and yanked her backward. Edna fell on her butt, shaking like a leaf.

A dark cloud rose from the water. Within it a strange orb flared, swirling with nebula of light like a galaxy in a night sky.  It flashed and vanished.

“What did you see?” Katorna breathed.

“Nothing.” Edna swallowed. “I saw nothing.”

“What?”

“That woman has no future.”

“Is she dead?”

“She lives.”

“Then how can that be?”

Edna turned. Fear filled her eyes. A deep, powerful terror.

“The Prophet has no power over her,” she whispered.

“That is impossible.”

“And yet it is so.”

Five minutes later they rode back down the mountain.

“How can someone exist outside of the Aspect’s power?” Petra asked.

“I don’t know.” Thinking about it opened all sorts of doors, and Katorna didn’t wish to walk through any of them. “One thing is certain. His Grace must’ve recognized some way this woman could be useful to him.”

So much so that he abandoned everything for the sake of obtaining her.

“He will try to bring her to Selva?” Petra guessed.

“Most likely.”

A woman like that would be dangerous in ways none of them could anticipate. Who was she? What was her power? Why would Ramond risk so much to bring her under his banner? She had no answers.

“What do we do now?” Petra asked.

“We wait and prepare. We are Everards, after all. We never let Fatefire fly unchecked.”

Petra nodded.

They rode in silence, descending down the trail, then climbing again, until the walls of Wilkair came into view, its terraces and towers growing from the mountain as if they hadn’t been built but born of the bedrock itself. Green and black banners flew in the wind. The colors of home.

Petra looked at the castle, her expression wistful and somber.  “I love you, mother.”

Katorna vi Sumnir offered her only daughter a brilliant smile.  “I love you too, sweetheart.”