The Summer Child

"My lord... I mean, Damon," she said. "Tell me."

"I want to know if you are happy here...in this place...In this land."

"I am."

The answer took his breath away. He almost dared to look up. "But...do you miss your mother?"

"My mother?" she said carefully, as if she didn't know who this person was. She stood, and he stood with her. They walked together through the silence. He looked sidelong at her face, to study it, but her features were veiled in shadow.

"Do you remember her?"

"Yes. And no." Shadows passed over her face, as she remembered fires in the hearth, a dark haired lady on whose lap she sat, with servants made of flames moving around them. "She was more than just a mother, I think. She was very powerful. But I loved her." She smiled, but when she saw Damon's face she cried out with concern, "But that was another part of my life! Damon, I love...all this, too." Her hand swept an arc to the palace gardens, the hills, to the thin gold line of horizon beyond the valley.

"That life was lovely. So is this."

The frightening look had gone from the king's face. But there was still a touch of sadness and pain. "I took you from that life, and your mother. I thought there was good in it, but..."

"There was good in it."

"But you left behind your mother. You called out for her, you know, when you were ill. You called for her to save you."

This troubled her. She looked away, trying to remember what she dreamed of, in those long nights saturated with sweat. Over and over, she descended down into a tunnel filled with blue light. And the way it took her lead on and on until...

The princess had grown so pale the king almost put out his hands to catch her. "Kyri? What is it?"

But she said nothing, only shivered. A cold wind was blowing from the north, carrying on it the scents of autumn.

"What? Kyri-" He did touch her then, and support her frail weight. Even as he searched her face, she avoided his eyes. "Tell me," he said.

But she shook her head, and then swayed so violently that the king, now alarmed, took her up into his arms to carry her swiftly home. Circ led the way, barking his own concern. By the time they reached the garden gate, the princess was recovered enough to protest.

"You should not be left alone on your excursions. A faint could overwhelm you at any time, and then you'd be helpless."

"Please," she said, "I am fine. No, I am strong enough—I just had a dizzy spell. You don't have to protect me." She wriggled, but his arms were tight around her, and so she reached down and unlatched the garden gate again. He carried her right to a chair, and knelt beside it.

"You are too precious to lose...after all that has happened..." rage threatened to consume his face. "Hunter—I should have known..."

The look on his face frightened her, but she spoke, "No, no, Damon, please. It was the curse...It was not your fault."

"What? What curse?" he looked at her with such fury she cringed. "No—I do not mean to frighten you. It's only—I knew a man who spoke of a curse long ago. When we took you from your homeland, there was a great upset in the world's magic. There is a balance that must be kept. Yet...how could it be balance to have one land so prosperous, and the other starving?"

She shook her head, mute.

"It could not be that way, Kyri. And even if it was wrong to right it—I may be damned for it—"

"No!" she cried out now. "Do not say that."

"Then do not speak of the curse—" he said sharply. "Any curse that comes must fall on me. It cannot touch you, Kyri, don't you understand... I must protect you," he said roughly, but the hand that touched her cheek was gentle. cheek. She lifted her own hand, and held his there. "I don't think you realize what losing you would do to me."

It took her a moment to realize what he said. "You mean, to the land."

"No, Kyri. To me." His eyes were dark as a forest pool. "You brought life to more than just the soil and fields." He took her hand then, and kissed it.

Then he rose. "I should go."

"Damon—"

"Kyri."

"You need not stay away," she said. "I...like it when you are here."

"Very well," he said, and his face was fierce, but only because he was fighting a smile. "Tomorrow I will take you riding on River."

Her whoop of joy made Circ sit up from his nap. "Noon tomorrow," she said. "You must promise me."

"I promise."

She gave a smile and his heart beat away from him, like a bird on wings. "Find me in the berry patch."

*

He found her the next day among the blueberry bushes, underneath the branches. She was picking the berries while lying on her back, her hair spread under her.

"Kyri," he stepped out from behind the bush. Beside them, Circ snorted in his sleep.

"Oh, goodness, you scared me," she said. The smile on his face made her suspicious. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Only a few minutes. You won't pick half as many if you eat every other one, you know."

"You're late," she said, getting up, "I had to find lunch as best I could."

"Then, if you've eaten, can I tempt you to get out of this heat?" he held out a hand.

"Absolutely," she said with relief, and took it.

"You must promise to tell me when you are tired," he said as he lifted her to the saddle. "We will not go far anyway; there is a place I want to show you."

They rode River away from the patch, and up from the valley. Kyri rode with her eyes closed, clinging to the king's waist, feeling him breathe against her arms. When he finally stopped she opened them.

"This is the place I have wanted to show you," he said, and let her down from the horse. She looked around the half circle of trees with a frown for they seemed familiar.

"Do you recognize this place?"

She walked a little further, and then stopped. A lake stretched out from her feet, its surface dark and polished as obsidian.

"I brought you here from the castle. It was winter then, and we were in the sleigh."

"I remember," she said, and they shared knowing glances—forgiveness, understanding passed between them easy as a look.

"Your tears watered something there, something that grew. Its roots broke the stone, and the water trapped underground spilled free. Look, Kyri."

And so she did, and when she did, she saw the tree of which he spoke—large and full, branches outstretched in splendor. It was standing, still, somehow, in the middle of the lake, and its twin was reflected back at it.

"How can this be?" she asked.

"It's magic," said Damon, and as if to show her there was nothing to fear, strode into the water until it came waist high. "You see? You made this place anew. You made me anew." And he looked at her with such joy, she couldn't help but smile back. "Come to me," he asked.

So she waded into the water to him, her eyes never leaving his face to show she was without fear. When she reached him, he drew her even closer, curling his hands around her and stroking her back, her arms, her hair and face.

"Kyri," he whispered. "Oh, Kyri, you are so beautiful."

She lifted her face shyly to him, and he bent down, and then a crashing sound announced that Circ had finally woken up, tracked them down, and entered the water. He joined them, frantically paddling.

"Oh, you," Kyri splashed at him and looked ruefully up at the king, "He found us."

"He's good at that. My best hound and tracker was his sire. His mother was a varg."

"Really?"

"Mmmm," said the king. "And now my lady, I shall save you! There is a Varg come to eat you and you must not die!" shoving a roll of water towards the dog, he grabbed Kyri and lifted her in his arms. She laughed wildly; Circ swam unhappily around.

The sun had sunk quite far before they left the water to ride home.

A cold breeze blew past them. The king shivered a little when it touched his wet skin, but still smiled. "Autumn is coming," he said, "but I do not fear the cold. Or winter." He looked at Kyri then, and her heart swelled. But when the cool air came again, she closed her eyes. Instantly, the vision of the tunnel and the blue light came to her.

"Kyri? What's wrong?"

She waited a moment, then opened her eyes. "It is nothing," she smiled at him, wondering if he saw the sadness that was growing in her. "I just remembered the melons should be harvested soon—they will rot on the vine."

"Come then," the king stood and helped her up. "Let's go melon hunting."

He led her away with jokes to harvest her laughter, and reaped well. But in Kyri's heart, the cold wind remained.

*

And now, the people were talking of the king and the time spent with the princess. They hardly had time to, with the heavy harvest work, but they still gossiped. Kyri was grew stronger by the day; a healthy blush came to her cheeks when she saw the king riding to her. He came to her every day he could, but more and more, it seemed, business at the river border or dealings with his brother, who was disgruntled after a only slightly satisfactory harvest, stole his time. Even the vargs to the north were restless. Kyri walked about the king's fields, inspecting the yield of vegetable and grain. When she was bored, she grew the melons into such giants that they were impossible for one page boy to lift. When the king was called away to the south, to sign a trade treaty with the summerland, Kyri oversaw the harvest with Circ at her side. They rode in a wagon full of cabbages about the hills, and showed the men how to bundle the sheaves of grain so that the heads would keep off the rain and not rot. Near the end of the day, a messenger came.

"My lady, the king sends word. He thanks you for your work, and begs pardon for his absence."

"Is the treaty going through?"

"All is well—the summer king is glad his people will benefit from our great harvest. Our king has been more than generous. They are saying that His Majesty Damon's wine is praised as the best."

"Very well," she said. "Tell him the harvest will be in within the week, although he is missed, his people have done well without him."

"Thank you, princess. There is one more message. He says, "Forget this treaty. A king will grow in your garden by the whole of the moon."

"Thank you." Kyri gave a small smile, but looked distant.

The man bowed and left her, his own tongue full of gossip for the telling. "She blushed at his name and is eager for his return. She sighs with longing. When he returns, he should offer her the crown. We'll have a queen by fall."

It was after the harvest, not a week from receiving the message and just days shy of the full moon, when Kyri woke suddenly hours before dawn. There was no sound in the palace, nor outside, yet her heart was thudding and mind full of the last image of her dream—a tunnel full of blue light.

"No," she mumbled, and looked around. Circ was asleep near the hearth, exhausted as she had been. That day they had seen the last of the grain cut and sent off to the storehouses. Sleep was the only thing on everybody's mind—celebration would be soon, after the king returned from the treaty.

It was bright in her room—a fire was burning in the hearth. It was not one that she had lit, and at first she though a servant had come in. But when she rose and looked around, she realized the air was full of magic, and the fire itself was extraordinary, alive with the flames of the hearth dancing into small beings. She blinked her eyes and then turned away firmly. Grabbing up her cloak, she went into the garden. Circ slept on unawares.

Kyri stood at her garden gate, and lifted her chin to the north. A wind blew from there, calling to her; she turned her head to its music. The light of dawn was reaching from the east. And, still thinking she was in a dream, she let herself out of the gate and stepped into the dark.

The dew was thick on the grass. Her steps lead true north, as if something called her. She hesitated once, at the place were field stopped and forest began. But she continued on.

Whether she walked for an hour, a day, a week is forgotten. Echoes of Circ's bark came to her now and again—she knew he was not following, though once and awhile a furry face peered out at her, large and fanged like Circ's was, though more wild. Vargs, guardians of the magic. They let her pass.

She passed groves of birch and thickets of pine. There were rocks with lichen and even streams spilling over them, as she climbed—the land sloped up. Here and there in the shadows were piles of snow. Nothing stopped her, though, until she reached the piles of white stone. They were mounded up with a dark opening at their base, just like in her dream. She started for it, and jumped back when a slavering varg leaped at her, snarling. It was chained to the rock by a rusty length of iron. Staring into its red eyes, she reached into her pocket for the biscuits she always kept there, honeyed cakes the good hearted cook made for Circ. When she tossed them out, the varg leaped up and caught them in its mouth. It whined then, as sweet as Circ when he wanted more biscuits, and let her pass. It was then that she knew she would not see her dog, or the palace, again.

The cave was a tunnel, long and narrow. She had long left the entrance, with the light and snow spilling in, but it had grown no darker, or less cold. The tunnel glowed with its bright stone, and every so often, the veins in the rock pulsed blue. Kryi moved along it swiftly, not stumbling, though she did once pause to put her hand out towards the stone. The heat from her palm dissipated in the chilled air, but she patiently waited until the pulse came and shot under her hand. Then she hurried on. When she came to a split in the tunnel, she went left.

Now the echoing silence was broken by a light sound, a lovely sound. Without meaning to, Kyri's steps quickened. She came round a corner, and stopped at the sight: the cave broadened into a large cavern, complete with running water, fresh air, and, coming from the roof, what looked like sunlight. Her eyes were blinded by the great light.

"Come, child," called a warm voice, a chilling voice, an old voice and a young one. Moving forward, she saw three figures standing by the lip of the pool. The water flowed over the crags of the cavern side, and came all the way to the center, where the light and water met. There, the three stood.

As she came closer, she could see they were different. One was old, the other young and fresh. The third was dark-haired, and looked familiar to Kyri. She was neither young nor old.

"You look more and more like your mother," said the old, rasping voice. The young one nodded. Both the young and the ancient face looked from Kyri to the third figure, and Kyri knew.

"Mother!" Kyri cried, and would have run to her, but the woman lifter her hand to stop her. That hand stopped her more than a thousands chains would. A look of pain crossed Kyri's face.

"Am I not your daughter," she asked, her own palms out.

"Welcome, daughter, we've been expecting you." was the cool reply. The woman turned. "There is work to do."

The other two turned also. Before them was the pool, round and full, fed by clearest, coldest springs, deep in the earth yet still forced to make there way down, to this tunnel in the womb of the earth.

"We look at the lands," the young voice started, almost chanting. In the pool images formed and swirled away. "We find imbalance," the old voice continued the chant.

"We will fix the imbalance." Kyri's mother sounded firm, ready, almost warlike. "We have done it before."

The third was a sort of reflection. It was Kyri, looking at her puzzled self calmly. When the real Kyri asked, "Who are you?" and reached out her hand, the reflection rippled away to nothing. "What is this place?"

"Here we judge the world."

"It's not yours to judge," Kyri said. "You are not rulers. You did not create it."

"We keep the magic," said her mother.

"You used to," Kyri said, "until I was taken away. You used me, mother, for my magic. It was mine and mine alone. It should have fallen where I willed, equally on all people."

"You are still a child," when the matron finally spoke, her voice echoed about the cavern.

"I am old enough to decide," said Kyri.

"Careful," said the old woman. "There's a curse that's yet to fall."

"It shall fall on me," said Kyri. "I will not allow it to harm another."

Her mother moved in front of her. She looked Kyri deep in the eye, and then studied her body. "You have grown," she said. "Your body is a woman's."

Kyri was stilled by her mother's words. "I am ready," she whispered.

But the matron and the old woman exchanged glances. The elder shook her head. "No, daughter," the matron said. "The choice is not yours."

"The king will come," said the old woman, turning her head as if she could hear hoof beats. "There will be a sacrifice." Kyri listened to the cracking voice in horror. "The curse will fall. A life for the life of the land. That is the balance. He is the ruler, it is for him to die. Then balance will return. We will make it so."

"We will," the matron confirmed.

"No!" Kyri shouted, and tried to move. The air had turned thick as water around her. Blue light flashed; her mother's face was fixed before her, and then Kyri collapsed from consciousness.

*

Outside the cave, a weary man on a dark horse rode hard up to the white cliffs. Snarling, the varg leaped at them, and was met first by River's hooves, then by the king's sword, already bloody from the waves of vargs that fell on them as soon as they trespassed into the high, magic filled north.

The king had known the minute he arrived back at the palace that something was wrong. The garden gate had been shut, but as he approached, a servant opened it and Circ tore out, barking. The dog had not gone to the king, but streaked across the field, due north.

"What has happened?"

"My lord," the man had said, his face grey, "The princess is gone."

Without a word, the king had turned River. The two of them followed the distant form of Circ, racing as no other unmagical thing could. Into the forest River had plunged, paying no heed to tearing branches. They had caught up with the half hound right before they reached a great lake. The dog was fast, but River, a champion made by magic of the king, was faster. Besides, no mere beast can run across water as if it is a black road. As soon as they left it, the vargs had attacked. Their teeth flashed like knives, and came against the king's lone sword. Gritting his teeth, Damon sliced as best he could. The vargs were large, red eyed beasts, half crazed with magic. Whenever there was a lull in their attack, River shook them off and surged forward. His sharp hooves cut into the giant wolves' hides.

It may have been hours they fought like this, with vargs falling on them from every side. When his arm was tired, the king used magic, pushing the vargs away with an invisible wall. They slunk alongside and leaped from rocks, trying to breach the shield. But then the king smiled. He had seen the white stones up ahead.

Just then, a wolf leaped onto the warhorse from above. It caught the king and River off guard, and the king's arm was trapped. Damon turned his face away from the hot, rabid breath as the mouth came close, snapping and snarling. After stumbling, River threw his weight forward, bucking with back legs and then rearing up. Every muscle the king had was clenched with holding on. With a yelp, the varg rolled off, and was trampled to death under the horse's hooves. Then River rallied.

"Go," the king shouted, and with sudden strength, River burst through the last strip of pines between them and the clearing.

As if afraid to leave the forest, the creatures melted away. Hot and bloodied, the two victors approached the bleached mountain. The king dismounted, only to be met with the angry jaws of another varg. This one leaped to the end of its chain and found itself skewered on the end of the king's sword. Damon let the blade fall, exhausted.