the summer child

8/18/2019 The Summer Child

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The Summer Child

A retelling of a myth

Once there were two kingdoms, with two kings. The southern most was warm and fair, with long summers and ample

harvest. But the northern one was cold and dark, with little light and fields that grew few crops even when they were not covered

with snow. Two kings were brothers. They ruled the lands separated by a single river; one the bright, sunny land, where all

prospered and was fair, and the other the hard, lean land were men fought to survive. The people of the north were plagued with

little to no warm season, sudden frosts, and worse—the Vargs, killing wolves that ranged the wastes. They called their land

Winter and despaired. In the summer country, the harvest was plenty. So it was and so it was thought to always have been.

Once a year, at spring, the king of the winter country came to visit his brother‟s court and nurse his great envy. One land was

blessed, the other cursed; everyone thought it would remain so.

But there was a child. . .

*

They came through the wide corridors between fields thick with wheat— armed riders, dressed all in black and a sightfor the farming folk who lived off the lush growth of summer land.

“They come from the north,” men whispered, and tapped out their pipes nervously. Life wa s good and harvest close,

and even with peace forever established between the two brother‟s countries it was easy to be afraid of the dark warriors, so

hard and muscled from a life spent working where every bucket of sweat was barely bread for a day.

“They‟re with the king,” mothers told their daughters, and hid away to peek through curtained windows as the

contingent galloped past.

And then gasps could be heard, for the faces of the men were so stern, and their clothes so warlike and funereal, and

the leader rode such a frightening black horse that it seemed that death was stalking the bright gold fields of summer. They rode

through the village without slowing, and were out in the country again, leaving a wake of wondering and vague apprehensionbehind.

If the country folk could have rode with them a spell, they would be surprised to find that the mood among

these warrior men was much lighter and easier than their faces revealed. Their garb and weapons were intimidating, to be sure.

But these men were on holiday, and in a better land than they had ever known. Excitement was high. Their king had brought

them; they had a duty, but the sights and sounds and smells were enough to enchant them. Especially the youngest knight, who

was called Hunter.

“My lord,” he said, as he rode in a place of honor, next to the winter king, “this is a beautiful land.” They were

passing over a river and the wooden bridge echoed soundly under the battle steed‟s hooves. The water caught Hunter‟s eye for

a moment: it shone and wound, a silver ribbon, through the mounded hills of wheat. “Well husbanded and fruitful,” he exclaimed

as the band cut through a grassy path between trees in an orchard dripping with blossoms.

His lord, the winter king, did not reply, though a slight twitch could be marked in the cheek, between the steely eye and

grim line of a mouth.

A veteran of these journeys let his horse surge forward so that Hunter could hear him call. “Better keep your wits about

you then, lad. If you like the produce, you should see the women.”


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The warriors all laughed as they went through the next village, leaving all the summer folk to wonder what the joke

could have been.

*

When dusk finally fell, the warriors cut across the fields towards the forest. Deer ran ahead of them, disturbed from the

easy feeding they had on the forest edge. A few of the warriors put their hands on their bows, and watched the deer leap and

escape. All of the band reached the end of the open land and stopped, holding on the edge of the forest.

“We‟ll make camp here,” the winter king said. The warriors immediately dismounted to obey. Those with bows

disappeared in the direction of the deer.

“Don‟t wish to sleep in a village, sire?” asked Hunter. The king, standing on the edge of the camp and gazing out into

the thick forest, did not reply.

“No,” the grizzled captain answered for him. “The Summer king and his court expects us not until tomorrow, and then

for three long weeks. The living there will be soft. We need not lose our field skills.”

Seeing the king was lost in thought, Hunter addressed the older warrior, “And the people of this land don‟t mind

uninvited guests?” The older warrior was about to reply when the king abruptly spoke, “My brother keeps these lands, freeing it from tax

and sending whatever aid the farm needs from his own palace guard. They are not his, however.”

“No?”

“They belong to a woman, a matron of great wisdom and beauty, or so the villagers say. We shall see, Hunter.

Perhaps tonight we will pay her a call. Get ready; we‟ll leave soon on foot.”

As the young man went, the captain and his king looked at one another in silent communication. Finally, the old man

nodded, “Whatever you find, we‟ll be ready.”

“Relax, Piper,” with his oldest friend, the king‟s usually hard visage cracked a little. “We‟re only going to visit the

woman.” “Not just any woman, if you believe the stories…” He muttered, and fell silent as the youth returned.

“It will be a fine thing to be able to scout this country. Is it not a wonder? All this beauty and bounty, right at reach?”

Hunter stretched out his hand to a branch full of large white flowers.

“Huh,” grunted the captain, turning to unpack his horse . But there was a slight smile at his mouth. “Wait until you see

the court.”

Hunter would have done more exclaiming, but the king called for him, and he had to follow his liege into the forest.

“That boy is too star-eyed to be brought to court,” one warrior commented.

“Stars fall from a man‟s eyes when he grows older,” the grizzled one said, and a tight expres sion crossed his lips—too

grim to be called a smile. “There is no joy for a son of north here.”

*

Across the fields of wheat, a wind came, carrying the scents of all summer. The forest along the field held growth of its

own, and two shadows slipped among the green, coming to the edge of the farmland.


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“My brother keeps all this territory,” the king said, his cold eyes looking out over the expanse of gold that rippled like

water under the hand of the wind. “He is the overlord of all and the people pay him out of their bounty. But, because harvest is

so rich and continual, they never starve.”

“Surely all men live as kings in this land.” Hunter said.

“My brother is the kingliest of kings,” the winter lord said gravely. “And long have I wonder, how is it that his land

prospers, while my people starve? How is it that the land is blessed and mine cursed?”

“My lord!” Hunter was disturbed by the brooding darkness on the king‟s face. “The kingdom is well forested, and

boasts a fine mining trade. And there are far mers, a few, who can grow hardy grain on their land.”

“Few. No, Hunter, everything withers in my kingdom. We trade food for timber, iron and fish. But nothing like this.

Here is the bounty.” The king‟s voice was feverish with longing. Hunter said nothing, hoping the mood would pass, the king be

his strong, cold self again, full of reason and self-control.

After a moment the king did say, in an even tone, “For years I have come here and found all I lack. This land is

blessed, and its monarch rules without a care for those who have want, for who could want for anything in a land of paradise and

summer?” He sighed. The sun was setting, the rays stretching almost to the men‟s feet where they had previous been in forestshadow. Over the hills, the last bird songs could be heard. “Too long, Hunter, have I watched my people struggle to survive on

frozen ground. Too long, and now I am weary of this.”

“At first I thought it was my brother‟s power, and cursed myself, for I thought I was too weak. If my land had been

another‟s, then it would not groan under long dark winter paused only for a fruitless spring.”

“My lord,” Hunter said, but the king didn‟t acknowledge him.

“I thought I should leave my land, and give it over to my brother, and never be seen among my people again.” His

voice was almost a whisper. Under the jaw, grey with the day‟s stubble, all the king‟s muscles were clenched as if in agony. “But

that is not to be the way.”

“Surely not,” Hunter broke in, “you cannot end your reign for this. You care for the people; they admire you.” “Do they?” The king turned haunted eyes to him, and Hunter saw the questions, the hopelessness that had burned

away many night‟s sleep. “Will they forgive me?”

“My king,” Hunter stepped back and knelt, bowing his head and placing his right fist over his heart, “We will follow you

into endless winter, if we must.”

“Well said,” the king said softly. “But it is not enough. A ruler should do what is best for his people. And, if by sacrifice ,

he can save them…” He paused as if thinking and then shook his head, clearing the air of his thoughts. Hunter rose when

commanded and brushed bracken from the knees of his trousers.

“I have studied prosperity, Hunter. Want makes a man look closely. And though my eyes have searched for it, I cannot

find anything among my brother‟s court that would produce such a great paradise as this. It is not my brother‟s power or rule that

made this bright land.”

A cry went out over the way—a flurry of starlings broke from their hiding place, and swooped across the fields in a mad

chase. Hunter twitched nervously, but then stilled to listen, for the king broke none of his concentration.

“At first I thought I would conquer it, to possess it. I built an army…but no. I cannot move to take this land, in all its

beauty. So I searched further without knowing what for, without object. I have consulted the wise who live at the world‟s end, by


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the sea. I spoke with mages and stargazers, and those who know anything of the earth. They have told me this land is golden for

one reason and one alone.” The king stopped.

“My lord—“ Hunter began, but he was silenced with a gesture. There was some human movement coming over the

fields, back lit by the setting sun. The sounds blended, and at last, overpowered the birdsong. The two watchers drew back to a

place of hiding in the undergrowth as a small procession of maidens and children came closer. A few lads were with them,

guardians, or stragglers draw to the sight of sweet limbs in light cotton, and voices lifted in laughter and song. It was no work

party this, or if it was, the work was done. The air was festive, with a few scattered fragments of a tune, even the bright sound of

a tambourine.

“There is a source of life, here, in this country. But it is not the king or his magic.” The king said softly, without taking his

eyes off of the party.

“What then?”

The king shook his head, “Not what, Hunter… who. It is a person. You look at me as if I am mad, Hunter, and if I am,

perhaps this is all a dream. But if not, then I have found the source of all this summer.”

A shout from the activity in the field drew their attention. The party was closer now. The two shadows in hiding watchedthem pass, seeing their bleakness reflected in the party‟s happy laughter. The cry made the youths turn, and a child came

running up from behind, carrying something that gleamed with polished wood.

The small crowd parted, letting the child—a girl or boy with short gold curls—through to lead them. And, for a moment,

all heaven‟s light shone down on the yellow head, until the very sun was rivaled by the blazing halo of the child‟s hair.

Trained as he was for silence and stealth, Hunter let out a gasp. Beside him, the king shifted once, but otherwise was

still. For a moment Hunter glanced at the king, but whatever the king was thinking was hidden away. Hunter looked back at the

child, not bearing to look away long. The beauty was painful to watch, and painful to miss.

The other children seemed to be used to the amazing light, for they approached the child as one of their own, a

favored one.“Play us a song, Ky,” they begged, and immediately the young hands strummed the harp. The friends gathered round,

and their own skin glowed with the light from the girl child.

And then the picture was too much too bear. Hunter looked away. It would have been easier to stare at the sun than to

see such beauty. He felt like a starving man who, gone out to beg for food, comes upon a long table laden with a feast. But when

he looked to the king, he did not recognize him. The hardness, chiseled out of many years of desire and despair, had given way,

and a softness had crept in. And still the king was staring, staring straight into the sun of the child‟s face.

The moment passed. The celebrants moved on. The king still stood mesmerized, as Hunter had never seen him

before.

“My lord,” Hunter said softly, and the king awoke. They stared at each other, stunned by what they had seen.

“Come,” the king‟s voice was too deep for Hunter to find emotion.

They did not return to camp, but circled this field, and others, keeping hidden in the forest. Dusk fell as they went. The

forest trees darkened and blended as the light went away.

Finally the king said, “The matron of these lands is well respected and prosperous. She has no husband, but lives well

with the king‟s favor. We will sup with her tonight.”


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They came out towards the lady‟s place, great noise and light sifted through the trees, until they realized they were

coming into a festival, complete with bonfires and minstrels.

“She keeps a merry home,” Hunter ventured, after the two crept up to the edge of the trees, and watched the party

goers for a time. Huge fires had been lit; some held spits with heavy roasts turning on them. There were tables full of grains —

oaten cakes and buckets of rye finely sifted.

“It is a celebration of the first produce,” the king observed, and slipped from Hunter‟s side, into the open. Hunter waited

and then did the same.

If the summer land was a blessed place, the folk who lived and worked there certainly were under blessing as well.

Their faces were tanned and their bodies strong from a life of good eating and then toiling slaving under the load of abundant

harvest. This day was a celebration as well as a fair — farmer‟s wives were busy packing up a stall of jams or honeys. Hunter

was charmed enough to go and buy a pie from one dimpled bride. She smiled up at him as he took a bite and gave a satisfied

nod when he looked to be enjoying himself. “Perhaps I‟ll see you at the party,” she said, and scampered off. Hunter‟s eyes

followed her exit no farther than the hulking muscle farm of a husband waiting with a cart and horse. He finished the pie, chewing

thoughtfully.“We‟ll move on to the lodge,” the king was at his elbow. Hunter shrugged; the fair was almost over, a nd all the village

folk and minstrels, food and laughing young ladies were going inside the great lodge. Inside there were long tables set with

platters of fruit, and roasted boar and fowl, and every sort of raw or roasted vegetable. The two Northlanders followed the stream

of people to take a seat. All around were plain farming folk, laughing and drinking, enjoying the result of their sweat and labor

under the sun. Young women went to and fro, carrying large horns of mead, dripping with condensation. The atmosphere was

infectious. After a time, even Hunter helped himself to a roasted leg of fowl on the table, and the king sat with a cup of mead in

his hand, the sharp planes of his face softened by the firelight. There, at the hearth of the room‟s end, was the large dark haired

matron, presiding over her land and party, laughing at the minstrel‟s fun.

It did not take long for them to spot the child, whose tousled curls and plain smock ran among the rest. Indeed, in thecorner of the eye, a gleam of gold like slanting sunlight came from her direction. She was among the dancers, and then the

singers, but most often near her mother. The matron sat at her hearth fire, the shadows of flickering flames going up her arms.

As the night drew on, and the mead flowed more freely, the light was a trickster. Even for the king, it was hard to see whether i t

was servant men or fire demons who, at the matron‟s bidding, brought the logs to build the ever consuming fire. Then the child

ran to her mother, and the heavy spell disappeared.

The king blinked. A farming boy walking by, groggy from all the mead, was surprised to find a hand on his on his collar,

pulling him off his course.

“Who is that golden child?”

The lad tried to shake off his stony-faced questioner, but tanned muscles were no match for the king‟s might.

Circulation cut off by the clamping hand, he said, “The matron‟s daughter.”

The grip lessened slightly. “By what man?”

“By no man, as far as the two of them are concerned. They have only ever loved each other.” As if on cue, the girl ran

to her mother and put her arms around her. The matron pulled her daughter onto her lap, and together they sat, stroking one

another‟s hair—one raven black, the other so sunny it was almost white— and watching the players.


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Forever that evening would be in Hunter‟s memory: a blaze of gold and fire, and, everywhere, the laughing, shining

child. At last, the king tapped his shoulder; the two rose and bowed to the matron, and, barely noticed, left.

*

The two men made their way back in full dark. As soon as they reached camp, Hunter was ready to burst with all they

had seen. But in the thin moonlight the king met his captain‟s eye, and the warrior called them all to attention with a word.

The king spoke, “We break camp at the third watch. We will leave this place, and return to the north.” Signaling one

rider after another, he gave them their orders. Two left immediately. Hunter stood by and watched with a troubled look on his

face, hearing little of the whispered conversations. The king spoke privately to the captain last.

“You think this could be the one?”

“Piper, if I can believe what I have seen… she will be no less than the salvation of our land.”

“Wait for me at the bridge. I will ride last, in case we are followed or found out.”

“I have not seen any lookouts for us. No military person knows we have come,” said Piper.

“My brother‟s security is soft, but he does not rule in this place. Magic does—it has a stronger presence here. I feel it

even as I move,” he put out an arm and Piper saw the skin was prickled as sand paper.“My lord, it‟s too dangerous—I should be the one—“

“No. It is my magic that will protect me; you could not do it.”

“Then,” Piper gripped his lord‟s forearm in allegiance, “To death or honor—or both,” he pledged, and withdrew. The

camp was almost cleared now. The pit where a few fire coals had been was covered with leaves as if it had never been. Before

the moon reached third watch, only two men were left with their horses. The king‟s stallion was almost invisible when he was still,

a mere shadow of the night.

“Meet me at the bridge,” the king ordered Hunter.

“You are going to take her.”

In answer, the king swung up onto River. Hunter could barely make them out from the branches behind them.“What good will it do?”

“Much good, if she is the reason this land prospers.”

“What if she is not? What if it is her mother‟s power that works endless summer? That child is pure light—surely

stealing her would mean a curse—“

”You aspire to know the deep and spiraling secrets of this land magic? “ The king‟s deep voice was like a fist. “Are you

a ruler, that you can feel all the power of good or evil running through your land?” The king turned in his saddle—man and beast

had faded almost to complete invisibility, but Hunter cou ld still see the steely eyes. ”I know the pain of a dying country. I watch it

every day.” He took a deep breath and continued more calmly, “You have sworn to follow me and bow to my will at ever turn.

This is no small thing, here, it is the fate of a coun try. Will you obey?”

“I will, king.”

“Then go. Wait for us at the river‟s edges. She will need looking after when it arrives. You are the man to do it.”

*

The sun came up. It climbed, dipped and fell. The hours between the two men standing there in the forest, and a

nervous Hunter letting his horse paw the wood of the bridge connecting the shores of the North and Summer land, might have


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passed in a matter of seconds. The king certainly could not account for the time; he rode his black charger, River, and breathed

hard as if fighting the very air. No one but him could see the black tide, or how he, weak and thin compared to the fiends,

persevered.

As for the girl, what would she remember that wouldn‟t seem the stuff of nightmares? A morning‟s walk, a sunny f ield,

the flowers all around blown flat by the breeze of a dark war horse, a blight across the sun, an armo red hand reaching down…

And then, hours later, an old wain rumbled to the road‟s end, to the only bridge that connected the brother kingdoms,

one day and the other like night. Hunter met the driver.

“How is she?” he asked, and the driver shrugged. The escort— two riders on equally inky steeds, flanked the wain as

Hunter dismounted. He went to the covered wagon, and put his hand to the covering. He hes itated. “Where is the king?”

“Coming along soon,” said one of the escort. “He rode back to see if we were followed.”

Hunter nodded. Then, deciding, he pulled back the covering.

So it was the knight who first beheld the work of the magic—the curse or blessing. For what lay in the wagon was not

the child, but a youth passed maidenhood, well into woman years. Or so one viewing told him. When she raised her head, he

realized she was still, in some ways, a child.He caught his breath. The body was longer, would stand taller, was more of a woman‟s and less of a child‟s. The skin

was pale as moon milk. But most telltale and strange, was the color of her hair: dark brown deepening to a loam like color, not at

all like the sunny wheat that caught the haloed light the night before.

“What magic is this?” he breathed, amazed. Then, hearing hoofbeats on the road, he let the cover fall over the dazed

captive, and signaled the wain on.

“What is it, Hunter?” The king asked a few moments later, when he came riding up on the midnight colored horse.

“It‟s the curse,” Hunter said. “It‟s begun.”

*

When they first entered the kingdom of Winter, it was snowing. Kyri would remember this, if nothing else from that dayof nightmares. From the time the hand of the king touched hers, grabbing her arm as she thought to wave in passing, and

throwing her across River‟s pommel, she remembered only darkness. Even Hunter‟s face, worried as it took in the change that

crossing into winter had made in her, was vague. But snow…She had never seen snow, coming from the summer country, and

she watched it fall soberly as a child. She was no child any longer though, the king noted when she was handed down from

wagon to sleigh. A whip cracked, and the journey was a blur again —not of summerland gold, but icy white.

At the last of twilight, moments before Kyri would have frozen even under the furs, the sleigh drew nigh unto the castle.

The girl-almost-woman gazed up at the towers shining with ice on stone, and the king spoke his first words to her as he guided

the horses in through the tall double gates.

“Your new home.”

She didn‟t hear the words then, only gazed up at the king, unseeing. She was taller now, he knew, and full blossomed

into womanhood. Whatever magic, or curse had wrought this, the king could only guess. But she was now as black haired and

buxom as her mother. It amazed him, though, how she still moved and thought like a child. She cried out when he went to draw

her to her feet, and then moved awkwardly on legs with newfound height. But the magic was not done, and when her foot

touched the snow bank further transformation came. It was subtle—a shifting of features, a new elegance to the chin, a new


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grace to movement. She stood uncertainly in the courtyard, shivering, but other than the involuntary look of confusion and

flinching movement away from any guard‟s guiding hands, she was composed. Her hands where gathered at the base of her

cloak‟s hood, holding it tightly around her face as if the snow would burn her if it touched her skin. When a house steward finally

approached her and showed her, with a sweep of his hand, the way through the courtyard mud to the door, she regarded him

regally, and strode toward the door without any assistance.

Once she had entered through the large iron barred doors, she stopped, less sure of herself. The castle was truly a

fortress, built of stone and allowing little to warm its ice grey interior.

“This way, princess,” the steward tried to guide her, but she paid him no heed. Uncertainty on her face, almost lik e a

look of pain, the girl stepped towards the nearest wall. She put out her hand and touched the block. This time real pain did cross

her features, and she drew away her hand as if the rock had burned her skin.

“Who built this place?” she asked.

“My lord did,” the steward said.

Just then the winter king swept inside, followed by his guard. The black look on his face and the rigid backs of the men

told the steward that some mistake had been made. He swallowed hard, hoping it was not his.But his lord barely saw him, barking an order for his horse to be cared for, along with his raiders.

“Bring hot wine,” he said.

“My lord,” the steward began, and then realized his first blunder. Eyes like flint turned on him. Again he swallowed. But

the king was looking past him, towards his new ward.

“How shall I treat our guest?”

“Take her to the east chamber,” the king ordered. “Keep her there until I send for her.”

“Under guard?”

A tight nod from the king. Two of his own retinue stepped apart and went to stand beside the young prisoner. She

barely noticed them, looking as she was up at the snow streaked window. There was no expression on her face as she gazedinto a grey winter sky. Her forehead was white as winter sable, but cheeks burned as if with fever. Even as the king was

watching, she shivered.

“Will that be all my lord?” the steward inquired.

“No,” the king hesitated a moment. “Keep her warm.” And the winter king moved on.

*

The east chamber was made of stone, but at least there was a fire. She was unwrapped from the furs, and left to move

as she would, knowing full well that the two men in black armor who waited by the door were there to stop her escape. The

steward offered her hot wine, and she shook her head, moving with grace towards the fire. The hearth was a place of love for

her, where her mother and she would sit for hours… Here there was only bare stone—cold and barren. The wood of the fire was

strange, twisted and old, burning along with some black substance.

She was about to sink onto what she thought was a fur rug, and then it rose to greet her, tail wagging.

“His name is Circ,” the steward said from the door, as the beast surged forward to sniff and lick her face. It stood nearly

as tall as she. “He‟s the king‟s favorite,” the man said dr yly, before exiting the chamber to send for food. By the time he returned

the girl had been long asleep before the fire, head on the great dog‟s back, tears dried in the fur of the silky ears.


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*

The sun continued to shine down on the land of summer. Nothing marked the trip of a child, a mere girl, across the

river, but the sadness of a flock of tan youths who had lost a playmate. And, of course, a long, moaning cry of mother‟s loss,

passing through a black mourning veil and continuing with the throbbing heartbeat of sobs. But the Summer king, hearing of the

loss, waved his hand casually to the messenger. “Send word to all corners of my kingdom,” he shifted idly on his throne, “Oh, tell

my brother, too.” Nothing more was done, for who marks the endless weeping of a mother, or her fierce insistence that wrong

has been committed? Does anyone really notice when a small farm in the exact center of a country slowly loses its matron, as

she grows mindless with grief and eventually, fades away?

Time passed, and second harvest came to the land already blessed with bounty. Workers went out into the fields daily;

the men stripped of their shirts until sweat licked off of bronze muscles. The same sun, hot as a furnace, sank over the snowy

northern hills, carving a black silhouette of a horse and rider, laboring through the land. The horse was black and called River,

after the surest boundary line between paradise and hell. The king rode as always with a face of stone, pausing only moments at

the tattered communities lining a tributary.

“Doing any planting?” he asked a husbandman out fixing a fence post. A surprised look arrived on the hard bitten face,and the man shook his head. The king dismounted, coming to ask about seeds and different types of wheat. The answers he got

were stunted, lifeless as the few stalks in the field—killed by late frost. The peasant kept his eyes lowered, and finally ended,

“This is not the land for growing.” A lowing from the barn urgently called the farmer away. The king almost smiled.

“New calf?”

The man‟s face was still grim. “Aye. My best milker dropped the calf mid-storm. Barely saved him in time.”

“But he sounds alive,” the king said.

“But his mother—“ the farmer shook his head and turned away. “Begging your leave, my lord.”

With a wave of his hand, the king gave it, and watched him go. Then, with heavy movements, he swung up onto River,

and rode on.The flowing form of River passed huts and smoking piles of debris, stripped from the logs the loggers would float once

the thaw came with the river ice snapping and crackling loud as a whole forest of trees falling. But after thaw, too soon after,

there always came another frost, worse than before. So the months had always continued—false spring, endless winter. River

passed through the hills, blowing hard as he plowed through snow. The king visited mines, where iron made a cold harvest.

Finally returning, he passed a low building on the edge of a small town, where the dead were brought out and dried, stiff to wait

until the ground thaws for burial. Further north, the king knew, the ground never thawed and the people burn the dead in great

stinking piles— unless the Vargs got to them. Too many died—young and old, though rare was a white haired man alive to see

grandchildren. Most men worked in the mines or as loggers; the few who raise families and try to farm end up like the

husbandman, at the bitter end of luck.

The turrets of the castle pierced the sky as River pounded home. The king ‟s jaw ached from clenching it in anger.

Returning the salute of the guards, he rode straight through the courtyard, and let River leap up the steps. They rode all the way

up into the hall, to the foot of an iron throne.

“My lord,” said a steward, magically appearing, with a page boy holding hot spiced wine. “I trust your journey went

well.”


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The king dismounted, and took the hot wine to his throne. River looked around, seeming at ease in the throne room.

He stamped and whinnied; snow and mud flew off his hooves. The steward wrinkled his nose, but the king was ignoring anything

but the hot wine.

“The castle has kept well since your departure. A messenger arrived from the king your brother and the knight Hunter.

The summer king announces his regrets that you could not attend the first spring hunting party, and inviting you to another.

Hunter‟s message is this: as instructed, told summer court you were busy guarding your borders to the north from the Vargs. A

second message was sent from Hunter in code: it seems the king is searching for kidnappers, and may soon request to cross the

summer/winter border .”

“Was that all?” the king‟s rough voice startled the steward‟s rote.

“Not quite, my lord,” under the suddenly intense royal gaze, the steward tried to get back into his speech, “Ahem, the

kitchen in lower south basement has flooded again, and the head cook—“

“No, no, is that all to my brother‟s message?‟

“Why, yes, my lord.”

“Good.” At this, the king lapsed into thought. The steward opened his mouth and then hesitated. The king‟s iron profiledidn‟t encourage any more reporting. He looked back at the page boy, who was no help, as he was also facing trouble, being

nuzzled by a magically-colored, oversized warhorse. The steward was about to clear his throat, when the king beat him out.

„Where is she?” the king rasped.

The steward thought quickly, “She… does my lord mean the princess?”

“What did you call her?‟

“The princess… well, no one knows if she is, but the women called her that and it did become easy to just say…” the

steward‟s talk withered under the king‟s stare. “She is in the east wing, where you placed her. She is well enough, if cold. She

rarely moves from the fireside…

“Yes, my lord.” The steward sighed. He glared at the pageboy, who was trying not to whimper too loudly at the hugehorse teeth near his right ear. River was getting hungry.

“Shall I send for men to take River to his stable?” The horse was now contentedly chewing on the page boy‟s collar.

“No, I‟ll take him myself.” The king finished the wine to the dregs and stood. Melting pieces of snow fell on the floor.

“But first…”

*

The princess‟ arrival, as those in the castle began to call her, was marked little in the land of winter. Few knew her,

even fewer knew who she really was. Winter had left its mark on her; she had been the one who changed. But the east tower

had transformed a little since her arrival, if mainly by the servant‟s hand. Tapestries with soft colors hung over the stone walls,

and the fire was always built up to almost roaring. On the carpet before the hearth, Circ and the captive were a permanent

fixture, often napping together as firelight played off the shining, dark hair and mottled fur, thick as a wolf‟s. Thus the s teward

expected to find them when he knocked on the door, discreetly.

“Princess, the king requests the pleasure of an audience with you.” he called. Two faces emerged from the pile on the

rug, but before they moved far, the door opened fully and the king walked in, the steward following behind, nearly bumping into

his lord when the king stopped short.


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“What is that?” Circ reared up onto his four paws and shook sleep off.

“Ah, yes,” said the steward. “She‟s made friends with…the wolf.”

“What?”

“You know, my lord, that half hound, half varg you whelped yesteryear…”

“Ah yes.” The king held out a hand and called, “Circ.” With a happy look of a horse-sized puppy, the half-wolf padded

over to lick the king‟s palm. “Well, well. He‟s certainly big enough to fight off a legion, if any one comes for her. Well done.” The

king straightened from his first greeting and looked at the object of his second. The form rising in the firelight was taller than he

expected—among other things. The profile under the fall of raven dark hair took his breath away.

He had forgotten how she now looked.

The steward tried to pay heed to decorum. “My lord, this is the princess…”

“Kyri,” said the woman. “That is my name. Did you know it before you took me?”

The king was speechless. There, in this new creature‟s face, was something of the sharp edge he could see in his own

mirror. What more had Winter wrought in her?

“Well? Why do you stare now? You have been gone long enough.” “My lady, my absence was not meant to slight you.”

“Oh, it didn‟t.” The tone of voice said that she thought he hadn‟t been gone long enough.

“I came to see if you were well.”

“Freezing slowly as a captive in a foreign land? I suppose I am well enough. ”

“Perhaps you need a cloak,” the king said, concerned. On cue, the steward handed a woolen wrap to the king, who in

turn moved forward to place it on the girl‟s shoulders. Kyri‟s expression was smooth as if she did not want to show fear, but a

gasp slipped out when he touched her, and he remembered that she still, underneath all this, was a child.

“Please don‟t touch me,” she said. “You‟re cold.” Under the fear and helplessness in h er voice there was a little

irritation.The king stepped back, a stern look on his face where, a fraction of a second ago, there had been a hurt look. Kyri

tried to tell herself that no such hurt look was there, but she could still see it in the iron corners of his face, the bitter touches of

pain.

I don’t need to feel sorry for him, she told herself. If it weren’t for him I’d be free.

“I know you hate me,” he said as if reading her mind, “but I brought you here for a purpose. This land is cursed with

never ending winter. My people are dying.”

Kyri fingered the red wool carefully. “I don‟t know what you want me to do about it.”

“You have the power to bring things to life. You can save my kingdom.”

For a moment, the light from the fire crossed a young face, wistfully thinking of a return to the life she had led. But then

the eyes fell on the stones, and the ice on the windows without, and froze. She said coolly, “I must thank you, my lord, for paying

me a visit. I consider it not so much kindness, but the concern of a captor for his precious hostage. I am, despite almost freezing,

still alive. You may leave, now that you assuaged your guilt. ” She turned her back on the king.

From the king‟s silence, she wondered if he really was considering. Then, suddenly, a hand was laid on her arm,

twisting and pulling her back around. The furious face of the king stared down at her.


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“You dare speak of being frozen in this heated room, with servants to bring you all you need, while my people huddle

on the wastes dying? You who could save them?” He released her; she was too frightened to speak. Beside them, Circ whined

anxiously while his tail lashed his hindquarters, but he was too obedient to intrude.

“Go and ready my sleigh,” the king said to the steward. Then, turning back to the girl, “Get a cloak, or coat, or any thing

you have to wear. Otherwise you really will freeze.”

“Where are you taking me?” the girl said, terrified. All sarcasm was gone. The king nearly relented, then, and again,

when the girl stepped outside, and cried out again, her tears turning to dots of ice. But the king remembered the bodies stacked,

waiting for burial, and continued. He drove the horses into the woods, Circ following until the sleigh‟s speed left him behind. The

princess watched his form fade into a black dot. The sleigh followed a road that plunged into the deep forest, going past black

trees and white snow for miles and miles. The only sound was the hard blowing of the horses. Finally, the king slowed them.

“This is due north,” he shouted. He stopped the sledge and then turned to see if she was still alive, for it was truly

freezing. As for him, he felt no cold.

Under the furs, in her red wrap, the girl stirred. Her lashes were white with the frost of her tears; her lips blue. Silently,

the king pulled her to her feet. This time, she did not protest his touch. Together they left the sleigh. Around them the trees formed a circle, their trunks ending in mounds and mounds of white.

“This is my palace,” the king said, throwing his arms wide. “These are my gardens, my blooms. This is my harvest,” he

bent down and, with his heavy gloved hand, fingered the powdery snow. “This, princess, is what you must change…this is what

you must fix.”

At last the lips chapped with cold opened. “I cannot. How can you give me this command? I am a child.”

“You are no longer a child,” he said, looking down at the dark head. It came nearly to his chin, now.

“Yes, because of you,” she said bitterly.

“Never mind. You bear the magic to make a land beautiful.”

“How can that be? I have no magic, nothing.” "You lie. You can find a way. Let this be your room, your new home, until you do." Angry, the king turned away, striking

the air with a fist.

Desperate, the girl took a few steps. She turned, frozen skin pleading with a look.

“Fix it,” said the king again, and watched her as she stood, shivering, in her wrap bright as a wintermint berry.

“Do not cry for yourself,” he says, “cry for the land that dies every night, with every snowfall. See these trees— they fall

under the weight of ice, with no hope of thaw or spring.”

“Your heart is as cold as this place,” she sobbed, and started to run from him. With only a few steps, she fell. And now

she was weeping, like a child for her mother. Her cheek lay cold on the new snow.

In the moments that passed the clouds gathered overhead, leaving only a slit for the new moon. The king marked their

passing of them and the childish cries to womanly decorum and tears. She had raised herself up, but was still turned away from

him, her tormentor. He sighed. Night was fully upon them; the horses were nervous of the Vargs, the savage wolves of the North.

He went to the girl and put his hand to her shoulder. “Come, I will take you home,” he said. But as she raised her head, he saw

there, underneath her body, how the snow had melted and the ground thawed. There, in the place she once laid, was life —a

green shoot, growing.


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*

And so the change began. Every morning, dawn crept in a li ttle sooner. Every evening the night lingered more distant.

And the birds knew and sang—the first flowering of life echoing around the hills. Every morning, the king rode out to hear them,

and see the land remade. When the green began to grow on the hills, fresh new shoots among the rocky stubble, the he knew.

Soon, growth would start in earnest and every wild plant push its way up higher and higher to the sky.

“Order seed,” he told his servants. “Let every soldier also be given a plow.”

After riding, he would r ide to the castle and salute the east wing, where the princess, as they now called her, was a

white shadow haunting the window. She would see him and turn away.

“Would my lady like to go out?” her guardian asked. “It‟s a beautiful day, such as I‟ve never seen.”

“I don‟t know,” said Kyri. One hand absently stroked Circ‟s rugged fur.

“Oh, why not? You could do with the fresh air. You‟re so pale, if my lady doesn‟t mind me saying.”

“No, I don‟t mind. I suppose I am,” but the girl was playing with Circ now, pulling his ears and rubbing them between

her fingers, enjoying the silky texture.

A knock sounded at the door.“Who is it?” the guardian asked, putting away her knitting.

“It‟s the king,” said a deep voice. Kyri stiffened. Circ straightened. After a worried glance to her mistress, the woman

went to open the door. Bobbing a curtsey, “Your majesty.”

The king looked straight past her, to the lovely girl at the window. “The ground has thawed,” he said. “The last frost was

weeks ago. The people told me as I rode through--they are ready to begin planting.”

The wraith in the window only looked him silently.

“Go on,” said the maid, “I‟ll get your wraps.”

“She won‟t even need them. It‟s warm, warm as…spring time,” the king said the word in wonder.

“Very well,” the woman smiled and bobbed again. “I‟ll leave you two.” “My lady, I know---“ he stopped there as if he did not know how to go on so formally. She regarded him then, with calm

eyes, guarded but not unfriendly. At last he said, “Please. Please come. I need your help.” And he stretched out his hand.

*

Kyri stood up and let the seeds spill from her hands. “This is wheat,” she said. “It is best planted two great moons after

the last frost. And here is the barely,” she walked on to the next bulging sack. Her audience, a long line of rugged men, hard

jawed but attentive, watched her walk among the rows. So far she had explained planting, crop rotation, fertilization and

irrigation. “The best fertilizers can be found in the streams and your garbage, or right in your own barns. ”

The king watched in admiration. It was not everyday that smiles crossed the weathered faces of his people. The

maiden moved among them with great ease, speaking about soil, seed and plant as easily as breathing. She did not seem to

notice the admiring glances. The king, however, was not, and stayed close.

“Some insects and birds are pests, but others are pollinators and ready harvesters: they will help your crop in different

ways. Keep bees; they are good for your crops. If any crops are sick with blight, or too much rain, come speak to me .” She

glanced at the king then, so he added, “The royal court will be in the castle until the next full moon, and then move to the new

garden palace for the summer. The princess can be petitioned there.”


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The sky was dusky rose before the farmer‟s dispersed. The king had both his own chariot, and a covered carriage for

the maiden and her entourage. Kyri was tired, he could tell. As he waited to escort her back, he saw her stoop down with the

bags of seeds. She took a handful and secreted it away to a pocket somewhere among her clothes. Then she came along

towards the king. He offered her his arm, and when she refused it but stumbled with weariness, came beside her close enough

to help her. Together they made their way back in the waning light.

“A good day,” he said. “The farmer s will work harder and reap better, knowing what you know .”

The maiden was silent. He watched her face carefully; was there anger there underneath the etched lines of

exhaustion?

“You, also, have worked hard. This will be summer as I‟ve never seen summer before. Thank you.”

The maiden stopped then, with closed eyes and a little swaying. The king stayed right at hand.

“I am not doing this for you.”

“ As king, on the behalf of my people, I thank you.”

The woman opened her eyes. All around her stretched Winte r‟s land, for the first approaching a full summer. It was not

yet green, but brown and barren. She felt the weight of seeds in her pocket, and thought of how much power it would take to geta simple handful to grow green, much less the grain on all the hills. Thinking of this she swayed; the king called on her waiting

women, and they took her to the castle. The lord of Winter watched with concern, knowing as no else did the control and drain of

power.

*

Later, in the candlelit castle, he climbed the long steps to the princess‟ tower . He paused at the top for a long, long

time. The tower was silent but for the clicking of the waiting women‟s needles, and the crackling of a fire. At last, he went in.

“I see you are back in health,” he said to her. She was sitting right by the fire, stroking Circ. Because she was so close

to the fire, her color was high.

“The loss of power is understandable,” he said into the awkward silence. “I have felt it before, when I attempted to fixthe land. As ruler, I have certain control over these hills, the river, and the borders. I know when the Vargs trespass and when

the bridge is being crossed. But I cannot make things grow.” His voice had become raw.

There was a pause. The king turned away until he could compose himself. If she noticed his outburst, the maiden

showed no sign. She had yet to meet his eyes, but stared into the fire as she stroked Circ thoughtfully.

“I‟ll fix your country,” she said finally. “I‟ve done it before.” She bit her lip then; the arrogance sounded too much. Had

she really made eternal summer as the source of magic in her homeland? Perhaps. She wasn‟t sure how much was her mother‟s

work. She had always been good with sunlight, she knew. Bending it, focusing it, and using it to make things grow. Then there

was her love of green things. They grew, even when she hurt or felt as if she might die. She could create life.

“My people will be grateful.” The king said in a low, rough voice.

“There‟s no amount of gratitude that can repay me,” she said flatly, almost arrogantly, if it hadn‟t sounded so

despairing. She was realizing her own power now, and how much it was like a curse.

“I offer you the highest honor a woman can receive,” the king said, and moved toward the fire. He placed a box on the

hearth and let the top fall back and the dazzle of the box‟s contents fill the room. The box held a gold circlet. “I‟ll make you

queen,” the king offered the crown with a casual wave of his hand, and leaned up against the mantel. Kyri fingers fisted and


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whitened in an angry grip on Circ‟s fur . Sensing her anger, the wolf hound whined. She stood suddenly then, ready to storm out.

But for all her newfound height, the king still towered over her. He was calm now, the mask of stone firmly in place. So, instead of

leaving, she sat down and grabbed the crown from its velvet bed. It gleamed at her, a thrilling promise. Beside her the king‟s

eyebrow raised, in surprise. The child was unpredictable in her passions. This could be attributed to childish temper, but…

Slowly, a sad look on her face, Kyri shook her head . “You invite me to do something good, something I would have

done gladly if properly petitioned and invited. But the gift you would give to your country was stolen, and therefore tainted .” She

set the gold circlet back in its case. “Anything I do here will have evil consequences.”

“You lie,” said the king. “There is no more evil that can be done here.”

For the first time Kyri looked up and laid her eyes on the king‟s face. It was sharp as a blade, the bone cold and the

skin laid on sparingly. Her gaze was like a warm palm laid on the king‟s cheek, and he barely controlled his surprised flinch . For

a second they both looked at each other, light brown eyes meeting gray ones.

“Then the evil will fall elsewhere,” Kyri said, and rising, left the king and the circlet in their places.

*

When the moon again was full, the court moved to the summer palace. The weather was as hot as it hadever been, and the kingdom was now enjoying a full summer. Farmers were already taking in lettuce and spring onions, potatoes

and new peas. Fields were being tilled for the next crops—wheat, corn, rye, and all other grains. Melon vines were reportedly

taking over any available space. In some places, it seemed that brambles grew up over night, and with morning burst into white

blossoms that would lead to blackberries. And along every field grew multicolored wildflowers: morning glory, aster, poppy and

daisy, dancing like confetti in the breeze.

“Growth is reported to be robust in all areas of the kingdom,” the scout said. The warrior riders had found

their job changed from first strike force to guardsmen for produce. They rode out to every corner of the land, speaking with

farmers and weighing vegetables, growing tanner with each trip.

“And the seed shipments?” “Arrive on the morrow,” the scout said promptly. “Mostly gr ains this time, I believe. Several of vegetable, herb

and bean. And the saplings you requested: lilac and starwood.”

“ All but the trees will go to the people. Planting has finished in the eastern corridor,” said the master

gardener. “And the fruit trees should be full flowering in another season.”

“They‟ll flower this year ,” murmured the king. He was gazing out from the verandah, looking past marble columns to

rows and rows of fading into wild, rambling gardens, hills and woods. “She loves fruit.”

A quizzical look came across the gardener ‟s face, but he merely bowed.

“Shipments of food and drink from the south country have decreased,” said the scout. “The people are eating

off of first harvest. The main import is grain and wine.”

“Soon, we will be the ones to export such things,” said the king.

“Try this, my lord,” a steward came forward with a goblet. The king tasted the honey colored liquid and nodded his

approval. “Mead from the honey of our own bees,” the man answered the question on the king‟s face.

The king nodded, and finished the ale while his men waited. “Where is the princess?” he asked abruptly.

“In the garden with the wolf -hound. She sits there most afternoons, playing.”


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“Playing?”

“Yes, my liege--she asked for a harp. We did not think it would cause harm, so we gave her one.”

“Well, tell her she must visit the vineyards,” the king said. “We can start winemaking as soon as we have a harvest

there.” The steward bowed, and left, along with the gardener. Only the scout, a silver-haired warrior wearing all black, remained.

“The child has grown up,” he said quietly.

“Yes, the power in her was strong. She grew the moment she set foot on our side of the river, so they tell me.”

“She has done much. No wonder the people call her princess, and sing songs of the summer maiden.”

No one knows, the king did not say, of the offer I made her , but still they call her princess.

The master spy must have seen something in his lord‟s face, for he changed the subject.“Your brother will be looking

for your visit soon. His spies are reporting all the changes to him.”

“And?”

“They say he is… curious. But harvest in his kingdom is not as great as in years past. He is distracted, for now.”

“I sent Hunter to explain to him.” The king said flippantly. “My brother invited him to his inner court. We will learn more

when he returns.”“But, my lord,” the scout continued, but it was clear the king was not listening. Out in the lush lawn of the garden, the

steward had appeared leading Circ on a leash. Within seconds, the big animal leaped on the man, knocking him down, and ran

free to a figure coming from the eastern wing of the house. The woman laughed and bent to undo the rope from his collar, and

then, ignoring the protesting steward, walked on behind the loping Circ towards the valley. The king watched her straight back

until it aligned with and was consumed by the light of the sun.

“My lord?”

“I‟m going to inspect the fields,” the king said.

“Shall I call a page to ready River?”

“No,” the king said, “I‟ll go alone.”*

The maiden walked the gravel paths of the cultivated gardens at the palace. She grew to love every lush curve of the

hedges and beds, and every gardener by name. Beyond the hedges were fields, and beyond those, hills or forest.

“What is out there?” she asked continually, longing to go past the hedges.

“Why, there‟s nothing but hills and small towns over the western way. And to the north are only forests, until the rim of

the North. But that is guarded by vargs.”

“Vargs?”

“Wolves, my lady. Larger and fiercer than you would care to meet.” The servants looked tellingly at Circ when they said

this, but he merely lolled happily under his mistress‟ strokes.

She was glad when she was allowed out to go riding, usually to nearby farms or villages to teach them about growing.

The guards let her ride slowly back; she convinced them to take her further and further out, on the pretense that she wished to

see how the land was doing.

One summer‟s eve, she came upon a wilderness of thorny strands covered becomingly with white blossom. The vines

had formed a tunnel.


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“I‟ve heard of these,” Kyri whispered in awe. She dismounted to explore. “They‟re blackberries, just at the flowering.”

The guard with her just grunted and looked around suspiciously. She turned her charming looks onto him.

“May I?” she asked. The guard, a silver -haired man all in black, held up his hand for her to wait. He went into the tunnel

a little, looked about carefully and then nodded. “Do not wander too far,” he said.

Enchanted, she moved down the corridor of the vines. The path went on, twisting like the branches, until a person

could be caught in the maze-like thorny thicket. Outside, the guard waited until the wind began to blow about him, coming over

the hills from the sun. He thought he could see a lone horse man there, shimmering. He counted to ten five times, and then

called the maiden out.

“Princess!” She appeared from between the briars. “We must go,” he said grimly, and looked up to see if the horseman

was upon them. It was too late.

“Piper,” called a sunny voice, “Don‟t be so dreary.” The horseman galloped up, blond hair bouncing about a tanned

face. He dismounted the instant his horse stopped.

The maiden looked up into blue eyes and seemed mesmerized as Hunter to her hand and bowed over it.

“My lady,” he said, “forgive me, but I did not recognize you. You have become so beautiful.” For a second, the maiden merely looked him, and then offered a shy smile.

“I see you are gracious enough to accept my apology. Perhaps I can lure you into a walk with me. ” Hunter offered her

his arm. “If we walk together, perhaps the guards will be a little more lax.”

Piper was waiting alone when the king rode up. He dismounted qu ickly from River, who whickered angrily at Hunter‟s

tall war horse.

“Hunter has returned,” the king said. “He speaks quite well of my brother‟s court, and the riches there. Apparently

there was a slight drop in harvest, but nothing that could cause concern. Everyone in the land had plenty. ”

“So there seems to be no curse,” Piper said quietly.

“Yes,” the king‟s reply died away, as the laughing couple came from the brambly path. Hunter was in full stride, telling atale, while the maiden leaned on his arm, looking up at him and smiling and smiling.

“Hunter has seen the princess,” the scout said softly. They both watched as the knight guided her on down toward a

grove of trees. He saw them once, and waved. The princess did not look back at all.

“I must go,” the king said abruptly. “I only came to see if all was well.”

I will watch them,” Piper said.

“No,” said the king. “you there‟s work to be done, both here and around the country. She‟s has enough surveillance, for

now.”

The laughter of the two ringing through the air, king turned silently and left on River.

*

Those who had whispered about a possible marriage between the princess and their sullen king now brightened at the

prospect of another courtly romance. Hunter was much beloved in the towns, where he often rode with bright head uncovered.

“He takes her riding and woos her everyday,” was the gossip. “I hear he offered her a crown— a silver circlet just as a

princess should wear. That‟s more than the king has done…”


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Kyri was oblivious to the talk. It was true, most days Hunter did come by her garden gate and call for her to go riding.

And sometimes she did. They visited vineyards and berry patches, even once riding far enough south to see an orange grove.

She moved in awe among the white blossom covered trees. Hunter had to work to get her to pay more attention to him than to

the plants.

“Look at me, my darling,” he said one day. She had spent most of the afternoon down on her knees in the dirt, looking

for a particularly nasty grub that was blighting the tomato plant.

“What?” she finally looked up, a smear of mud becomingly on her cheek. Hunter removed his riding gloves to rub it

gently away.

“Come,” he led her by the hand to a line of cherry trees, with new fruit, and lifted her into the lower bows. Now her head

was taller than his, and he looked up at her with serious grey eyes.

“Are you happy here?”

Kyri looked at him with a half frown, as if she did not quite understand the question. “Today is beautiful. I‟m having fun,”

she said.

“I don‟t mean today, in this tree…unless you think that tree dwelling becomes you. I certainly do,” he looked admiringlyup at her. She drank in his praise shyly. “I mean in this place, this whole land.” She soberly looked at him, and he went on, “You

shouldn‟t have to stay her, if you don‟t wish it.”

“I like this place. It has been transformed since I arrived here. There has been nothing like it in my life.”

“Yes, but wouldn‟t you leave, if you could?” There was something in the way that he searched her face that she did not

understand.

“Leave all this? Everything I‟ve worked for? If I hadn‟t come here…none of this would have ever happened. Without…”

she stopped herself. She had been about to say without him. “I couldn‟t have done all this…” the branches above them were

filled with birds, swooping and diving and singing. Smiling up at them, she found respite from the intense

“If I asked you to go away with me, would you come?”She opened her mouth and closed it again. Then she looked down. “I‟d have to think about it.”

At this, Hunter turned away for a moment. He had been leaning toward her, his chest almost touching he knees. Now

he whirled around on one boot heel, scratching his head and mussing his beautiful hair.

Kyri had already started to slide down from the branches‟ fork when he whirled around again, “But Kyri, you don‟t

belong here. This place isn‟t your home.”

“Take me back,” she told him without meeting his eyes.

He tried one more time, catching her arm as she would stride away towards the horses. Circ, nearby, stood up with a

low rumbling sound, not quite a growl. Hunter took his hands from her and backed away for his benefit. “Why would you stay

here? What would keep you?”

“It‟s not what, it‟s who,” she said, risking a little honesty.

“Who would keep you here?” Hunter‟s face was a mixture of questions and disgust as he threw a hand out to

showcase the land. All around them, the sound of insects rose and fell with a whining hum, like the land was breathing. “This is

nothing to the Summerland, the place of your birth. Your home.”


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“Why do you say these things?” Kyri asked suddenly, turning to him. On the handsome face she caught frustration and ,

before his expression evened out and he tucked it away, a touch of ruthlessness.

“Dear beauty,” he said softly, “I want you to be happy.”

“Then take me home,” she, not liking what she felt to be false tenderness, strode on towards her mare.

He followed. “How it pains me that you must call that place home. In all of this you think too little of yourself.”

“There is no joy in thinking about myself,” she said.

“Well then,” his tone was sharper, “What about your mother?”

Kyri sucked in her breath as if she had been cut. Not waiting for help, she stepped up to the saddle and was quickly off

in one brilliant movement. Circ ran on ahead, but the princess had overtaken him before she and the horse pounded into the

palace courtyard. That afternoon, it was full of both crates of goods and those who handled them, as well as a good contingent of

the king‟s men to guard over all proceedings. All attention was on the mare as she stopped in a cloud of dust. Close by the open

gates, a circle of men were

“Have a good ride, princess?” one of them called. It was Piper, leaning on a large sparring staff and looking at her

knowingly.“Yes, thank you,” Kyri dismounted, flushed and bright eyed. Down the road, she could hear Hunter following at a

gallop. She gave the mare a smug smile as their partners on the outing arrived.

“How are you passing the day?” Kyri asked, ignoring Hunter and the twinkle in Piper‟s eyes.

“Sparring, my lady,” the answer came from one of the group of men, still paused in their activity gaze on her. She felt

suddenly shy as she realized all the men were gathered in a fight ring, with the mood wild with the excitement and action that

must have just taken place. A few previous contenders were already dusty, stripped to their breeches, bare muscles polished in

sweat or even blood.

“Does us good to have something to do. Keeps us in fighting shape,” she was told, and she blinked. The speaker was

the king. He stood among the taller of the group, and, though not as thick as some, his strength was obvious in the muscles ofhis arms and chest.

“Who‟s next?” Hunter approached. There was a still a surly note to his voice . Kyri tried not to stand too stiffly, but he

walked past her, into the circle, to face the king.

“My good knight,” the king inclined his head politely, though Hunter gave him none of the greeting deserved of a king.

“I have just faced my first challenger.” He grinned up at a giant of a man, and Kyri stared in disbelief. The giant was a head taller

and half a times more wide, with arms like small barrels, covered in dust.

“Petra here showed me how to break a farmer‟s hold,” the king went on easily, and Kyri noted the brown cloth of the

man‟s trousers, marking him as a landowner and not a warrior. The burly man smiled back at the king, looking down and

showing a missing tooth.

“My lord is quick but I have a good hold,” he said in a happy drawl, “comes from carrying pigs.” He laughed with a

sound like the boom of a drum, and the king laughed along with him. His forehead bore streaks of sweat, she noticed, but he was

not dusty from the ground.

“Perhaps you should try a warrior opponent,” Hunter said loudly, stepping further into the ring. The men fell silent.

Hunter regarded them all with a disdaining sweep of his eyes, and then faced the king , “I have not met a worthy challenger since


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arriving in North country,” his tone was dismissive, bordering between seriousness and jest. “Unless,” he smiled a little, but his

smile was not as light hearted as the rest, “you would rather play the part of a pig.”

A few of the men muttered angrily; one or two rose from their squatting spectator position. But the king was calm,

standing with hands easy at his side even though his eyes never left the knight Hunter‟s face. It seemed a long pause before he

said,

“You were gone a long time, and time has changed you, Hunter. It is good you have returned. And yes, I am ready for

your challenge.” He waited while Hunter shrugged off his finer coat. When the two men finally faced each other, slightly at a

crouch, Kyri saw they were evenly matched in height and weight. Hunter, in fine breeches and unspoiled shirt, seemed the

kinglier of the two, and his muscles were larger, if slightly softened from time spent in the summer land. The king looked like a

plainly clad pauper and his bare-chested body was lean and hungry compared with Hunter‟s build. The king‟s lips formed a slight

curve as he faced his opponent. Kyri found she had forgotten to breathe.

Then Piper gave the signal and almost too quickly the men dashed at each other. With surprising savagery, Hunter

slammed into the king, seeking to knock him immediately to the ground where it would be a matter of pinning the opponent. The

king, warmed to the exercise and lithe, wriggled and shied away, eluding the brunt of the force and looking for an opening.“Come coward, fight!” Hunter cried, and the onlooker‟s shout‟s quieted at the insult. Their cheers t urned savage. They

wanted to see the knight put down.

“There‟s a fine lord for ya—a real sportsman. Dirty his clothes a little!”

But the king would have none of it. Feinting as nimbly as a boxer, he slipped away again and again, baiting Hunter‟s

attacks. Angry now, Hunter rushed him, and caught the king as there was a collected gasp from the encircling audience. Kyri

found herself swept along in their calls. Beside her was Piper, calmly calling plays.

“Hunter wants a wrestling match. But the king is playing the wearing game—an interesting move considering Hunter‟s

fresh and he‟s not.”

Kyri barely heard him. The knight had the king locked and the tanned muscles looked impressive in their hold. Theywere both still standing. But too quickly for the eye to watch, the king gave him the slip and was free, while Hunter staggered on

a bent leg.

“A touch, a touch!” Piper was excited now. “The king has jarred the other‟s leg. If Hunter falls this match is done.”

But Hunter would not fall. The king, quick as a wolf turning on an injured beast, whipped around and tackled him,

bringing him to the ground. The cries of the men turned into a hush as the tussle in the dirt wore on.

Piper whispered, “It‟s a thinking man‟s time now. You look your opponent in the eye and see his weakness. Then, you

go for it.”

Kyri could make sense of none of it, but watched the men‟s legs flex and seek holds along with their bulging arms.

Both had faces like beasts ready to gnaw at prey.

“Oh, come on,” she cried out in the pressure, and then the king snapped around the other way. Hunter unbalanced and

before he knew what had happened the king had pinned him to the dust.

“Yes,” Kyri cried before she thought.

“A good move, a wolfish move,” murmured Piper. The king was already standing, looking modest and mild in triumph.

The men were ecstatic. Kyri, suddenly conscious of her burning cheeks, muted her celebration. She hung back, which is why


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she, of all of them, saw the savage look stride across Hunter‟s face, just before came to his feet and pushed away towards the

king‟s unprotected back.

“Look out,” she shrieked.

“A knife!” someone bellowed, and it was the pig farmer. The giant waded it, pushing others aside and pinning Hunter‟s

arm against the farmer‟s own body. The blade was plain to see, glittering in Hunter‟s hand.

Slowly, the king approached him.

“Let him go,” he commanded the farmer, never taking his eyes off Hunter. The farmer didn‟t move; the grip on Hunter‟s

arm was white.

“Obey me, man,” the king said, still looking at Hunter. “I trust him.”

Once released, Hunter shook his arm. The anger on his face was gone, replaced by a rueful, joking grin. “There are

different rules in the Summerland,” he said by way of excuse. The king said nothi ng. Slowly, Hunter handed him the knife. With

great care, the king examined it and then handed it back.

“I trust you,” he said again, holding the knight‟s eyes. Hunter, looking cowed, gave a nod.

“Alright, you lazy lads, back to work,” Piper called out. “Move these crates on before nightfall and there‟ s fine wine foryou all. My lord,” he turned and broke into the silent conversation between the king and the knight, “will you escort the princess

back to her berth?”

“I can go myself,” Kyri did not want to face the stares of the men as they remembered she was there. But before she

could collect the reigns of her mare the king had taken them, and was ushering her to the palace. She strode quickly.

“That was an interesting game,” she babbled, and wished she had the courage to stay silent.

“It was,” the king was polite. Kyri wondered if she realized it was no game.

“Hunter is a passionate fighter.”

“Your cheers were of great worth to him,” he said.

They had reached her rooms. She halted, wondering if she should tell him it had not been Hunter she cheered. Theking was waiting for her to turn and go; he was dirty and tired, no doubt ready for the care of servants. But still she paused,

holding him there.

“I wanted to say,” she began awkwardly, “that the Summerland is beautiful. And my childhood was beyond compare.”

At this the king was tense, as i f steeling himself for an opponent‟s weapon that he could not turn aside.

“But,” she said, “I would trade a lifetime there for a year in North country.”

“A full year,” the curve was around his lips again and she realized he was trying to smile. “including winter?”

“Including winter,” she said.

“You are kind, princess,” he said.

She nodded and ducked her head. There didn‟t seem to be anything more she could say. Why did she linger?

“You must be tired from your ride,” the king said. “I leave you now. Good evening.”

She nodded again, and went in, and wondered why she suddenly felt so miserable. Silly child, she told herself,

babbling on while the man’s desperate to get away, get clean. She called a maid to do the same, turned her mind to mundane

things. She did not know that the king, instead of going to his chambers, went straight to the stables to find River, and rode and

rode as far as halfway to exhaustion, and still, facing the sky raving with glorious light, called down curses on himself.


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*

It wasn‟t until late, long past moonlight in the princess‟ quiet room, that Kyri lay awake and restless. After a time she

got up and lit a fire, and when Circ came to comfort her, stroked his shaggy coat.

“Oh, Circ,” she said and looked into his familiar eyes. His patterned fur, so like a wolf‟s, seemed creased with concern.

In his long jaw and lean look, she saw the wildness that was the wolf inside him. And then she remembered the look of the king,

standing beside Hunter in plain, unashamed vigor and strength. A man who would weigh the costs, and then take action, and let

the consequences fall on himself as leader. And then there was Hunter, charming, suave, and spoiled. And spoiling for a fight.

“I don‟t know what to do.” She leaned back in exhausted thought. He licked her face in sympathy as if he could wash

the dark circles under her eyes away. As the night wore on she hung on to him, overwhelmed by the questions Hunter did and

did not ask, her mind spinning with them all until she felt drained. She could give no answers to him or herself or anyone, even

when she realized all the questions came down to one.

How can you love someone you hate?

*

Weeks passed. Midsummer fast approached, and the harvests taken in were so many hired men from the Summerlandcame to help take it in. The king himself supervised, sometimes even dismounting from River to lend a hand. Folks slept well,

and ate better. But the king remained serious, never sharing the laughter of his people. The first bottles from the vineyards were

already available; the grapes had aged so well, the head gardener told everyone a miracle had visited the place. The wine was

presented at a private feast for the king‟s riders, the warriors in black. They drank merrily, toasting him often. He toasted as well,

but otherwise ate little and drank less. Only Piper the scout kept his head and an eye on his liege. An hour to dawn, the others

had fallen asleep, and Piper followed on cat feet as the king left the room, taking the garden route to the east. Around the arbor

were the princess often walked, Piper lost sight of him. But there were footsteps in the wet grass; these he followed until he

came to the little gate to the princess‟ private lawn. It was unlatched. Like a shadow , he went through, and beyond, over the

clover, violets and the beds of lavender to the window near the terrace. There the king stood.“My lord, how often do you come here?”

When the king spoke it was a bare, hoarse whisper. “Every day,” he said.

“And does she know?”

“No. She never sees me.”

Piper spoke gently, as gently as an old scarred warrior could, “Why don‟t you tell her?”

“I cannot. She hates me. What other feeling could she have? I brought her to this place. I began the evil.”

“What I see is not evil. This is not evil,” Piper gestured around to the green, the hedges, and beyond, the first light of

dawn. “You have much to offer her.”

“I have nothing. There is no reason that, if given the choice, she would stay.” The darkness fell on a bleak face as the

king raised it. “There is no hope.”

*

“Princess!” it was Piper, striding over the meadow to see her. Circ met him halfway; the wolf hound loved the old

warrior, who had often fed him when he was a puppy. Now the dog could knock him over, and often nearly did, as he greeted

him with enthusiasm.


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“I did not know you were here!”

“I was out on business with the king. We went from coast to coast to take harvest census.”

At mention of the king the princess seemed to grow older. “Well,” she said seriously. Then, more winsomely, “I have

missed you, my favorite guard. I knew you would see me the moment you returned, to chase me back to my quarters! I am

returning, Piper,” she laughed, gathering her skirts and coming along. “Do not worry.”

“I was not, princess. I merely give you a message. The king is waiting for you in the purple arbor.”

A subtle change occurred in the woman‟s face. Despite tan and freckled skin, she seemed a touch paler. “For me?”

“Yes, my lady. Please go to him; he cannot wait.”

Mutely, she picked up her skirts higher and trotted faster. Piper escorted her, wondering what he should read in the

serious look on her face. “He has been looking forward to this meeting,” he offered. “He often thinks of you, and speaking to you.

I know he has been sullen these past few weeks because he was too busy to visit.” Piper smiled to himself as something close to

fear, close to hope, flitted across the woman‟s face.

When they came to the meeting place Kyri slowed apprehensively, seeing the king‟s dark figur e among the wisteria

vines.“Do not be afraid,” Piper encouraged. “Go to him.” He caught Circ‟s collar before he could gallop along behind, though

he was dragged along a good few paces for his trouble. “Stay here, you mutt. This is too important.”

Kyri entered the arbor tentatively. The king was looking out past the trellis, across the new shorn fields.

“Princess,” he nodded. She found herself wishing she was not in an head scar f and grass-stained summer gown, and

kept her hands from plucking at them. The king seemed in no hurry to speak, so she waited.

“My lord?” She finally broke the silence.

“I called you here because I thought it was time for us to meet again. We have not spoken long since…that night in the

forest. This time, I thought of your comfort and tried to choose a place that was familiar,” he waved a hand towards the place he

had come, the entrance to her garden and rooms.“Ah, thank you,” she said, when he seemed to pause for a response. “That is kind. I hope you also feel comfortable in

this place. It is, after all, your palace.”

“Yes.” The silence stretched longer this time.

“My lord, would you like to walk with me? The night is coming, and it is cool. We need not go far.”

“Very well,” he seemed almost afraid to say yes, but did hold out his arm for her. She took it, surprised at her

realization. Is he nervous?

They walked slowly. Dusk had fallen by the time they rounded the corner out of the arbor. They followed the path away

from the palace, down a few terraced herb beds. There were fireflies dancing like magic lights all around.

Even though her fingers touched him, the princess felt the man was far away. What is he thinking? What am I thinking?

Where shall we go when this walk has ended?

They came along the side of a hill, between terraces. Further down where the stakes for the new grapes and

raspberries. The y stopped to watch the sunset. When the final bit of light glimmered away, Kyri turned to him. “My lord, I must

ask you. Why did you wish to speak to me?”


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Like a woman, she speaks her mind . He looked at her new mature beauty, his heart twisting. “It is a question I have

longed wished to ask you.” He tried to say her name, and found he couldn‟t. “Princess…”

“Yes?”

“What do you desire?”

“What?”

“You have done more than I could have asked for, more than I could have imagined. I am grateful. On behalf of my

people, I wish to thank you.” He swallowed hard. “So I must ask you, what is it you want?”

“I…don‟t know.” She sat down on the stone wall.

“It can be anything. Anything at all.”

“I have…” she was about to say all I desire but then realized this wasn‟t true. “…all I need.” She ended awkwardly.

The king just gazed upon her.

“Well. Um. What about…” she thought hard, “a ball?”

“A ball?” the king seemed confused so she repeated it. “Certainly,” he said. “ Of course. Balls are good things. Circ,

perhaps would enjoy playing with one.” “What?” now she was confused. The king simply went on musingly, “Though as big as he is, it would have to be quite

large…”

“No, no, no,” she laughed, “a midsummer ball. A party. With dancing.”

“Oh. Of course. Is that all?”

“There should be music,” she said. “and a little food and drink. And plenty of people.”

“This is all you desire?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You could…I mean, I still would…” he tried to rally, and she watched, amazed. She had never seen him so flustered.

“You may still have the crown.”Now it was her turn to be flustered. “I thank you,” she stammered. “But I am still not ready. Too young. I couldn‟t.”

“I understand,” the king said softly, and he finally looked her in the eye. She met his gaze, and who know how long

they would have stared, if a barking sound had not interrupted. Circ came barreling down the pathway, ears aflutter, Piper

following hard behind.

“I couldn‟t hold him,” he panted, after Circ had bounced to both her and the king, making his excitement known. Since

she was on the wall, the dog turned to the king. The king was near knocked off his feet.

He laughed. “ Ah, pup, you‟ve grown since I first found you.”

“You know Circ?” she was amazed again. She felt her eyes were open as never before.

“I found him in a snow drift abandoned by a varg. I fed him milk and barely kept him alive. Now look at him.” He

grabbed Circ and started to wrestle. Circ responded with a playful but savage looking snarl. His open jaws could fit the whole

king‟s head.

“Mercy,” said Piper, and chuckled. The princess turned surprised eyes to him. He seemed less of a hardened warrior

and more of a grandpa, grey and jolly. The transformations were all around.


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While the king was busily trying to avoid Circ‟s playful jaws, she turned to the warrior. “Piper, you are so happy. I didn‟t

the summer child

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