Melina Marchetta - Quintana of Charyn

‘Oh, you savage beauty,’ Tesadora said. ‘Where did you come from?’

Lucian wondered if Tesadora was bewitched. The girl stared, confused. Tesadora repeated the words in Charyn.

‘We won’t hurt her,’ Tesadora said, reaching out for Vestie.

Vestie gripped the girl’s hand that was pressed over her mouth and removed it. Lucian expected a scream, but instead Vestie leaned forward and whispered into the stranger’s ear.

The mad girl peered over Tesadora’s shoulder to where Beatriss stood with Lucian.

‘I just want to hear the little person speak again,’ the savage girl said coldly in Charyn. ‘I want to hear her voice.’

‘We need to take her home,’ Tesadora explained gently. ‘She’ll be safe. You must get back to your people in the valley.’

The girl shook her head emphatically.

‘Tell no one, Serker Eyes,’ she whispered. ‘Or else they’ll kill us all.’

Small crooked teeth showed through a snarl. Before anyone could speak another word, the girl scrambled to her feet and tore off. Lucian quickly gathered Vestie in his arms, his eyes meeting Tesadora’s.

‘What,’ he asked, ‘was that?’

Later, when Vestie was being bathed by Beatriss and the women, they found not a single mark on her body. She had recovered quickly from her ordeal.

‘Who was she, Vestie?’ Lady Beatriss asked as Yata wrapped the little girl up in a blanket while Lucian’s aunts fussed.

‘I don’t know. I think I walked and slept, Mama, and then I was in the woods crying and I saw her. It was as though I knew she’d be there. And I said, “Hello there. Hello there, I say.” And she looked so frightened. It was just like that time we first met the valley dwellers and they stared at us in such a fashion.’

‘They’re not used to seeing little girls,’ Yata said.

‘I spoke again and said, “My name is Vestie,” and she wept and wept and she spoke in that funny way the camp dwellers speak.’

Vestie turned to Tesadora. ‘I want to learn, Tesadora. I want to speak just like them. I only know one word. It means friend. I said it in her ear. “ Sora. Sora. Sora. ”’

Tesadora chuckled and gathered Vestie to her.

‘And who taught you this Charynite word for friend?’

‘Phaedra of Alonso did. She said it was the prettiest word in Charyn.’

And Lucian ached to hear those words.

Vestie looked up at Lady Beatriss. ‘That time we crossed the stream together with you, Mama. Remember? Phaedra said not to be afraid because the camp dwellers only wanted to be my friend. My sora . I want to learn more.’

‘I’ll teach you, Vestie,’ Jory said from the entrance of the room, anger lacing his voice. ‘So that when you see her again you can tell the witch we’ll tear her limb –’

‘Jory!’ Lucian warned, while Beatriss covered Vestie’s ears. Jory looked away, shamefaced.

‘Go out to the lads,’ Lucian ordered, shoving his young cousin forward. ‘And calm them down. There will be no repeat of raids into the valley.’

‘Not their side of the valley, Lucian,’ Jory said. ‘Ours. She wasn’t a valley dweller. You said so yourself.’

‘Go.’

Jory left, a stubborn set to his jaw.

‘We’ll get supper started,’ Yata said, following the aunts out of the room. Lucian bobbed down to Vestie’s height.

‘Can you remember anything else, Vestie?’ Lucian asked.

‘Every time I spoke, she’d weep and weep with joy.’

‘She liked your voice,’ Beatriss said quietly.

‘But whose blood was it?’ Lucian asked. ‘It was the first thing we saw and it frightened us all.’

Vestie laughed with glee. ‘She taught me to slaughter a hare.’

Vestie twisted her hands together as if breaking the neck of an animal and made the most gods-awful sound. ‘I’m going to show Father.’

‘Yes, Father will be overjoyed to hear all about this when he returns,’ Beatriss murmured, catching Lucian’s eye.

‘We caught three,’ Vestie exclaimed. ‘We caught them together.’

‘You did not,’ Lucian mocked, desperate to know more about their savage neighbour.

‘I did, too,’ she said indignantly. ‘Can I play with her again?’

‘No, my love,’ Beatriss said. ‘We’re going home to Fenton in a few days. You’ve given us quite a scare.’

‘I told her about Millie and how I left her behind in my bed.’

Lucian was confused. ‘Millie?’

‘Her doll,’ Beatriss said. ‘I’ll go get her.’ She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s brow. ‘Don’t do this to Mama again, Vestie. You scared me today.’

When Beatriss left the room, Vestie turned to Tesadora.

‘Why can’t I take her home with us, Tesadora?’

‘We know nothing about her, minx,’ Tesadora said, picking her up and swinging her around. ‘We don’t even know her name.’

‘I think I do,’ Vestie said, indignant. ‘She’s just like Isaboe, you know. Just like her.’

‘She’s nothing like Isaboe,’ Lucian said.

Tesadora looked up at him. ‘How about you calm down the lads … and Vestie can tell me everything she knows about her new friend in the valley?’

I come close to our cave with hands drenched in hare’s blood. If they feast on fresh game for the first time in weeks, perhaps things may change and their hearts will be open. But the women are speaking, they’re fighting, they’re weeping, Froi. Their stone-hearted claws scratch at me whole. Though their voices are hushed, they scream with such hate. I hear them speak words, ‘We’ll kill in her sleep.’ The little King kicks, a beat of great fear, and he begs me to run from these wretches of malice. The Mont’s wife, she sees me, her face speaks of shame, and the hares in my hand are hurled in my fury.

And I run and I run, and I think of the girl child, the one they call Visti, and the trust in her eyes. I think of her voice, so much like Regina, my sister beloved who’s left me behind. But Froi, have you joined her at the lake of the half-dead? I fear that you have and she’s not sent you back. The last time I saw you, eight arrows were piercing. You couldn’t have lived; the gods aren’t that kind.

And I hide in the thistles that tear at my skin, but finally I see her, the white-headed Serker. She knows I am out here, but pretends she’s not looking. I know she is looking and pretend it’s a game. And finally I’m closer and I grip at her strange hair, the white of its strands a shroud around my fist. And my blood beats a dance because I’ve found it a kindred. So I vow to return and my smile aches my face. I know her: Tesadora. Will she love me regardless?

She knows me, she knows me, but does not turn away.

Phaedra of Alonso was running. Stumbling over an upturned stone once, twice. Praying with all her being for a glimpse of their strange princess. Up in the distance the whistle of the wind sang to her from the mountain. From Lucian’s mountain. It beckoned and taunted and she wanted to run towards it. To be enveloped in its coat of fleece and to hear its safe sounds.

And then she saw Quintana of Charyn and she stopped, almost crumbling from relief and fatigue and fear. It left room for anger, and Phaedra didn’t realise until that moment how much she disliked the Princess Abomination for what she had brought into their lives.

‘Your Highness,’ she said quietly, fearful that Donashe and his men would travel downstream and cross their path. Despite the distance from both the camp and the road to her father’s province, there was always a chance that someone would stray and discover their secret. From what Rafuel had told them, the one time he had managed to slip away since their ‘deaths’, the Monts were no longer acting as sentinels on the Lumateran side of the stream. So there was nothing to stop Donashe and his murderers from hunting in the woodlands and crossing the stream to where Phaedra and the women hid. Worse still, Rafuel had advised that one of Donashe’s men was feeling threatened by Rafuel’s presence around his leader. The man followed Rafuel and Donashe’s every move, which had made it difficult for Rafuel to slip away. So here Phaedra and the women were, a mile downstream from the Charynite valley dwellers, not knowing what was happening to their people upstream except that Phaedra’s father had stopped sending grain from Alonso.