The Snow Queen (13 page)

“It’s—not—” He faltered again. “It’s Gerda. It’s—I’m worried about her—”

She tilted her head to the side. “Gerda? What a common name. Who is this wench?”

She could see him struggle. He wanted to lash out at her because she dismissed Gerda as common and insulted her by implication. But he had finally accepted the fact that she was, and always would be, more powerful than he was and that he was under her control. “Gerda…” he finally managed, “Gerda is a young lady who has…always been my friend. And I—am very fond of her.”

Aleksia almost laughed, but her control was too good to let that slip. He had almost said that he loved Gerda.

She shrugged. “I am sure she will find someone else. You have important work to do. You should not be distracted by a mere girl.”

Once again he went red, then white. “She wouldn’t—I am worried about her!” He persisted. “Without me there, she might—”

“Might find someone with an equally shallow mind, who is only interested in settling down and raising fat babies.” She shrugged. “You are destined for greater things as long as you concentrate on your work and not on silly girls.”

She could see him struggling with all this. On the one hand, she was complimenting him. She clearly valued him, and for the thing he had once thought was the most important.

On the other hand, somehow over the past several days, Gerda had pushed everything else out of his mind. She knew that look in his eyes now. He was lovesick, obsessed. His nightmares were probably compounded of equal parts of terrible things happening to Gerda, and Gerda finding some other young man.

My, my. An interesting development.

“Go,” she said, with a shrug. “If that is all that concerns you, put your fears to rest. The girl will be fine. Her parents will find her a husband, she will have a litter of brats and all will be well in her world. Meanwhile, you will be uncovering the secrets of the Universe. And in the end, it will be you who makes a difference, while she just adds another lot of round-faced children to be good, obedient subjects of your King.”

She watched him struggling with his desire to retort, watched him conquer himself, and watched him walk away in defeat, shoulders slumped. It was all she could do to keep from jumping up and dancing.

She did retire to her own rooms for a bit—partly to make sure, should he brace himself up and return to confront her, that she would not be there, and partly because, despite her warm clothing, her hands and feet were cold and numb.

Her Brownies brought her pea soup and hot bread with butter melting on it. Peasant fare—the cook must have changed again. She sighed with satisfaction. It was a good change; peasant fare was tasty, hearty and very comforting. She felt strongly in the need of comfort.

Meanwhile, she watched the boy in her small mirror. And it was obvious that her deduction was correct. The boy was lovesick. Thoughts of Gerda clearly intruded on everything he did.

She could not have engineered a better outcome here if she had personally directed The Tradition into this path.

Actually, I wonder if I have…. or rather, if all the Godmothers have. Is it becoming part of The Traditional Path for us to intervene
?

She shook off the thought. If it was, well…the work would be going easier. And aside from the occasional moment like this one, it wasn’t.

Pity
.

Because if things would just go a
little
easier…she might be able to leave them for a bit. Go somewhere. Somewhere without ice and snow.

She made a face and put down the empty bowl with a sigh. Outside, the sun was westering. She wasn’t sure how far Valeri was going to take Gerda, but there was not a chance that Valeri would be coming with her. She hadn’t packed up her own things, after all. No, Valeri would take her out of immediate reach of the bandits and then leave her to find her own way. That should be just about now.

ALEKSIA RETURNED TO THE THRONE ROOM FEELING ALL
the better for the meal and the chance to warm herself. She settled down to her mirror in a much better frame of mind than when she had left it.

The great mirror clouded for a bit as she reminded it of what it had last been reflecting, then the cloudiness resolved into the image she had expected, a look backward across the loping reindeer’s back, the grin of Valeri as the sledge flew over the snow, and behind her, Gerda’s white, strained face. Interestingly enough, they were out of the trees and tearing along a long, flattish slope. From the look of things—yes, Gerda was within striking distance of the Palace of Ever-Winter. With help.

Just as Aleksia recognized that fact, Valeri brought the sledge to a halt.

“And here is where I leave you!” she said cheerfully. She waved her hand in the general—and correct—direction of Aleksia’s Palace. “What you want is over that way. Not sure how far, but it’s there all right.”

“You aren’t coming with me?” Gerda faltered, getting carefully up from the sledge. From the way she winced, it hadn’t been an easy ride.

“Of course not! I’ve got the band to help look after! And when I do leave—” Valeri’s face took on a look of speculation. “When I do, it’ll be t’ see the world. No offense, but not t’ go rescue some little girl’s boy. So! Best of luck and off you go!”

And Valeri did not even pause to see Gerda sling the pack over her back. With a yell and a slap of the reins, she was off again, turning the sledge back along the track they had made, the reindeer’s head high as he loped along. And Valeri did not look back.

Poor Gerda…standing there all alone in a vast expanse of white, she looked very small, and very lost.

And there was no way, no way at all, she was going to get across the mountains on her own two feet. No matter how brave she had been so far, no matter how earnest she was, she was still a town girl. She simply did not know how to survive out there.

She was going to need help.

And now was the time for her Godmother to arrange for some overt aid.

Aleksia redirected the mirror for a moment, into the depths of an ice-cave. And there, as she expected, was what she was looking for. It did not at all surprise her to see Urho, the Great White Bear, looking back at her.

My scrying told me you might be needing me,
said the slow, heavy voice in her mind.

Urho was one of the Wise Beasts, the sort that could speak and reason like humans. He was a frequent visitor to the Palace, and although she could not exactly call him good company, his stories were interesting, and he actually enjoyed breaking up the monotony of Winter with the occasional task for her. His usual tasks—for he was something of a Mage himself—were to see to it that the more inimical of creatures were reported, and if possible, kept far from her door, and to come to the aid of travelers wise enough to see him for what he was or innocent enough to trust him.

“I have a peasant cook now,” she said, and with amusement saw his eyes light up. “Oh, yes, Urho. All your favorites, I do think. And down below your cave, where the snowline meets the treeline, just above the cairn of thirty stones beside the trout stream, there is a young lady. She is all alone, rather ill-equipped and marching with great determination to rescue her lover from wicked me.”

What, another one?
Urho rumbled with laughter.
So, so, so. I should hurry, if I am to intercept her before nightfall.

“Thank you, old friend. I will see you in a few days.”

Look in on us between now and then. I will find shiny places
.

“I will,” she promised, and the mirror clouded over.

She took a long, deep breath. Well, that was sorted. Kay was in love with Gerda after all, with emotions all the more potent for having been suppressed all this time. Gerda had grown a spine, not sitting down in the snow and weeping until someone found her and took pity on her, but marching over inhospitable territory with every intention of getting there by herself. The difficult part of all of this was over.

Of course, she was not going to count this over until the lovers were reunited and on their way home together. Many a Godmother had been tripped up by being too confident of the happy ending.

She rubbed her hands together to warm them. No matter how hard she tried, she was never quite able to keep herself completely warm here. She was about to get up when the glass clouded again.

She blinked to see her mirror-servant appear in the depths of it. He hardly ever used
this
mirror. He hated it, actually. Despite appearing as nothing but a disembodied head, he swore the mirror made shivers run down his spine.

“Jalmari,” she said, looking at the blue-shadowed apparition, closely. “Have you…done something to your hair?”

The head somehow removed its hood, though there were no visible hands. What was revealed was a bizarre—at least to Aleksia’s eyes—mound of white hair with tight rolls over each ear and some sort of tail with a black ribbon tying it back.

“What in the name of all that is holy is
that?
” she asked, astonished.

Jalmari stared back at her. “It is the highest of fashion in the Frankish Court.”

“It looks like something died on your head,” she replied, too astonished by the sight to be anything except blunt.

Jalmari sniffed. “Well, since you need me so seldom,
I
have been taking the opportunity to educate myself in the ways of some of the other Kingdoms. No one would take me seriously in Frankovia if I didn’t wear my hair this way.”

“No one will take you seriously here if you do,” she muttered, amused. “So to what do I owe the favor of an appearance?”

Jalmari became intensely focused, so much so that his absurd hair vanished, leaving him with his normal curly black locks. “You wished to find information about your imitator, Godmother Aleksia,” he replied. “Well—this is what I have found—”

Look for magical trouble among the Sammi, centered on ice and snow.
Hardly useful, since it was what she already knew, except that Jalmari had at least given her a small area to search in.
My own searches lead me here, and no farther. This probably means that the players in this Traditional path have not moved yet. So look for powerful magic, Godmother. This has clouds of great danger about it
.

Outside of being able, like Aleksia herself, to see and hear anything in a place with a mirror in it, Jalmari’s one powerful ability was to see directly the magic that The Tradition gathered about its instruments and pawns. Something about this particular river valley and village was aswirl with that magic. So Aleksia was looking through every reflective surface she could find in order to—

“—but Mother Annuka,” said a tearful voice, as the vague shapes in her mirror coalesced into two women of the Sammi, standing outside the doorway of one of their log houses. It must be harvest season by the look of things. The leaves of the trees above their heads were gold, and the sky was a crisp and chilly blue. One of the women was a stunningly beautiful girl, a maiden by the fact that she wore her hair uncovered and loose, with a studded headband of ribbon confining it, while the other wore a square felt hat with bands of card-woven decoration, or perhaps embroidery, around the hem. Both were dressed the same: in a woolen, high-necked dress with more fanciful bands decorating it at the neck, along the arms and at the hem, and aprons also decorated with embellished bands. The dresses were so short that, in many lands, they would be considered scandalous, which only made sense for someone who spent all Winter traipsing about in the snow. A dress that ended below the ankle would only end up soaked and sodden, heavy and ruined besides. In towns where roads were trodden down and paths swiftly cut, you could wear a long dress. Out here, where a “village” might consist of three huts, you adapted. So beneath the dresses, both wore woolen breeches, finished at the bottoms with yet
more
colorful bands, tucked into felt boots. In the deepest Winter, those boots might be sheepskin or reindeer hide rather than felt. The older woman’s costume was black, the younger, a golden brown, and the style marked them as the Sammi, people who herded reindeer in the most northern regions of Karelia.

So…why was the mirror showing her these two? There had to be a reason. When she was seeking like this, the mirror never showed her anything without a good reason.

“—Mother Annukka,” the girl repeated, only a step from tears, her face a virtual mask of fear, “this is scarcely the time for music!”

The older woman was holding a lovely wooden kantele, a harp used mostly by the Sammi, and she gave the girl a sharp glance. Her eyes were a very piercing blue, and Aleksia found herself wishing that she actually knew this woman. Her face had a look of strength, bravery and wisdom about it. “Have you ever seen any true
sorcery,
Kaari?”

The girl shook her head, and wiped her eyes. “No, only things like casting the runes, and the little household magics. You are the only Sorceress I know. Everything else I only know from tales.”

“The greater Magics that I know all work through music,” the one called Annukka said, tuning the kantele with practiced fingers, one ear cocked to the sound as she plucked the strings too softly for Aleksia to hear. “Shaman use the spirit-drums, Wise Women and Wonder-smiths the
kantele.
So be still and learn.”

Annukka’s fingers moved deftly over the strings, and she began singing. Her voice was low, and very strong, though not loud; pleasant, but by no means the level of a great musician or a bard. Yet there was power, great power, behind it. Even through the mirror, Aleksia could feel it.
“Oh, Road that leads out from my door,”
she sang,
“Who led my son to seek his fate. Now I command you to tell me where his wyrd has led e’er ’tis too late.”

Now the girl probably could not tell this—and surely thought the woman was daft for singing to a road—but the power behind the song took even Aleksia aback. This was a Wise Woman indeed! For those with the eyes to see it, power flowed around her, golden as honey, as if she was immersed in a swirling river of light.

The dust of the road stirred, the fallen leaves moved as if twirled by an errant breeze. Leaves and dust began to fall into a pattern; Aleksia felt the hair on her neck prickle, and the girl stepped back a pace, her mouth forming into a little
O
of surprise. Then there was a kind of grinding noise, and a face gradually formed out of the dust, the bared earth, with the leaves settling into its hair and lips.