The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) (6 page)

Please, Father, enough
, Carrot thought.  She knew her father meant well, but his defensiveness on her behalf typically backfired.  And, judging from Krobart's deepening frown, so it was doing here. 

Krobart glared at Carrot.  “Where did you get this thing?”

“I drew it myself, from information provided by the Wizard.”

“Yes – the young man who has the West in an uproar.  I would like to meet this alleged 'Wizard.'  How many times has the return of the Star Child been prophesied? ”  Krobart released an exaggerated sigh.  “Well, it does
crudely
resemble the Roman surveys of Britan that I've seen.  So what is it that you wish to show?”

Her pointer stick traced the ruled grid that overlaid the features of the map.  “We're to organize into search teams, which will be assigned to these ten kilometer squares of territory throughout the West, and in particular, the Northwest.  The teams will enter into villages and inquire for any knowledge regarding the existence and whereabouts of the Box.  We will then concentrate our resources – “

“Excuse me.  Did you say '
box
?'”

Carrot met Ral's glance.  “Yes, Box.”

“What sort of 'box' are we speaking of?”

“Were you not informed?  It is that which the Romans seek in Britan.  We must acquire it before they do, and – “

“What is in this 'box' that is so important?”

“It is a device of great power.  It can create and destroy life.”

“That sounds similar to the old fable, 'The Box That Everything Came In.'”

“Yes, that is what it is.”

“
A children's myth!
”  Krobart glared at the men.  “You've given control of an army to a child, and now she's about to send that army in quest of a
children's myth
!”

“That 'child' won the only battle we've ever won against the Romans!” Geth said, his face flushed. 

“For that she has our gratitude.  Not our credulity!” 

“The Box is not a myth,” Carrot said.  “I've personally met its counterpart in Rome.”

“You
met
a box in Rome.  You didn't find it, you didn't encounter it.  You
met
it.”

Yes, and we conversed.
  Carrot realized that if she said those words, she would abandon all credibility. 

“Whether you or I believe in the story,” she said, measuredly, “it is evident that the Romans do, and so they seek the counterpart Box here, and have been tearing apart Britan in search of it.”

“The Romans aren't here for a box!” Krobart snarled.  “They're here to steal our land and enslave us!  What proof do you have otherwise?”

Carrot realized she didn't have proof.  She had been captive before the Pandora of Rome, she had almost been demolished to the foundations of her soul – yet she had no physical proof, not even a scar.

Krobart encompassed all three with his glare.  “I didn't want to believe the reports, but now it is evident that the Leaf must intervene directly.  Arcadia of Umbrick, upon the authority granted me by the Inner Circle of the Leaf, I relieve you of command of the army of West Britan and hereby commission you in the Army of the Leaf of Britan with the rank of lieutenant.”

“You're demoting her?” Geth demanded.

“You yourself have acknowledged that she had no previous rank in the Leaf.  And I understand she was appointed only to the rank of sergeant in the army of Boudica.  So this is a promotion.  To attain the commission of lieutenant at her age is an accomplishment, and you have no cause for taking slight.” 

“Who will lead her army?  Have you thought of that?”

“We've suitable appointees with requisite experience.  And it's not
her
army.  It is Britan's, and the Leaf
is
Britan.”  To Ral, Krobart said stiffly: “I'll be at my hut in the village, writing a report to send by courier to the Inner Circle tomorrow.  Call on me if you have anything to add.”

Krobart departed stormily, leaving the three in silence. 

Geth glared at Ral.  “This is because of you!  You invited them to send someone here, you submitted our independent army to their command without gaining concessions first!”

“We can't retain an army without funds,” Ral said.  “We have no funds and the Leaf does.”

“Those funds were given to them by my daughter!”

“Well, then – blame her for not keeping them herself!”  Ral's face immediately burned, and he hung his head.  “I'm sorry, I'm at ends over what to do.  Carrot, you know how much I respect you.”

“And that is the problem,” Carrot replied. 

Their expressions reacted to the sternness in her voice.

“You two have been conspiring behind my back since childhood,” Carrot said.  “You scheme to make me queen of this country!  It's so unthinkable that I did not think it serious.  Now my eyes are open!  To sincerely believe that I am to be queen – as nonsensical as that sounds!”

“You have a destiny,” Ral said.  “As the Wizard would say, it is coded in your genes.”

Carrot snorted.  “I doubt you have any idea what 'genes' are.”

“Perhaps not.  But my mentor was my guiding voice for so many years, and he told me to guard your mother as her line would be the salvation of Britan.  All the mentors of Britan, and their hosts, have been guarding your line, because of the hope that you will guide us to liberation.”

“Your mentor was no guiding spirit!”  Carrot held thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart.  “It was a bug this big that crawled up your nose!”

“I – we – were part of a fellowship, charged with protecting the line of queen-ship, through your mother who died at the hands of a monstrous creature – “

“That bears not on whether I should be a queen or a farmer's wife!”

“If such a monster was sent against you, it means the great powers of this world know you are a threat to their plans.”

“Well, that's their mistake, because in fact I'm a fulfillment of their plans.”  Carrot shook her head, aware that the tips of hair flying past her face were tinged with orange.  “You have no idea.  The Pandora of Rome told me herself that she created me.  My 'intended destiny' is to be a machine for killing!”

The rage filled her so much she could no longer speak.  She stormed outside.  She heard Geth approach and felt his touch on her arm.  She yanked it away. 

Geth spoke softly:  “Arcadia, I – “

“
You're my father!
”  She fought tears.  “You should have taken me out of Letos's house for good when Mother died.  Instead, you had me live in a home where you knew I would be hated and maltreated, and for what?  That I might pretend to be his child – thus a princess – thus a tiny step closer to queen-ship. 
Never mind my feelings!
” 

Geth's face twitched with pain.

She continued, “Then you inspired me to join the Leaf, not to avenge the death of my 'father' or serve justice to my country – but again, so that I could come a step closer to becoming queen by amassing an army one warrior at a time. 
Queen!
  That's all you care about!”

Geth stared at the ground.  “Arcadia, I do love you so very much.”

“How old am I, and yet how few times you have said that!”

Trembling, she could bear the confrontation no longer.  She broke away.  She strode across the field alone, entered the woods at west.  Wiping her tears, she wove down one path, then another, never lost but neither caring or noticing where she was going.  When she exited the woods, she had come to the miller's pond southwest of the training field. 

Gazing across the water at the reeds, she plucked a stone and tossed haphazardly.  The stone plunked in the middle and she watched the waves ripple outward.  It reminded her of how Matt had mentioned that light was both wave and particle.  She hadn't understood, and he had replied,
“That's all right, nobody does.”

All my relationships are like that
, she thought.  Two contrary things at once, never resolved. 

Folding her arms, she forced away thoughts of what had happened, rubbed the salt of her dried tears from her face, and tried to be practical. 
What now?
 

Well, not to become Queen of Britan, that was for certain.  But if the Leaf wouldn't allow a search for the Box, then perhaps she could go with Matt, to wherever he was going in the airship. 

For weeks they had been discussing his departure, how he would explore the far side of the planet for his missing 'brother' while she searched for the Box in the westlands of Britan.  The thought of them parting had always filled her with discomfort; now they could go together.  For such a long absence, she would likely have to resign her 'commission' in the Leaf, but that seemed of little consequence.  Even the fate of Britan seemed not to matter much to her any longer.  She was so tired of fighting and politics and – 'destiny!' 

She tossed another stone and cleared her thoughts.  As her breath calmed, her hair shaded back to brown.  She let her mind soak in the peace of her surroundings.  The mill was vacant, its only sound the spill of water over the dam, the water wheel being stuck and mute since the decimation of the plague. 

The air was still and the sky the blue of a summer day.  The trees were a bewitching nuance of a shade different than the green of the trees of her birthplace on the other side of Britan.  The scene was void of other people and so painting-like that the tiniest movements attracted attention. 

Ducks paddling.  Butterfly flitting.  Raven gliding. 

Arrow streaking –    

Thunk! 
It landed in the grass ten meters away, embedding its shaft deep into the moist soil.   

“HALLO!” Carrot shouted at the north woods from whence the arrow had come.  “It's not safe to practice here, you could hit someone!  Go to the archery range on the training field!”

She listened for a response.  Seconds passed.  Then, a second arrow arched out of the trees and, with the certitude of a hawk in dive, descended toward her.  She stepped aside. 

Thunk!
  It landed exactly where she had been standing.

She pulled out the shaft.  It bore the nicks of hand carving, though with a precision that approached the machined arrows of Rome.  The footing-woods were unfamiliar, but she liked their flex.  The arrowhead was iron, shaped by a mold and sharpened by stone and weighted, if Carrot was not mistaken, to eight grams exactly. 

The fletches were dyed dark green and meticulously stamped with a thumb-sized marking in white:  an 'M' inside an oval that sprouted two teardrop shapes on top like ears of a cat, with radiating lines that mimicked whiskers.  At Ravencall, Carrot had watched nigh a thousand archers practice, and could not recall such a monogram.

All of this rumination had to be done in an instant, for then Carrot spotted another shaft ascending from the trees.  She sidestepped and an arrow again thunked where she had stood. 

The shooter, Carrot realized, had deadly accuracy, but due to the high arching trajectories was giving Carrot enough time to easily spot and avoid.  That didn't make it less annoying.   

Another arrow, and another – and Carrot cursed as she dodged.

“
This is not amusing!
” she shouted.

They – whoever they were – answered with another triple-volley.  Carrot sprinted for cover.  She thought she was well concealed, but the next arrow headed directly toward her position.  She leaped barely in time.

“
If it's a game you wish to play . . . .
” she muttered.

She plunged toward her adversary, leaving the pond for the shaded, claustrophobic woods.  Branches lay upon the trail and she scooped one that was sword-sized.  She bore west, crossing the brook that fed the pond.  With the gurgling waters masking her footfalls, she let the forest fill her senses.

Ahead, she perceived the tiniest movement.  Her infrared vision detected a blob of warmth.  She charged into a glade – and found a jacket bobbing upon the branches of a bush. 

She sensed no other sign of motion or warmth – or noise other than the now-faint trickle of the brook.  She snatched the jacket and retreated into concealment to examine. 

The fabric had been dyed multiple colors in spots of random size and shape that blended with the pattern of the forest leaves.  Carrot rubbed the fabric, and felt the thick padding of a material that was at once pliable to bodily movement yet resistant to penetration by arrow or blade. 

“Who are you?” she whispered. 

She sniffed the jacket – and frowned. 

“
What
are you?”

A twig snapped.  She turned and saw a bush wagging.  She started to run toward it, but then intuition warned.  There was something wrong here.  The scent on the jacket had been so faint.  A person at the proximity of the wagging branch should have emitted a detectable odor, but Carrot scented only rabbits and deer nearby.  Even if the person was long gone, there should have been a trace . . . the complete lack of scent hinted that her adversary had to power to dampen scent and had not run off but was still present – unseen, unheard, unscentable.  It was the latter that discomfited her the most.