The greatest kingdom, p.27
The Greatest Kingdom, page 27
Its face was made from leaves and reeds. Streams ran from its eyeholes and toadspawn hung from its nose. Imogen could feel the spray from its waterlogged body. She could see the marsh life up close. Lizards and insects, small fish and birds – they were scrabbling out of Panovník’s legs.
‘W-w-we’re not here for your throne,’ cried Marie, but the troll didn’t seem to hear. She was like a mouse squeaking at its feet.
Imogen took Marie’s hand and the girls backed away, until their heels found the edge of the stump.
‘USSSUUURRRRRPEERRRRS WIIILL DIEEEEE-EEEEEEE.’ The troll raised a bone-crushing fist.
Imogen’s heart pattered. This was it. The end.
She squeezed Marie’s hand a little tighter.
Mum let out a whistling shriek.
‘Don’t you dare kill my prophecy,’ screamed a voice.
Imogen’s world seemed to slow.
She knew that voice. It had followed her across worlds, through her waking hours and her worst dreams. And now it had followed them over the marshes.
Anneshka Mazanar.
Miro pulled back from his grandmother. ‘Wake up the mountains? W-what? How?’
‘Climb the three peaks that flank the ravine,’ said Olga, as if this was the simplest thing in the world. ‘And knock on each of their tops. I would do it myself – indeed, I was once quite the mountain woman – but, alas, those days are behind me.’
‘You want me to … knock on the mountains?’
‘Quite right,’ said Olga. ‘None of this namby-pamby tapping. A nice firm whack.’ She smacked the end of the bed.
Miro didn’t want to be rude, but he had hoped his grandmothers would know how to close some secret, hidden gates. Knocking on the top of a mountain sounded about as useful as asking for help from a frog.
… Frog?
Miro had almost forgotten about Kazimira. She was still sitting on her pillow, was still an amphibian.
Croak, she said, looking downcast. Although, perhaps that was how frogs always looked.
Why didn’t Kazimira change back with the spell? wondered Miro.
Olga and Nela were waiting for Miro’s response. ‘Three mountains,’ repeated Olga. ‘Do you think you can manage that?’
‘I’ll try,’ said Miro. ‘But what will it do?’
His grandmothers exchanged knowing glances. Before either of them could answer, the bedroom door opened and Konya’s head poked through the gap. Her eyes flicked around the chamber, finally settling on Nela and Olga. ‘Are you the mice?’ she asked.
‘They are the queens of this kingdom,’ said Miro, wishing Konya would show some respect.
The woman who used to be a sněehoolark slunk into the room. There was a slightly scared-looking cook behind her, carrying a platter of raw fish.
‘I went to the kitchens,’ said Konya. ‘As you suggested, Miaow-roslav.’ She popped a chunk of fish in her mouth. ‘Mmmm, delicious … By the way, the humans are panicking. News of the army has spread.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Miro.
‘They were talking in the kitchens,’ Konya replied.
Everyone turned to the cook. He gulped, still balancing the fish platter. ‘It’s just that without Mage Bohoosh, there’s no one in charge. How are we going to defend ourselves? Who will close the ravine?’
‘No one in charge?’ said Nela.
The cook’s eyes darted to the old ladies, wrapped in linen bedsheets. His eyes were so wide that they almost popped out of his head. ‘Your Majesties!’ he gasped. ‘Y-y-you’re back!’
‘Everyone must leave the city,’ said Nela. ‘Seek refuge with the skret. The Královna’s caves are deep in the mountains … We’ll see to this army. Won’t we, dear?’
Olga nodded and smiled, looking much calmer than Miro felt.
‘Please will you tell the guards for us?’ asked Nela. ‘Make sure the message gets spread?’
The cook nodded and started backing away. Konya took the platter from him as he left the room.
‘I heard another rumour,’ said Konya, face-planting the pile of fish. She chewed for a long while before going on. ‘Anneshka’s army is purr-paring to march. It is almost noon … we might not have enough time to get everyone out of Nedobyt.’
But if Anneshka’s soldiers arrived before people had escaped, there’d be a bloodbath. The thought made Miro’s palms feel all sweaty. ‘It didn’t work then?’ he asked. ‘Imogen and Marie’s plan … it failed?’
‘No one seems to have seen Anneshka,’ said Konya. She stretched her neck, luxuriating in the movement. ‘But the army still rallies. The scouts say the chief is a bearded man. He me-miaow-must be her second-in-command.’
Miro reached for his rings, before remembering they’d been lost on the marshes. Instead, he twisted his fingers. This was bad news. Very bad news indeed.
Miro had hoped that if the girls distracted Anneshka, she’d make her army stay put – at least for a little while. He hadn’t counted on her having a deputy.
But his grandmothers did not seem to be ruffled. ‘Konya, you are clearly a good friend to Miroslav,’ said Olga. ‘For that, we are already in your debt. Good friends are difficult to find.’
Konya continued to stretch, reaching with her arms and arching her back, but she did not contradict the queen.
‘We have no right to ask anything of you,’ continued Olga. ‘But I ask a favour because I must.’
Miro couldn’t help wondering at the tone of reverence with which Olga spoke. Especially since when Olga was a mouse and Konya had been a giant cat, Konya had tried to eat her.
‘Would you speak with your kin?’ the old lady asked.
Konya stopped stretching and focused her attention on the women. ‘My kin?’
‘The wild sněehoolarks, who roam the Nameless Mountains.’ Olga held Konya’s gaze. ‘We used to be on good terms with the giant cats. Some of our people left offerings … and we all share the same land. Would the wild sněehoolarks come to our aid?’
Konya’s eyes darted to Miro. ‘I am supposed to stay with him.’
It was true. Perla had asked Konya to protect Miro, and Konya had done just that. She had caught fish and shared her heat on the marshes. She had stayed with him through midge-blizzards and sinking bogs. She is, thought Miro, an excellent friend … if a little intimidating.
‘Many will be at risk if that army reaches Nedobyt,’ said Olga. ‘Including Miroslav. Including other children. And, if this Anneshka becomes Queen of Nedobyt, she might not be the type of neighbour the sněehoolarks are used to. She may allow the hunting of your kin.’
It was a good point. Miro hadn’t thought about what Anneshka would do to animals in the places she conquered. Anneshka could be very cruel … and why should that end with people?
He glanced at Kazimira-the-frog. She was still watching, still taking it all in.
Konya stood erect now, eyes unblinking and wide. ‘I will do it,’ she said. ‘I will speak with the wild sněehoolarks.’
‘Thank you,’ said Olga, and then she did the most extraordinary thing. The great Queen of Nedobyt bowed. Nela did the same.
Even more extraordinary, Konya bowed back. It was a small movement, a graceful dip, but still …
Miro had never seen the sněehoolark bowing – not in human or giant cat shape.
Oh, said a small voice in his head. Is this what it means to rule?
Queen Olga straightened, gripping the closest bedpost for support. Then she turned to face Miro. ‘Will you help your friend resume her normal shape?’
Miro felt more exhausted than ever. What he wouldn’t give to close his eyes. But the thought of Anneshka’s army storming into Nedobyt and slaughtering people was more than enough to clear his drowsiness.
‘There’s a spell,’ he said to Konya, picking up the slipskin book. ‘I’ll read it to you now … Slipskins and catkins and flotsam and jetsam, flowers and algae and spiders and mud …’
The change happened faster for Konya. She closed her eyes, focusing her attention inwards, or perhaps reaching out to the world. Fur started growing on her forehead, spreading down her nose and across her cheeks. Her ears migrated upwards. Her teeth sharpened into fangs.
A few seconds later, Konya was yowling and shredding her clothes. Instead of a woman, there was a sněehoolark – amber-eyed, thick-furred, with extravagant whiskers. Her ears were tufted. Her tail was fiercely striped.
‘Konya!’ cried Miro, ‘You’re back!’
The sněehoolark bounded towards him and Miro felt a wobble of fear. She was a very big cat. But she only nuzzled his stomach and Miro returned the embrace.
Konya had always been Konya, even when she was a woman. She had always been ferocious and loyal. But, somehow, she was even more Konya in this body. Her shape finally suited her soul.
Miro glanced at Kazimira. If only the same could be said for the princess … She was very much still a frog and Miro didn’t understand why.
‘Please, take our message to the wild sněehoolarks,’ said Olga to the giant cat. ‘Whatever their decision, we are very grateful for your help.’
And, with that, Konya sprang out of the room.
Now Olga directed her attention at Miro. ‘Miroslav, you had better go too.’
Miro wished, with every fibre of his body, that he could take a nap. His brain felt scrambled. His eyelids seemed to lift tiny weights.
Nela shook her grey head. ‘It’s too late, Olga. Didn’t you hear what Konya said? The army is preparing to march – perhaps they’ve already set off. You’re asking the impossible of the boy. He’ll never climb three mountains before the soldiers arrive.’
‘We’ll send more people,’ cried Olga. ‘They can do one mountain each.’
‘Olga,’ said Nela. ‘Even the fastest couldn’t climb a mountain that quickly, not even if they ran all the way.’
Olga scowled and sat on the edge of the bed. Miro’s chest hurt to look at her. She appeared even smaller and frailer sitting down.
Above, the sun poured its gold through the glass.
Miro rubbed his tired eyes. He had survived his trek across the marshes. Of that he was very glad. He’d finally found his family. For that he was grateful too.
He wasn’t about to give it all up because of Anneshka Mazanar …
‘What if I didn’t run,’ said Miro.
Both women looked his way.
‘What if, instead, I flew?’
By the time that Miro and his grandmothers walked through the common, the festival atmosphere had vanished. Instead, there was an air of suppressed panic.
Long gone were the jugglers and dancers. Instead, folk dragged hand-drawn carts, piled high with their belongings and those people who were unable to walk.
There were no more cheerful costumes. Most were dressed for the road, wrapped in shawls and wearing mittens. Some had young children strapped to their backs.
A few were carrying weapons. Perhaps they intended to stay and fight.
‘It’s a hard trek to the skret caves,’ muttered Nela and, for the first time, she looked afraid. ‘Especially with little ones. I do hope they make it in time.’
‘Shouldn’t you be going with them?’ whispered Miro. He didn’t want his grandmothers to get hurt.
‘No, Miroslav,’ said Nela. ‘We are Nedobyt’s queens.’
Miro couldn’t help thinking of the other rulers he’d known. His uncle, King Ctibor, the five queens … He didn’t think they’d have taken the same approach. They always put themselves first.
Miro and his grandmothers kept going, making their way through the valley. On either side, cliffs towered above them, with buildings clinging to the rock.
All the marsh-gas lanterns had been extinguished and thousands of people were visible as dots, inching down the near-vertical paths in the sharp midday light. Most were moving towards the common and the trail that led deeper into the mountains.
Eventually, Miro and his grandmothers stood at the city-side entrance to the ravine. The spot was guarded by several gold-clad archers, who all saluted their queens.
‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ said Nela. ‘It’s colder when you’re not covered in fur.’
‘It’s the tail I miss the most,’ replied Olga. ‘Really helped with my balance. Much better than a walking stick.’
Miro didn’t know how they could keep chatting as if a vast army wasn’t marching towards them, as if they weren’t on the cusp of an unwinnable war, as if they weren’t all about to be butchered.
Beneath his grandmothers’ talk, Miro could feel a faint drumming; a tremble rising up through the soles of his boots. It was, Miro realised, the marching of many thousands of feet.
His stomach seemed to desert him.
Anneshka’s army was on the move.
‘Although I can’t say I miss being that small,’ said Nela. ‘Remember when I got stuck in a chamber pot? Thought I’d had it. Thought I’d drown in—’
Is this what happens when you become an adult? wondered Miro. Do you stop being afraid?
Grandma Olga seemed to read his mind. ‘There’s no point getting flustered, Miroslav,’ she murmured, so the archers wouldn’t hear. ‘Panic is contagious. Remember that.’
Miro nodded, but his eyes were on the ravine. Its sides clinked with pebbles; tiny rocks that had been dislodged by the vibrating earth.
Nela held out a glass bottle she’d taken from Bohoosh’s chamber in the Royal Palace. ‘Fly swift,’ she said, pressing the bottle into Miro’s hand.
‘I – I will do my very best,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘I want to make you proud.’
Nela stooped so her face was level with Miro’s. She was much taller than her wife. ‘We’re already proud of you, Miroslav. We were proud from the moment you were born.’
Miro felt as though his grandmother had lifted him – as though he was floating an inch above the ground. From the very first moment he was born?
Olga looked pensive. Then she shrugged, adding, ‘Even though you were a screamer for the first year of your life. Now, bottoms up, Miroslav.’
Miro drank the sweet water. He felt it whoosh down his throat, gurgling as it entered his stomach. He hiccupped and burped and was about to apologise, when his body started to shift.
It happened faster this time, as if the magic knew its way round. Negative thoughts swirled in Miro’s head. What if I turn into an earthworm? What if I turn into a snail?
Miro batted the thoughts away and Granny Nela started to sing. ‘My little Miro, fly swift as a falcon.’ That was his mother’s lullaby!
Hundreds of feathers stiffened beneath Miro’s skin, pressing up ready to sprout.
‘You make the world come alive … You give the wind form, give it feathers and wings. You give the stars their bright eyes.’
Miro’s spine shuttered like a telescope, folding in on itself. His legs shrank. His bones hollowed out. It hurt – really hurt – and Miro tried to control it.
Bad thoughts came with the pain. What if I can’t wake the mountains? What if I’m not fast enough? Anneshka’s army will storm Nedobyt …
But Granny Nela’s voice cut through. ‘My little Miro, fly swift as a falcon, and know that you are adored. You are the valleys and you are the summits. You’ve made a nest in my heart.’
The lullaby reminded Miro of his mother and he tried to focus on that – tried to conjure her face. He imagined her shining with a soft golden radiance. The bad thoughts seemed to bounce off her, seemed to melt in the brilliance of her light.
Granny Nela was still singing, but Miro couldn’t make out the words. His whole body was contorting and, try as he might, he was not in control.
My little Miro …
His clothes pushed against his face and Miro scrabbled with his feet. As he burst free from his tunic, he could feel the strength in his shoulders, could sense the violence of his claws.
Finally, his transformation was complete. ‘I am a falcon,’ he cried and it came out as a screech.
Nela was beaming. Olga dabbed her eyes.
Miro lifted his wings and all it took was one thrust. His feathers caught the air.
‘Fly swift,’ called Nela.
And with his claws tucked against his belly, Miro rose.
When he glanced down, he could have sworn that there were three figures – three women watching him soar. One was Grandmother Olga, the second was Granny Nela, the third …
Her face was so familiar and yet …
Miro blinked several times, his mind struggling to trust his eyes. But falcon eyes do not lie. The third woman was made out of starlight.
Miro flew up the first mountain. It was sheltered from the worst of the wind and easy enough to ascend.
Staying close to the slope, his eyes needled the rocks and vegetation that soon turned to snow and ice. He couldn’t help keeping a lookout for small creatures. His boy-self might be exhausted, but his falcon-self wanted to soar, fly, hunt, kill …
Miro landed on the peak, talons out. Glancing across the mountain’s shoulder, he caught his first sight of the enemy – a dark mass at the other end of the ravine. His falcon eyes could make out the details, even though the army was at least one mile down.
Foot soldiers were the first to funnel into the chasm. Behind them came mounted soldiers, on horses and antlered elk. There were riders with crossbows. There were standard-bearers too, carrying Anneshka’s crown flags.
It reminded Miro of the toys in his tower; the ones he’d had in Castle Yaroslav. Back then, he’d owned many stone warriors, each one no bigger than his thumb. He’d enjoyed lining them up in his chamber, getting them to stand in just the right way.
But these soldiers were no playthings. They carried real weapons, real orders to kill.
Oh, Stars, thought Miro. I hope this works.
Shouts from the army chief echoed up the ravine. At the centre of this great throng were catapults and battering rams. Anneshka would not need such weapons to bring Nedobyt to its knees. The foot soldiers alone could do that …
No. Miro would not let it happen. He scrabbled at the ice with his claws. When he found bare rock, he hammered on it with his beak.
