The Autumn Castle by Kim Wilkins

Author:Kim Wilkins [WILKINS, KIM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780446559751
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2009-05-30T04:00:00+00:00

Halfway down the slope on her decorated carriage, Eisengrimm as Crow perched on her shoulder, Mayfridh could hear the noise of the crowd in the village below. The autumn festival had begun at dawn. The town well had been decorated with vines, and music and noisy drinking took place in the street. Now the royal procession descended from the hill. Mayfridh wore her finest bronze and gold gown, her crimson hair pinned under a golden scarf. Before her, five black horses trod proudly; behind her, the royal guard marched. The sight of hundreds of villagers mingling in the street made her catch her breath with fear.

“Eisengrimm, they are so many. I haven’t enough blessings.” She patted her woven bag, woefully thin under her fingers.

“It matters not if we run out of blessings,” he said close to her ear. “It only matters if they know that Hexebart has escaped. Just tell them you will return to see them individually with blessings in the next few days.”

Mayfridh recoiled. “Visit the villagers individually? In their homes?”

“Little May, you are not in a position to be intolerant. Once we find Hexebart, we will get more spells and we will deliver them as we must.”

Mayfridh fell silent. The crowd below roared with laughter and shouts of joy. Music floated up on the breeze. A group of villagers had seen her and started to chant her name.

“Mayfridh! Mayfridh!”

Eisengrimm took to his wings and sailed down amongst them, urging them left and right and left, clearing a path for the royal carriage. The music grew louder and some folk had started singing. Most of them were already drunk. The Queen began to wave, mustering her most dazzling smile. The crowd cheered. Moments later, she was among them.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” they called, individually trying to catch her attention.

“A blessing for my home, Queen Mayfridh!” Crowding in on the left.

“A blessing for the harvest, Queen Mayfridh!” Pushing on the right.

“A blessing for my sick mother, Queen Mayfridh!” All around her, pressing in on the carriage, supplicating faces and hands outstretched. Isolating anxiety and dread loneliness: they all wanted something from her, and cared nothing for her own wants. She reached into the bag and produced a spell.

“A blessing for you!” she called, blowing on the golden ball and watching it float and disappear like a bubble over a farmer’s head.

“Thank you, my Queen, thank you!”

Young girls were showering her with colored leaves, collected at the turn of the season, red and gold and russet brown.

“Queen Mayfridh,” one of them called, “the leaves!”

Mayfridh gritted her teeth. It would waste a spell, but the young ones expected it. She threw a spell in the air, it exploded overhead, and suddenly the leaves cast above her turned to glittering foil, dazzling down on her in the slanted sun. A cheer arose from the crowd. They pressed in on her, demanding their blessings, as Eisengrimm ducked and glided overhead. A tall, lean man thrust his pregnant wife in front of him. “A blessing for our unborn child!” he called.

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