Irina the Wolf Queen Read online

  Leah Swann's short stories and poems have appeared in The Best Australian Stories 2011, Award Winning Australian Writing 2011, page seventeen, Masthead, and Reflecting on Melbourne. Her first book, Bearings, a collection of short stories and a novella, was published by Affirm Press in 2011. Leah has worked in public affairs and as a journalist. She now works as a freelance writer in addition to writing novels, stories and plays. She lives with her family in Melbourne.

  IRINA

  the Wolf Queen

  Leah

  Swann

  XOUM PUBLISHING

  Sydney

  Contents

  Chapter One: The Telling

  Chapter Two: The Swine's Mud

  Chapter Three: Vilmos's First Disguise

  Chapter Four: The Wolves’ Den

  Chapter Five: The Swamp of Crying Babies

  Chapter Six: Irina the Wolf Baby

  Chapter Seven: A True Wolf

  Chapter Eight: William the Farmer

  Chapter Nine: The Bear

  Chapter Ten: Taming the Wolf-girl

  Chapter Eleven: Vilmos at Pavel

  Chapter Twelve: Growing Up

  Chapter Thirteen: Irina Meets the Wise-woman

  Chapter Fourteen: The Witch's Brew

  Chapter Fifteen: A Lake for An Orchard

  Chapter Sixteen: Irina Denies Her True Identity

  Chapter Seventeen: Raizel's Voice Returns

  Chapter Eighteen: Farewell

  Chapter Nineteen: Prince Andor's Adventure Begins

  Chapter Twenty: Irina Rides to Ragnor Castle

  Chapter Twenty-One: From the Castle Window

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Irina's Return

  Chapter Twenty-Three: The Traitor

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Captain Symon

  Chapter Twenty-Five: The Raven at the Feast

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Some Small Good Tidings

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Child's Sword

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Gate

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Irina's Message to King Harmon

  Chapter Thirty: Surrender

  Chapter Thirty-One: Irina the Wolf Queen

  Chapter Thirty-Two: A New Friend

  Chapter Thirty-Three: A Little Golden Key

  Notes on the text

  Acknowledgments

  For Brigita and Amos

  Chapter One

  The Telling

  The crowds made way for Raizel the wise-woman as she walked briskly towards Ragnor Castle. Raizel was old. Some believed she had lived for more than a hundred years. She wore a prickly garland of rose brambles around her head and her hair streamed about her cloak like skeins of grey wool. On one shoulder sat a rare forest bird, a sylvan, with ribbons tied to his feet. He was a gift for the newborn Princess. In the crook of her arm was a basket covered with cloth.

  Onlookers nudged each other and whispered when they saw the basket. What did the wise-woman carry, they wondered. Medicines for healing? Or spells for protection?

  ‘She’s been summoned by the King,’ said a stout man with a walking stick.

  ‘Never thought I'd see the day a witch was summoned to the castle,’ said his friend, shaking his head. ‘It all started when he married that Chloe. She's related to the witch, you know. A king should marry royalty.’

  ‘It’s not right,’ agreed the stout man.

  A woman who was standing beside them with her daughter, harrumphed, ‘Queen Chloe is not a witch.’

  ‘But she is,’ insisted the second man. ‘And that's the whole trouble. It won't be good for Ragnor, having princesses born whose blood isn't right. The line will weaken and we'll be overrun by the ogres of the Narrowlands.’

  ‘I heard there's something wrong with the baby,’ said the woman's daughter. ‘They say she was born with horns on her head.’

  ‘That’s wicked gossip,’ said the girl's mother, crossly. ‘Don’t interrupt.’

  Looking neither left nor right, Raizel strode on through the crowd, along the paved main street of the columned city and up the vast marble steps of Ragnor Castle. She took the steps swiftly despite the pain in her hips and a feeling of anxiety pressing down on her. Raizel was not a foreteller like the witches of old, but a truth-teller. She never knew what she was about to discover when she was summoned to visit a newborn – and this time the baby was a royal, and the child of her own niece. She hoped she wouldn't have to deliver bad news. Her worry weighed upon her heart, as real and as heavy as the Touchstone she carried in her basket.

  Two soldiers opened the massive wooden doors and Raizel disappeared into the hollow dark of the entry hall, leaving the crowd outside to wonder and click their tongues and sit themselves down and wait. The icy breeze skipped around them, chewing their hair and the hems of their clothes. In the trees the sparrows and magpies stared at the closed castle doors and spoke in birdsong, while a lone hare watched from behind a cart filled with hay. Only the children noticed Raizel's ravens making mysterious loops as they flew in the sky overhead…

  Inside the castle, Raizel was escorted by a manservant to Queen Chloe's bedchamber. The fragrance of dozens of potted trees and shrubs greeted the wise-woman as she entered the room. It was a custom in Ragnor to bring seedlings for newborn babies, so the children could play in beautiful gardens as they grew up. Raizel noted the strong floral smell of a young kenda tree; an odom sapling; a bush that would bear hisa berries; pots of lavender and mint, and a little apple tree.

  Among all this perfumed greenery was the royal bed, where the Queen lay with her baby in her arms. A wet-nurse, several maids-in-waiting and the midwife all stood by. Traditionally, royal children were suckled by the wet-nurse, but Chloe was no traditional queen. She gave no sign of handing the baby to anyone. The new mother was full of joy, almost deliriously so, and Raizel's unease deepened.

  ‘Queen Chloe,’ said the wise-woman, curtsying.

  ‘Nonsense, Aunt,’ said Chloe. ‘Come sit by me and look at this adorable child. Be gone, everyone.’

  The maids clattered out, murmuring among themselves. The wet-nurse hesitated till the midwife gave her a sharp nod and pushed her towards the door.

  ‘Fetch my husband,’ said Chloe to the midwife as she was leaving. ‘He’ll want to hear Raizel's telling.’

  ‘You’ve summoned me so soon,’ said Raizel. ‘You must be tired, my dear. It's been a long three days.’

  ‘I’m fine, Aunt. I just want to know about her.’ With her little finger she moved the baby's muslin hood, revealing a tiny, delicate face. She brushed her thumb over the child's cheek and whispered, ‘She’s as soft as petals.’

  Raizel smiled. ‘The stars were used in her making.’ Hearing footfalls in the corridor, she drew back.

  King Harmon entered the room with his young manservant, Jibade. The King of Ragnor was tall and muscular and built like a warrior, with eyes like brilliant silver charms that seemed to notice everything. Harmon was sceptical of Raizel and viewed truth-telling as a strange art. He preferred book learning and straight talk and didn't trust the old woman's wild costume and earthy smell. But he loved Chloe dearly. Against all advice, he had married her knowing that she was descended from the Holy Women of Ragnor. She had her own customs, and if she wished to consult Raizel then so be it.

  Raizel understood the King's misgivings better than Chloe. She curtsied to the King, who nodded, frowning.

  ‘Let’s get on with it,’ he said, surveying the old woman. Her face was so folded and creased he could barely see her eyes beneath their hoods of skin.

  ‘You don't like the idea of a truth-telling, King Harmon?’ said Raizel.

  ‘Seems like a load of silly fairy talk to me,’ he replied.

  ‘Yet you and your Court show respect for the Goddess
Jun and The Shining One and his Angel. Truth-telling is Jun's work.’

  ‘I observe the kingdom's traditions, as my father did before me, and his father before him.’

  Raizel pursed her lips. Chloe knew she was disappointed. Raizel always said traditions were empty unless there was real belief behind them.

  ‘Truth has a calming effect on the mind. And on the heart,’ the wise-woman said, trying to say something the young King would appreciate. She reached a withered, age-speckled hand towards the little apple tree and stroked its sturdy trunk. ‘Mostly, our thoughts go round and round and our feelings toss us this way and that. One truth can hold you still and steady. And – after a while – you can eat from it.’

  Harmon had no idea what the witch was talking about. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘My time is limited. I'm expecting King Niklas of Pavel in less than an hour.’

  Raizel's nose twitched. In this room full of fragrance she detected something unpleasant. Amidst the harmony of scents made by the fruits and flowers, this smell was like a wrong note. She decided to ignore it.

  ‘Your daughter was born on a day when the sun and moon were in opposition,’ she began.

  ‘Does that mean she will have a hard life?’ asked Chloe, her arms tightening around the baby.

  ‘That opposition existed when I was born,’ said Raizel. ‘Do you think I've had a hard life?’

  Harmon and Chloe exchanged glances. Neither of them liked old Raizel comparing herself to their baby.

  ‘She will resolve this opposition if she meets her destiny with courage,’ the wise-woman continued. ‘Shall we hear the gifts she's been born with?’

  ‘Yes please, Aunt,’ said Chloe, in a quiet voice.

  Raizel removed the cloth covering her basket. Inside were two objects: a stone and a small, handmade book. She spread the cloth on the table and placed the objects in front of her.

  ‘This book contains the only records we have from the lost Book of the Junsong. And this is my Touchstone. Please give me the baby to hold.’

  Harmon gazed at the Touchstone, interested in spite of himself. He had heard of such things but never seen one before. It was round and smooth and quite plain – its thick, milky colour was like that of uncut crystal.

  Chloe reached over and gave the child into the wise-woman's arms.

  Raizel closed her eyes. Holding the baby in one arm, she placed her other hand on the Touchstone. ‘Please read from the first page, Chloe,’ she said. ‘It helps me.’

  ‘How can the truth be in a piece of rock?’ said Harmon. ‘It’s nonsense.’

  ‘Oh shh, Harmon!’ said Chloe.

  ‘The truth is not in the Touchstone,’ said Raizel, opening her eyes and looking straight at the King. ‘The truth is in me. The Touchstone simply helps me steady my mind and heart. Since losing the Book, we have to find the truth on our own. I've devoted my life to it and I'm still just a beginner.’ She closed her eyes again.

  Chloe opened Raizel's little book. Between covers of thin leather were a few dry pages of handwriting, copied from the Book of the Junsong before it was lost. She began reading.

  She had only read a few words when Raizel held up a hand to stop her. ‘This is odd,’ the wise-woman said. ‘Usually I only sense the baby's character. But…I seem to be seeing a picture. Something that is not happening now but in – the future.’

  ‘Chloe told me you weren't a foreteller,’ said Harmon.

  ‘No…this is new. This has never happened to me before.’ The wise-woman's usual calm demeanour was disturbed, even excited.

  ‘What is it, Aunt? Tell us,’ said Chloe, leaning forward.

  ‘Tall trees. You're there, Harmon. You're…fighting her.’

  ‘My own daughter?’ said the King. ‘She will not be trained in sword-craft. Chloe has given it up. It is not the way of women in the House of Ragnor.’

  Raizel ignored him, intent on what she was seeing behind her closed eyes. ‘She’s lost. There's only one way out of the Forest of Rondel. Does she see it? You leave her there. She doesn't know it's you.’

  ‘As if I would ever fight my daughter and leave her for dead in the Forest of Rondel,’ said Harmon in a raised voice. ‘The idea is preposterous.’

  Raizel opened her eyes and looked at Chloe apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I cannot go on with all these interruptions. I am simply not advanced enough to concentrate.’

  ‘Be quiet, Harmon,’ said the Queen. ‘If you can't be quiet, then leave.’

  The King made an annoyed click with his tongue. He wasn't used to having people tell him to be quiet, but he was surprised to find that he was too interested in what Raizel was saying to make a fuss. Maybe the witch is working her magic over me, he thought to himself.

  Again, the wise-woman shut her eyes, two points of light vanishing behind the papery folds of her eyelids. ‘Veils are covering what I saw. But now it's gone.’ Her hand trembled over the Touchstone. She began again, ‘This girl has courage. She is strong-willed; full of action; she has the intelligence of kings and the sword-craft and intuitive power of the Holy Women. The animals will follow her. And the secret ones. The fairies of the earth, air, fire and water. The undines will quench her thirst. The gnomes will smooth the ground she walks on; the sprites will fly before her –’

  Harmon gave a loud sigh.

  Raizel opened her eyes and stared intently at the King. ‘This child,’ she said, ‘will be the greatest ruler this kingdom has ever known.’

  Harmon snorted. ‘Ridiculous. We will have a son. Sons have always been born to the House of Ragnor.’

  ‘Despite her fire, she has a yearning for peace – a beautiful moon softens her wild roar.’

  ‘So why do you look so worried, Aunt?’ said Chloe. ‘This is good news.’

  ‘There is something else,’ said Raizel, withdrawing her hand abruptly from the Touchstone and looking around the room. ‘I smelled it before.’

  ‘What?’ asked the young Queen.

  Raizel's answer, though a single word, was enough to make Chloe shudder.

  ‘Vilmos.’

  Chapter Two

  The Swine's Mud

  ‘What do you mean you smelled it before?’ said the King impatiently. All the talk of gnomes and undines had irritated him in the extreme. It was nonsense. Fairy talk. His ancestors might have believed in all that but he was a modern king and found it outlandish.

  ‘I’m guessing it's from Vilmos,’ said Raizel, paying no attention to the King's tone. ‘The only place swinfen grows is in the Executioner's Field, behind his home. Can't you smell it?’

  The King sniffed the air and grimaced with recognition. Chloe looked at her husband fearfully.

  The only servant in the room was Jibade. Harmon jerked his head towards the potted flowers and shrubs and Jibade began searching. Within minutes he drew out a squat and ugly plant in a pot. Its hairy, pungent leaves were shaped like a swine's ear and it smelled like a pig in a muddy bog.

  ‘Swinfen! How did that get in here!’ said Harmon, glaring at Jibade as he handed him the pot. Sure enough, it bore Vilmos's mark.

  ‘The executioner's son, Vilmos, fell into a jealous rage the day Chloe married you,’ said Raizel. ‘First, she humiliated him when she beat him in the midsummer duels. Then, she insulted him when he asked her to marry him…’

  ‘What did you say to him?’ asked Harmon.

  Chloe, her cheeks scarlet, didn't answer. She reached over and took the baby from Raizel.

  ‘Tell me what you said,’ demanded Harmon.

  ‘I said he stank of death,’ said Chloe.

  ‘No doubt this seemed cruel to Vilmos – especially when he found out you were already engaged, Chloe,’ said Raizel. Turning to Harmon, who was pacing about the room with a face like cracked earth, she said, ‘After your wedding, your first decree was that there should be no more executions. That left Vilmos without a job.’

  ‘I won't have people killed for wrong-doing,’ said Harmon, his eyes flashing hard and
silvery. ‘Everyone deserves the chance to change their ways.’

  ‘An enlightened point of view. But your decision left a humiliated man without the job he spent his life preparing for. The sad fact is that Vilmos hates you both. If he takes revenge by stealing your child,’ – Raizel dared not say ‘when’ to the King – ‘you must trust that your daughter will return to you.’

  ‘No. Promise me she won't be taken,’ said Chloe, her voice unsteady.

  Raizel could not make this promise. Understanding the wise-woman's silence, Chloe began to cry, cuddling her baby to her as though someone were already reaching out to snatch her away.

  ‘Get out!’ roared Harmon suddenly, so loudly that even the crowd outside could hear. The baby woke and cried in fright. Harmon took the pot of swinfen and hurled it through the open window. It smashed on the ground below, spilling lumps of soil and fleshy green plant.

  ‘Get out and take your predictions with you!’ repeated the King. ‘Get away from my daughter with your magic!’

  ‘No,’ cried Chloe, grasping Raizel's hand. ‘Tell us how to protect her.’

  ‘Name her for peace,’ muttered Raizel. ‘Her name must begin with the clean letter “I”. You know what it is.’ She pulled her hand away and strode towards the door. The sylvan flew from Raizel's shoulder to the windowsill, the ribbons on his feet swishing over the baby's skin.

  ‘Irina,’ said Chloe to the crying baby. ‘Irina. Shh, darling.’

  At the door, Raizel turned and said, ‘With respect, you don't know what you are dealing with, King Harmon. When Vilmos was a boy his father sent him to the Wizards of Knartesc with body parts of the dead to make evil magic. The Wizards paid the boy sacks of gold for these unholy parcels. Who knows what they taught him.’

  ‘Just go!’ spat the King.

  ‘You think I'm full of fairy nonsense,’ continued Raizel, unperturbed. ‘But evil is every bit as real as good. If you think otherwise, you're the one living in fairyland.’

  Once outside the castle, Raizel smelled the putrid waft of swinfen again from the broken heap under the window. It overpowered what the wise-woman would have preferred to remember: the delicate fragrance of the newborn baby.