Wildwood Dancing

“But it was,” I said.

“Remind him.” Tati’s voice was like a leaf stirred in the wind. “Remind him how things were.”

“And show him they haven’t really changed,” said Iulia.

“Do it while you’ve got the courage,” Paula added. “Go tomorrow. One of you has to take the first step.”

“It’s too soon. I’m not ready.” My heart was pounding; it was as if I’d been asked to fight a dragon single-handed. I got up and fetched a glass of water.

“Jena,” said Tati, “I want you to talk . . . Costi. To be . . .

happy. I want you . . . go . . . before Full Moon. . . .”

“That’s not very long,” I protested. “Only five days. And I haven’t worked out how to do it yet.” But a plan was forming in my mind, for Paula’s story had reminded me that Costi loved games.

“Go . . . soon.”

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The look in Tati’s eyes frightened me. It was a farewell, and it seemed to me it did not mean she believed Full Moon would see her safe and happy, either in our world or the Other Kingdom.

“Tati, stay with us,” I said. “Wait for Sorrow. It would break his heart if he came for you and . . .” I could not put this into words.

“You think he’s all right?” Her voice was a plea. “You really believe he’ll come back?”

“I do believe it, Tati. I’ve seen how he looks at you, how he touches you. You’re his whole world. The quest is difficult, yes. All the same, I think Ileana wants him to succeed. Don’t lose hope. Sorrow will come for you—I know it.”

“So you do believe . . . true love?” she whispered.

I took a deep breath. “I think I have to,” I said, blinking back tears. “Without it, we’re all going nowhere.”

“Then talk to Costi. . . . Go tomorrow. . . .” Her eyes closed.

I tried. In the morning I put on my outdoor boots and went down to breakfast, fully intending to make my way to Vârful cu Negur˘a as soon as I’d eaten. What I would say to Costi was not yet clear in my head. My whole body was strung tight; my nerves were jangling.

“Your cup’s rattling, Jena,” said Florica, looking at me closely. “Are you quite well?”

“I’m fine.” I tried for a casual tone. “I thought I might go up to Vârful cu Negur˘a today and visit Costi, since the weather’s improved so much.”

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“Your aunt would like to see you, I’m sure,” Florica said,

“but Master Costin’s not there, Jena. The word is he’s gone off down the valley for a couple of nights.”

“A couple of nights,” I echoed, the tension draining from my body to be replaced by bitter disappointment. It had taken all my courage to decide to go and face him. “When is he expected back, Florica?”

Florica’s eyes sharpened. “Before Full Moon, I expect,” she said. “Why not go up and ask your aunt Bogdana?”

“No, I . . . It’s Costi I need to talk to. Florica, could Petru arrange for someone at Vârful cu Negur˘a to let us know as soon as Costi comes home? Right away?”

“I expect so, Jena. So you won’t be going up today?”

I shook my head. “I’ll go when he’s back home. I just hope it’s soon.”

It suddenly seemed urgent to speak to him before Full Moon, to be able to prove to Tati that happy endings were possible in real life, as in tales. If I sorted out my own problem, I thought, the solution to my sister’s might fall into place, too.

There was no great logic to this. After all, I was the one who had refused to recognize true love when it was no farther away than my own pocket. I knew I needed his help. Hurry up, Costi, I urged him silently. Come home. I need you.

The sun set beyond the colored windows four more times, and inside our chamber the stories went on. Not all were joyful tales; we needed to acknowledge that love was not just kisses, smiles, and fulfillment, but also sacrifice, compromise, and hard 367

work. Tati hung on. My promise to mend things with Costi had awakened a fragile hope in her. She swallowed water obediently, but would not eat. She submitted to sponge baths and let Stela brush and plait her hair. All the same, I saw what a shadow she had become. When the sun rose on the eve of Full Moon and there was still no word of Costi’s return, despair began to creep into my heart.

Tati awoke restless and confused. She kept asking me whether I had talked to Costi yet and what he had said. She would not be calmed. When Iulia tried to begin another story, Tati whispered that she didn’t want to hear any more and closed her eyes. Iulia retreated to her bed with shaking shoulders. When I went over to her, I heard her whispering to herself, “First Mother, then Father, now Tati; I can’t bear it.” I tried to comfort her, murmuring that Father was not dead yet and neither was Tati, that things could change, that she must be brave. It wasn’t much help; the two of us ended up in tears together.

At breakfast, Petru told me that Costi was expected home sometime today. “Stopped for the night down at Judge Rinaldo’s house. The word is he’s riding on up to Vârful cu Negur˘a this morning.”

This morning. There might be time, if I was quick.

“Jena,” said Paula quietly, “just get your bag and go. I know you have your things ready. Go now. We’ll look after Tati.”

“Going up to see Master Costi today?” queried Florica, eyes knowing. “I’ll pack you some provisions. It doesn’t do to get hungry out in the woods.”

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“I’m not sure if I should go.” Instinct pulled me powerfully in the direction of Vârful cu Negur˘a, but common sense made it hard to leave home. How could I possibly go, with my sister so ill and the night of Full Moon almost upon us? If she slipped away from us while I was gone, I could never forgive myself.

“Yes, you should,” said Stela. “That’s what Tati wants.”

“Florica,” I said, “could you pack up exactly what I used to take when Gogu and I went out in summer?”

“It’s hardly the weather for outdoor cooking,” muttered Florica, but she was already gathering a little bag of flour, an egg, some butter, and a twist of salt. She wrapped them neatly in a cloth. “Here you are, then. Go carefully. Put a couple of cloves of garlic in your pocket, Jena. It may be daylight, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing lurking out there. And keep away from the Deadwash.”

Upstairs, I told Tati where I was going and why. She showed a flicker of interest; I had to hope it would be enough to get her through the day. Then I put on my green gown and packed Florica’s provisions in my knapsack, on top of various other items I had ready: a bowl, a spoon, my little frying pan, a flint.

“Wait,” said Paula as I began to fasten the strap around the bag. My younger sisters were standing there in a row, each of them holding something.

“We thought,” said Iulia, “that as this is a bit like a quest, you’d need magical objects to take with you.”

“This was the closest we could get,” Paula added. She held out a small box. I opened it to reveal a quill, a tiny pot of ink, 369

and three miniature squares of parchment. “We’ve each chosen something special; imagine you’re taking us all with you to help.”

Stela gave me a green ribbon, and Iulia her rabbit-skin hat.

On the verge of tears, I stumbled over words of thanks as I put on the hat and packed the other gifts in the bag.

“It’s all right,” Paula said, grinning. “We know you appreciate us, even if you’ve been too busy to say it much recently.”

Tati was too weak to find me a token, but Iulia brought out her sewing scissors and snipped a few hairs from the head of each sister, me included. These she twisted into a little ring.

She tucked the knotted ends in and put it on my finger. “Sisters and friends,” she said. “We know you’re doing this for Tati as well as yourself. We’re all willing you to succeed.”

It was a long walk up to Vârful cu Negur˘a. I did have a plan, but exactly how to act on it was far from clear. I needed to see Costi without the rest of his household knowing. I must get as close to the house as possible, then hope an opportunity would present itself.

Where would he go after a long ride? Would he take his own horse to the stables, or get a groom to do it? If he went off to bathe and rest, I would have to change the plan. There was a secluded spot I thought I might use, down by the orchard; it was close to the stables, but not close enough to be spotted by the grooms and other folk who worked there. I just had to get there before Costi came home.

As I walked briskly through the forest, I had the sense that I was being watched. I’d catch a flash of movement behind a holly bush or a gleam of bright eyes amid the thick needles of a 370

pine, following my progress. It made me feel better. Dr˘agu¸ta’s plans were big ones; she had been shaping our lives since we were little children. It was easy to believe my small quest today was linked to Tati’s ordeal and Sorrow’s; that the folk of the Other Kingdom were watching me and Costi as closely as they were my sister and the young man in the black coat. Something would be decided today, one way or another.

The day was half gone before I reached the outskirts of Vârful cu Negur˘a. My stomach was churning again; in my imagination, Costi looked at me with bitterness and turned his back.

Trust your instincts, I reminded myself. And trust your sisters. Without them, you wouldn’t have made it this far.

At the far end of the leafless orchard there was an old stone bench crusted with moss. I unpacked my knapsack, gazing between the bare branches at the stable building and, beyond it, the house itself. It was an expansive place, the walls of mellow stone, the roof red-tiled. In springtime the birches that grew close to the house would wrap it in a silvery, whispering cloak.

Smoke rose from the chimneys; Aunt Bogdana was home, but I could not see her until I had spoken to Costi. If he and I could not sort out our differences, I did not think I would be coming here again. It would be too painful. Even now, I felt sick at the thought of seeing him.

I was glad of the rabbit-skin hat. Spring had barely begun, and I did not know how long I might have to wait in the cold.

I took out Stela’s ribbon; on it, I threaded the seedpod in the shape of a heart, which had lain in my storage chest since the day Gogu gave me his token of love and I dismissed it with a patronizing comment. I tied it around my neck.

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I began to gather fallen wood for a fire. Stacking it method-ically, I spotted something small and bright lodged in a crack of a splintery old branch. I fished it out, and a smile came to my lips. I was certain now that someone from the Other Kingdom was helping my quest along. I placed the tiny item carefully with my other things and returned to the fire, with knife and flint in hand.

I was well practiced at building campfires, for Gogu and I had spent many long summer days out in the woods. Once the stack of wood was burning well, I opened Florica’s bundle and began to mix my ingredients in the little bowl. One essential item I had gathered on the way through the forest: a handful of fresh pondweed.

The sun moved overhead behind the clouds. The day passed, and I grew colder and more nervous. I stamped up and down, and clapped my hands together to keep warm. Nobody seemed to be about; the smoke from my little fire had not attracted attention. Perhaps the folk of the house thought someone was burning rubbish. I began to wonder whether Costi had decided not to come home today after all. Then I thought maybe he had already been in the house when I arrived, and that I would have to knock on the front door and think of something to say. The light changed. I judged it to be mid-afternoon, and I still had to walk all the way home. I must be there before dusk: it was the night of Full Moon. Whatever happened, Tati needed me.

Come on, Costi. Perhaps if I put the pan on the fire and started cooking, it would somehow make him appear. I set it over the embers, dropped in a pat of butter, and listened to it sizzling.

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When it was hot enough, I poured in the contents of the bowl and watched until bubbles began to rise through the miniature pancake. As I flipped it, I heard the sound of approaching horses. My little bit of magic had worked—he was home.

They rode up to the stables: Costi and two well-dressed men whom I did not know. They dismounted. A groom came out to lead all three horses inside. Stay, I willed my cousin. I slipped the pancake onto the platter I had brought and decorated it with a garnish of pondweed.

They stood there, talking awhile. I stood watching, a bundle of tension, with my little gift in my hands. Games were all very well, but sometimes the effort of playing them was almost too much. Then the three of them headed off toward the house.

Short of calling out to him, there was nothing I could do about it. Now what? Walk in and accost him, in front of his guests? I could imagine his face, embarrassed and awkward; I could see the look of disdain in his eyes.

The groom came back out of the stables with bucket in hand, heading for the well. I seized what was perhaps my last chance.

“Excuse me.”

He started, then bobbed his head. “Mistress Jena! Shall I tell the mistress you’re here?”

I dredged my memory for his name. “No, Geza, I don’t want her knowing—not yet. I need your help. You may think it’s a little odd, but I have a job for you.”

“Of course, Mistress Jena. But I must water the horses first.”

The pancake was still warm when he got back. There was 373

a certain curiosity in his eyes, perhaps sparked by the story of the girl and the frog that everyone in the valley had been discussing over the last few weeks.

“Take this to Master Costin,” I said. “Make sure he gets it.

I know he has guests, but you must disturb him, even if he’s busy. Don’t tell him who this is from. If he gives you a message, bring it straight back. If he doesn’t, come back anyway.”

“Yes, Mistress Jena.” He held the platter with the ut-most care.

“Thank you, Geza. I know it seems a little strange.”

I waited, pacing up and down, too keyed up to be still for long. It was getting late. I imagined Sorrow, a cup of water balanced in one hand, a little bundle on his back, running, running, eyes burning with determination in his chalk-white face. I saw Tati as she had stood in Dancing Glade, frail as a birch in winter, her words an iron-strong declaration of faith. I thought of Costi eyeing my gift with a sad smile and turning his back. Trust, I told myself. This is Gogu, remember: your best beloved.

It seemed forever, but at last Geza appeared again, hands shoved under his arms to keep warm. The light was fading already; sparks from my fire spiraled upward, like tiny wild dancers.

“Did you give it to him?” I grabbed his shoulders, then made myself let go. “What did he say? Why did you take so long?”

“He has two merchants from Bra¸sov with him, Mistress Jena. I couldn’t go straight in—”

“I said to disturb him!” I snapped, then relented at the look 374

on his face. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I have to be home tonight, and it’s getting late.” I knew I should be setting off right now, if I was to be certain of reaching Piscul Dracului before dark. “Any message?”

“No, Mistress Jena.”

“Nothing at all?” My heart plummeted.

“Well, he did eat it all up, even the green part. I think he liked it.” Geza sounded astonished.

I breathed again. Hope was not lost, after all. “Thank you,”

I said. “Will you take this to him now?” I gave him the item I had found earlier. It was the discarded carapace of a beetle, iridescent green and shaped like a heart. “Please be as quick as you can. Here, take this quill and parchment, too.” Maybe those were a heavy hint, but I had to speed things up somehow.

I waited again. My heart seemed to sound out Sorrow’s footsteps as he made his desperate way back toward Dancing Glade. I thought of my sister, so weak she could barely lift her head from the pillow. Stay with us, Tati, I willed her. Keep faith with him. And I wondered whether I should forget my own dreams and run home now so I could be by her side, but my feet did not want to carry me away from the quiet orchard and the plume of smoke from my little fire.

“Come on, Costi,” I muttered, wiping out the frying pan and starting to put things away in my pack, “meet me halfway, can’t you?”

This time Geza was much quicker, and he brought me a note, scrawled on the tiny square of parchment I had sent. It read: Don’t good things generally come in threes?

I felt a big smile spread across my face. Costi was prepared 375

to play. Geza had brought back Paula’s quill. Dipping it in the ink pot, I wrote: If you want the third one, you’ll have to come and find me.

“Right away,” I urged Geza. “Please take this to him right away. How did he look?”

“Terrified, Mistress Jena.”

“Terrified is good,” I said. “That’s just how I feel. Hurry, please.”

I sat on the old seat, shivering with anticipation. With every rustle and creak from the forest, with every drone of passing insect or peep of home-winging bird, I glanced across the orchard toward the house. I tried to guess what Costi would say first and how I might answer.

He didn’t take long. I suppose my using his groom as my messenger made guessing where I was easy. He was carrying a lantern, something I had assumed I would not need, for I had not expected to wait here for so long, nor to be walking home after dusk. We didn’t have much time. But I couldn’t think of that. Here was Costi, coming across the orchard toward me, the firelight dancing over his face. His expression was terribly serious. He had cut his hair again—it curled around his ears and exposed the back of his neck, a spot my fingers might find rather nice to stroke. He wore plain, good clothes: a white shirt, trousers in a muted green, serviceable boots, a warm cloak. He looked as nervous as a miscreant about to face judgment. I had absolutely no idea what he would say.

Some three paces away from me, he halted and extended his hand toward me. “Would you c-care to d-dance, Jena?” he asked, summoning a ghost of a smile.

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“I’d be glad to,” I said in a woefully unsteady voice, and put my hand in his. His touch warmed my whole body. I was longing to throw my arms around him and hold him close, but the magic of this moment was like a single, lovely strand of cobweb, fragile and delicate. One wrong move and it would snap beyond mending.

“Can you hear the music?” Costi murmured as he put his hand on my waist. I put mine on his shoulder, and we began a slow, circling measure that took us to this side and that between the trees.

“Mmm,” I said, moving in a little closer, and I could hear it: out in the forest birds were singing, and a stream was flowing, and the wind was whispering secrets. His heart and mine added a rhythm all their own. We turned and turned, and with every turning we breathed a little more quickly and held on a little more tightly, and when we came back to the place where we’d started, we stopped dancing and stood with our arms around each other, holding on as if we would never let go, not if the sky fell and the whole world came to an end.

And even though there were still things to say, and decisions to make, and apologies to get through, I could feel a delicious happiness spreading through me, starting in my heart and moving outward.

“Costi?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry I hurt you. More sorry than I can say. I can’t believe I didn’t know you instantly.”

“I’m sorry I was so cruel that day. After what happened with Cezar, I hardly knew what I was saying. I was trying so 377

hard to sound assured and capable, and underneath I was a quivering mess. I should have tried to talk to you—to understand why you’d been so afraid of me. When you turned your back on me, when you accused me of lying, I felt . . . I felt shattered. As if part of me had been torn away. That day, I suppose I let that all spill out.”

“It’s all right, Costi. As long as we forgive each other now, we can put all that behind us.”

“Are you sure you forgive me, Jena?” His tone was quite wobbly. I was not the only one for whom this game had been difficult.

“Completely,” I said.

“Then can I have my third gift now?”

I took a step back. “Shut your eyes,” I told him.

He obeyed. But when I put my palms against his cheeks and stood on tiptoe, his eyes snapped open again. “Wait! Jena—”

“You don’t want a kiss?”

“It’s just that . . . What if—?”

The same idea had occurred to me. “I don’t think you’ll turn back into a frog,” I said. “That wasn’t the first time I’d ever kissed you, after all. I think we had to wait until Dr˘agu¸ta decided we’d learned our lessons. It sounded to me as if she wanted you to be a man from now on.”

Costi shut his eyes again. “I’m willing to risk it if you are,”

he said with a lopsided smile.

So I kissed him, and he kissed me back. There was no explosion. There was no blinding light. Costi’s arms came around me again, strong and warm, and I pressed against him, stroking the 378

back of his neck. The touch of his lips made me feel safe and loved, and at the same time it made every part of me tremble with excitement. The memory of Cezar’s uncouth effort was instantly wiped away. This was my first proper kiss, and it was everything I had always dreamed it would be. When, after a long time, we paused to draw breath, Costi showed no signs of becoming a frog.

“Costi,” I said breathlessly, “I hate to say this, but—”

“But it’s Full Moon and you have to get home?”

“Tati’s terribly ill. We’re scared she may not even survive until Sorrow gets here—if he does. I should start for home now.

You took ages to get here.”

“I’ll walk you to Piscul Dracului, Jena. We’ll go in a minute.

I have something to do first. . . .” I felt his hand lift my hair away from my neck, and then his lips brushed the place where he had so often sat in frog form, below my left ear. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years,” he whispered. “It’s just as nice as I expected. You can’t imagine what thoughts your little frog had, Jena. Far more than he ever dared share with you.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing them,” I said. “We have to go, Costi. The light’s fading.”

Costi went over to the stables, where Geza was hovering with a grin on his face. He gave the groom some kind of instruction, then we set off down the hill through the forest.

“Is it true there was a spell of silence on you all the time you were a frog?” I asked Costi. Questions were bursting out of me, now that we were together again. “A ban on telling me who you really were?”

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“Dr˘agu¸ta never actually told me so; I never even saw her.

The closest I came was that time you left me at Dancing Glade.

A fox carried me across the ice on its back. I guessed it was hers. Somehow I always knew about the silence spell. I knew I had to wait.”

“It was a long time. A terribly long time.”

“I’m just sad Father never knew I was still here.”

“He knows, Costi. He’s here somewhere, watching. He was a lovely man, so kind and good. Like you.”

“You think that, Jena? Really? I haven’t b-been much of a friend to you, this last month. It was a big change—it took a lot of getting used to. And there was Cezar . . . I’ve gone over and over what happened, wondering how I could have handled it better. And . . . I wasn’t sure you’d feel the same about me, now that I wasn’t Gogu anymore. I was afraid to ask you. I couldn’t b-bear it if you said no.”

“Costi, I don’t remember you stammering like this when you were a boy.”

“I don’t think I did. It’s just when I’m scared. Back then, I wasn’t afraid of anything.”

“You’re scared now? Why?”

“Because this is new and good and so p-precious I’m afraid it’s just a dream. I had a lot of d-dreams when I was a frog, and I hated waking up.”

I stopped walking, took both his hands in mine, and looked him in the eye. It was dark in the forest, but not so dark I could not see that here was my childhood playmate, my beloved companion of nine years, and the man of my dreams—

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miraculously rolled into one. Suddenly this wasn’t difficult at all. “I love you, Costi,” I said. “That’s the truest truth I ever said. Forever and always. There’s no need to be afraid anymore.”

“I love you, Jena. I always did. When you couldn’t trust me, you broke my heart.”

Tears spilled from my eyes. He leaned forward and kissed them away.

“Me too,” I said. “But it looks as if broken hearts can mend.

It’s quite remarkable. A phenomenon, Paula would say.”

“I suppose,” said Costi, “it is no more remarkable than boys turning into frogs, and frogs into men. Oh, Jena . . . When we’re married—that’s if you’ll have me—I want to keep on coming out here, and sitting by a campfire, and doing all the things we love doing.”

“Was that a proposal?” I asked, smiling through my tears.

“I can do better with practice,” Costi said, a little abashed.

“Shall I try again tomorrow?”

“If you want. I plan to say yes. It’s best if I tell you that now, so you won’t get anxious and go off to hide in the leaves.

I hope Aunt Bogdana will approve.”

“Mother will be delighted. She’s been nagging me ever since we got home to go down and mend things with you; she could see how miserable I was. But I couldn’t make myself do it.

You were braver than I was.”

“I was petrified,” I said, slipping my arm around his waist.

“But it was worth the effort. You played my game very well.”

“You know,” said Costi, “I did think I smelled pancakes the 381

moment I got off my horse. But I dismissed it as wishful thinking.” He was suddenly serious. “Jena, what’s going to happen tonight? Sorrow and Tati, I mean?”

“I don’t know.” As we walked on I explained how weak and dispirited Tati was, and what she had dreamed about Sorrow’s journey. Then we fell silent, thinking about what might happen if Sorrow didn’t come back. If Tati was prevented from being with her sweetheart, she might actually allow herself to die of a broken heart. It hardly seemed worth considering such practical questions as how we could get her across. Now that I had taken back my little crown and given up my free entry to the Other Kingdom, I did not think the old way would work anymore. Dr˘agu¸ta had granted Costi, Cezar, and me our wishes for a purpose, and that purpose was achieved now. Still, there must be some way for Sorrow to win his reward if he completed the quest. Let him reach us first, and perhaps the issue of a portal would take care of itself.

“You’re shivering,” Costi said, wrapping his arm around me. “Not far to go now.”

Then we froze. Someone was coming up the path through the forest. A small light bobbed into view, accompanied by scrabbling, hurried footsteps and the gasping breaths of someone who has run a long way in the cold. Costi moved me behind him. A moment later we could see a cloaked figure, face white and pinched, with lantern in hand.

“Paula!” I exclaimed. “What is it? What’s happened? Is Tati—?” I could not say it.

My sister was bent double, trying to catch her breath. She had set the lantern down.

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“Take it slowly, Paula,” said Costi. “We’re here, and we’ll help, whatever it is. Deep breaths if you can.”

“Sorrow—” she gasped. “Someone saw Sorrow in the woods. Now the men from the village are out after him—

scythes and pitchforks—come now, quickly!”

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Chapter Sixteen

“Where are they?” I asked as terror filled my heart.

“I saw them . . . I hid while they went past. They were saying . . . they were saying”—Paula hugged her arms around herself—“horrible things, Jena. . . . I heard what they’ll do to him if they catch him—”

“Which direction, Paula?” Costi had put a reassuring hand on her arm.

“Over toward the Deadwash, northeast of Piscul Dracului.

Jena . . . Costi, I . . .”

“What, Paula?”

“I know where Sorrow is,” she whispered. “I saw him on the way here. I know where he’s hiding.”

“Tell us while we’re walking,” I said. “Are you all right?

Can you manage to take us there right away?”

As we headed down the steep track under a stand of old oaks, Paula told us what had happened. Ivan had come to the 384

door near dusk to fetch Petru. The villagers had assembled farther down the hill and were heading up past Piscul Dracului to the northeast, where a farmer bringing his pigs out of the forest had spotted the pale young man in the black coat. Petru had refused to go—he was too old, he said. Iulia and Paula had been in the kitchen and had overheard.

“And Sorrow? How did you find him?”

“He called out to me.” Paula was doing her best to keep up with us; in the lantern light her face was wan and exhausted.

We could not run. The moon had not yet risen, and to try for haste in the growing darkness would be to risk broken limbs.

“He’s in a little cave not far from here. He asked me for help.”

“Why didn’t he wait near the castle? Tati’s much too weak to come out into the forest.”

“He went down to Piscul Dracului to try to find Tati, and Petru saw him. So Sorrow ran. He’d heard those others crashing about in the woods.”

“What about the quest?” I asked. “Has he—?”

“He had the things with him. But he won’t go back to the Other Kingdom without Tati. He’s hurt his leg and he seemed . . . desperate. As if he might do something foolish.

We have to help them, Jena.”

I looked at Costi, and he returned my look with a question in his eyes. I didn’t want Tati to go. I loved her. If I helped this to happen, I’d probably never see her again. Father would be distraught. And how would we explain Tati’s disappearance to Aunt Bogdana, and to Florica and Petru, and to all the folk of the valley? Besides, I still didn’t really know what Sorrow was, 385

or what he might do. But this argument hardly seemed to matter anymore.

“Of course we’ll help them,” I said as we followed Paula down a little branching track to the east. Scared as I was for Sorrow and for Tati, a deep joy still warmed me. I had Costi by my side and my world was back to rights again. How could I deny my sister the same chance of happiness? If I really loved her, I was going to have to let her go. In my heart, I recognized that I had been making this decision, gradually, ever since our visit to Tadeusz’s realm at Dark of the Moon. On that night, I had begun to see that Sorrow wanted only good for those he loved: for his sister, and for mine. “How much farther, Paula?”

“I’m here.” A white-faced figure stepped out of the bushes, making me gasp with fright. His eyes were wild. He had a bundle slung over one shoulder, and in his right hand he balanced a dark metal cup, so full of water the surface seemed to curve upward. There were scratches on his pale skin, and here and there the fabric of the black coat was rent, as if by great thorns or the claws of savage animals. “We must go quickly.”

“Where?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. Distantly, I thought I could hear the hysterical barking of dogs and the voices of men driven on by fear and anger. “I think our portal is closed now. Anyway, I can’t get you into the house past Florica and Petru.”

“There is another way,” Sorrow said. “Bring Tatiana to me at a certain place in the forest, and I can take her across. But we must hurry—I’m afraid I cannot run much farther.” He moved forward and I saw that he was limping. “My leg is damaged. I have traveled a long way thus injured—I am paying the cost 386

now.” He struggled to keep the cup level, and I remembered Marin’s words: filled to the very brim, but not overflowing. This was cruel.

“Tati’s very weak,” I said. “She’s been seriously ill.”

Sorrow went still whiter. The cup shook. I regretted telling him.

“She won’t be able to walk; she shouldn’t even be moved,”

I went on. “Where should we meet you?”

“I will show you.”

We went back the way we had come, then along the valley toward Piscul Dracului. I began to wonder, as Sorrow put one flagging foot before the other, whether midnight would come and go before we got as far as our own courtyard. Then there was a rustling in the bushes. A little voice hissed, “Dark!

Quick!”

“Cover up the lanterns,” whispered Paula, and we did. A moment later we heard the voices of the hunting party not far up the hill. As they came into view between the trees, the light of their flaring torches glinted on well-honed scythe and deadly pitchfork, on crossbow and cudgel and long serrated knife. One man was armed with a sharpened stake. A dog barked, and someone shouted.

“Fox, away!” said the same odd little voice that had warned us. There was a sudden pattering in the undergrowth, making steady progress straight toward the huntsmen. An owl hooted.

A flock of high-voiced, creaking things passed over, making Costi duck.

“It looks as if we’ve got help,” I murmured. “We’ll have to keep going in the dark.”

387

“I will walk first,” Sorrow said. “I need no lamp.”

So we followed him, and I thought his ability to find his way in the dark was yet another indication that over the years in the Other Kingdom, he had steadily become more fey and less human. Farther up the hill there was a clamor of hounds and an outcry of excited voices, and the hunt took off in a different direction, following what I was sure was Dr˘agu¸ta on her little white creature. It was a night of surprises, a night of magic. My mind shied away from what might happen to the witch if they caught her.

The moon rose; a cold light began to filter through the woods.

“Here,” Sorrow said suddenly, halting by a round pond under a rock wall latticed with juniper. It was a place that Gogu and I had visited often, a good spot for gathering water-cress. Beyond that, I had never thought it particularly special.

“This is the crossing. Be quick! My strength is waning. Will you bring her, Jena?” He sank to the ground, the cup still balanced in his hand, not a single drop allowed to trickle down its curiously patterned exterior.

“I’ll do my best,” I said, wondering how Tati could possibly manage such a journey in the cold. Costi and I were both looking at Sorrow, who was plainly at the last point of weariness.

It seemed to me that before we had any chance of reaching home, he would be sprawled on the ground in an exhausted stupor—the cup would be spilled, the quest lost. Besides, he must stay alert or the hunters would surely find him.

“I’ll stay here,” Paula said, squatting down beside him. “Be 388

as quick as you can, please. It’s not the warmest of nights.” She was shivering; I knew it was not only from cold.

“We’ll run,” I said, taking Costi’s hand. And we did. “I must be mad,” I gasped.

“It’ll be all right, Jena,” panted Costi. I took heart, for there was no trace of a stammer in his voice.

We ran along the track and down the hill to Piscul Dracului. We sprinted across the courtyard and into the castle. As we passed the kitchen doorway, Iulia stepped out and hastily closed the door behind her, blocking anyone inside from seeing us.

“Hurry up!” she urged. “Tati’s really sick. Is he coming?”

We ran upstairs toward the bedchamber, Costi with lantern in hand. “You’ll be shocked,” I warned him. “Tati’s much weaker than at last Full Moon. She shouldn’t even get out of bed, let alone go into the forest at night.”

Costi nodded, sober-faced, and then we were there. I knocked, and Stela opened the door.

“Oh, Jena, you’re here! I can’t even hear her breathing anymore.” The words ended in a sob.

“Sorrow’s back,” I said, coming to kneel by the bed. “He’s out there with Paula, waiting. Tati? Tati, can you hear me?”

Stela crouched on the other side with tears streaming down her cheeks. “We can’t wake her up,” she said.

Faith. Trust. Love. I put my ear to my older sister’s parched lips and thought I could feel, faintly, the whisper of her breath.

“Tati, Sorrow is here,” I said. “And I have Costi with me.

We’re going to wrap you up and take you outside. Sorrow has completed the quest—he’s got all the things Ileana asked for.

389

He just needs you to come out, and you can cross over together, if that’s what you want. Come on, Tati, please.”

She did not stir. Like an enchanted princess in some dark tale, she lay immobile against her pillow. The red glass teardrop glinted on her neck like blood on snow. Just the smallest stir of breath revealed that she had not already slipped away: the tiny, slow rise of her chest under the fine linen of her night robe. Doubt seized me. If I insisted on taking her out in the cold, it would more likely be the death of her than a happy ending. How could I live with that? But if I left her here, we would surely lose her anyway.

“Fetch her warmest cloak,” I told the weeping Stela. “We’re going to do this. Costi, help me lift her. . . . That’s it. . . .”

We wrapped her up as well as we could. “Stela, it’s best if you stay here until Costi and I get back. I’m sorry. Say goodbye now. Iulia will come upstairs soon. Please don’t cry. Maybe it’s not forever. Maybe nothing’s forever.”

It was cruel to give her so little time. Tati lay in her own world, cold as ice within her night robe and shawl and cloak. I doubted she could hear her little sister’s farewell. Costi carried her downstairs and past the kitchen door. Iulia heard us; she came out and touched a hand to Tati’s brow.

“I can’t believe this,” she whispered. “It’s like a bad dream.

Petru and Florica are just sitting in there, staring into space.”

I made a decision. “We should tell them,” I said. “They’ve known Tati since she was little—they should be allowed to say goodbye.”

“I think they’ve worked it out already,” Iulia said.

So we called them out, the two of them with their seamed, 390

strong faces and their work-worn hands. I told them, in as few words as I could, that Tati was going to the Other Kingdom, that she wanted this, and that it was the only thing that could save her life. They didn’t ask a single question. Florica kissed Tati on the brow. Petru touched her on the cheek, muttering something that might have been a prayer or a charm.

“What’s going to happen, Jena?” asked Iulia, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “Do you really think she’ll be all right?”

“We must believe that,” I told her. “Now say goodbye.

Maybe she can hear you. Then you’d best go up to Stela. I’ll be home again soon.”

It was no longer possible to run. Costi carried Tati in his arms and I held the lantern.

“She’s as light as a child,” Costi murmured. “What’s wrong with her, Jena?”

“I think she’s dying for love,” I said. “If I’m right, and broken hearts can mend, we may still have time to save her. Hurry, if you can.” I pictured Sorrow with his injured leg, trying somehow to carry both Tati and the brimming cup of water away to the Other Kingdom. “You have to have faith,” I muttered. “Faith in true love.”

“I do,” Costi said. “I always did.”

“Always?”

“Well, maybe my faith was shaken for a little. But it survived. Can you hear that sound, Jena?”

“Yes.” I shuddered. “They’re not very far off, are they?

Dr˘agu¸ta must be leading them in circles.”

We reached the round pond. Sorrow was sitting on the 391

ground, the cup still in his hand, and Paula was holding his arm, helping to support it. When he saw my sister limp and white in Costi’s arms with her hair spilling down to the ground, he sprang up. But even then he held the vessel balanced, not allowing the least drop to fall.

“Tatiana! No—please, no!” Sorrow sounded very young, utterly distraught, and entirely human.

“She’s breathing,” I told him as Costi came closer. Sorrow reached out a trembling hand to touch Tati’s dark hair. His eyes were full of terror. “But only just. If you think taking her to the Other Kingdom will save her life, then you must take her now.”

“Who has done this to her?” Sorrow’s customary cool air was completely gone. His voice swung between fury and an-guish.

“Lack of food and creeping despair,” I said. “I think if anyone can mend this, it’s probably you. She started to lose her faith in true love.”

“But . . . ,” began Sorrow, incredulously. Then we heard the hounds again, much closer, and the shouts of men: “Down there!

Heading for the pond!”

Costi knelt and laid Tati on the ground with her head on Paula’s knee. “Jena,” he murmured, “I’ll try to keep them off. But it won’t be for long.” With that, he strode away toward the torches that could now be seen again, flaring under the trees not far up the hill. My heart was in my mouth as I watched him go, then turned to the others.

“Wake up, Tati!” I gave her cheek a gentle slap. “Tati, please!”

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Costi could be heard giving what sounded like a series of calm instructions. The men had gone quiet; the dogs still gave voice, perhaps scenting us within range of a short bolt through the bushes and a quick snap of the jaws. I rose to my feet, craning to see whether they were any closer.

“Sorrow!” Paula’s voice was sharp with alarm. “The quest!

What are you doing?”

Sorrow had put one arm around Tati’s shoulders, lifting her to a sitting position. Her head lolled against his shoulder. Now he raised the cup—the brimming cup that was a requirement of Ileana’s quest—and set it to her lips. “Drink, heart’s dearest,”

he whispered. “Drink and be well again.”

In the space between one breath and the next, Tati opened her mouth and drank, and it was too late to say a word. I did not know if what filled the cup came from our own world or the other. She drank, and the vessel was no longer full. Her frailty had stricken Sorrow with such terror that he had sacrificed the quest. He would let her go rather than see her die in his arms. This was the embodiment of true love in all its wonder and sadness. How could I ever have thought his intentions evil?

Tati opened her eyes and looked at Sorrow. His face was filled with love and longing and fear. She lifted a hand to touch his cheek. A flush of color crept back over her lovely, wasted features. “My love,” she murmured. “You’re here.” Then she put up her arms and embraced him, and he almost dropped the cup.

“Give that to me,” said Paula briskly. “It’s all right, it’s only for a moment.” Taking the cup, she knelt down by the pond and scooped up water in her hand, dribbling it in until the vessel 393

was once more full to the brim. I stared at her. “Do you have a better suggestion?” she queried, brows raised.

Sorrow helped Tati to her feet. She was unsteady, but could stand with support. A cup of water from the healing well of Ain Jalut.

“Tati.” I could hardly speak for the lump in my throat.

“You’ll have to make a choice. There’s a hunting party just up the hill. Costi may be the new master of Vârful cu Negur˘a, but he can’t keep them at bay forever.”

“Will you come with me, Tatiana?” Sorrow’s voice was so hesitant and sweet—so full of care, of love—that it made my heart turn over.

“I love you,” Tati whispered, resting her brow against Sorrow’s shoulder. “I will come.”

“Paula,” I said, clearing my throat, “give Sorrow the cup.”

But it was Tati who took it, between hands grown so delicate they seemed transparent as white moths in the moonlight.

She held the cup perfectly steady. Sorrow adjusted the bag on his back, then lifted her in his arms.

“Goodbye, Paula,” Tati murmured, her head cradled against Sorrow’s shoulder. “Tell Father I love him, and I’m sorry if I’ve made him sad. Say farewell to Iulia, and Stela, and to Florica and Petru, and . . . Oh, Jena, I’ll miss you so much.”

“Be happy, Tati,” I told her through my tears. “I hope and pray that we’ll meet again someday.”

Tati said nothing more. Her eyes were on the pale face of her beloved. Her expression told me she had been moving down this pathway since the very first time she set eyes on him. I saw 394

that in him she had found her sun and moon, her stars and her dreams.

Sorrow moved toward the rock wall. I could see no cave, no crevice, no crack wide enough for anyone to pass through.

Behind us, where the torches burned in the forest, a new commotion broke out. “There! No, there! What in God’s name was that?”

“Jena,” said Sorrow gravely, “I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Silence and I have seen little of love and kindness in our lives. I did not know what happiness was until I met Tatiana. I did not understand the nature of true friendship until I encountered her family. We owe you everything.” He smiled. It was the first time he had ever opened his mouth properly in my presence. As he stepped back and the rocks seemed to swallow him and Tati up in a kind of shadow, I saw that his teeth were indeed irregular: not the pointed fangs of the Night People, but a very crooked set of quite ordinary ones. In an instant, his smile turned him from coolly handsome to charmingly plain.

“Goodbye,” I whispered.

“Goodbye,” murmured Paula, but they were already gone.

A shimmer of darkness remained against the rock, a place where the fabric of our world was interrupted.

“Wait for me!” someone shrieked. We sprang aside as the white fox came pelting down the hill, its rider kicking her little boots against its flanks to urge it on. Dr˘agu¸ta’s long hair streamed out behind her, a silver streak in the moonlight. Her face wore a savage grin—Paula sucked in her breath at the sight of those rows of little pointed teeth. The creature skidded to a 395

halt beside us, and the witch turned her baleful eyes straight on my sister.

“I saw that, young lady!” Dr˘agu¸ta’s voice was sharp as a boning knife.

“It was the only thing I could think of.” Paula squared her shoulders, meeting the witch’s gaze directly. My sister did not lack courage.

“Showed great presence of mind,” said Dr˘agu¸ta, grinning still more widely. She appeared oblivious to the rapidly approaching men, the barking of dogs. There was a glint of gold threaded through her silver hair. I stared. It looked terribly familiar. Was that a little medallion in the shape of a hunting horn?

“What the queen doesn’t know,” Dr˘agu¸ta said, “I won’t tell her. Tati’s safe—Sorrow, too. Silence will sing again. I’m the one who stirs the pot! Ileana just keeps the fire going.” Her voice rose to a sudden shriek. “Fox, within!” With a yelp and a cackle, the two of them surged forward to vanish into the rock.

There was a shifting and a settling and the stones came back to themselves.

“Interesting,” observed Paula shakily.

The hunt approached at full tilt: boots crashing through the undergrowth, hounds slavering and straining on leashes. In the middle of it was Costi, busily talking. “A man in a black coat?

That looked more like a fox to me. Or maybe a small wolf.”

They reached us and halted, staring suspiciously. It was an odd time for the daughters of Piscul Dracului to be out walking in the forest. I opened my mouth, still unsure which excuse would be the least implausible, but Costi got in first.

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“Did you see anything, Jena?” Then, before I could reply, he said to the other men, “I should be getting on; I was just walking the young ladies home from a visit.”

“It went past too quickly for us to get a proper look,” said Paula. “Then it just vanished. It was as if the earth swallowed it up.”

“A fox, no doubt of it.” Costi nodded sagely. “Gone to ground. I think you fellows should follow my lead and head for home. You’re not likely to flush out the quarry tonight.”

There was a chorus of protest.

“But it was right here—”

“Plenty of light, Full Moon and all, we should—”

“Cezar would have—”

Costi cleared his throat, and the noise subsided to angry mutterings. “I’ve discussed the issue of Night People with Judge Rinaldo and the village elders,” he said. “You’ve played your part bravely, all of you. But spring’s coming: we all have work to attend to. In time we’ll hold a village council and develop a new strategy together. For now, you need a good night’s sleep, or you’ll be unfit for anything in the morning. I appreciate your efforts to keep the valley safe. They won’t go un-rewarded. Come up to Vârful cu Negur˘a tomorrow, and I’ll have two silver pieces for each one of you in recognition of your efforts. Just understand that from now on, we’ll be approaching the problem differently.”

“But—” ventured one man.

“Shh,” the others hissed, and he fell silent.

“Thank you, Master Costin.”

“We’ll be off home, then.”

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They dipped their heads, shouldered their weapons, and left. No matter that Costi was only twenty years old and, in a manner of speaking, new to the valley. He had stepped into his father’s shoes with a natural authority. Folk knew a born leader when they saw one.

In the moonlit forest the three of us stood silent awhile, the weight of what had just happened holding us immobile. I thought of asking the others whether they had noticed that the witch was wearing Cezar’s medallion, but decided I wouldn’t.

Paula put up a hand to dash tears from her cheeks. I started to shiver again and found I couldn’t stop. Costi put one arm around me and the other around my sister. He said, “Shall we go home now?”

That was not quite the end of our story. We put it about that Tati had gone on an extended trip to see distant relatives in the east. Later she would conveniently marry in those parts, too far away for easy visits. We told Aunt Bogdana the truth, and she accepted it with lifted brows and little comment. After all that had happened, she was, perhaps, beyond being shocked.

A few weeks after that eventful night, we had the most welcome of surprises. Father rode into the courtyard, much thinner but undoubtedly in good health. Gabriel was by his side, with two baggage ponies bringing up the rear. The letter brought to them by a certain preternaturally tall messenger had been the only one of mine to reach them. Father had received several from Cezar during the winter, assuring him that all was well with us. He was much relieved to find that this was 398

indeed so, and that everything was as it should be at Piscul Dracului. Almost everything.

Father went very quiet when we told him about Tati, and for a little I feared a relapse. But the fact that Costi was alive, and that he and I wished to marry, was a powerful force for healing. We reassured him that Tati would be well and happy, and that she was among good friends.

As for Costi and me, Father’s return home gave us a little longer to enjoy getting to know each other as girl and boy, rather than girl and frog, before we needed to organize a wedding and start work on producing the male heir required for Piscul Dracului. More time: more walks in the forest as spring slowly crept back to our valley, more campfires, more adventures. More kisses. We were getting better at those all the time. We talked a lot about the future, a future in which we would work together in the business and travel together to those exotic places I had dreamed of.

Aunt Bogdana invited Iulia up to Vârful cu Negur˘a to help with planning a betrothal party. R˘azvan and his sister would be invited. Paula and Stela worked on the papers Paula had brought home from the Other Kingdom. I had told them about the King of the Lake game, and how my taking back my little crown meant our portal would be closed to us from now on.

They were trying to find another crossing human folk could use. Paula was sure the secret was hidden somewhere in those documents.

I wished them luck. In my heart I knew that for me and for Costi, the visits to Dancing Glade were over. We had moved 399

on to a new adventure, one that belonged wholly in our own world, and the prospect of it was so joyful and so exciting that I had few regrets. Only Tati: my lovely sister, destined to fade from human memory and become a princess in a fairy tale, captured by a dark suitor from the realm beyond, sacrificing all for love. I hoped they were truly happy, she and Sorrow.

I did not think I would ever see my elder sister again. But Piscul Dracului was a place of unexpected corners, of eccentric ways and sudden surprises. In time, a new generation would play here, would climb the crooked stairways and run along the galleries and make daring forays out into the great mystery that was the wildwood. Perhaps a pair of children would one day stumble upon a secret portal, and open it by accident to find a wondrous world of magic beyond. They might see the glowing lights and hear the beguiling music of Ileana’s glade. And if they dared to cross over, perhaps they would dance with Tati’s children.

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Author’s Note

Transylvania is a region rich in mythology and folklore, with a long and tumultuous history. Traveling there, I found that it lived up entirely to its reputation, with visible links to an ancient past as well as uglier remnants of more recent times. Villagers scythe hay in the shadow of crumbling Communist-era factories; horse-drawn carts traverse roads leading to clusters of concrete apartment buildings.

During my time there, I visited such well-known attrac-tions as the walled medieval city of Sighi¸soara, but also strayed off the beaten track to meet some of the extraordinary people of the Transylvanian villages. From the protective red tassels on the harness of draft horses to the many crucifixes by the way-

˘

side, from the delights of mamalig

˘ ˘a served with cream and fer-

mented cheese to the first toe-curling mouthful of home-brewed plum brandy, I had a rich and unforgettable taste of life on the Transylvanian plateau, surrounded by some of the grandest mountains and wildest forest in the world.

On hearing the name Transylvania, many people think of vampires and werewolves. Bram Stoker has a lot to answer for!

His novel Dracula, published in 1897, sparked readers’ imagina-tions. It gave rise to an elaborate vampire mythology, which became so popular over the years that many people came to believe it represented the authentic folklore of the region.

There is a whole “vampire tourism” industry in Romania, which encourages the (incorrect) belief that the fifteenth-century 401

prince Vlad ¸Tepe¸s was the original Count Dracula. Vlad inherited the right to use the name Dr˘aculea (son of Dracul) from his father, Vlad III, who was a member of the chivalric Order of the Dragon.

In Romanian, the word drac means both dragon and devil, and it is not difficult to see how this led to a devilish reputation for Vlad the son. He did carry out some cruel and barbaric acts during his time as prince of Wallachia, but he also led his people in a strong defense against the Turkish invaders. There is, however, no evidence at all that he was a vampire.

Stoker’s novel is a work of imaginative fiction. But his story does owe something to the original myths, legends, and beliefs of Transylvania. In Wildwood Dancing , I have tried to go back to earlier sources for my inspiration, and it is for this reason that Tadeusz and his followers are not referred to in the book as vampires, but by the more general name of Night People. I have deliberately made their portrayal ambivalent—are they all bad or partly good?—in order to avoid the Dracula stereotype.

Crucifixes stand all over the rural landscape of Transylvania. They are erected to deflect not only the powers of the devil in this mostly Romanian Orthodox region, but also other entities that may live in the forest—ancient forces that may threaten those who do not respect them.

This is a land where bears and wolves come close to human settlements, a place where snow can lie heavily for up to six months of the year. To survive in such a harsh environment requires a particular understanding of the balance between humankind and wild nature. Certain rituals in which animal masks 402

are worn take place in the more isolated villages at appropriate times of year. These may go back to the practices of the Transylvanians’ ancient ancestors, the tribe of the Dacians, among whom there were both shaman-healers and a warrior caste dedicated to the wolf.

As Paula explains in Wildwood Dancing , the forest provided a refuge for the people of the plateau through hundreds of years of unrest. This enabled Transylvania to retain some autonomy, and a strong sense of identity, despite the presence of such invaders as the Tartars, the Magyars, and the Turks.

403

Glossary

Bra¸sov

A merchant town in central

Transylvania. Pronounced Brah- shove

ciorb˘a

Traditional Romanian broth.

Pronounced chor-buh

Constan¸ta

A trading port on the Black Sea coast.

Pronounced Kahn- stahn-tsah

m˘am˘alig˘a

A porridge or cake made with cornmeal

(polenta), and often cooked with sheep

cheese. A staple of the Romanian diet.

Pronounced muh-muh- lee-guh

Piscul Dracului

Devil’s Peak. Pronounced Pis-kul

Drah-koo-looy

poman˘a

A feast for the dead, at which their

worldly goods are given away.

Attended by friends; relatives;

important folk from the village, such as

the judge, priest, and teacher; and poor

people. A spiritual value is attached to

the distribution of the departed one’s

possessions. Can be held at several

significant times after the death: e.g.,

seven days, seven months, one year, or

405

seven years afterward. Pronounced

poh- mah-nuh

Sibiu

A merchant town in central

Transylvania. Pronounced See- bee yoo

¸Tara Româneasc˘a

A region south of Transylvania, also

known as Wallachia. Pronounced Tsah-

rah Roh-muh- neeyes-kuh

T˘aul Ielelor

Lake of the Iele. Iele are female spirits who lure folk to their doom.

Pronounced Tah- ool Yeh-leh-lor

¸tuic˘a

Plum brandy. Pronounced tswee-kuh

Vârful cu Negur˘a

Storm Heights. Pronounced Vur-fool

koo Neh-goo-ruh

voivode

The head of a Transylvanian territory;

princeling. Pronounced voh-yeah- vode

406

Pronunciation Guide

to Character Names

Anastasia

Ah-nah- stah-see-yah

Anatolie

Ah-nah- toh-lyeeah

Bogdana

Bohg- dah-nah

Cezar

Cheh-zahr

Costi, Costin

Kohs-tee, Kohs- teen

Dr˘agu¸ta

Druh- goo-tsah

Florica

Flo- ree-kah

Gogu

Goh-goo

Grigori

Gree- goh-ree

Ileana

Eel-leh- ah-nah

Iulia

Yoo-lee-ah

Jena, Jenica

Jeh-nah, Jeh- nee- kah (J pronounced like g in mirage)

Marin

Mah- reen

Nicolae

Nee-koh- lie-eh ( lie rhymes with sky)

Paula

Pow-lah

Petru

Peh-troo

R˘azvan

Rahz- vahn

Salem bin Afazi

Sah-lem bin Ah- fah-zee

Sandu

Sahn-doo

Stela

Stel-ah

Tadeusz

Tah- deh-oosh (deh-oosh almost

one syllable)

Tati, Tatiana

Tah-tee, Tah-tee- ah-nah

Teodor

Teh-oh- dor

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Turn the page for a special preview of the

upcoming companion novel to Wildwood Dancing: CYBELE’S

SECRET

Excerpt copyright © 2008 by Juliet Marillier.

Published by Alfred A. Knopf.

Chapter One

The deck tilted to port, and I tilted with it, grabbing at a rope to keep my balance. One day out from Constanţa, the wind had turned contrary and the waters of the Black Sea rose and fell under the Stea de Mare’s belly like a testy horse trying to unseat its rider.

“You have excellent sea legs, Paula,” my father commented. He stood perfectly balanced, a veteran of more merchant voyages than he could count. This was my first.

The sail crackled in the wind. The crewmen, grim-jawed and narrow-eyed, were struggling to keep the one-master under control. When they glanced my way, their expressions were hostile.

“It unsettles them to have a woman on board,” my father said. “Ignore it. It’s superstitious nonsense. They know me, and you’re my daughter. If the captain doesn’t like it, he shouldn’t have accepted my silver.”

“It doesn’t bother me, Father,” I said through gritted teeth. Having good sea legs didn’t mean I relished the bobbing motion of the boat or the constant drenching in salt spray. Nor did I much care for the sense that if the Stea de Mare sank, these sailors would put the blame on me. “Is this going to delay us, Father?”

“It may, but Salem bin Afazi will wait for us in Istanbul.

He understands what this means for me, Paula—the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“I know, Father.” There was a treasure waiting for us in the great city of the Turks, the kind of piece merchants dream of laying their hands on just once in their lives. Father wouldn’t be the only prospective buyer. Fortunately, he was a skillful negotiator, patient and subtle.

When he had first agreed to take me with him, it had been to allow me to broaden my horizons now that I was in my eighteenth year, to let me see the world beyond the isolated valley where we lived and the merchant towns of Transylvania that we sometimes visited.

But things had changed on the journey. Just before we were due to embark, Father’s secretary, Gabriel, had tripped coming down a flight of steps in the Black Sea port of Constanţa. The resultant broken ankle was now being tended to in the physician’s house there while the Stea de Mare bore Father and me on to Istanbul. It was most fortunate that I spoke perfect Greek and several other languages and that I had Father’s full trust. While I could not take Gabriel’s place as his official assistant, I could, at the very least, be his second set of ears. It would be a challenge. I could hardly wait.

The wind had brought rain, the same drenching spring rain that fell on our mountains back home, flooding streams and soaking fields. It scoured the planks of the deck and wrapped the ship in a curtain of white. From where I stood, I could barely see the sail, let alone the bow cutting its way through choppy seas. The crew must be steering our course blind.

Father was shouting something above the rising voice of the wind, perhaps suggesting we should go below until things calmed down. I pretended not to hear. The tiny cabins we had been allocated were stuffy and claustrophobic. Being enclosed there only emphasized the ship’s movement, and one could not lie on the narrow bunk without dwelling on how exactly one would get out should the Stea de Mare decide to sink.

“Get down, Paula!” Father yelled. A moment later a huge, dark form loomed up behind us. A scream died in my throat before I could release it. Another ship—a tall three-master, so close I screwed my eyes shut, waiting for the sickening crunch of a collision. It towered above us. The moment it hit us, we would begin to go down.

Running steps, shouts, the clank of metal. I opened my eyes to see our crew diving across the deck, snatching implements to fend off the approaching wall of timber. Everyone was yelling. The helmsman and his assistant heaved on the wheel. I clutched on to Father, and the two of us ducked down behind the flimsy protection of a cargo crate, but I couldn’t bear not knowing what was happening. I peered over the crate, my heart racing. Aboard the three-master, a motley collection of sailors was busy hauling on ropes and scrambling up rigging while an equally mixed group had assembled by the rail, long poles extended across and down-ward in our direction. There were about two arm’s lengths in it.

“Poxy pirate!” I heard our captain snarl as he strode past.

A shudder went through the bigger ship, as if it were drawing a difficult breath, and then the two vessels slid by one another, a pair of dancers performing a graceful aquatic pavane.

The wind gusted, snatching my red headscarf and toss-ing it high. As the scrap of scarlet crossed the divide between the boats, I saw a man set a booted foot on the rail of the three-master and swing up with graceful ease to stand balanced on the narrow rim. He took hold of a rope with one casual hand, then leaned out over the churning waters to pluck the scarf from midair while the ship moved on under full sail. The sailor was tall, his skin darker than was usual in my homeland, his features striking in their sculpted strength. As I stared, the fellow tilted himself back with the ship’s natural movement and leaped down to the deck, tucking the red scarf into his belt. He did not glance in my direction. The big ship moved away, and I saw its name in gold paint on the side: Esperança.

“Close,” muttered Father. “Altogether too close.”

Despite my pounding heart, I felt more intrigued than frightened. “Did the captain say pirate?” I asked, unrealistic images of weathered seafarers with exotic birds or monkeys on their shoulders flashing through my mind.

“If he did,” Father said, “we must be glad the fellow didn’t seize the opportunity to board us. I want to get my goods to Istanbul in one piece. Perhaps he knew all I had was hides and wheat. We’ll be more of a prize on the way back.”

I looked at him.

“Don’t worry,” Father said. “This crew has transported me dozens of times, and we’ve never yet lost a cargo. Come, we’d best go below. It’s obvious we’re in the way, and you should cover up your hair again.”

I raised no objections. In my tiny cabin, I wielded a hairbrush as best I could, then tied on another from my collection of scarves. There were rules for this trip, rules designed not only for my safety, but for the success of our business venture. To win the trust of those we traded with, we must abide by certain codes of behavior, including standards of dress. I would be wearing a headscarf, along with my most decorous clothing, whenever I went out in public.

In fact, the greater part of our business would be conducted with other Christian traders, men from Genoa or Venice or farther west, in whose company these rules could be relaxed. Father would need me to record transactions and check figures, at the very least. When he consulted with Muslim merchants, I would be banned, for Father had told me women of that faith did not mix with men other than those who were their close kin, and then only within the safe walls of the family home. Fortunately, Father and his col-league Salem bin Afazi, who would be meeting us in Istanbul, had a very good understanding. I hoped Salem might arrange for me to be admitted to libraries or to gatherings of female scholars. I had dreamed of that for a long time.

“Father,” I said a little later when the two of us were squeezed into his cabin space as the Stea de Mare pitched and rolled, “if you meant what you said about our being a bigger prize once we have the artifact, perhaps we’ll need to take further precautions on the way back. I didn’t think it was the kind of thing pirates would want, but I suppose if they knew its value, they could try to seize it.”

Father looked unperturbed. In the dim light that filtered down the steep ladder from the deck, he was writing notes in the little leather-bound book he carried with him everywhere. “When we reach Istanbul, I’ll hire a guard for you,”

he said. “Salem should be able to recommend a trustworthy man. You may receive some invitations from the wives of my fellow merchants, and I won’t always be able to accompany you. A guard can ensure your safety. Without one, you’ll find yourself confined indoors most of the time.

Women don’t go about on their own in such places. I do plan to look at other goods while we’re in Istanbul, if only to distract attention from our principal business there, and I’ll take you with me when I can. Nobody’s going to offer me the item I want openly. I’ll need to pursue it through Salem’s contacts.” Father’s voice was held low. The transaction we sought to carry out was delicate in the extreme, and we could not be too cautious.

“Is there any chance I might visit a library, Father?

I’ve heard there are many rare books and manuscripts in Istanbul.”

“The best of those are in the libraries of the religious schools or the personal collections of high-ranking officials,”

Father said. “As a woman and as a non-Muslim, you could not have access to those. There are some female scholars in the city, of course. Irene of Volos, for example.”

“Who is she, Father?”

“I haven’t met the lady, but she’s a long-term resident of Istanbul and has an excellent reputation as a patron of worthy causes. She’s wealthy; her husband is a personal adviser to the Sultan. I understand Irene’s hospitality extends to women of various backgrounds, including the wives of foreign merchants. I think you’ll find her invitations are much prized. Perhaps we could make an approach to her.”

“That would be wonderful, Father. Of course, I know a lot of the material in any Turkish library would be in Arabic script, but there must be works in Greek and Latin as well, the kind of thing that one day I may be wealthy enough to buy for myself.”

“Is that what you’d do if you made your fortune, Paula?

Establish a grand personal library?” Father laid down his quill, which promptly rolled off the fold-down table. I caught it, splashing ink on my skirt.

“Not exactly,” I said, feeling a little defensive. “I was thinking more of a book-trading enterprise. Bras¸ov would be an excellent base for that kind of business. I could provide a service for scholars, teachers, and priests. Once the business became well established, I’d have a partner in Istanbul, another in Venice or Genoa, a third in London. I could expand it in time to include my own printing press.”

Father gazed at me, his dark eyes thoughtful in his narrow, gray-bearded face. “An ambitious plan,” he said.

“You realize, Paula, that this voyage may well make our fortunes—mine, yours, those of all your sisters and Costi as well?” Costi was Father’s business partner and was married to my sister Jena. He was also our second cousin. Our family had expanded quite a bit over the last few years. Two of my four sisters were married with children, and only Stela and I were still at home with Father. As for my eldest sister, Tati, it was very possible we would never see her again. The forest that surrounded our home housed a portal to another world.

Six years ago, true love had carried her through that doorway, never to return.

“If we acquire this artifact and get it safely back to Transylvania for the buyer,” Father went on, “there’s a substantial profit to be made. And it could lead to more com-missions.” There seemed to be something he wasn’t saying.

“But the risks almost outweigh the opportunities?” I ventured.

“That is unfortunately true, Paula. With the Esperança plying Black Sea waters, we’ll need to be especially watchful.”

“So you did recognize the ship,” I said.

“I recognized the name. I thought the fellow was confin-ing his activities to southern regions these days.”

“Fellow?”

“The ship’s out of Lisbon. Her master’s called Duarte da Costa Aguiar.”

“That’s a grand sort of name for a villain. He’s a long way from home.”

“Indeed. For a man who’s prepared to engage in theft and violence, there must be rich pickings nearer the English coast. But Aguiar’s not the kind of man folk mean when they say pirate. He’s a trader, a dealer, and he has an eye for antiq-uities. It’s not very hard to guess what’s brought him to these parts.”

“Aguiar,” I mused. “That means eagle, doesn’t it?” I recalled the proud features of the man who had caught my scarf and the nonchalant way he’d tucked it in his belt. I’d bet a silver piece to a lump of coal that he was this Duarte.

“Theft, you said. How does a person like that dispose of the things he steals?”

Father smiled. “There’s always a black market for these items, purchasers who are not scrupulous about the goods’

provenance. Almost anything can be disposed of covertly, though the profit may not be quite as high. This Portuguese is astute. He knows what he’s after and chooses his targets accordingly. Some of it’s quite legitimate buying and selling.

When it isn’t, he’s expert at avoiding being caught. Nobody’s ever been able to pin anything on him.”

“He must be doing well,” I commented, recalling the size of the vessel that had almost rammed us.

“Indeed. A man doesn’t maintain a ship like that without resources and good planning. Of course, there are actual pirate operations hereabouts, but they’re mostly small, spur-of-the-moment ventures.”

I glanced at him. “If you’re trying to reassure me, Father,”

I said, clutching the table as the Stea de Mare rolled again,

“you’re not succeeding. What would have happened if they’d boarded us?” At the time, it had not occurred to me that the poles and hooks with which the crew of the Esperança had reached out to fend us off might just as well have been for the purpose of grappling us fast to her side, the better to leap aboard and—and what? Set about slaughtering crew and passengers alike? Sink the ship with all of us still on it? Or go through our cargo with the appreciation of merchants, help themselves to the best bits, say thank you, and sail away into the sunset? “And don’t tell me not to worry,” I added severely.

Father sighed. “There’s always a possibility of violence,”

he said. “The fact that you are a girl puts you at particular risk. It makes me question why I agreed to bring you.”

“Because I’m useful, Father. And because I’ve been asking for years and years. With Gabriel not here, you’ll need me in Istanbul. Father, do you think Duarte Aguiar is after the same thing we are?”

“There’s little doubt that at some point in our negotia-tions we will find ourselves face to face with this pirate. We’ll need to be watchful. It would be exceptionally ill luck for us to be waylaid with the artifact in our possession—that’s supposing we do succeed in acquiring it. I expect Aguiar can be bought off, if necessary, with a payment in gold or jewels, or maybe a fine Damascene blade or two. Such a man cares principally for profit.”

In official documents, the great city was still called by its old name, Constantinople. Poets described it as a city of por-phyry and marble, a jewel among jewels, its mosques and palaces rising above the water as if reaching toward the heavens. It was a place rich in history, a seat of imperial power, the conjunction of great trade ways and a melting pot of cultures.

To a girl who had never traveled beyond the borders of Transylvania, the sea path toward that pale forest of minarets and towers, with the sun breaking through heavy clouds above us and the water surging past the Stea de Mare’s sides, was nothing short of magical. There had once been a great deal of magic in my life, but not recently. I had given up the hope of ever returning to the Other Kingdom, the enchanted realm I and my sisters had been privileged to visit at each full moon all through the years of our growing up. The way in had been closed to us six years ago, when we lost Tati. Today, sailing along the Bosphorus as my father pointed out the fortress of Rumeli Hisari, the landing from which the Spice Market might be accessed, and the high walls and green gar-dens of a grand private residence, I felt brimful with excitement, as if I were on the verge of a great discovery. Maybe the magic was back. At the very least, an adventure lay ahead.

We had come here to buy Cybele’s Gift, the fabled treasure of a lost faith. Somewhere amongst those steep ways clustered with shops and houses, mosques and basilicas, it was waiting for us. If we succeeded in our bid, my work as Father’s assistant would earn me a small share of the profit. I had plans for my earnings. They would enable me to take the first steps toward establishing my book business.

Neither Father nor I knew what the artifact looked like, although I had done some rapid research into the subject before we left home. I had found no physical description of the piece in the writings of scholars, but word of mouth suggested it was extremely old and of great beauty. I envisaged a marble tablet incised with rows of neat writing. It was said to contain a message of wisdom from an ancient goddess, her last words before she withdrew from the mortal world.

Every merchant worth his salt had heard of this artifact, and when they spoke of it, they did so in hushed voices.

Sometimes there is an item everyone wants, an object with some special quality that places it almost beyond valuation.

Cybele’s Gift was one of those pieces.

My reading had told me Cybele was an Anatolian earth goddess associated with caves and mountaintops and bees.

She was a wild kind of deity, her rituals involving all-night drumming and ecstatic dancing. I had not passed on to Father the most shocking detail I had uncovered, which was that her male followers mutilated themselves to become more like women, then dressed in female clothing. The cult of Cybele had long since died out, but the legend of Cybele’s Gift survived. If the artifact fell into deserving hands, the owner and his descendants would be blessed with riches and good fortune all the days of their lives. As is the manner of such promises, the thing worked both ways. In the wrong hands, the artifact would bring death and chaos. This had not been put to the test in living memory, for nobody had known the whereabouts of Cybele’s Gift for many years.

Until now.

If I had been a collector, I would have steered well clear of such an acquisition, for my experience with the folk of the Other Kingdom had taught me the danger of such charms.

However, when Father received word that an Armenian dealer would be offering Cybele’s Gift for sale when a certain caravan came into Istanbul, he quickly secured a potential buyer, a scholarly collector who helped finance our journey.

And so we had come to Istanbul, the city glowing in the sunset above its scarf of water, to purchase this prize of prizes and bear it safely home.

The Stea de Mare made its way across the wide channel of the Bosphorus and into the narrower waterway, the Golden Horn, that opened from it, dividing the city. A rich aroma wafted in the air, made up of spices and sandalwood, hides and salt, and a hundred other cargoes—the smell of a great trading center.

Officials in small boats came out to halt us while our captain gave an inventory of the goods on board and the passengers he was ferrying. An impressive personage in a snowy turban and a robe of purple silk was asking all the questions.

When the formalities were complete, he gave Father a little bow and the hint of a smile, and they exchanged courteous greetings in Turkish. Then the chain-link barrier across the Golden Horn was lowered for us, and we sailed into the docks. We had arrived.

I had expected carts by the waterfront to carry our cargo to Salem bin Afazi’s warehouse, but the bales and sacks were unloaded onto the dock, then borne away on the backs of workers whose every move was watched by a hawkeyed overseer with a coiled whip at his belt. I had known there would be slaves here, but the sight gave me a cold, uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.

Father was in intense conversation with a man who had come on board. The newcomer was wearing an expertly tai-lored short robe over wool hose and felt boots, and a velvet cap on his head. He had the well-kempt, well-fed look of a successful trader. They were speaking in Greek. I let the talk drift past me as I scanned the craft moored around us, my gaze moving from tiny, weather-beaten fishing boats to grand three-masted carracks, from merchant vessels swarm-ing with activity to swift, elegant caïques that served as ferryboats. I looked back along the nearby docks and my gaze stilled. The Esperança was moored at some distance from us, her sails furled now, the only sign of life a solitary crewman making a slow patrol of the deck. I could not see if he was armed. Perhaps Duarte da Costa Aguiar was already out there in the city somewhere, making a generous offer for Cybele’s Gift.

I narrowed my eyes. What was that patch of black, a tattered length of cloth next to the Esperança’s mast? It was flapping as if stirred by a capricious breeze, yet nothing around it moved. Wasn’t that . . . No, it couldn’t be. And yet that was what I saw: Halfway up the mainmast was the figure of a woman clad in a black robe whose folds billowed out on that uncanny wind. Her head was turned in my direction, but I could not see her face, for she wore the style of veil that conceals all but the eyes. She seemed to be beckoning. And I heard a command, not aloud but clear in my mind: It’s time, Paula. It’s time to begin your quest. Goose bumps broke out all over my body. Without a shred of doubt, it was a voice from the Other Kingdom. A familiar voice. I could have sworn the speaker was my sister Tati.