Where the Rivers Meet - 1

They negotiate treaties here. They sat it is because the magic of the interweaving rivers sees all, it knows when the truth is missing, the bubbling water in the meeting-pool flares and roars when it senses deception. Some say that. Or that the waters will briefly reverse their flow, backing away from each other in a display of disapproval. Or that a water-witch will rise…

Yes, there are many stories.

The most common is to say that when a treaty is signed here it cannot be broken. Fate will twist and turn in such a way to bring the treaty’s intent to pass. And any man who tries to break such a compact will suffer the consequences – curses and ill-luck, and fevers, accidents, tumours. Oh, you name it. Whatever is signed and sealed at the spot where the rivers meet is destined to come true.

I know that much is a fairytale. I lived the proof.

And well, there’s other tales as well. These rivers – the mighty Saliethe, the firebreather, the rebel; the languid #, trailing secrets and sorcery – are said to be able to great long life, to cure all ills, to show you your future in your reflection, or at least your future face. A fish caught in the turgid pool will feed a family for a month, just one mouthful a day.

Weddings are held here, since the bride and groom, once pledged to each other will never be tempted by infidelity.

“Well, I won’t do it!” I told my mother, some fifty years ago in the height of the Red Summer.

She faced me sternly, “Of course you will. It’d scarcely be considered a proper wedding if it were going to be held anywhere else. How would Petrod know you’re going to be faithful if you don’t say the vow before the rivers?”

“No. You’re misunderstanding on purpose. I mean I won’t go through with the wedding. I’m not going to marry Petrod.”

That look on her face. As if I’d said something incomprehensible. What nonsense has she got in her head this day?

My nonsense: that I was going to spend my life bound to this man, raise children with him, sleep beside him for the rest of our lives, that given all that, maybe I should get a choice about it all.

“Your father and I have already made arrangements. Whatever are you talking about? Why would you not want to marry the boy?”

There. The crux. Why didn’t I? Because Petrod wasn’t so bad. He was safe and solid, a plodder, with a serious heart, but a gentle smile. He had a cute way of shrugging, and though he wasn’t clever or imaginative, he was a worthy enough young man. Only a dreamer or a princess would ask for more than that. And yet: me. I wanted something else. I wanted to choose a man my heart could bond with, a man to laugh with, a man who could set me on fire with yearning…

She was waiting for an answer.

“I just… don’t know if we’re compatible. I don’t feel a bond with him…”

“The bond will come with time.”

“It doesn’t always.”

“It does if you try.”

“We hardly talk to each other. If I tried to explain half the things in my head…”

“There’s too much in your head. There’s the trouble. Too much fancy. Too much self -absorption. You care nothing about poor Petrod, or his family, or your own. You just want to indulge yourself. What? Are you waiting for a fairytale? A handsome prince?”

“No.” Though I was. Though I didn’t know it.

“Then Petrod is well and good enough for you.”

“Not every woman marries.”

“My daughter will, and there’ll be no discussion.”

I mostly felt sorry for poor Petrod.

#

That was the year of Red Summer. So called because it was hot, and because it was a year in these parts when a weed called the hennyhead started sprouting everywhere. Its red flowers raged across the landscape, greedily sucking nutrients out of the ground. It was a summer that promised a hard winter. And on top of that the Mad Grey Knight, Sir Galistor Krimvold had been making war on the “Side-eyes Graftor”, otherwise known as Sir Ferrinad Graftor. Two medium-sized lords with lofty ideas and short tempers. For a year or more the two of them had been clashing in around their borders. Their fight became a whirlpool that dragged other holdings, other armies, into the mess.

“As it always does” my father was quick to point out. “No-one can mind their own business, that’s where it all goes wrong.”

But there was an end in sight. Here, at Two Rivers, that end. These two argumentative men had agreed to negotiate a peace. Letters had flowed between them, and now they were descending on the village from their respective directions, ready to sign a treaty that was supposedly unbreakable.

And that meant that the whole town would be turning out. We would need to serve these lords and their hangers-on. Feed them, entertain them, shelter them while they bickered out the details. It was a common enough thing. And in return, we could expect to be left some handsome gifts that would be shared out amongst the townsfolk. We women would mostly be assigned to cook and serve, though some of the prettier girls might get to serve in another way.

For once I felt glad of my big, freckled nose, and the way my ears stuck out a bit further than was generally considered attractive.

Petrod told me, “there was a king once who tried to break a treaty signed by our rivers. He wasn’t supposed to cross a border, but he kept trying. He threw his whole army at it, but they couldn’t move. They couldn’t pass.”

“Aha,” I said, bored. Petrod had taken to calling on me of late, since we were officially supposed to be betrothed. He would show up at the door, sometimes with a little handful of local flowering weeds, a hopeful, earnest look on his face.

I tried to warn him. I told him, “I don’t think we’re all that well suited to marriage.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said blithely, “once we begin.”

“I’m not ready for marriage.”

“It doesn’t matter. Once we touch one another our bodies will know what to do. It’s easy. I promise. And I won’t hurt you.”

Practicing, apparently. With Silvetta from Henchdale. Or so the rumours ran.

“Why can’t he just marry her?” I asked my father, desperate.

“Don’t be ridiculous. No man would have a girl like that. Something to think about, eh?”

“I’ve never.., oh never mind. I suppose he doesn’t get a choice either.”

Petrod tried to put his arm around me. I froze, but hadn’t the heart to dissuade him.

“There’ll be celebrations once it’s over. Like a festival. You must be looking forward to that at least.”

“Well, I’ll have to work half the day getting the meat cooked. After that. When there’s dancing and bonfires, I might be able to have some fun around then.”

#

It was late at night, after the treaty talks, after the signing, amongst the dancing and the bonfires, when he found me. My handsome prince.

I feel as if I was waiting for that moment. That my mind and body might not have known, but my soul did. It knew I was destined for him. It wouldn’t let me settle for the likes of Petrod, because it knew there was something better and deeper that I needed to hold out for.

And now. There he stood.

It helped that he was standing in the firelight, so that his gold-hued skin seemed even brighter, touched with red, so that he seemed to all-but glow. He had a delicate face, perfectly sculpted, topped with dark, fine hair; with deep, dark eyes staring out of his face. He was a portrait. He was tall and graceful. Strangely dressed. A foreigner. Something quite different, quite out-of-this world.

His name was Anastrin, though I didn’t know that at the time.

I was infatuated at the first sight of him. I felt as if I had no say in the matter, my legs just took me over there. Presented me to him. Here. I’m a simple country girl with nothing to offer except my flesh. Take me if you will. I’m yours.

He asked me to dance. And he showed me that he could dance like no other man. He asked me about myself, my life, this village. He told me about the grand forest kingdom he came from where the trees were massive, and the cities were built amongst the canopy, musicked into growing there, a cacophony of vines and branches all shaped into a cityscape that held nearly a million people.

Any other man, I would have scoffed, called him a liar. But in Anastrin’s soft, lilting voice, it was utterly believable.

He told me that he cared for me. That he was dazzled by me.

And my heart fluttered. I didn’t ask myself the questions I should have? Why me? This big-nosed girl with big bones and too many freckles. What would make a man like you fall for somebody like me? He with his grace and glamour, me without beauty or prospects. What possessed me?

He did. I think.

He invited me up to the limestone ridge. I knew as well as anyone what was done up there on nights like this. I vaguely wondered how he knew about it. But I didn’t really care. And I certainly didn’t think about the consequences – what if I were discovered, or if he left a baby behind in my womb once he was done? I didn’t think about my reputation. Certainly, not for so much as a moment, about Petrod.

We came together in a cleansing, breaking, rebirthing fire. I don’t mean to sound dramatic, and it’s not as if I even had anything to compare him to. But I’d heard from other girls that the act was mostly awkward, that it was painful and the man was always greedy and thoughtless, thinking only about himself and his own pleasure. A few might say that it could be fun, or tender, or even exhilarating. But this was more than that. This was an awakening. This took me apart and rewrote me, this smothered me in ecstasy and filled me with such love, such understanding, such wisdom and wild abandon… There are no words for what passed between us that night.

#

I woke in the morning with my head still on his shoulder.

He told me, “Well, I have to go.”

I sighed, “But I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“You won’t have a life without me. I’ll come back, but not until winter. You’ll see me on Firenight, I’ll come to you then.”

“I’m promised to a village boy.”

“Delay then. Wait for me. I will come.”

 

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work