Chapter 4

She dropped off into a deep dreamless sleep and it felt like only moments before Fenna was in her room again opening the shutters on another perfect sunny day. Kristabell blinked, disoriented by the unicorn tapestry on the wall that was almost like the one in her room at home, only this one was the real thing, and the one at home was a cheap reproduction. Fenna had brought fresh water for the basin. She chucked the old water out the window without looking and there was a shout from below. She cringed and shouted an apology, then grinned at Kristabell and tossed her some clothes from the wardrobe. Kristabell climbed out of bed and scrambled into the clothes, a simple deep red tunic with drawstrings to give it some shape, three quarter sleeves with slightly gathered cuffs that buttoned and a pair of  loose brown pants that tied at the waist to make them adjustable. They were comfortable and functional and went well with her shoes. Kristabell splashed her face, unbraided her hair and brushed it quickly, grabbed her green cardigan and then followed Fenna, who was waiting, down to the dinning hall. 

Not everyone was there that morning. Fenna's father and uncle as well as Rowan, Leif, Nessa, and one of the younger boys were absent, but there were two older women at the table who were introduced to Kristabell as Deirdre and Gretta. They looked at Kristabell with interest but finished their breakfast and left. Fenna tried to explain who they were and Kristabell was left with the impression that one was the steward's wife and that the other was a great aunt, but she really wasn't sure. Breakfast was oatmeal with honey, goat's milk, nuts and chopped fruit. There was also a dish of hard boiled eggs on the table. It was the kind of food that Kristabell liked and she was hungry. Rowan walked in just as she was finishing. “Good morning,” he smiled at her as he helped himself to the food.

“Good morning,” she returned.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. The room was very comfortable.”

“Good,” he said, then, “If you don't mind waiting for me to eat, I'd like to take you down to meet Gwydion. He's very old but he's still sharp and he knows more than anyone I've ever met. He used to be the head of the council of druids back during Sven and Freya's reign. He would be fascinated to meet you, and I think it would be a good idea to talk to him.”

“Alright,” Kristabell agreed to it wondering, really, what choice she had, but she wanted to learn more about this place that she had inadvertently wandered into. She had a barrage of questions surfacing in her mind and it would be nice to spend some time figuring things out. She and Rowan chatted comfortably about nothing in particular for a few minutes then Kristabell asked him, “Do you grow all of your own food here?” 

“Mm, We do,” Rowan answered her, nodding and swallowing. He described to her the barley and rye fields, the extensive gardens and orchards, the goat herd—largely managed by Nessa—and the apiary. There were also extensive hunting grounds, chickens, and, further out, fields of flax and a large sheep herd. There was a large fine house in the village that belonged to a family of expert weavers. Anything that they didn't produce themselves they could trade for.  

Rowan finished eating and motioned for her to follow him. As they walked through the castle she still couldn't help looking around her at the beautiful architecture. There were scroll work patterns of ivy leaves and feathers carved into the pillars and archways. Nothing was overdone, only natural and beautiful. She asked Rowan, “So who, ultimately, is in charge here?” 

“Ultimately, my mother and father and someday, either me or Nessa, but it isn't so clear cut as that.” He explained the way things were run and from what she understood it was a sort of co-operative communal democratic feudalism which sounded like it should just cancel itself out and implode but they made it work neatly and elegantly. They passed through the courtyard, then Rowan stopped her near the gate and lead her to a small armoury. He belted a sword to his waist, slung a quiver of arrows over his shoulder and picked up and strung a bow. “Why do you need those?” Kristabell asked, nervous of the weapons. 

“We have to walk through a small woods but, mostly, I just feel more comfortable having them these days. Do you know how to shoot?” he asked reaching for a second bow, but Kristabell shook her head vigorously and backed away. 

Rowan shrugged, nodded and then left the bow.  

They headed down the main road but after a short distance Rowan told her, “This road leads down to the village and maybe there will be a time to visit it, but today we're going this way.” And he lead her down a side path. 

“What about the kingdom as a whole, how is it run?” Kristabell asked, curious now after Rowan's description of the running of his family's estate.

“Well there's the King, but that role is somewhat ceremonial. It doesn't hold as much power as it once did. The majority of the actual management of the kingdom is done by a council of thirty members who are voted in by the people and it is run largely by consensus,” Rowan explained. 

Kristabell was impressed at the level of forward thinking traditionalism. They had blended socialism, anarchy, and monarchy and come out with an organized system that worked. “Can women vote?” she asked.

Rowan gave her a funny look and asked her, “Why wouldn't they be allowed to vote?”

“Women have only gradually been allowed to vote in my world. We've been allowed to vote for roughly the last 100 years where I'm from, but in some parts of the world women are prevented from voting by their husbands or fathers even though it's technically legal. They don't have any freedom in those places.”

“Women here can do whatever they want and as far as I know it's always been that way,” Rowan replied, clearly baffled. “The current head of the council is a woman and while women do often maintain traditional roles like household management and child rearing, men do that too, and while there are definitely more men in the army, roughly a third of the archers are women. Men aren't excluded from crafts that are typically female dominated like weaving. My brother Dunstan is doing a textiles apprenticeship. I take it things are different in your world?”

“Yes,” Kristabell replied. “In some parts of the world women have no rights. They are seen as the property of their fathers and husbands. In the part of the world where I live we have what is called 'equality' and things are not that extreme at all, but it's still harder for women in some ways. Women are encouraged to go out into the world and do whatever men do but it's a very different world . . . I don't quite know how to articulate this but . . . it's like the traditional roles that women used to hold because they had no other choice have lost their value, and men are still seen as weak if they stay home to watch the kids and make supper, but women who join the police service or the army often face discrimination. It's all twisted out of shape and people don't raise their own children anymore they just pack them off to day care each morning and everyone works, but women are paid less. Then men and women come home together and fight with each other over who is going to clean the house because . . .” She shrugged.

Rowan looked at her, completely appalled. “I never imagined that things could be so imbalanced. Here, work is just work and it doesn't matter who does it as long as you're tired and satisfied at the end of the day. Obviously there are some things that women will always be better suited to, and that it's simply more practical for them to do by virtue of the fact that they have breasts and wombs, men just can't compete there, but we're bigger and stronger, so you're not going to meet as many female stonemasons or blacksmiths either. Obviously there are differences that go beyond size and anatomy but it just isn't that big a deal here. Many choose to eschew gender altogether. I know your world is what you're used to but it sounds…” He trailed off, not wanting to offend her.

“It's alright. I was never very happy there.” She looked around at the woods. They were walking on a path that lead down and around the hillside. The leaves were touched with gold and the air was fresh. They came to a place where they could look out over golden fields and orchards. Kristabell gasped. “It's so beautiful here. It seems so peaceful.”

“It would be if it weren't for . . .”

“The exiled prince?” Kristabell finished, turning it into a question.

Rowan nodded, and his expression turned tired and bitter all of a sudden.

“I know you probably don't even want to think about that right now but, who is the exiled prince?”

Rowan sighed heavily, “The old queen's younger brother Seamus.”

“Why was he exiled?” Kristabell asked as they started to walk again.

“He's power hungry, angry, and underhanded . . .” Rowan started then paused as if reluctant to spoil a beautiful morning with the story, but it had been brought up and now it was on his mind so he shrugged and continued. “According to rumour, about twenty years ago he accused his sister Sulamith of something, we don't know what. It was before her reign and whatever it was, if there was any truth to it at all, it was covered up by her parents and the druids and Seamus never repeated it, ever. Instead he brooded and plotted and sought revenge. After many years he succeeded in killing the Queen. He nearly took the throne but the army and the council supported the Queen's son and heir, not Seamus. His plot was exposed and he was exiled. Liam took the throne and has maintained the kingdom fairly and peacefully even though he was, and I suppose still is, very young. I was in the military by the time the exiled prince had formed his own army and tried to overthrow Liam. I had been a page in the castle as a youth, and then a squire, I knew the king when he was a boy and I still like and respect him. There was a large decisive battle about three years ago. I suppose I fought well. That's when the king and council appointed me captain of the army.”

Kristabell was quiet for a moment, sorting and compartmentalizing information, including the expressions that had flitted across Rowan's face as he'd related the information. “Are the elves with the exiled prince?”

“The elves are for the elves, but they will jump on any wagon that they think will get them where they want to go, and right now they are riding with Seamus.”  

They rounded a bend in the path and came out in a clearing by a little brook. There was a stone bridge and across the bridge was a little stone cottage. They crossed the bridge and walked up to the door. Rowan knocked and a grouchy voice called out from within.

“It's me, Rowan. I brought you a visitor,” Rowan called to the grouchy occupant. The door opened and a funny little old man stuck his head out. “Gwydion, this is Kristabell.” 

The old man opened his eyes wide for a moment and then pulled the door open wider and hustled them in saying something about Kristabell's name that Rowan responded to with, “Her name sounds strange to you because she came here yesterday from another world.” Gwydion ushered them excitedly toward the table and chairs flapping his arms and exclaiming.

The old druid turned out to be more of a scholar and a librarian than anything particularly mystical, he was however very knowledgeable. He had a passion for learning and wanted to hear all about the world that Kristabell had come from and how it differed from theirs. Kristabell and Rowan spent the entire morning drinking chamomile tea and eating biscuits while looking at books and poring over maps. Over the course of the morning they had figured which events had changed the course of history and caused what Gwydion was convinced had originally been one world, to split and become two. The first difference was the unicorns. The second difference was that Christianity had never come into being in Rowan's world. Jesus had instead wandered east, become a Buddhist and founded the “Thousand Years Peace”. Apparently there were very few wars in that part of the world but also, curiously, from what they knew about it, very few humans either, just Fay. The Hebrews had largely disbanded, some of them joining the Zoroastrians and the rest of them meeting up with the Romany and travelling the world. Kristabell found a certain amount of irony in that idea. The majority of the Jewish faith had been lost to antiquity. Except for the angels.

“Angels?” Kristabell had said disbelieving.

“You took fairies, unicorns and elves in stride. Why not angels?” Rowan looked at her, eyebrow raised.

“I guess that I've always seen them as being a part of the Christian world which I've never believed in so why would I believe in angels?” she shrugged. “What are they like?”

“I don't know. I've never met one.” Rowan turned to Gwydion.

Gwydion was able to understand much of what Kristabell said, not because of any magical connections but because he understood the old languages from which both versions of English had evolved. Kristabell's version contained more Latin and French, and the version native to Rowan's world contained more from the Celtic tongues, but the structure was similar. Gwydion answered Kristabell's question about the angels. “They are reclusive and stay in the mountains. They haven't associated with humans since the plague wars that forced us out of the old country. They are big creatures, stern, with deep blue or crimson feathery wings. They wield swords and wear armour. I met one once when I was in my early thirties. He was fierce and arrogant.”

“Old testament angels,” Kristabell murmured mostly to herself. A word had caught her ear as Gwydion had described the angel to her though. “What were the 'Plague Wars'?” she asked.

“Hundreds of years ago we lived in the old country,” Rowan pointed to a world map that was spread out on the table and being held down by a stoneware teapot and a plate of cookies. It looked like an early map from Kristabell's world and it wasn't especially accurate. He pointed to what would have been the northwest coast of France, Belgium, The Netherlands, Denmark, coastal Germany, Norway, Sweden and the UK and Ireland. “These are the regions that many of the people who live here now came from. One thousand years ago there were sorcerers and they weren't good people. They began fighting in this region,” he pointed to the Mediterranean, “using a magic that spread illness amongst the people. They were trying to wipe out each other's armies, but they lost control of their spells and wiped out everyone else too. Our people lived on the edges and we heard stories of what was happening. We fled first to the north, then to the west. About 3000 of us headed west in ships. 2000 or so made it to the new country. Around eight hundred of us settled in this region. My family has been living on this hill for five hundred years.” Rowan pointed to a map of Nova Britannia which was a tiny area only slightly larger than Vancouver itself and almost cut off from the mainland by marshlands to the east. The map appeared to have borders even within the borders, like the holes in swiss cheese. “The angels are the ones who stopped the war. They intervened to stop the sorcerers but they annihilated everything and everyone left behind by the plague in the process. Their magic is very powerful and they turned all of this into a wasteland,” Rowan motioned towards all of mainland Europe. “They said that the war was so evil that it would seep over into other worlds. We've lived in this part of the world ever since, and remained somewhat isolated.”

“It did seep over into my world,” Kristabell said. “There was a plague in that part of my world around the same time. They say that it killed thirty to sixty percent of the population. It was called 'The Black Death'.” 

Gwydion reacted to this as if he had been given a precious gem or a rare piece of art, his eyebrows raised and fingertips together in blissful contemplation. 

Kristabell was in all honesty just a little bit confused however. “Didn't you know that? About the plague? I mean others have crossed over. Right? It's not just me. There are stories in my world about fairies crossing over and bringing humans back here with them, because that's what this place is to us. It's the fairy realm, isn't it? We just didn't realize that there was a human population here too. Haven't any other people told you these things?”

Gwydion answered her, speaking with care to make himself understood. “Only the Fay pass between the worlds.” He was very serious, solemn even. “We, the druids, forswore magic after the plague wars. It is not stuff for us to possess. We misplaced much knowledge on our escape to here. You are the first person with this knowledge that I have spoken to. We have not, in many generations, met someone from your world.”

“Then . . . How did I get here? What about my parents? There must be some way to let them know that . . . I'm okay? Isn't there?” Kristabell brushed the tears that came aside and looked imploringly at the old druid, but she was sure that he was refusing to answer her. A look crossed his face. A look of conflict. It was a wounded look. As if he had been pierced by an invisible arrow, and he said, “Let it be. You are safe here. Stay near Rowan. Don't walk the forests alone. There is little that can be done about your situation at present. Just . . . try to rest easy. I know that it is not as simple to do as it is to say.” He looked at her kindly then announced, “Alas, I am an old man and I need my nap. You young people do exhaust me.”