The Riversource

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

Or rather, it finally ran forwards, according to the laws that govern other rivers— the Queen’s magic had kept it rebelling against gravity since before the earliest memories of the eldest townsfolk. In all of their grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ stories, the river churned improbably uphill.

Most of the time folks forgot to appreciate this testament to their Queen’s might, forgot that their river was even unusual, until some young mage returned from an apprenticeship in the mountains and galloped down to its bank in awe. Oh!, they’d exclaim, Look at the river! It flows up, it climbs! How remarkable! And they’d splash about in bare feet, and their siblings would ask all about these other rivers, and the adults would smile to themselves a moment. Oh, that’s right, our river. Our river is special.

No one remembered why the river climbed up the hillside. No one alive knew what an unenchanted river carried into the village, until the Queen vanished and the river fell.

* * * * *

Rory lost 3 deer that morning without even letting an arrow loose. The last one lifted her tawny head and bolted from 200 paces out, and even she couldn’t make that shot without setting up for it. When she swore under her breath, she realized why the deer were clocking her so early. Her oath reached her ears – usually her muttering was drowned out by the sound of the river, just out of eyeshot through the poplars. At first she tried to adjust her path, avoiding the brush that gave her better cover but more noise, and hugging the larger treetrunks and their bare earth skirts. But the sound kept waning, and the sudden quiet jostled all the nerves in the forest, including Rory’s.

Before the morning fog burned off, the sound disappeared altogether, then began again, quickly growing to a roar.

Without game to clean, Rory made it back to the square in time for the Changing of the Guard and Morning News. Of course, without game to trade, there would normally be no reason for her to stop in the square – anything that mattered, and a lot that didn’t, Deene would fill her in over supper. But she couldn’t wait until supper.

In the square, the townsfolk chattered and speculated and cawed and cursed almost as loud as the newly-rushing river. Trappers lamented losing their catch when the river slowed down, and their traps when it sped up again. At least three mothers had lost the family’s laundry. The millers had watched their wheels slow and reverse, then leap from their axles as the weight of crashing water overwhelmed them. A few cradled the shards of treated wood against their bosom. Others shoved the shattered remains in the faces of anyone they could reach, demanding to know how the town would survive without power. The air crackled like there might be a street dance or a brawl. Rory wished she’d checked her bow at the storehouse.

The chapel bell clanged, and the first of the Sun Guard stepped out from behind the stables. Clang. Every face in the square turned toward the line of dapple-gray horses, each carrying a soldier in shimmering blue dress uniform. Clang. The crowd whispered and shushed each other almost as loudly as they’d been talking. Clang. The third horse in line whinnied softly, and his soldier twisted the reins in his hand. Clang. Clang. Clang. A shrill cry from another horse cut through the silence in the square. Eight magnificent steeds carrying eight of the castle’s best soldiers should have come around the corner of the alehouse and stood facing their counterparts, but the Night Guard was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, a young, sweaty roan carried a young, sweaty stablehand at full gallop and stopped gracelessly in front of the lead Sun Guard soldier. The hand clambered off the yearling’s back, then gestured to the soldier, who shook his head so slightly no one would have noticed, had anyone been paying attention to anything else at all. After a charades battle that would have been embarrassing at a school picnic, the stablehand climbed back onto the horse and leaned over to whisper to the soldier. Irritation at the indignity quickly left the soldier’s face, along with most of the color. He drew his sword and pointed it to the sky, then straight ahead, and the Sun Guard left the square with a soft cloud of dust and unease.

The stablehand watched them canter past with eyes like a housecat’s, too big and too bright, flitting after an invisible mouse it has no hope to catch. His body seemed unable to agree how to cope with the situation – his shoulders slumped further and further down, as if hoping to hide in the crowd, while his neck craned and swerved back and forth, searching for someone else to tell. Judge Rider and a newspaperman named Benny finally rescued him, guided him from the horse for the second time, and huddled together to hear his news.

Their backs stiffened, and Rory almost shouted out. Just tell us! she thought, Whatever it is can’t be worse than... But she stopped herself. It absolutely could be worse. Something in the forest that morning had been…wrong. More than just the river, more than just the quiet, and the animals… There was something too light about the air, almost slippery–like her breath used less effort to take in, but it also didn’t want to stay in her lungs–like her soul wasn’t quite tethered to her body, and she might lose it if she weren’t careful.

Judge Rider had stepped onto the Morning News podium and raised his hand as if to quiet the crowd, but it must have been out of habit – the square was silent except for the roiling of the river, normally imperceptible from the square but now clear and full. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and delivered the stablehand’s news.

The castle was empty. The Queen was gone.

Panic. The river was an omen, of course, a sign—the kingdom was doomed, cursed, under attack from a rival king or an evil sorcerer who’d captured their dear queen and sabotaged their energy mills, and would surely be back for worse. The townsfolk hollered over each other with wild theories of destruction and to ask questions for which no one had answers. Where had she gone? When? What about the Night Guard? What do we do now?

“So why did the queen switch the river?”

No one remembered why the river climbed up the hillside. No one alive knew what an unenchanted river carried into the village.

They would find out soon.