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Their expressions turned dark. They didn’t like being mocked. At that moment, Magda didn’t much care.
“You know why we’re here,” Cadell said in an even tone. “It is a small duty, but an important one that demonstrates our respect for our heritage. It shows people that even in such times, tradition still has meaning to every one of our people, even those in high places. Sometimes, ceremony is essential for the continued cohesion of society.”
Councilman Sadler’s bony fingers fidgeted with the sky blue band of rank sewn on the sleeves of his black robes. “It demonstrates to people that there is continuity of the ways that have been handed down to us, that the customs of our people, that the practices that govern civilization itself, still matter and will not be abandoned.”
Magda glared at the man a moment before turning her back on them and sitting on the chair before the table.
“Do it, then,” she said in a voice finally gone lifeless and empty. “Carry out your critical custom. And then leave me be.”
What did it matter anymore?
Without another word one of the men pulled out a bloodred ribbon and handed it to her over her shoulder. Magda held it a moment, feeling the silken material in her fingers.
“This is not something we take pleasure in doing,” Cadell said quietly from behind her. “I hope you can understand that.”
“You are a good woman, and have always been a proper wife to the First Wizard,” Sadler said, his words rambling on, apparently in an attempt to cover his obvious discomfort. “This is merely an upholding of custom that gives people a sense of order. Because of your high standing as the wife of the First Wizard, they expect us in this case, as the Central Council, to see this done. It’s more for them, really, that they might see that our ways endure, and thus, despite the perils of the times, we will endure as well. Think of it as a formality in which you play an important role.”
Magda hardly heard him. It didn’t really matter. None of it did. An inner voice whispered promises of the loving embrace of the good spirits awaiting her beyond the veil of life. Her husband, too, would be there waiting for her. Those whispers were reassuring, seductive.
She was only distantly aware of her hands gathering her long hair together in the back and tying it tightly with the ribbon near the base of her skull.
“Not that short,” Cadell said as his fingers gently took hers away and slipped the ribbon down until it was just below the tops of her shoulders. “Though you may not have been born noble, you have proven yourself in your own right to be a woman of some standing, and besides, you are, after all, still the widow of the First Wizard.”
Magda sat stiff and still with her hands nested in her lap as another man used a razor-sharp knife to slice through the thick rope of her hair just above the ribbon.
When it was done, Cadell placed the long hank of hair, tied just beneath the fresh cut with the red ribbon, in her lap.
“I’m sorry, Magda,” he said, “I truly am. Please believe that this does not change the way we feel about you.”
Magda lifted the length of brown hair and stared at it. The hair didn’t really matter to her. What mattered was being judged by it, or by the lack of it, rather than by what she had made of herself. She knew that without the long hair she would likely no longer have standing to be heard before the council.
That was just the way it was.
What mattered most to her was that those whose causes she brought before the council would no longer have her voice to speak for them. That meant that there were creatures without an advocate who very well might die out and cease to exist.
That was what having her hair cut short meant to her, that she no longer had the standing needed to help those she had come not merely to respect, but to love.
Magda handed the severed hair back over her shoulder to Elder Cadell. “Have it placed where people will see it so they might know that order has been restored, that tradition and customs endure.”
“As you wish, Lady Searus.”
With her place in the world now corrected, the six councilmen finally left her alone to the gloomy room and her bleak thoughts.
Chapter 5
Warm summer air rising up the towering outer Keep wall and spilling over onto the rampart ruffled Magda’s shortened hair, pulling strands around in front of her face. As she made her way along the deserted rampart, she reached up and drew her hair back. It felt strange, foreign, to her touch now that it only just brushed her shoulders rather than going down to the small of her back.
A lot of people, women mostly, paid very close attention to the length of a woman’s hair because, while not always absolute, length was a fairly accurate indication of their relative social standing and thus their importance. Ingratiating oneself to the right person could bring benefits. Crossing the wrong person could bring trouble. Hair length was a valuable marker.
Being the wife of the First Wizard meant wearing her hair longer than most women. It also meant that many women with shorter hair often fawned over her. Magda never took such flattery seriously, but she tried to always be gracious about it. She knew it was not her, but her position, that drew the interest of most of them.
To Magda, having not been born noble, her long hair had merely been a way to open doors, to get an audience and be heard on matters important to her. She had cared about Baraccus, not how long she was allowed to grow her hair simply because she was married to him. While she had come to like the look of it on her, she didn’t attach worth to that which she had not earned.
Since her long hair had begun to be a part of her life for the year Baraccus had courted her and the two years since she had been married to him, she had thought that she might miss it.
She didn’t, really. She only missed him.
Her grand wedding to Baraccus seemed forever ago. She had been so young. She still was, she supposed.
With the long hair gone, in a way it felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders in more ways than one. She no longer had a responsibility to live up to what others expected of her. She was herself again, her real self, not a person defined by an artificial mark of worth.
To an extent, she also felt a sense of liberation from her standing, from the need to act in a manner befitting her place as others saw it. Now, she had no place, no standing. She was in a way free of the prison of standing. But none of that mattered now, for far more important reasons than the length of her hair.
Baraccus had given her a new life because of what they meant to each other. Without him she had no life. Her standing didn’t really matter in that equation.
Reaching the right spot, the spot forever burned into her memory, Magda stepped up into the opening in the massive, crenellated outer Keep wall. She inched out toward the edge. Beyond the toes of her boots peeking out from under her skirts, the dark stone of the wall dropped away for thousands of feet. Below the foundation of the Keep, the cliff dropped even farther to the ledges and boulders below. Feathery tufts of clouds drifted along the cliff walls beneath her. It was a frightening, dizzying place to stand.
Magda felt small and insignificant up on the top edge of the towering wall. The wind at times was strong enough to threaten to lift her from her perch. She imagined that it might even carry her away like a leaf in the wind.
The beautiful city of Aydindril lay spread out below, flowing across rolling hills that spilled from the foot of the mountain. Green fields surrounded the city, and out beyond them lay dense forests. From its place high on the mountain, the monolithic Wizard’s Keep stood watch over the mother city sparkling like a jewel set in that verdant carpet.
Magda could see men leading horses and wagons as they returned from their work in the fields. Smoke rose from chimneys all across the valley as women prepared the evening meal for their families. Slow-moving crowds, visiting markets, shops, or going about their work, made their way through the tangled net of streets.
While she could see the activity, she heard none of the hooves
of the horses, the rumble of wagons, the cry of street vendors. From this distance the lofty world up at the Keep was silent but for the calls of birds wheeling overhead and the sound of the wind over ramparts and around the towers.
Magda had always thought of the Keep, more than anything, as mute. Though hundreds of people lived and worked in the enormous stone fortress, went about their lives, raised families, were born, lived, and died there, the Keep itself witnessed it all in brooding silence. The dark presence of the place stoically watched centuries and lives come and go.
These massive battlements where she stood had watched her husband’s life end. This was the very spot where he had stood in the last precious moments of his life.
She thought, fleetingly, that she didn’t want to follow him, but the whispers from the back of her mind overwhelmed those doubts. What else was there for her?
Magda looked out at the world spread out far below, knowing that this was what he would have seen as he stood in this very place. She tried to imagine the thoughts he must have wrestled with in his last moments of life.
She wondered if he thought of her in those last moments, or if some terrible, weighty matter had taken even that from him.
