Aloren (33 page)

“The pendant?” he stammered.  “You understand, stealing––that is to say,
requisitioning
, the thing was my only means––you understand––my only means of suppressing the rebellion.  That is to say, my good lords, with the thing gone they might’ve left––

“Left, I’m sure,” said Mordan.  “Or done something much worse.”

“I could think of no other way.  No other way––”

“You do realize what those mercenaries would’ve done had they found out?”

“Let him alone,” I said. 

“Stop sticking your oar in, Mordan,” said Tem. “And you needn’t cry, Reyna, you’re not a little girl.”  (Relief was making me ridiculous.) “But there’s something else I want to address.”

“Rewritten laws,” said Mordan helpfully.  “About weapons.”

“Just another matter of suppressing––without weapons, you understand, suppressing––”

“And had you been successful, our budding Ravyir wouldn’t have got his kick in the arse, would he?”

“Perhaps you ought to read a book on logic, Mordan,” said Tem.

***

After two weeks my feet had healed and Tem allowed for a short trip into the city, provided that he and Mordan accompanied me.  Arin would’ve come too, but he couldn’t run fast enough in a brace.

“Run fast enough?” said Mordan.

“All those girls you spied on,” said Arin.  “They’ll have told their brothers.”

Brace or no, Mordan went and sat on Arin’s head for half an hour. 

We paid a visit to Hal first, who kept two rooms above a shop. It was midday, and a faint wail hung in the stairwell.  It poured out full-force when I opened the door.

Padlimaird stood at a table, making an ill-tempered racket with a milk jug and a bottle.  Strapped in a chair next to him was a little girl.  She was red in the face, twisting back and forth, screaming.  “Here, here, here,” Padlimaird said, giving the bottle to her.  “Domineering as your mam, ain’t you?”  She sucked noisily and laughed when he spread himself into a supine position on the floor.

“Between you two I don’t know which is the baby,” I said. 

He sat up.  “Damned if you know anything. Where you been, Lally?”  Mordan cleared his throat.  “Who are them? Ghostly, ain’t they?”  Padlimaird stood up.  “All got the same eyes.”

“We’re her brothers,” said Mordan.  “You don’t know where Hal is, do you?”

“Out.  Brothers?”  Padlimaird scratched his head.  “Where was you this whole time?”

“Somewhere else,” said Tem.

“Oh,” said Padlimaird.  “What shall I call you?”

“Tem.”  Tem looked at the garret across the way.

“I’d thought it’d be Fleabane or Zinnia.”  Padlimaird chuckled.

“Why are you drawing it out?” I said. “He’s just going to embarrass himself and get cranky.”

“What do you want me to do?” said Tem exasperatedly. “Hand him a calling card? Temmaic Lauriad, pleased to meet you?”

“What’s this?” came Hal’s voice behind us.  “Padlimaird, you in trouble?”  Tem and Mordan turned round.  Hal dropped his fiddle on the floor, and Daira laughed.

Tea was poured (there was little else), and it was late in the night when all our tales were told.

***

In the late spring, when Liskara had finally picked her way back to the palace stables, Tem was crowned King.  There was dancing along the riverfront, bright gowns, dark hair woven with blossoms, and Andrei with his merry brown eyes; and somewhere a voice sang low and loose:

Dara lun, dara lun diorlinga adebry.

Loan, ginder leo, loan gaefed wghl adhe.

Wldhfen sun ginder orchel dur lin aeghl eaor hold

Derreld aeo mass eldha chel llorwy.

Norembrin, lairaded down da ramh elded.

Norembrin, breldaded glain daelded dreid,

Derry breldaded e’ercruin dyd darn enge morda,

Dem mrei ealsa plun twy chelonin dem braid.

Norembrin, graichelded ederidh blwn langad.

Lorena elded ederidh rei ad sor.

Adhe corn elded brinbodh ederent oidey ade,

Wghl bry edidh brin adh e’erdaimh na wot gor
.

***

When the country’s affairs were in order, Calragen sent his contingent across the Daynens to Lorila.  Then he set sail for Evenalehn to appeal for more aid. 

Trid and Andrei went with him, and Floy and I, too.  I wanted out.  Our schooner was named
Aloren
, Starflower, that is, in Gralde, and small breakers split across her keel as we pulled out of the harbor.  Terns circled above.  It was a cold morning but I wasn’t wearing shoes; and presently sun broke through the fog and warmed the deck, where we were sitting.

“Funny,” said Trid, leaning his head against the railing, “how this turned out.”

“Even funnier how Aly looks in a dress,” said Andrei, and I threw my apple core at him.

“Come on.”  I stood up.  “Come on, let’s see who’s really wearing the dress.”

Andrei made as if to rise but Trid grabbed his shirt.  “Let her honk.”

***

Years later, a man from the north told me that somewhere, on a hill overgrown with yews, beneath a small, fruitless rowan, a circle of flowers grew year round.  No one had ever seen them. But it was a pretty tale.

***

Excerpt from Wind Over Bone: Estralony Cycle #2

Sarid pulled the flame off the candle and held it in her fist. The tip poked from her fingers and licked around her thumb. It felt warm and wet, like a breath.

Her fist started shaking, and she held the flame tighter, and using her whole arm, swung it round and round in her hand. The flame elongated, becoming whip-sized. Fire lashed and sparks fell, and she spun the whip furiously, making a white wheel in the air. A shield. The light flooded her body, driving the fear back––a fear so debilitating she was using saebel magic to dispel it.

She heard a noise behind her: a muffled rustling, cloth moving over stone. Her arm slowed and the whip shrank to a flame. Dropping the flame back on the candle, she looked over her shoulder and squinted into the dimness.

Something big and long crawled out of her fireplace.

Her hands leapt from the candle and a wind snuffed it out. The room went soot-black. She breathed so hard and so fast she was dizzy and had to sit. She missed her chair and sat on the ground, and wondered if she’d only imagined it.

But there was something there. It knocked over a table and dropped a heavy weight of books into the rug.

“What’d you blow the light out for?” it said.

A boy. Sarid’s breathing slowed and the feeling came back into her hands. The fireplace was two-sided; the other side opened into a corridor––he must have crawled through.

She reached for the lamp she knew was beneath her chair. She lit it with her hot fingers and raised it over her head.

He looked younger than her, maybe fifteen. Sarid couldn’t very well tell. Boys were strange creatures: growing, not growing, awkward and unable to fit anywhere.

But this one seemed quite comfortable, with his self-assured appraisal of the mess he had made.

“What are you doing here?” she said, standing.

His hand crept up and loosened his shirt collar. “You live in the fireplace?”

“Does this look like a fireplace?”

He glanced back at the hearth. “Looked like a fireplace out in the hall.”

“The flue’s stopped up,” Sarid said. “And these are my rooms. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here,” said the boy, brushing dust off his clothes, “because a pack of wolves is picking off the cattle.” He reached down and righted the table with a hand. “And I called Vanli Pash a coward, who won’t course them with us tomorrow. And now he says he’s going to beat my head in. The thing is”––he fell to re-stacking the books, in the wrong order––“the thing is, he wouldn’t dare, because I’m taller. And I rank him, so I’m saving him some embarrassment.”

“You’re hiding.”

“I’m backing down,” the boy said.

“All right.” Sarid set the lamp on her desk. “But are you planning on spending the night? I’ve only one clean teacup.” She didn’t get much practice at this sort of thing. She looked over at her cups and bowls––one had a small tree growing from it––then down at her clothes. Stains stared out like sores where the overcoat had become unbuttoned.

“You’re offering tea?” the boy said.  “I wouldn’t mind a dirty teacup. Wouldn’t mind a dog dish, actually.” He smiled. “Hard work, backing down.”

Sarid stared. “You can have the clean one.”

She was immediately annoyed with herself. Outside the wind knocked at the walls and a hard snow rattled against the windows. The night was wild, perfect for spellwork, and the fear had plagued her all week. But it was too late, and she decided to make a kettle of elderflower tea.

“Look at that!” said the boy, as she (naturally) lit a fire in an old, dry fountain in the corner of the room. “Am I causing you trouble? I hate to cause trouble.”

“Only a little.” She blew on the smoking straw and the twigs caught fire. “Uncanny in a boy.”

“You’re fairly uncanny yourself, hidden away like this. Why haven’t I seen you before? What’s your name?”

She told him, thinking it harmless.

“Sarid?  That’s the name for a fat girl!  You’re a bunch of bones. Face is pretty, though.”

Sarid didn’t know whether to feel insulted or flattered. She dropped the leaves into the kettle.  This hung above the fire on a rod sticking from the wall: the pipe that used to spout water into the fountain. She stirred the flames with a stick. “You don’t live here year-round. Otherwise you’d know not to bother with me.”

“Gods. What are you that I shouldn’t bother with you? A flesh-eating bauk?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’d ask you, but it’s rude to inquire after family secrets. You’ve probably a saebeline grandfather. Unseelie. Pure malice. You’ve poisoned the tea, I’m sure.” He sat on the ground.

“Too much of anything is poison.” She filled the clean teacup and gave it to him.

“I shall only take two sips, then.” His shadow moved behind him. It was long and black and deep.

She took a pinch of dried yellow petals from a bowl and threw them into his cup. “Drink all of it.”

He eyed the unfurling petals dubiously. “What’s this?”

“Goatweed. Cures sadness.”

“I’m not in the least bit sad.”

“You will be.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve a saebeline grandfather.”

“Will you curse me if I don’t drink this?”

“Drink it.”

“Don’t curse me. I’m potentially very important.”

“You’re already cursed. Drink your tea.”

He drank it, thanked her courteously, and left, more smoothly than he had entered, through the fireplace.

She stood still for a moment, listening.

It was a wonder he’d found her. She was hidden (just like a hungry bauk) in an abandoned part of the hall, far from whispers and prying eyes.

She bent and picked up the cup he’d left on the floor. Her hands trembled and turned cold; she couldn’t feel where her fingers stopped and the cup began. She dropped it.

It shattered into three big shards and a thousand little ones, and instead of going for a broom she backed away and sat down in a chair. Her heart beat violently and her hands and legs shook in big jerks. Her candle spellwork had done nothing, had flickered and gone out. The fear was back. Irrational, completely irrational––the worst kind. She couldn’t find the source to stem it. She could only cure the symptoms.

And so she decided, after a few hours of spinning sleeplessly under her dusty sheets, that she would go get herself a wolf bite.

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Books in the Estralony Cycle Series:

Aloren

Wind Over Bone