Starborn

by Katie MacAlister

  “The queen is a prisoner there,” he answered idly, wondering if his score of men would be enough to take the moonstone if Jalas refused to give it up. “I will not suffer her to remain in the company of the captain of the Harborym when it is within my ability to free her.”

  “You will not get the stone from my father by force,” she said, her pale gaze holding his. “He may play at being frail, but he is as strong as the stones of this keep. There is help available, though…for a price.”

  Israel fought the desire to snap out an irritated response. “What price?” he asked, his voice as grim as his soul.

  For the first time in all the years that Israel had known Idril, she smiled, really smiled, an expression that revealed not just mirth, but satisfaction. It lit up her face, and gave him a glimmer of what had ensnared his son. “Me. You must take me with you to Eris.”

  That was the last thing he had expected her to say. “You? With all due respect, Lady Idril, Eris is not a place for a gently born woman. It is a shadowland, one beset by Harborym, and filled with priests who perform blood magic.”

  “Nonetheless, that is my price. I will help you acquire the stone, but I must be allowed to travel to Eris.”

  “Why?” he asked, but knew the answer even as the word left his lips. The light in her face faded when she turned to pour out another goblet of wine.

  “The queen is not the only one who suffers in Eris,” was all she said, but it was enough.

  Israel reluctantly agreed. He had no intention of letting Idril put herself at risk by traveling with him to Eris, but he would address that issue later, once he had the stone in his possession, and Hallow had the other two.

  For now, this was enough. It had to be. There was simply no other way to save Dasa and Deo.

  Chapter 5

  “I can’t say that I think much of Cape Despair.” The fetid smell of swamp wafted over us via a short-lived breeze. I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t imagine that anyone actually chooses to live here.”

  Hallow eyed the trees that dripped with both wetness and long streamers of slimy-looking vines. “It certainly isn’t very pre-possessing, but who knows? Perhaps Aldmarsh is as delightful as this area is vile.”

  A rotund, furry animal the size of a small gourd, piebald copper and white, stumbled across the road, weaved dramatically, then fell over onto its back, the four little feet at the end of its chubby legs waving in a desultory manner.

  “Even the bumblepigs are depressed about being here,” I said, halting Buttercup to dismount and check on the little creature. We were riding, having left the cart at Peer’s Mill, the town half a day’s ride to the north. I prodded the bumblepig. It squeaked and waved its feet again. I sighed. “Sorry, little fellow, I’d like to take you out of this miserable place, but we already have a pet, and even if a wooden bird inhabited by a spirit isn’t as demanding as a living beast, we are likely going into battle. You’re safer here.” I righted the bumblepig and guided it off the road and into the shrubs that lined the verge. It waddled off looking morose.

  Hallow looked up from a journal where he’d sketched a copy of a map. “Aldmarsh should be just over the rise.”

  “Good. I don’t think I could remain here for long without losing my will to live.” I popped Buttercup on the nose when she tried to nip me, quickly remounting before she could raise a ruckus. “What are we going to do if Quinn isn’t there?”

  “The captain of the guard said he would be.” Hallow’s face was grimmer than I had seen it in some months.

  “Mmhmm. And the mayor of Peer’s Mill says he’s never heard the name. Ugh. This place makes me feel like I need a hot bath to wash off all the stickiness.”

  “As pleasant as the mayor was, I am putting my faith in Exodius and the captain of the guard. Neither has any reason to deceive us. What are you doing?”

  My hands danced in the air. Although I’d been a priest at the temple of Kiriah Sunbringer since I was three summers old, I had never been the most studious of pupils. Not until I left the priesthood to bind myself to Hallow, that is…and then encouraged by the amount of time he spent studying his inherited library, I’d looked into some of blessings and protections that had fallen into disuse. “That volume you said that Exodius must have stolen from my temple referenced a benison that offered protection against shadow beings.”

  Hallow didn’t look as impressed as I felt he should. “Are we likely to encounter such beings in Aldmarsh?”

  “You never know,” I said darkly as I finished drawing the symbols of protection on him and began to draw them over myself. “This place is so miserable, it wouldn’t surprise me to find Shadowborn, the old ones who walked Alba before man, and a samartxiki or two hanging around waiting to pounce on us. Ugh. This swamp is decidedly not in Kiriah’s favor.” I shivered despite the cloying air.

  “We should know in a few minutes, although I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of samartxiki.”

  I smiled to myself. Hallow had an insatiable curiosity, and was always pleased to tuck away any random bit of information he happened upon. “Do you not have legends of them in Penhallow? The older priests used to mention them to the initiates when we were young and didn’t have the gravity of spirit that they desired. They used to tell us of how the samartxiki were born in the deepest hours of the night and grew up in the shadows of chestnut trees, hiding themselves until an unwary person passed too close. Then they would leap out and bite at them with teeth like those of a saw. They were supposed to be particularly fond of children who shirked their duties in order to do more pleasurable things.”

  He grinned at me. “Why do I suspect they had a particular initiate in mind when telling that story?”

  “Because you’re a smart man who has the most adorable eye crinkles, and you’ve met Sandor, all of which means you know that I spent more time hunting for rabbits and birds than I did on my knees next to Sandor in prayer.”

  “For which I’m thankful on a daily basis—ah, there, see?” He reined in Penn for a moment when we crested a slight hill. Below us, a small town sprawled drunkenly along the shoreline. There were a few ships bobbing out to sea, no doubt local fisherman, while further out a larger ship was anchored near a sand bar. The houses themselves—more shacks than actual houses—straggled crookedly, and the sound of the surf and sea birds gave the whole place a curiously desolate air. “It’s…uh…it’s…”

  “Horrible. That house on the end is leaning so far over, it looks like it might collapse. And is that a dead samartxiki in the road? This is just the sort of area where I’d expect to find them strewn hither and yon.”

  Hallow pursed his lips as I pointed to a blob in the path winding down to Aldmarsh. The shape lay on its back, four stiff legs pointing skyward, where high clouds hid Kiriah’s light from the land. I had a feeling Kiriah preferred it that way.

  “That, my heart, is a dead cow, not a saw-toothed shadow-dwelling monster,” he said, pressing his heels to Penn. The horse started forward reluctantly, and Buttercup followed.

  “Also the sort of thing I’d expect to find here,” I said, glancing around me with suspicion. “Even the animals don’t want to be here.”

  “Cows die of natural causes, Allegria. Houses lean. And foul airs sometime come up from the ground, making a miasma of decay that permeates everything. There is nothing here that suggests a bad omen,” he said with a little laugh.

  I sniffed and made a face as we approached the town. “What in the name of the twin goddesses is that? The dead cow? It smells like a hundred rotting corpses. And this cow did not die naturally. Just look at its expression.”

  Hallow glanced down as we skirted the dead animal. He said nothing, but pulled the staff from his back and rested it on the toe of his booted foot as we entered the town of Aldmarsh proper. A couple of women stood together with baskets on their arms, watching us with a despairing sense of acceptance that ma
de the fine hairs on my arms rise.

  “Blessings of the goddesses,” Hallow greeted the ladies politely.

  They didn’t respond, but watched us dismount with flat, hopeless eyes.

  “We’re looking for a man named Quinn,” I told the ladies and sketched a couple of general protection runes on them, a normal practice for a priest, but one that felt oddly out of place here. I could feel Kiriah’s presence, but it seemed distant, as if the sun was swaddled. “Could you tell us where he lives?”

  “There is no one of that name here,” one of the women said. Her voice was as lifeless as her eyes.

  “Are you sure? Sometimes he’s called Quinn the Mad.” Both ladies shook their heads. “Ah. Well, may Kiriah’s benevolence shine upon you.” I drew another rune on them, feeling they needed it.

  Hallow said nothing as we turned and led our mounts down the rutted muddy track that was the main street in Aldmarsh. Faint movement of pale faces in glassless windows dissolved into darkness as the inhabitants, having seen us, returned to their cheerless lives. There were no children playing or running around, no animals save for a few scraggly chickens huddled in uncomfortable-looking lumps, and no sound but that of the sea.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked Hallow when he stopped in front of one of the shacks. This one had a fishing net swaying gently from the craggy line of broken tile on the roof, pegged out along the side of the house, no doubt to dry. The breeze from the water did little to dissipate the horrible stench that seemed to come from the ground itself.

  He nodded toward the house. “We’re going to find out who lives here.”

  “Why here?” I asked, my back itchy with the sensation of unseen watchers.

  “Look at the net. Do you see the knife tacking it to the wall of the house?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Look closer.” I let him take the reins from me so he could tie up his horse and Buttercup, eyeing the knife. It was small, almost as small as an eating knife, the blade scarred, but not rusted. The handle bore a golden tree on a background of white…the symbol of Lord Israel.

  “You think this is the man we want?” I asked when Hallow knocked on the door.

  “The captain said Quinn the Mad had seen more battles than I could conceive of—clearly, the owner of that knife has served under or with Lord Israel, and just as clearly, he is someone with whom we should speak.” He took my hand, his fingers curling around mine in a way that had me wishing we were back home, cuddled up together in bed, with no demands on us but the need to drive each other wild with touches and kisses, and the particular way his whiskers tickled my inner thighs when he—

  “Allegria?”

  “Hmm?” With an effort, I pulled my mind to the present. While I had been distracted, Hallow had led me around the shack to the back, where we found three chairs positioned next to a small stack of barrels and a couple of broken crates. On one of the chairs a man was seated with a net that spilled out across his lap and down onto the brown sand. Next to him, perched on one of the crates, a girl of about six sat cross legged, a dirty red cloth doll sitting next to her. “Oh. Er…greetings and blessings to you both.”

  The man had been eyeing Hallow and now turned his attention to me. He appeared to be of middling age, with black hair that brushed his shoulders, a black goatee, and a raised scar on one cheek that looked like the letter T. “Really? That’s generous of you, especially since I don’t know you. What sort of blessings do you offer? The useless sort flung around by priests and their ilk, or something more substantial involving coin or ale? Preferably both, possibly with a warm, bosomy alewench thrown in as well. I do like a good bosomy alewench.”

  Hallow bowed, his eyes alight with humor. “Alas, we have neither alewenches, nor coin, although I do have a few skins of a particularly nice wine back in Peer’s Mill that I am willing to share with you. I assume you are Quinn?”

  “Name’s Ramswell. That’s Dexia.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, his gaze on my breasts until I crossed my arms.

  “Hello,” the little girl said with obvious diffidence. She was attempting to force a bit of grey cloth onto her doll. She had nondescript brown hair scraped back into two tight pigtails, and slightly protuberant blue eyes that reminded me of a pet bumblepig that used to be kept by one of the senior priests.

  “That’s a very pretty doll you have,” I lied, smiling at her. “Does she have a name?”

  “She’s not a doll,” Dexia said with a scornful curl of her lip. “Her name is Retribution, and she’s a device I fashioned from bits of cloth, hair, and fingernails. I’m cursing Grimalka, the butcher’s daughter, because she ate our goat, and now we have no milk. I like milk. I’m going to curse Grimalka so that her head shrivels up until it’s no bigger than a potato, and then all will know about her despicable acts, and men will shun her, and she will be driven from the town and forced to live in the cave to the east where spirits of the unshriven will torment her until she swims out to sea and becomes food for the eels. I also like eels.”

  I stared in mingled horror and surprise at the child for a moment, then slid a glance toward Hallow. He didn’t seem to have heard since he was introducing us to Ramswell. “We come from Kelos seeking one named Quinn the Mad. Our business with him is most urgent. Naturally, we will reward those who help us find him, as well as the man himself.”

  “So, there’s no ale?” Ramswell looked crestfallen.

  “I’m afraid not, no,” Hallow answered.

  “And the priest with the big—” He made a gesture with both hands. “She looks like she’s worth the time to get to know those breasts.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “She is not available either,” Hallow told him, a corner of his mouth twitching. “Although I will add that her bosom is plentiful and definitely worth your time. Well, my time since she’d probably gut you if you tried to investigate her tunic.”

  I punched Hallow on the arm.

  He cleared his throat. “We seem to have gotten off the subject. We need either Quinn or the precious object he holds.”

  Ramswell shrugged, and began darning the net again. “Can’t help you.”

  “Are you sure?” Hallow asked, his voice persuasive. “Quinn has knowledge about a moonstone that we have been sent to retrieve by the former master of Kelos, a runeseeker of the name Exodius.”

  That was stretching the truth a little bit, but I was all for doing whatever it took to get the stone, so we could rescue Deo and the queen.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ramswell said evenly.

  “And yet you have a knife that originated in the company of Lord Israel of Aryia, and you bear the mark of a thief,” Hallow said softly. “That coupled with the fact that you are literally at the most distant spot on Genora leads me to believe that perhaps there is something you might tell us.”

  “I’m a simple alewench-loving fisherman,” Ramswell said, his brows pulling together. He continued to mend the net on his lap, but his movements were jerky as he stabbed into the tangled line. “My life is not complicated. I drink. I fish. I buy goats when they get eaten by the butcher’s daughter. She has an upper story that is impressive, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the priest’s. There is nothing more to me, so if you have no ale, and the priest isn’t interested in a tumble, then you can be on your way.”

  “Or you could bring us a goat,” Dexia said, sliding off the barrel. She knelt at the cold remains of a fire, and smeared ashy fingers across her doll, leaving behind symbols that made me feel as if I was standing in the deepest part of night, naked, alone, and chilled to the very center of my being. “We could use another goat. Maybe two.”

  “Two goats are always better than no goats,” Ramswell allowed after a moment’s thought. Then he grinned, the change of his expression making me want to smile back at him. “But an alewench is better still. Are you sure the priest
with the impressive frontage wouldn’t like me to show her how I—”

  “My wife is not available for tumbling by anyone but me,” Hallow said, his lips thinning.

  I giggled. I couldn’t deny that there was a certain roguish attractiveness to Ramswell, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Hallow. He would simply add him to the list of men to whom he referred as my boyfriends, and would bring him up with obnoxious frequency, as he so often did with Deo.

  “I would be happy to procure a goat for you and your daughter if you would tell me of the moonstone,” Hallow continued. “Or where I might locate Quinn.”

  “I am now done talking with you,” Ramswell said, setting aside the net and standing to stretch. “My bladder is making demands on me, and you’re doing nothing but repeating yourself. You admit you have no goat or ale, and your wife—” he made sure to mimic the emphasis Hallow had put on the word. “—is too well armed for me to attempt to woo her with my boyish charm and devil-may-care attitude without risking life, limb, or both my bollocks, all of which I enjoy, so I will say to you both good day, fare thee well, and get the hell out of my yard.”

  Ramswell strode away to what looked like a ramshackle privy tucked behind a large oak tree.

  “What do you think?” I asked Hallow in a soft voice. I needn’t have bothered—Dexia was now on her knees, the doll before her as she chanted what I had a horrible feeling was a potent curse over it, and no doubt was paying scant attention to us.

  Hallow sighed and put his hand on my back, gently pushing me toward the privy. “I think we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

  “There’s not a truth spell or something you can cast on him?” I asked.

  “Master Nix insisted they were more trouble than they were worth, and never taught them to me,” he said with a wry smile.

  “Maybe not, but you’ve spent the last ten months going through Exodius’s belongings. You can’t tell me there wasn’t a truth spell or two documented somewhere in all those moldy journals.”