Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  Eastwards they journeyed through the forest, using the shadows cast by the sun to guide them. Occasionally there were paths to follow, but more often she made her way through the spongy undergrowth, away from prying eyes. The weight of Findar and the bag caused a deep ache in her back and shoulders. She had to rest frequently, her muscles shaking with fatigue.

  Findar, mercifully, had been well-behaved and placid, but one morning he staged a protest. He did not reach up to his sister as she prepared to put him in his sling. Instead, he wriggled and writhed, screaming and wailing, until she was forced to set him down upon the ground again. He sat and fixed his blue eyes questioningly upon her, as if to ask the meaning of all these wanderings. Where was the castle? And where was his twin? Or at least that was what Zastra imagined he was thinking. Not sure what to do, she waited until Findar had cried himself quiet. Yet still he looked at her in unspoken protest.

  ‘I’m sorry Findar,’ she said. ‘I wish things were different too, but we can’t just stay here. We must go on.’ Findar cocked his head as if trying to comprehend. He must have understood something in the tone of her voice, as he did not protest as she gently lifted him into the sling and headed off. He did not repeat the performance again.

  In the evenings, when she could walk no further, Zastra set camp. She had not dared to set a fire for the first few nights in case the Riverford migaradon should spot them. As they moved deeper into the forest she gained more courage. She was soon well practised in using the fire-ring. Hedrik had packed her a large supply of oats and she made the porridge as she had been taught. It took her a few attempts to master the art, and neither undercook nor burn it, but eventually she could rustle up a bowl with some degree of confidence. It was not up to the standard of the castle kitchens, but it was warm and edible and that was enough. Every morning, stiff and sore, she was roused by the sound of Findar crying. Her feet collected more and more blisters, and each footstep had to be willed.

  She struggled on, each day merging into the next, as interminable as the forest that stretched out ahead of her. Yet the days, painful as they were, were no match for the nights. Zastra found sleep hard to come by, plagued by nightmare visions of flying beasts, falling bodies and floating faces of the dead. She would shudder herself awake, briefly thinking she had woken up in her room in Golmer Castle, ready for a morning of lesson, only to find herself still inside the nightmare. Her baby sister also haunted her. The guilt of leaving Kastara was almost constant, this pain much worse than the mere physical pain of blistered feet and sore limbs. Perhaps Hedrik and Bodel had been right – a thirteen-year-old girl carrying two babies together would have been like waving a flag in the air. She reviewed the terrible choice, unable to decide if it had been the right one. Not knowing whether Kastara was safe was a constant torture.

  To make matters worse, their food supply was running low. Water was plentiful, as the forest was fed by numerous streams. This was fortunate, since the air in the forest grew hot and sticky during the day, and Zastra was always thirsty. However, the bread and meat had long gone. Although she looked out for nuts and fruit as Hedrik had taught her, she saw none that she recognised. She began to ration the oats, gnawing hunger adding itself to her other aches and pains.

  One afternoon, they came across a large bush laden with greenish nuts. In desperation she wolfed them down despite their bitter taste. She regretted it later, as her stomach cramped, and she was sick, leaving her weak and lightheaded. That night, after she had settled Findar down, she fingered the few coins Hedrik had given her, hidden in the lining of her jacket. Tomorrow, she must find a town or village where she could beg or buy food. It was a risk, but a necessary one. The next morning, she used their last handful of oats. There was only enough porridge for Findar, but at least it kept him quiet. By consulting the map, she reckoned that if they left the forest to the south they should come across a main road, upon which they must surely find a village.

  It was almost noon before the trees began to thin out and she found herself looking down onto an open valley. Shielding her eyes from the harsh midday sun, bright after the shade of the trees, she scanned the sky and to her relief saw no sign of migaradons. On the floor of the valley below a track ran alongside a large stream. Distant wagons crawled along it, looking like toys. They were moving toward a large village, and Zastra decided to head in the same direction. Her heart began to race. It seemed an age since she had last been near people, and the idea of being looked at, or talked to, made her nervous. As she got closer, she made out the glint of metal and the uniforms of soldiers, but there was nothing for it; they must have food or starve. She had fooled the soldiers before. She only hoped she could do it again.

  In a happy coincidence, they had stumbled upon market day. Zastra sneaked into the village via an unguarded side path. The soldiers, mainly Kyrgs, were preoccupied in stopping and searching the wagons as they came in along the main road. The nearness and bustle of the crowds was strange at first, after so many days of lone travelling and for a while Zastra contented herself with observing and listening. Lost in the crowd, no one paid any attention to a dishevelled, scrawny-looking youth.

  ‘What kind of price is that for a loaf of bread?’ a woman was protesting. The stall keeper shrugged.

  ‘Ten percent of all my goods taken,’ he complained. ‘That’s before I’ve even sold anything. And my carthorses have been impounded by the royal guards, so I’ve had to pay to borrow some.’ He looked surreptitiously around before spitting on the ground. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is these days.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got four mouths to feed. At your prices we’ll have nothing by the end of the week. Come, I’ll give you a quarter tocrin for two loaves.’

  ‘Sorry, but I’ve littluns of my own. The price stands.’

  ‘Gouging flekk. I’ll go elsewhere,’ said the woman as she stomped off.

  ‘Good luck,’ muttered the stall keeper turning his head towards the watching Zastra.

  ‘Well? Are you going to buy, or just gawp, lad?’

  Zastra purchased a loaf of bread and a couple of fresh rolls, stuffing the rolls hungrily into her mouth as she continued down the market. Everyone was complaining about the price of food. Soldiers were constantly patrolling and Zastra could feel the touch on her mind that indicated a mindweaver was in the area. She looked around anxiously, but it was impossible to see past the wall of people who surrounded her. Suddenly, a gap opened in the crowd and she spotted a black-robed figure only a few yards away. The mindweaver. It was a man, judging by his build. Fortunately, he had his back to her and she ducked through the crowd, away from the figure, not daring to glance back. She wasted no time in making their other purchases. Not for the first time, she whispered silent thanks to Hedrik. Seeing the haggling and half-empty baskets of the country people made her realise what a generous gift his few tocrins had been. She was able to replenish their supplies and even purchase some milk as a treat for Findar. Her brother drank it greedily. She looked longingly at a stall filled with cakes and sweets, but they were expensive. Reluctantly, she decided they could not afford to use their precious funds for such things. Her backpack full, she headed towards the eastern exit of the village, eager to escape the crowds and return to the relative safety of the forest. She was twenty paces from the edge of the village when she felt a strange creeping feeling, as if she was being watched. She whirled round. Not ten paces away, two men sat perched in a smart two-horse trap. Closest to her was a man with a thin, neat beard, elegantly dressed in a bright yellow tunic. He was watching her closely. Somehow, she knew he was laughing at her, although his face was inscrutable. Stunned, she realised he must be in her head and as the realisation came, she identified the tell-tale touch in her mind. She didn’t know how she could have missed it. The touch was somehow different, more delicate than any she had felt before. She nudged her cap lower over her head, the echo of silent laughter roiling in her mind. Had he been able to get through her defences? Did he know who sh
e was? All she knew was they had to leave, and quickly.

  ‘Oy, lad, watch where you’re going!’ a harsh voice shouted, as she clattered into a burly frame. The jolt loosened the sling and Findar began to wail.

  ‘Sorry,’ Zastra mumbled, without stopping. A pair of grimy hands reached out at her, seeking to tear Findar from her grasp.

  ‘My own dear boy!’ a wild-eyed woman was yelling. She was emaciated, dirt ingrained in her skin and fingernails. ‘You’ve stolen my boy. Give ‘im back. Give ‘im back now.’

  ‘No!’ protested Zastra with instant vehemence. ‘You crazy woman, leave us alone.’

  But the wild woman continued to paw at them and Zastra could not shake her off.

  A man stepped in. ‘What’s going on?’ he said.

  ‘My boy, my baby boy. They’ve stolen my baby boy,’ wailed the woman.

  ‘He’s not hers,’ protested Zastra. ‘He’s my brother – she’s mad.’

  Drawn by the noise, a pair of Kyrginites bustled over, the crowd parting to let them through. As they arrived, an older woman came over and gently drew the wild woman away from Zastra.

  ‘There, my dear, he’s not your boy. Your boy is dead – they killed him, remember? Let this poor lad be.’

  The woman stared blankly up at the old lady, the wildness leaking out of her eyes to be replaced by emptiness. She allowed herself to be led away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered the old lady. ‘The soldiers came to examine her baby and when she wouldn’t let go of him, they killed him. It weren’t more than two days ago. She’s been distraught ever since, keeps thinking she sees her littlun.’

  Zastra’s relief in their deliverance was short-lived.

  ‘You there, boy. Take your cap off. Let’s have a look at you. And let me see that baby.’ A Kyrginite glowered down at them and Zastra reluctantly scraped the cap off her head. The Kyrg reached out a hand and lifted her chin, tilting his head as he made close examination of her face, particularly her eyes. Without removing his gaze, he called over his shoulder to those behind him.

  ‘I think we’ve got something here. Come and see.’

  A sinkhole plunged through Zastra’s stomach, removing air from her lungs, and strength from her limbs. It was over. That stupid crazy woman had ruined it for them.

  A gasp came from the crowd, a collective inhalation as if it had been dealt a firm body blow. To her astonishment, the Kyrg in front of Zastra crumpled to the floor. One by one, the other Kyrgs collapsed in a similar manner.

  ‘Here!’ The man in the yellow tunic was looking down at her from the trap, arm extended, his companion barely holding the skittering pair of horses at bay.

  ‘Come, I’ve made them sleep, but not for long. Hurry, girl!’

  Zastra didn’t hesitate. She clambered into the back of the trap, which was half filled with boxes and chests, and was sent sprawling to the hard floor as the energetic horses were released, the trap almost overturning in the haste of their departure. Behind her the crowd gathered around the fallen Kyrgs. A hooded figure burst from the crowd. It was the black-cloaked mindweaver. The hood obscured his face, but she felt his shaded eyes glaring at her.

  Zastra… a voice echoed in her head. The mindweaver knew her name. She shuddered, crying out in fear as the black figure began to chase after them. She felt another strong probe attack her mind before they rounded a corner and left the village and the mindweaver behind them. She clung tightly to the side of the trap, expecting another attack on her defences at any moment, but none came. They had escaped.

  Chapter Thirty

  Zastra tried to adjust herself to the motion of the trap, but the constant pitching and jolting knocked her off her feet and sent boxes skidding into her shins. There seemed to be sharp corners everywhere and she received a succession of painful blows as she protected Findar with her body. At last, to her relief, the horses slowed to a rapid trot and the man in yellow turned to address her.

  ‘Even these lovelies can’t keep up that pace for long, but they’ll trot on happily now. I doubt those Kyrgs will catch us. I’m Gildarn and this delightful chap is my husband Draygal, but you can call us Gil and Dray, everyone else does.’

  Zastra nodded mutely.

  ‘And might I have the honour of your introduction?’

  ‘I think you already know who I am.’

  Gildarn raised an eyebrow. ‘Interesting. So you knew I was in your head. But you are no mindweaver, I’d venture?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘He’s always nosing about in people’s minds,’ said Draygal apologetically. ‘It’s a terrible habit of his, and I do keep trying to make him stop, but he’s just too interested in other people’s business.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ protested Gil. ‘It was you who made me. “What an interesting young boy,” you said and so I took a small peek. Who knew it would be a girl?’

  He turned back to Zastra.

  ‘I apologise for invading your privacy. It is simply that, things being as they are at the moment, I like to know who is who. I couldn’t read much. You have been well taught by someone, but your mind is still a girl’s mind. I can tell these things, although it is a subtlety lost on most mindweavers. And I caught a glimpse of Golmer Castle. Given that the Kyrgs seemed to have found what they were looking for, I’d guess that would make you Zastra, Leodra’s daughter. This bundle of screaming joy – would that be one of the twins?’

  Zastra didn’t see any point in denying it.

  ‘This is Findar,’ she admitted.

  ‘Well Zastra, you are welcome to travel with us as long as you wish. We are heading out of Golmeira, before these terrible Kyrgs overrun us all. Dray has some masterful plan of stealing a boat and heading for the Far Isles.

  ‘Oh, you do exaggerate,’ the smaller man said, rolling his eyes. ‘I never said steal. I said we’d buy passage. Seacastle still holds out against Thorlberd’s troops, so the port might be open.’

  ‘Why are you running away?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘Not running away, my dear,’ said Gildarn, ‘a sensible retreat that’s all. I don’t see that there will be much demand for quality clothing in the new Golmeira, what with the Kyrgs and their furs and Thorlberd’s terrible drab uniforms. So, I suspect there won’t be much call for our trade. Besides, I have always hankered after a return to the Far Isles. I’m from there, you see.’

  ‘In any case, Golmeira is not now a good place for a delicate soul such as Gil,’ remarked Dray. ‘Too much unpleasantness.’

  ‘Delicate? Me?’ protested Gil, eyes glittering. ‘You were the one in tears when you heard the news of Lady An...’ He glanced at Zastra and left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘Won’t you come with us?’ asked Dray to cover the awkward silence. ‘We go to Gorst Town, where we will change horses, and then south towards the coast.’

  As Zastra hesitated, Gil looked at her closely.

  ‘Be careful what you tell us, my dear. Dray here has a very loud and uncontrolled mind – you don’t have to poke at all, he broadcasts his thoughts aloud to any mindweaver in the area. Not that they are usually worth listening to.’

  ‘Loud and uncontrolled!’ exclaimed Dray. ‘This from the man wearing yellow.’

  ‘Yellow is very fashionable at present, Dray. Besides, you swore this morning that you liked it.’

  ‘I was lying. Couldn’t you tell, oh marvellous mindweaver that you are?’

  ‘Why in the stars did you lie to me, dearest?’

  Dray sighed. ‘We’d never have made it out of the inn otherwise.’

  They were interrupted by Findar being sick, no doubt due to the combination of the rich milk and the juddery ride. Some of the vomit splattered onto the shoulder of Gil’s bright yellow tunic. He looked down at the mess in shock.

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Zastra, reaching inside her bag for a rag to clean up the mess.

  ‘No need to apologise,’ said Dray. ‘The boy’s response to Gil’s outfit is a perfectly reasonable one.’

 
; Findar protested vigorously as Zastra wiped his face. Gil cleared his throat.

  ‘I only meant to say that I would not wish us give any secrets away should Dray and I come across one of Thorlberd’s black ravens.’

  ‘Black ravens?’

  ‘That’s what they are calling the mindweavers, due to those floppy black cloaks that they all wear. Terrible cut, most unflattering. What do you say? Will you flee with us?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Zastra, kissing Findar to soothe him. ‘How long before we reach Gorst Town?’

  ‘A good while yet, my dear,’ said Gil. ‘Will that boy ever be quiet? I’ve never understood why people have babies. Just a lot of unnecessary noise and mess in my opinion.’

  ‘He’s usually pretty quiet. I think he doesn’t like the bumpiness.’

  ‘We’d slow down, only I don’t know how long my sleep suggestion will keep those blasted Kyrgs quiet. Indeed, I’m quite astounded that they are not already chasing us down. We cannot afford to tarry.’

  ‘How come you don’t have a mindweaver ring?’ Zastra asked. ‘I thought all mindweavers were supposed to wear one.’

  ‘If they know you are a mindweaver you get dragged into service to one of the marls or the grand marl. I don’t care to take orders from anybody,’ replied Gil. ‘Luckily, my parents were living in the Far Isles when I reached the age they make you take the test and so they missed me. I didn’t see any need to point out their mistake. You won’t tell anyone will you?’

  Zastra shook her head.

  ‘How did you get into my mind without me knowing?’ she asked. ‘I’ve always felt something before.’

  ‘Ah, well, those official mindweavers don’t do subtlety. They just like to take and so they try to break down the door, so to speak. But there is often a back entrance if you know where to look.’

  ‘And where was my back entrance?’

  ‘Well, the surface of your mind didn’t fit with your appearance, that was all. I dug a little deeper into those thoughts that didn’t fit. As I say, I couldn’t read much, but I could tell you weren’t who you were pretending to be.’