by Mike Brooks
“Be glad I’m not your uncle,” she spat down at him. “He’d have opened your throat for that.” She cast a glance over her shoulder to check on Andal, but Nasjuk’s Shadow hadn’t moved, his dark eyes fixed on her, yet showing no sign of coming to his brother’s aid.
“If anyone wants to talk to me about the decisions I make as chief, my door is open,” she declared loudly. “But if you swing for me, I’ll put you on your fucking back. Is that understood?” There was a general mutter of assent from faces turned aside or downwards, not looking at her directly, and certainly not looking at Nasjuk.
She was about to get off his throat and speak with the angry-looking Black Keep folk, who had at least not piled in on Nasjuk when he was down, when a voice barked an instruction in Naridan and they shifted aside to let four men through. All were carrying heavy staves, and Saana recognised Kelarahel.
“Reeve,” she greeted him, as she’d heard Daimon do.
Kelarahel gave her a stiff nod in reply, but didn’t speak a greeting. Saana wasn’t sure if that was because he actively disliked her, or simply wasn’t certain how to address her.
“We heard shouting,” the reeve said, looking down at Nasjuk, then at the faces around him. “Is all well?”
“Nasjuk here struck that man,” Saana replied in Naridan, gesturing to the Black Keep labourer whose face was already starting to darken and swell. She’d have preferred to handle this herself, but perhaps that wasn’t the best way. “You keep your lord’s laws. What is the penalty?”
“He struck first?” Kelarahel asked.
“This man saw him,” Saana replied.
The reeve worked his jaw, then spat. “A night in the cells, with no food.”
Saana fixed him with a stare. “And would it be the same for Naridan who struck Brown Eagle?”
“As the thane commands,” Kelarahel replied, which wasn’t exactly the response Saana had hoped for, but possibly better than she was expecting. She finally took her foot off Nasjuk’s throat and hauled him, wheezing, to his feet.
“Get walking,” she told him in Tjakorshi, shoving him in the direction of the reevesmen. “You take a house and land in these people’s town, then punch one of them in the face? You sleep in one of their cages tonight.”
“You’ll make us into the Flatlander’s slaves,” Nasjuk rasped. He glared at her as he rubbed his throat, but didn’t swing for her again. “You shame the whole clan!”
“You want to talk about shame?” Saana snapped at him. “Once you’re in their cage, I’m going to go get your grandmother, so she can come and talk to you about that.”
Nasjuk visibly paled. He didn’t have to ask which one: both his grandmothers were still living, but only Tsolga Hornsounder would be used as a threat. Saana might be chief of the Brown Eagles, but her authority over the clan was as nothing compared to Tsolga’s over her relations, whether by blood or marriage.
“Let’s go,” Saana told him, pointing. She eyed Kelarahel and his men. “I’ll come with you. Just to make sure they don’t think they need to use their sticks.” The last thing anyone needed was for four Naridans to start beating one of her clan, no matter who would have been at fault.
The cells were in the centre of the town, between the stand of pine trees the Naridans tapped for resin, and the sweetleafs from which they collected sugary sap. Nasjuk did his best to swagger there, as though the reeve and his men were his own Scarred, but he was fooling no one. He cast a dark glance at Saana when they reached the cells but clearly had no taste for risking the reevemen’s staves, for he slouched inside readily enough.
“Well,” a voice said from the next cell. “If it isn’t the witch’s mother.”
Saana looked around to see a Naridan peering out at her through the barred metal door. The top of his head was shiny and bald, but the sides and back were covered with dark, grey-shot stubble of the same length as that dusting his cheeks and chin. She recognised him, after a moment: one of Daimon’s servants. What was he doing in here? And more to the point…
“This man’s daughter is no witch,” Saana told him coldly, which was true either by her definition or his. The Naridan just snorted.
“If she is a witch,” Saana continued, putting her hands on her hips, “why isn’t she in there instead of you?”
“Your time will come, savage,” the Naridan retorted. “And so will hers.”
“Threaten this man’s daughter, and you’d best hope Lord Blackcreek always keeps a metal door between you and her,” Saana told him, as calmly as she could manage. She looked him up and down, and sneered deliberately. “Not that her daughter would need any help with you.”
“That’s enough out of you, Duranen!” Kelarahel barked when the bald man opened his mouth to respond. Duranen eyed the reeve balefully, but turned and slunk to the back of his cell.
“Why does he speak of this man’s daughter so?” Saana asked Kelarahel in a low voice, turning away from Duranen. The reeve’s face smoothed into typical Naridan inscrutability.
“You’d have to ask His Lordship about that.”
JEYA
JEYA HAD GONE back to the mansion by the canal many times, always under the cover of darkness. The big paddleleaf allowed hér access into Galem’s back garden, and there shé’d wait. Hè couldn’t always leave the house, but when hè got away they’d sneak over the garden wall and away down the towpath, giggling conspiratorially. They would share kisses next to the water, and eat dates Jeya had bought from Abbaz or sweetmeats Galem brought with hìm, and they would talk.
It was a window onto another world for both of them.
Galem’s family had money. Hè didn’t know how much money, exactly, but this was because he didn’t have to pay attention to details. To someone who had to count coppers from day to day, and some days simply had none to count, it was a bizarre notion. Jeya supposed that shé’d known, but until now hadn’t properly understood, that some people simply had money. It wasn’t in a transient state for them, it wasn’t that they’d done something to get a lot which they then gradually spent. Such movement of money happened, of course, as they bought food and so forth, but they still had money afterwards.
Galem gave hér money to get dates from Abbaz. It was on the understanding that shé’d share them with hìm, but there was nothing to stop hér just taking the money and never going back. Jeya had taken it as a staggering gesture of trust until shé’d realised that to hìm, it would be the equivalent of losing one fish from a bulging net; hè literally wasn’t concerned by it.
Galem had been at first intrigued, and then horrified, by hér stories of life on the streets. Hè’d been appalled to learn shé had no home of hér own, and had winced at hér descriptions of the fates that befell some of the other children shé’d known when younger. Hè’d also laughed at hér tales of outwitting the merchants on the market to steal food, and gasped at the desperate flights from the Watch that sometimes followed.
“And yòu?” shé asked. “What’s it like, being rich?”
Hè thought a while before answering. “Lonely.”
“Lonely?” Jeya drew hér knees up under hér chin, squeezing the grass between hér toes. “Í thought rich people did nothing except go to balls, and…” Shé paused, wracking hér mind for other possibilities, but shé had nothing to go on except children’s tales. “And things like that,” shé finished weakly.
“My family has few close friends,” Galem said, looking down at the ground. “My parents keep themselves to themselves. They don’t like mè spending too much time with others my own age. Or anyone, for that matter. Ì have tutors and instructors they’ve picked. The Festival of the Crossing was one of the few times in the year Ì was allowed to wander as Ì pleased.”
Jeya frowned. “Wait, ‘was’?”
Galem’s lips quirked in the moonlight. “Well, the last time Ì went, a beautiful thief got close enough to steal my purse. My guards told my parents, and my mōther was furious. My guards received three lashes each. Ì don
’t think Ì’ll have such freedoms again for some time.”
Jeya’s cheeks heated at “beautiful”, but the rest of hìs words stole the quiver of delight from hér chest. Shé put hér hand over hér mouth, aghast. “By the Hundred! Galem, Í’m so sorry!”
Hè shrugged. “Ì feel for my guards. The fact Ì was safe meant nothing to my mōther, it was that had yóu carried a weapon, yóu could have hurt mè. As though my guards should have cleared a space around mè, letting no one enter.” Hè snorted, then turned hìs face towards her, hìs eyes sparkling in the silver light from above, and a smile on his lìps. “Ì hope yóu do not mean mè harm?”
Jeya grinned at hìm. “Í’m sorry, noble Galem, but Í lured yòu to this canal with malice in my heart.”
“Then Ì must defend myself!” Galem whispered, and leaned forward. Jeya laughed as shé kissed hìm, felt hìs lips move into a smile as they met hérs, and then hè was gently bearing hér backwards to the ground. Hìs hair hung down like dark curtains on either side of hér face, blocking out the sky, the stars, the moons and the trees, until there was nothing in the world but the heat of hìs breath, the play of hìs mouth on hérs, and the tingles where their bodies touched through their clothes. Shé reached up and around hìm, felt the lean muscles of hìs shoulder beneath hér fingers as shé pulled hìm closer in towards hér, then drew hér hand down towards hìs waist. Shé found the hem of hìs maijhi and slid hér fingers under it, encountering the warm skin of hìs waist, then began to trail hér fingers back up again, over hìs ribs and—
Galem pulled away, breathing heavily. Jeya withdrew hér hand instantly, anxiety tightening hér chest. Had shé gone too far? In truth, shé’d barely gone anywhere, but Galem’s life had been very different to hér own, and perhaps the rich did such things differently…
“Ì… must not spend too long out here,” Galem said, hìs voice suddenly thick. “If it’s discovered Ì’m not in my room then there’ll be no possibility of being able to meet yòu like this again. And believe me, Jeya, Ì dearly wish to go on meeting yóu.”
Jeya sat up and ran fingers through hér hair, in case shé’d got leaves in it. Hér own breath was coming rather quickly. “Well,” she managed after a moment. “Í suppose that makes sense…” In fact, shé wanted nothing more than to tackle Galem to the ground and carry on kissing hìm, but hè clearly wasn’t comfortable with that, at least not now.
Hè reached out to hér, and pulled them both up to their feet.
“May Í walk back with yòu?” shé asked. Shé held hér breath. Had hè suddenly decided hè wanted nothing more to do with hér?
“Of course,” Galem said with a smile, and took hér arm.
“Galem,” Jeya said, as they hurried back along the towpath, “does yòur family honour Jakahama, if yòu were allowed out for the Festival of the Crossing?”
“Not as such,” Galem said. “But it’s an important festival. Ì suppose we honour hēr, but do not worship hēr.”
“So yòu worship Nari?” Jeya asked. Nari had hìs place at the Court of the Deities, as one of the great gods of the world, and hìs devotees had set up shrines to hìm throughout the Islands. Jeya had never quite understood Nari, since the Naridans seemed quite certain that although hè was a god hè had also definitely been mortal, born of mortal parents, but shé’d long ago decided that was their business.
Galem grimaced. “In a manner of speaking. It’s more complicated than—”
Jeya clapped hér hand over Galem’s mouth to silence hìm in mid-sentence. Further along the gentle curve of the towpath was a group of half-a-dozen figures dressed in dark, hooded clothes. Few people trod this path at night, and Jeya immediately recognised this group had no right to be here. They didn’t walk openly, talking and laughing amongst themselves, easy and relaxed. They slunk like alley dogs, quiet, low, and purposeful. Shé knew that way of moving; shé’d used it hérself a time or two.
“We go back,” shé breathed into Galem’s ear. The low branches of the paddleleaf lay between them and the approaching group, but the others would reach it first, in fact nearly had already. Galem’s garden could offer no refuge. This group might have no interest in two young people out for a walk in the moonlight, but Jeya hadn’t lived this long by taking such chances.
Galem nodded, hìs body stiff, and Jeya realised this might be the first time in his life hé’d had even a notion hé might be in danger. Shé almost laughed. They were still far enough away from the other group to have a comfortable lead if they needed to run; this barely even counted as danger, to hér.
Then, to her surprise and mounting horror, the group jumped up and grabbed the low branches of the paddleleaf one after another, swinging themselves over the wall and into the garden. Within a few moments, all six had disappeared from view.
“What the—no!” Galem muttered beside hér, and then hè was running down the path, towards the paddleleaf. Jeya swore under hér breath and took off after hìm, wondering what in the name of the Hundred was going on. Was this Damau’s doing? Had they told someone else about Jeya’s rich mark; someone who’d put a crew together to rob the place? Shé focused on Galem’s back, trying to catch up. Hìs house had guards, after all, who would undoubtedly stop these thieves—
And then they’ll realise hè was out on the towpath when these people were prowling, and yóu’ll never see hìm again. Hìs parents will lock hìm away out of fear.
Jeya cursed louder and ran faster. Perhaps shé might know one or two of them! If shé got to them in time, explained there were guards, begged them not to go ahead with it…
It was a futile hope. Shé and Galem had always been too far away. What would have kept them safe meant there was no way for hér to reach the would-be thieves in time. Nevertheless, shé and Galem jumped for the paddleleaf’s branches and pulled themselves up into the tree.
The six were already halfway to the house, running low and fast. Something was wrong: they weren’t going in slow and cautious, checking for guards or likely entry points. They were moving too quickly and carelessly to be bothered if they were seen or not.
A variety of blades emerged, glinting in the moonlight.
DAIMON
“YOU THOUGHT THIS man’s daughter was a what?”
“A witch,” Daimon told Sattistutar levelly. “She appeared to have an unnatural bond with her animal.”
“The dragon you gave her?” Saana demanded. They were in Daimon’s study, and if their conversation was not quite as hostile as the last one in this place, it still was not a convivial affair.
“The same,” Daimon said, nodding. Saana folded her hefty arms and glowered at him.
“What did you do?”
This lord drew his blade on your unarmed daughter, ready to cut her down. Daimon swallowed his honesty and tried something more diplomatic. “This lord believed Zhanna and her dragon had terrorised his serving girl. It turned out the girl was terrified, but mainly because she was still scared after being attacked by adult rattletails. When she saw Zhanna’s dragon acting unnaturally, the fear consumed her. This lord will admit, it was a strange sight. Rattletails are hunting beasts, responding only to dominance.”
“Zhanna always did have a way with crow chicks,” Saana muttered, although in Naridan, so Daimon presumed he was supposed to hear and understand. “You now think she is not a witch?”
“Let this lord show you something,” Daimon told her. He bent down, and lifted the lid off a wooden box sitting next to the grate. Saana had looked at it curiously when she’d entered, but hadn’t commented on it. Now she watched him reach into the straw inside, and lift out his own rattletail hatchling.
The little dragon was younger than Zhanna’s—another early clutch, but not so early—but it looked up at him when he made the strange, throbbing, cooing noise that Zhanna had taught Tavi and him. It had been a surreal experience, but Zhanna insisted it was the noise she made to crow chicks and her own rattletail. Sure enough, a few days of cooing and delicately feeding the
rattletail meat morsels, and both his and Tavi’s hatchlings were quite docile and biddable.
“If this is witchcraft,” Daimon said softly, stroking the rattletail’s head with his forefinger, “this lord cannot see the harm. Tavi says it is similar to the charms he uses with his charges. Certain noises, certain gestures, certain incantations… perhaps, with your daughter’s help, we have rediscovered a piece of the old dragon lore that once bound us to these beasts.” He laughed, amused once again at the unlikeliness of it. “Tavi is teaching her what he knows of dragons, since after all, dragons are not the same as crows. It is a strange partnership, to be sure.”
Saana snorted. “So it is witch until you can see the use for it?”
Daimon exhaled, his good mood departing with the breath. He replaced the rattletail in its makeshift nest and closed the lid again, then rose back to his feet to face Saana. He’d debated with himself whether to tell her this at all, but could no longer see an option.
“The woman who died,” he began. “She whose death meant Chara went into the forest, as she’d used up her supply of blue flowers.”
“Brida,” Saana supplied, frowning.
Daimon took a deep breath. “This lord believes she was cursed.”
Saana’s frown deepened. “Cursed?”
“Magic,” Daimon explained. “Witchcraft.”
Saana’s face set into something dangerous. “Why do you say this?”
“Our priest, Aftak, found a stone buried on the south side of Brida’s house,” Daimon explained heavily. “It was carved with what he and Darel agreed were symbols of witchcraft. Darel would not lie. Not on such a thing as this.”
“Why did you not speak of this sooner?” Saana demanded, colour starting to rise into her pale cheeks.