by Den Patrick
‘Shackles,’ said the sergeant. The pair acquiesced and Steiner wondered how many more days they’d remain alive. There would be no escape this time, he was sure of it. The sergeant guided them onto the pier and the soldiers bundled them onto a simple cart. They were both given an extra cloak.
Steiner closed his eyes and shivered next to Kristofine, who whispered soft words of encouragement. Before long the cart had arrived at the Great Library. The building was clad in white marble and stood some five storeys tall. Every window was flanked by wooden shutters painted in eggshell blue.
‘Are you sure this is a library?’ said Steiner. ‘It looks more like a palace.’
‘Knowledge is more important than royalty here,’ said the sergeant.
‘This place makes the rest of the world seem like a series of hovels by comparison,’ said Kristofine. Steiner nodded, too tired to speak. The front of the Great Library featured seven columns, all hewn from black rock, perhaps sixty feet tall.
‘What are those?’ asked Kristofine as they mounted the steps.
‘Each column represents one of the seven virtues,’ replied the sergeant. ‘I can never remember them, probably on account of not having any myself.’
The main doors loomed a dozen feet high, decorated with golden figures of men and women all reading, scribing or debating.
‘We’re not going that way,’ said the sergeant, steering them away from the crowds that queued to gain entrance. They were taken to a smaller door at the far side of the Great Library, spirited through dim grey corridors, turning left and right and seemingly back on themselves. Down dusty stairs they went, through half-remembered locked doors, all the while weighed down by silence and the shackles around their wrists. Up more stairs and back outside, blinking in the daylight after the darkness of underground. They were in a courtyard the length and width of a galleon, and thick square towers stood on the far side, all joined by a stout wall. A few dozen people milled around wearing robes of various hues and clutching books; many were smoking pipes. They all stared with arrogance or curiosity on their pale faces.
‘We shouldn’t have come this way,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘We’re bound to be seen.’
‘Do you know a better way to get up there?’ replied the sergeant, nodding towards one of the towers. ‘Come on.’
‘What’s wrong?’ said Kristofine, seeing Steiner’s expression darken.
‘Towers. Khigir nearly burned me alive the last time I was in a tower.’
‘But you escaped that tower,’ she replied quietly.
‘Yes, with help.’ Steiner sighed. ‘I don’t think any of my friends are coming, this time.’
The ground floor of the tower held nothing but broken furniture and thick dust. They mounted spiralling steps until they were short of breath and their thighs were heavy. A heavy wooden door awaited them and two soldiers stood guard, bearing two-handed axes.
The sergeant removed his helm and spoke quietly. A guard opened the door with a thick iron key and gestured that they could enter. Sitting behind a desk was a Vigilant with a mask fashioned after an open book. There were no features to the mask, save for the two eye holes. The mask bore an inscription, but Steiner couldn’t decipher the words. The Vigilant rose from the desk, fingers steepled, and said nothing.
The sergeant removed their shackles and slung them on a nearby table, the sound shocking in the quiet. Steiner had been expecting a room full of shelves laden with tomes, but instead five chairs had been spread in a loose semicircle around the fireplace. A bed had been jammed into one corner, the sheets rumpled. Scraps of parchment were scattered across the floor and what looked like a trio of bird cages stood near the window, all covered in thick black velvet.
‘I did the best I could,’ said the sergeant to the Vigilant. ‘But there’s a good chance they know he’s here. I don’t know how much time we have.’
The Vigilant nodded and unfastened the book-shaped mask. Steiner’s eyes widened in shock. A Vigilant never removed their mask, not in front of anyone, even other Vigilants. The woman that looked at Steiner was in her forties, with strong features and a dimpled chin. Her chestnut-brown hair was caught in a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
‘You don’t recognise me,’ she said, and a small smile appeared on her lips. ‘Why would you? You’ve never seen my face before.’
‘Felgenhauer?’ Steiner stared, a rush of feelings leaving him breathless. The Vigilant nodded and smiled.
‘How do you know it’s her if you’ve never seen her face?’ asked Kristofine quietly.
‘I recognise her voice,’ said Steiner, grinning. He paused a moment, then looked at the Vigilant. She was tall enough to be the Matriarch-Commissar he’d met on Vladibogdan. ‘How did we first meet?’ he asked.
‘You had just been brought to Vladibogdan. You struck Shirinov with your hammer while defending the boy Maxim. Where is Maxim?’
‘Anyone could know that,’ said Kristofine. ‘Anyone from the island, anyway.’
‘You have a point,’ conceded the Vigilant. ‘I admire your caution. At times like these it pays to be wary of new faces.’ Felgenhauer, if it was her, stepped forward and inspected Kristofine as if she were a soldier on the parade ground. ‘And who might you be, and where do you hail from?’
‘Cinderfell of course,’ replied Kristofine. ‘Everyone had to leave after Steiner slew Shirinov on the beach. Besides, I was better off with Steiner.’ The Vigilant and the sergeant shared a look and the sergeant gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
‘She’s with me,’ said Steiner. ‘And I wouldn’t be here without her. You can trust her.’
The Vigilant nodded. ‘Ask another question, Steiner.’
‘While I was on the island Felgenhauer tried to teach me something,’ said Steiner. ‘What was it?’
The Vigilant smiled at the memory. ‘I tried to teach you to read, Steiner. It’s me, I promise you.’
Steiner stepped towards her, his whole body trembling from tiredness and fear and cold. She held out her arms and he fell into them with tears of relief in his eyes.
‘They got Marek, they got my father,’ was all he could say.
‘I know,’ she replied. ‘But now I have you, and I’m never letting go.’
A hot bath was waiting in the room below, along with clean clothes. Steiner and Kristofine were left alone to wash and rest. A pot of tea and two mugs had been left beside the bath and Kristofine sipped while Steiner bathed. Neither of them said anything for long minutes.
‘And you’re sure it’s her?’ said Kristofine finally.
Steiner nodded and slowly stood up from the bath, every joint aching.
‘I always forget quite how covered in scars you are,’ said Kristofine, eyeing his wiry frame. He held out his arms and stared at the back of his hands.
‘Bats,’ he replied, ‘and any number of small cuts from various fights.’ His expression hardened. ‘I earned all of these the hard way, and I suspect I’ll earn some more before we’re done.’
Kristofine took her turn in the bath after fresh water had been brought to them. Steiner dressed and drank tea. He slumped on the bed and stared at the daylight shining through the window, savouring the moment of peace. It was easy to forget they were in the heart of the Solmindre Empire, tasked with killing the Emperor and trying to find Marek.
‘Do you ever wonder what it would have been like to run my father’s tavern in Nordvlast with me?’ said Kristofine.
‘Is that the life we might have had?’
Kristofine shrugged, sending ripples across the bath water. ‘I suppose. If not for the Empire.’
‘And we’d grow fat and happy together?’ Steiner smiled. ‘That sounds like some kind of bliss.’
They slept for a short time.
A knock on the door roused them some time later and soon they were upstairs in Felgenhauer’s chamber again.
‘Please, sit.’ The Vigilant gestured to the chairs. She stood near a window, her eye always
straying to the courtyard below, ever watchful.
‘So you’re with my nephew,’ said Felgenhauer to Kristofine, and for a moment Steiner heard the authoritative tones of the Matriarch-Commissar he remembered from Vladibogdan.
‘I am,’ replied Kristofine. ‘Steiner and I were … friends before he was taken.’
‘And now you’re something more than friends?’ A playful smile quirked the corner of Felgenhauer’s mouth.
‘You could say that.’ Kristofine looked away.
‘Marek always had a good eye when it came to women,’ replied Felgenhauer. ‘It seems you take after your father.’ Steiner grinned and Kristofine blushed.
‘We were told you were running a mercenary company in the Slavon Province,’ said Steiner. ‘Where we told wrong?’
Felgenhauer smiled. ‘A pretty misdirection, or bait. It was a good way of luring out those who would try and track me down.’
‘Like us,’ said Steiner.
‘And a handful of Okhrana,’ said Felgenhauer, as if this were a minor inconvenience. ‘I’ve been pretending to be this miserable wretch for some time now’ – she indicated the open book mask on the desk – ‘and running a few dozen spies from here. I don’t have much influence, but whispers reach me eventually.’
‘You knew I was coming?’ said Steiner.
‘I heard Tikhoveter was killed halfway through sending his message,’ replied Felgenhauer. ‘And then you disappeared for weeks. No word of you anywhere after the street battle in Virag.’
‘We travelled east,’ said Steiner, ‘and were captured by bandits. Kristofine won them over.’
‘And that’s how you took out the garrison in the mountain pass.’ Felgenhauer shook her head. ‘Virag, Trystbyre and Vostochnyye Lisy are now on the lips of every Vigilant in the Empire, and in the hearts of every person who would see it fall.’
‘So people know about us?’ asked Kristofine. ‘They know people are fighting back?’
‘Very much so,’ said Felgenhauer. ‘They’re calling you the Lovers. Your fame has reached every town in every province and the Emperor is seething.’
‘That’s all well and good,’ said Steiner. ‘But I need to rescue my father.’
‘We eat first,’ replied Felgenhauer. ‘Then I’ll take you to meet someone in the Great Library.’
‘We don’t have time,’ said Steiner. ‘I need to find Marek.’
‘You’ll want to make time for this,’ said Felgenhauer.
‘So who is it then?’ said Steiner.
‘All things in time.’ Felgenhauer glanced out of the window. ‘They may have useful information about the Emperor, but they refuse to speak to me. Only a Vartiainen will do.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Taiga
Taiga woke alone in the stone circle, aware of the dim firelight beside her and the ghostly moon far above. The clouds hung in the night as sheets of gossamer and her breath steamed on the chilly air. The night sky, so black and forbidding these last few weeks, was alive with translucent ribbons of amethyst and jade. Flat stones rose from the ground all around, like the blunt teeth of some vast creature.
‘Tief?’ Her voice did not sound like her own. It returned to her a moment later, a distorted echo. ‘Kimi?’ No one replied. She lifted her head, feeling weak from the poison and too scared to look at the wound in her side. She took a moment to warm her hands on the dwindling camp fire, but felt no heat. Panic began to rise in her chest and she stared at her hands, trying to make sense of the forbidding midnight hour.
‘What’s happening?’ Taiga wondered if she was dreaming, or delirious with poison. The lights in the sky continued their sinuous dance, amethyst and jade light weaving about one another.
‘Tief? Anyone?’ Her voice came back to her a moment later, sounding flat and dull. A grey cat, barely more than a kitten, appeared by her face and headbutted her shoulder before purring loudly.
‘Mmmrr?’
‘Hello, little one. Where did you come from?’ Another grey cat appeared alongside the first. It sniffed Taiga briefly before losing interest and grooming the other cat aggressively.
‘Hello, Taiga Tiefdenker.’ A face appeared in the darkness, and Taiga realised there was a gap in the stones. The woman who stepped into the light was neither Spriggani nor Yamali but something of both, with dark lovely skin and large features. Ivy leaves had been woven into her flowing brown hair and her pale green gown shimmered softly in the moonlight. A silver sickle and a dagger hung from her belt, a halo of soft light shining from the blades.
‘I see you’ve met Lelse and Diplo.’ The woman indicated the two cats. One had curled up beside Taiga and snored gently, while the other gnawed on the remains of a rabbit carcass by the fire.
‘Those are good names for cats,’ replied Taiga. ‘Good names.’ A pang of unease coursed through her. ‘How is it you know my name? Have we met before?’
‘Hello, Taiga Tiefdenker,’ said a second, older voice before the woman in green could reply. A second woman appeared beside the first, differing from her companion in every way. Her hair was the stark white of an old woman, her gown shimmering jet. The polished skull of a small bird had been sewn onto her vestments over the heart. Two crows alighted on the stones and stared down at the camp fire. They gave muted squawks before taking wing again, leaving as abruptly as they had arrived.
‘I am dreaming,’ said Taiga. Without knowing why, she wanted to shed tears, feeling a deep and terrible grief. She remained beside the camp fire, not trusting herself to stand, not trusting her body after the ghole’s poison.
‘You are not dreaming,’ said the woman in green with a gentle smile.
‘We have come to take you away from all of this suffering,’ said the woman in black. ‘For you have suffered so very greatly, Taiga Tiefdenker.’
‘It is time for you to take your rest,’ added the woman in green. She knelt down beside Taiga and one of the grey cats hopped onto her thighs, insisting on being stroked.
‘Who are you?’ asked Taiga. ‘Where are my friends? Where is my brother?’ She feared she would not enjoy the answer to the last question.
‘Your brother will be joining us shortly,’ said the woman in black. A dark expression flitted across her face before she turned away.
‘That’s a lie,’ said the woman in green, stroking her cat. ‘As well you know.’
‘Tell me who you are,’ said Taiga, afraid for herself and Tief in equal measure.
‘All of these long years and you don’t recognise me?’ said the woman in green. ‘Do you not recognise Frøya?’
‘Oh no.’ Taiga pressed a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh no.’ If the goddess had come for her she must surely be dead.
‘I heard my name called from these very stones and so I came to you.’ The woman in green looked around and smiled ruefully. ‘I had forgotten this shrine existed.’
‘I am not dead,’ whispered Taiga to herself. She stared at the woman in green with a pique that sharpened to anger. The sheer audacity of claiming to be a goddess was preposterous. Gently at first, she sat upright, surprised when she felt no pain. Her dress was whole, the torn fabric smooth and clean and fine.
‘What happened to my …?’
‘And I am Frejna,’ said the woman in black. ‘We have come for you, Taiga Tiefdenker. We have watched your loyalty all these long years and now it is time to go.’
‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Taiga stood up though she felt faint, fuelled by her irritation. ‘Where is my brother? Where are my friends?’
‘Blood was shed within the standing stones,’ said the woman in black, pointing at rabbit carcasses. ‘Sacrifice. This by itself was enough to ensure my attendance, but now your life has come to an end and it is my duty to escort you to what lies beyond.’
‘That wasn’t a sacrifice.’ Taiga pointed at the cooking pot. ‘Anyone with eyes can see that my friends made rabbit stew.’
‘And someone has cleaned and cared for the shrine,’ said the woman in green.
She gestured to the base of the stones. Taiga squinted into the darkness, seeing the firelight catch on the engraved symbols.
‘I don’t know anything about shrines,’ said Taiga. One of the cats was rubbing itself affectionately against the backs of her ankles.
‘I know this is hard for you, Taiga Tiefdenker,’ said the woman in green. ‘But your body can not withstand the poison. You will not survive this night. Come with us now, my priestess.’
Taiga drew a panicked breath. Her hands were suddenly ice cold and the moon above far too bright. The lights in the sky continued to dance, so reminiscent of the lights of her homeland further north.
‘No! I will not leave my brother in the swamps of Izhoria.’ Taiga turned to Frejna. ‘No! Pass me by and leave me be. It is not my time and I will not go.’
‘If I leave you here,’ said Frejna, her expression stern, ‘you will exist as a lost soul and nothing more. You will be a phantom haunting the land for no good reason.’
‘Good reason?’ said Taiga. ‘I have a reason to live! We are journeying to Khlystburg to kill the Emperor. Surely you want vengeance on the Emperor for what he has done to your followers?’
Frejna looked away and stood near the gap in the stones, and for a terrible moment Taiga thought the goddess might step out of the circle.
‘Don’t go! Please.’
‘So you believe I am who I say I am,’ said Frejna without turning. Taiga looked down at her feet, saw how much her hands were shaking, how her breath raced fast and shallow in her chest.
‘Fine. It is as you say it is. You are Frøya and these are your cats, Diplo and Lelse, just like the stories of my youth. And you are Frejna, and somewhere out there are your crows, Se and Venter.’
The death goddess nodded but said nothing, looking out into the night. The crows returned, settling on the standing stones with a great commotion of wings and squawks.
‘He comes,’ said Frejna, pulling a long knife free of her sleeve. The silver blade was engraved with a dozen words in a dozen languages and every one of them meant death.
‘You mean Tief?’