by C S Vass
Godwin blinked. Every instinct he had was telling him something wasn’t right. “Forgive my lack of understanding,” he said. “But the Chillway must be a harsh environment to live in. Its bounties are far from plentiful.”
Shane laughed again, a sound like bells ringing. “One might say the same about the slums of Iryllium. Or the vicious streets of Valencia.”
Godwin opened his mouth again but Shane held up wrinkled liver-spotted hand. “Do you seek to deny your eyes? Look at us. We are well-fed and happy. We want for nothing.”
Godwin looked. He saw children running between the wagons. He saw smiling men with flowers in their hair playing music to beautiful young women on stringed instruments he had no name for. And he smelled meats being roasted and seasoned over campfires.
“Forgive my skepticism,” Godwin said. “The Kirishelliwan must truly be skilled to thrive in such a place.”
Shane leaned close to them, and his face grew oddly serious. “The blessings of the Rainbow Wood are still here for those who would pray at the alter of the eternal goddess.”
The look passed over Shane’s face as quickly as a speedy cloud sailing past the sun on a clear day. “I sense no malice in you,” Shane went on. “Stay. Explore the camp. Speak with my people. The bounty of the eternal children is open to you. It is an honor not many we encounter receive.”
Godwin and Yaura gave their thanks. From the look and smell of things, it was shaping up to be a very pleasant evening.
“This is incredible,” Yaura said as they walked about the camp. “I never would have imagined that we might encounter something like this.”
“How can they survive here?” Godwin asked.
“Your eyes really are failing you. Look about. They have game they hunt. There is foraging to be done in these woods if one has the skill to do so. These people are living.”
“They’re doing more than living. They’re thriving.”
“Friends!” a happy voice called to them. Godwin and Yaura saw several laughing men and women around a fire playing games with sticks and snow.
The two Shigata approached. Only then did Godwin realize something that should have been immediately obvious. These people carried no weapons. He only realized it by seeing one of the men, someone who was clearly an outsider, sitting by the others with two shortswords strapped to his back. Other than that Godwin had not seen so much as a pointed stick in the entire camp.
Yaura immediately fell into conversation with the laughing Kirishelliwan while Godwin sat near the other outsider. He had sharp black eyes, an angular face, and oily black hair that framed his head in curls.
“I’m surprised to see some other outsiders,” the man said to him. His accent immediately pinned him as an easterner. “Robert of Fjorwelleker.” He extended a hand.
Godwin hesitantly accepted it. “Godwin of the Shigata.”
Robert laughed. “A Shigata? You’re in the wrong place then, friend. These people are bothered by neither man nor demon. It’s as if the earth splits open before them to spill out its bounty while the trees move to shield them as they walk through the woods.”
“So it seems,” Godwin admitted. “There’s nothing wrong with laying down your swords every now and then.” He glanced at the weapons on the man’s back. “Makes me wonder why you’re still armed.”
Robert laughed. “Old habit, let’s say.” He took a horn of what Godwin thought was ale but then saw it was heavily spiced mulled wine that smelled of cloves and honey. “Go on, there’s another for me,” he said merrily. “Have a drink!”
Godwin hesitated. He wasn’t in the habit of drinking with strangers. “I don’t know if it’s wise to jump right into that.”
“Your friend seems to disagree with you.”
Godwin turned and saw that Robert wasn’t wrong. Yaura was already gulping the last of her own horn while the men around her laughed and cheered her on.
He smiled. “Very well.”
Robert allowed Godwin to drink most of his horn without berating him with chatter, which the Shigata greatly appreciated. He always hated when people jumped down his throat before he had the chance to situate himself.
After he finished his first horn and was generously given a second, he turned to his acquaintance. “Forgive me if I’m being too familiar, but what news from the East? I haven’t spoken to a man from across the Dark Sea in five years.”
“Ah, don’t get started on politics already! We just got here!”
Godwin turned, surprised. The very throaty and slurred voice that spoke belonged to Yaura. Godwin was about to say something back to her when she got distracted by flower petals one of her new gentleman friends was raining down upon her.
Robert was smiling. “I’ve been in Western Gaellos for three years now. I’ve learned how to keep things civil.”
Godwin nodded. “Go on then. Do you have any news of your home?”
Robert took a long gulp of his own horn as the snow began to fall faster. Several men started digging out more fire pits throughout the camp. “Probably just more of what you have already heard. Julius Hercinium thinks himself a god. The Emperor’s power is more consolidated than ever. The Senate is of course bought and paid for. But in Parliament I see some hope. The Foresters are continuously pushing back against the never-ending enclosure laws that they use to seize land from the commoners. It’s a movement unlike anything I’ve seen. What?”
Godwin, somewhat embarrassed, realized that he had smirked. “My apologies,” he said. “I’m unaccustomed to the complex layers of Eastern politics.”
“If I want to be fed dog shit then I’ll visit the kennels,” Robert growled. “I’m a straight shooter, Godwin of the Shigata. Tell me what you think.”
“Very well. You speak of the Foresters as if they might challenge the Emperor.”
“They very well might, should their movement continue to grow. They’ve already saved countless acres of land from being seized by Hercinium’s government. They even have plans to help send more healers to the far corners of the East that go unnoticed by the elite in the Bay Cities. The common people love them.”
“If they exist in the East, then they exist at the pleasure of your Emperor,” Godwin replied. “Forgive my pessimism, but it all reminds me of Kentos Bravi. Surely you know the tale.”
“Surely I do,” Robert replied, offended. He took a drink. “Kentos Bravi won the people more rights five hundred years ago than every movement since then combined. He’s the reason why the Senate is allowed to petition the Emperor.”
“The bought and paid for Senate,” Godwin said. “That is how you phrased it, correct?”
Robert waved him off. “Progress takes time.”
“Indeed it does. Quite a lot of time by the looks of it. But here’s my point. Bravi quickly established himself as a great man with tons of support. There would have been a revolution if something had happened to him. So what did the Emperor do? He corrupted the movement. Gold changed hands. Fake leaders came out of nowhere. The Emperor started funding Bravi’s platform, and then ate it from the inside out like a cancer.”
Robert’s face grew solemn. He nodded. “I know my own history, Godwin. It was monstrous. Terrible scandals. Women hidden in dungeons. Peasants tortured and mutilated. Secret palaces in the woods where unspeakable debaucheries took place. All committed by people who claimed to be allies of Bravi. All committed by people whose pockets were lined with Imperial coin.”
“Indeed,” Godwin said. “The movement crumbled. And the lesson, friend, is that the Emperor was smart enough to defang a snake instead of chopping its head off. A man like that has many ways to move the levers of power, and all of them are firmly within his grasp.”
“What’s your point then?” Robert snorted. “We hang our heads in shame? Give up on the world. Commit to living in corruption and scandal? Is that what you would have us do?”
Godwin poured himself another horn. His head was starting to feel warm and his belly rumbled. “I think that’s enough polit
ics for the moment. Let’s say we move to more pleasant conversation.”
Robert seemed on the verge of saying something else when his expression lightened. “I think you’re right, Godwin. Besides, it never is well to discuss politics on an empty stomach. They can hear your belly rumbling in Fjorwelleker! Let’s go by that fire. I think I smell roasting goat.”
That evening the stars shot through the sky like comets. It was a clear night, and a long time since Godwin had seen such turbulence in the constellations. The Imp had appeared briefly before leaving while the Cat had stayed in the sky for more than an hour. It wasn’t until the Seducer emerged when the camp flew into a joyous frenzy, laughing and singing and chasing each other around the sea of fires until they fell and tumbled joyously in the snow.
Godwin himself was full, happy, and well and truly drunk. He had spent the day with his hosts gasping in horror and rushing towards him every time his horn of mulled wine was nearly empty. It was a pleasant feeling. His head swam with a fog of thoughts he was incapable of delving into. Godwin was good at hiding his intoxication. People were rarely able to see it in him, and it usually led to him being offered far more alcohol than would be wise to drink. He had long since switched over from wine to a nutty brown ale, which he sipped slowly.
Yaura on the other hand was fully embracing the spirit of the Kirishelliwan. Her weapons and armor had long since been discarded and were safely tucked away near Godwin’s feet. She ran among the camp with their hosts, laughing and singing and drinking like Godwin had never seen. The sight made him strangely sad, and he was thankful he was too inebriated to delve into the reasons why that might be.
“Stories! We need songs and stories!” Someone shouted.
“What do we sing?” someone asked, accompanying their own question with a complex chord on a harp.
“The Tale of Jenna of the White Tower!”
“No ya idiot, we don’t want to hear a tragedy.”
“Hiccoughing Harry!”
“No! Too childish.”
“The Great Prophecy!”
“It’d take the whole night plus every night the next week! Pick something sensible yah horses arse!”
They want on like that for the rest of the night, drunk and happy and indecisive. Several times someone (or several someones) started to sing one of the suggested tunes, but they were always outshouted or outplayed by some new group. The entire affair was highly confusing, and Godwin found that he couldn’t follow any of it so he simply gave up and contented himself with his drink.
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
A red-faced and smiling Yaura had planted herself right next to Godwin. “I suppose, if you’ve never seen a tavern during festival season.”
She hit him in the arm. “Don’t be like that. Not now. Not here, when we’re surrounded by so much joy.”
Godwin kept his thought to himself. Or he would have, had he been sober enough to differentiate between thinking and speaking. “Surrounded by it, but not part of it. What they have is not for us, Yaura.”
“You are an absolute killjoy.”
She was staring at him, but there was no anger in her eyes. Aided by his state of mind Godwin saw something he had been very successful at preventing himself from seeing up until then. Yaura was very beautiful. Her face was angular and her eyes were large. The smile that usually just playfully tugged at her lips hinting itself was now splashed across her face to reveal straight, white teeth.
They were sitting close to each other on a large log. Her leg rested against his.
“Godwin,” she whispered. Her eyes were glossy. “I know…I really do. I understand. I know that you can’t…you can’t give me what I want. But it doesn’t mean we can’t give each other anything at all. It doesn’t mean we can’t have a moment’s happiness. It will all pass in the morning. We don’t even have to remember. We’ll drink more after, lots more. Not a single stray thought about it will remain in my head. Give me—give us, just this one thing. Give us a moment’s happiness.”
I still don’t want to, gods help me, he thought. We’re alone and drunk and content. It’s going to be a cold night tonight and we could warm each other. It would bring her happiness. It would bring me happiness. Yet I still don’t want to. Selena isn’t waiting for me. Selena can’t give me what I want, but I might give Yaura what she wants. No, I can’t even do that. I can’t even give her a moment’s happiness.
He was taking too long to respond. She had nuzzled even closer against him, and pressed her lips against his. They were cold and tasted strongly of wine. The sensation tempted him greatly, despite what he tried to tell himself.
She didn’t take more than he was willing to give. She pulled away, and gave him a look filled with so much hope that it nearly broke his heart.
“I’m sorry.”
Her smile shattered. Wordlessly she rose and left. Godwin tried not to watch her, but somehow he couldn’t help it. He had never noticed quite how shapely her body was, nor how her curls of black hair fell so playfully down her back. He both regretted his decision, and at the same time took a perverse pride in it.
“Godwin!”
The voice shook him from his thoughts. “What, damn it?” he growled as Robert approached.
“I see you’ve been enjoying the camp. I have something—”
“Give me that,” Godwin snatched a corked bottle of what he thought was wine from Robert’s hand. He took a big swig of it, and when he realized it was liquor forced it down anyway.
“Easy,” Robert said gently, as he took the bottle away from Godwin. “I have something that I need to ask you.”
“Ask away then,” Godwin said. “Just let me hang on to this while you do.”
“Here,” Robert said. He produced two tumblers. “I’ll be drinking from this for a while, and I’d rather not slog down your backwash every time I do.” He filled each of the tumblers and they shared a drink together.
“What is it?” Godwin asked. “What do you want from me?” His head really was swimming now, and his vision had grown blurry. He filled the tumblers again.
“I want to travel with you to Meno.”
“What?”
“Please, hear me out. Speaking with you earlier. It made me realize that I’ve been away from home for too long. I don’t belong here in the West. Talking with you about the Foresters has made me realize that I can’t run around like a child in the woods anymore. I want to go with you to Black Wolf. In Meno I’ll be able to find a way to secure passage across the Dark Sea. Take me with you, Godwin. I won’t be a hindrance.”
Godwin tried to consider the offer but found himself quite incapable of considering anything. Looking around the camp he saw a smug-faced man with a lute on his back laughing with Yaura, who kept putting her hand on his chest. The thought of traveling alone with her to Black Wolf was more than he could deal with.
“Sure. The more the merrier,” he said.
“Excellent!” Robert grinned. “You had better get some sleep then. We’ll have an early morning tomorrow.”
Without another word Robert left. Godwin snorted and picked up the bottle Robert had left behind. He was embarrassed about how drunk he had managed to get himself. But still, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling an odd, sickly kind of anger as he observed Yaura laugh with her new friend. It only grew worse as he watched them walk across the campfires that glowed like grounded stars and into a tent. The Seducer lingered in the sky above them.
He spit on the ground and took a large swig.
Chapter 13
The dying man moaned painfully as blood pooled underneath him. Faela watched in horror as his limbs grew still. The wind howled against the window as his twitching body stopped moving. Her arm throbbed painfully, but she ignored it. She quickly lit a candle to see what was happening.
Her rescuer’s face was concealed by a long, dark blue hood. His sword, fine castle-forged steel, was veined with blood.
“What’s happening? Who are you?”
Faela just managed time to grab her sword from the would-be killer. Taking her by the hand, the man guided her out the door and into the courtyard. Rain splashed against her face and dripped down the back of her neck. She tried to protest, but his grip was like iron. She couldn’t have said why, but there was something about the person that she trusted—which of course was crazy as she well knew. She knew nothing about him other than that he had appeared abruptly in her bedchamber, killed a man, and wanted to flee with her.
As they approached the outer wall, a guard stopped them. Faela loosened her sword in its scabbard, but there was no need. The hooded person leaned in and whispered something to the guard. The guard nodded, and opened the gate.
“What did you say to him?” Faela demanded.
A teenager’s voice answered her. “Not much. Just that there is a dead body in your chamber, and he’s to take care of it.”
Turning, Faela was surprised to see that the guard was trotting away quickly, presumably to carry out the orders. She was about to ask him who he was, but before she had the chance to he seized her by the arm again and was barreling down into the city.
As they ran she had a wild thought. Could this be the King? Why else would the guards obey his orders so quickly? And if it is King Boldfrost under that hood, then where is he taking me?
The sense of confusion, the torrents of rain, and the helpless feeling that accompanied her everywhere since she had lost her fire combined to make Faela feel as frustrated and angry as possible.
They didn’t stop running. Not when they moved past the splendid mansions that clung to the outer wall of the castle like butterflies on a wall of vines. Not when they moved through the merchant’s district where guards patrolled the streets with their hands on the hilts of their blades and banks loomed in the darkness. Not when they pushed past the residential streets that gradually diminished in their appearance.
Faela was out of breath and her heart was pounding when they finally came to a halt outside of a dingy tavern near the edge of the city where she first entered. A creaky sign slapped against the wall over the door. It read The Midnight Wish.