Green Rider

by Kristen Britain

  She cupped the crystal in her hand and staggered over to an overstuffed chair by the unending fire. She curled up and heaved a sigh as the warmth of the crystal wrapped around her.

  INTRIGUE

  Karigan had not realized she’d fallen asleep in the big chair until she awakened to find Miss Bunchberry gently shaking her wrist. “Supper, dear child. Letitia has outdone herself.”

  Karigan stretched and yawned, and nearly walked out of the room with the crystal cupped in her hand, before she remembered it and replaced it on Professor Berry’s table of oddities. Of all the objects in the library, the crystal seemed to be a source of light and warmth, and possessed no twisted qualities like the telescope. The silver light extinguished as her fingers released it. The room grew dark and uninviting without its radiance.

  “I daresay,” Miss Bunch said as she led Karigan out of the room, “it’s been a long time since I’ve seen the moonstone aglow. It will not work for Bay or me.”

  “Moonstone?”

  “Oh, yes. It holds a silver moonbeam.”

  Hairs prickled on the back of Karigan’s neck. “You aren’t telling me it’s really—”

  “Of course I am. It was given to Father by an Eletian years ago.” Miss Bunchberry smiled, and her eyes became dreamy. “I rather fancy the story of Laurelyn the Moondreamer and how she built a castle of silver moonbeams, don’t you? Silver-mind it was called. My father wanted to go find it, but other projects diverted his attention, and before he knew it, he was too old for adventuring.”

  Laurelyn the Moondreamer. Karigan had heard the story as a tiny child, and had forgotten it long since. In her memory, she could hear the words as she sat wrapped in her mother’s protective arms. “Tell me ’bout Laur’lyn, Momma. Tell me again.” Her request was met with a warm chuckle. “Maybe you will build your own castle of moonbeams one day, Kari.” And the story would be repeated till she fell asleep.

  “Have I made you sad?” A startled expression crossed Miss Bunchberry’s face. “Are you in pain?”

  Karigan wiped away a tear. Yes, and yes. Aloud she said, “I’m fine.”

  Aromas of roast goose and baked bread drifted through the house, reminding her of Midwinter Festival: loud music, wild dancing, and plenty of imbibing. Her father always invited the cargo master and crew, and all the closest kin of Clan G’ladheon. Her mother used to preside over the affair, an element of calm and dignity amidst the frenzy of merrymaking. Her mother, with her high forehead and rich brown hair, the one parent everyone saw when they looked at Karigan.

  The tears brimmed in her eyes again,but her solemn thoughts were dashed when she saw Miss Bayberry sitting primly at the head of a ridiculously long table that rivaled, in length, any in the dining hall at Selium. The silver was in use again, and the table was positively heaped with food. Karigan wondered exactly what clan had been invited to feast with them.

  “Please be seated,” Miss Bayberry said.

  Fortunately, the three settings had been placed at one end of the table, rather than at opposite ends. Otherwise they would have had to shout to one another to carry on a conversation.

  Miss Bayberry dropped a cloth napkin on her lap. “F’ryan Coblebay couldn’t join us though we did the proper thing and invited him. It seems he expends far too much energy when in contact with that which is earthly, and he wishes to reserve it for times when he’s truly needed.” She sniffed, indicating how she felt about that. “The Horse couldn’t join us either. Letitia was resolute that she would not have him in the house. To help compensate, Rolph has been feeding him premium grain and the sweetest hay.”

  “As you can see,” Miss Bunchberry said, “we’ve observed proper etiquette. Letitia wouldn’t have us dine in the kitchen, though Bay and I normally sup there. What fun it is to see Mother’s old table in use once again. From time to time, relatives or my father’s old colleagues would descend upon Seven Chimneys. Letitia would cook and bake all day in anticipation. Those were grand times.”

  Goose and sauce were passed around, along with the last of the winter squash, legumes, mushrooms, and dressing. A slice of warm bread spread with creamy honey butter melted in Karigan’s mouth. It was like a traditional Midwinter Feast, except it was spring. Miss Bayberry poured Rhovan red wine in each goblet and Karigan could only guess at the vintage.

  It was like spending an evening with a pair of spinster aunts, eccentric as they were, but oozing comfort and a sense of home. The canny intensity Karigan had witnessed before seemed to dissipate as the evening wore on and the wine bottle made its rounds.

  When they had eaten all they could, they removed to the parlor where glasses of brandy awaited them, and the fire roared in the hearth as cheerfully as ever. Karigan sank into the sofa with the hummingbirds carved on the armrests, her goblet in one hand, and she told tales of her mostly silly classmates and Selium. Bunch and Bay raised eyebrows upon learning that the hot springs could be pumped directly into a bathtub.

  “It was so long ago that we lived in Selium,” Miss Bayberry said. “I don’t think half the school or museum buildings you described were there when we were. Otherwise, the city hasn’t changed much.” She swirled her brandy in her goblet and smiled in a self-satisfied way. “Child, you have enlivened this house more in one day than we have been able to in years. My sister and I will remember your visit for some time to come. I can only hope that you have found your stay with us equally interesting.”

  Karigan nodded emphatically. Interesting was an understatement.

  “Miss Bunch tells me you spent the afternoon in the library. What did you think?”

  “It was . . . unusual.”

  Miss Bayberry cast a severe glance at her sister. “Bunch, did you just leave her there? Did you explain nothing? Give no forewarning?”

  “But Father’s old things are so harmless—”

  “That is not the point. We caused our guest undue surprise. That was not proper.”

  Miss Bunchberry gazed sulkily at her lap. “The moonstone lit at her touch.” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

  Miss Bayberry scrutinized Karigan anew, and something of that hidden intensity reignited—and it wasn’t just the glow of the wine or brandy. “My dear child, that stone has shone no light for many a year. How you called upon the moonbeam to glow I can only wonder. Do you have any idea?”

  Karigan shook her head, wary. “No. I—I was just curious about the objects on the table, and when I picked up the crystal, it lit up.” She wondered if she had somehow offended Miss Bay, but the old woman’s expression was glad.

  “What else did you observe?”

  Karigan described her experiences with the bottled ship and the harp. “They were very odd.” She shuddered, remembering the tempest she had caused. “I mean, they possessed qualities that were so real. I know it’s illusion . . .” Her statement was met with lingering silence. “It was illusion . . . wasn’t it?”

  Miss Bayberry leaned forward and, evading the question, asked, “What else did you observe?”

  Karigan licked her lips, a little nervous now. “Well, the harp sounded so human, unlike the lap harps my friend Estral plays, and she has access to the finest instruments in all of Selium.”

  “My dear child, arcane objects are . . . unusual. Of course, when you first observed the things on my father’s table, they seemed relatively normal. After handling them a bit, you discovered otherwise. The bottle, the moonstone, and the harp are a few among several devices Father collected over the years in order to comprehend magic. He discovered, like you, that arcane objects can take on some very lifelike qualities.

  “That harp has a very dark history. It was originally made by the finest craftsmen at the turn of the First Age, for a wealthy aristocrat. It was carved as no other instruments of those times, and inlaid with precious jewels, themselves cut by masters of lost Kmaern for whom rocks and gems were living things.

  “The aristocrat was pleased by what he saw, but not with what he heard. When strung, the instrument
sounded like any other well-crafted harp. The aristocrat, it seems, could not live with a harp that was not extraordinary. Remember now, this was a dark time. Magic was more accessible and understood back then. Mornhavon the Black was at the height of his power, and dark magic had a profound influence on many people. It was difficult to wield any magic without the taint of the dark, so strong was Mornhavon.”

  Miss Bayberry paused to take a sip of brandy. She carefully replaced her goblet on the table before her, clasped her hands, and bent toward Karigan to resume her story. “It’s not known if the aristocrat had innate powers himself, or if another did the work for him, but he had the finest singers known in the lands, including Eletians who have the fairest voices of all, brought to his keep. Using methods unknown today, he extracted the voices from the singers and melded them into magical strings. Child, what you heard were voices from centuries ago.”

  Karigan remembered, with clarity, the crystalline voices of the strings . . . strains of some ancient past forcibly carried into the future . . . like ghosts. “What happened to the singers?”

  Miss Bayberry tilted her head, looking beyond Karigan, a sadness in her eyes. “There is no record, but you can believe that if they survived the process, they lived without that which they loved most—their ability to sing.”

  The more Karigan learned about magic, the less she liked it. It seemed to bring nothing but evil and grief. “The telescope—”

  “Oh . . .” Miss Bunchberry groaned. “Not the telescope. I do think, my dear Bay, that we should remove the lenses and crush them beneath our heels.”

  “Nonsense, sister. That telescope was one of Father’s most treasured pieces. Tell me, child, did you see far when you looked through the eyepiece?”

  Karigan noted there was no question of whether or not she had gazed into it. “I saw very far. Too far.” She described the series of images as they had appeared.

  “A sprinkling of the past, present, and future,” declared Miss Bayberry. “Such a device could erode one’s sanity if one had constant access to it. Father possessed a tremendous will to resist using it when he had major decisions to make. Believe me, he felt the lure, but he also felt it was human temptation more than the device itself that called to him. Indeed, no one should see too much of their own history or future.”

  Miss Bayberry fixed her piercing blue eyes on Karigan. “Remember, child, your future isn’t made of stone. What the telescope showed you was what may happen if the present line of events continue.”

  Put that way, it sounded to Karigan as if the current of her life was out of her control. It wasn’t a welcome idea. “Do you look into the telescope?” The sisters seemed to know so much about everything.

  “Heavens, no,” Miss Bayberry said.

  “We’ve no need,” Miss Bunchberry added.

  The ladies would say no more about the telescope or anything else in the library. Miss Bunch left the parlor briefly, and returned bearing a wooden game board and multicolored pieces. She set them on the table before them.

  “Are you familiar with Intrigue, child?”

  Karigan had recognized the game immediately—it was all the rage in Selium. Two kingdoms battled for dominance, each piece possessing a different ability. Arranging the pieces in various patterns created offenses or defenses.

  The pieces, in this case, were made of ivory or bone, dyed in the traditional colors of red, green, and blue, and carved in the likenesses of kings, messengers, spies, soldiers, and so on. The game was most difficult when played as a Triad, with a third player who was random—the wild card with no set loyalties one way or the other. The other two players could petition the Triad for allegiance, but the Triad could choose not to take sides and play for its own benefit. It was the never knowing of what the Triad player would do that made Intrigue exciting.

  Exciting, if you liked the game. Karigan didn’t. She lost every time she played. “I’ve played Intrigue a few times, but not often with a Triad.” Estral had been her only friend at Selium. There was never a third person to play with.

  Miss Bunchberry clapped her hands. “Splendid! Bay and I haven’t played with a Triad in a long time either. Child, you will be the Triad, and if this first game doesn’t last long, we can switch.”

  Splendid. Karigan remembered to smile, and because propriety was so important to the ladies, she said, “I’m honored.”

  “That’s good. I offered to a guest first as was proper.”

  Miss Bayberry nodded in solemn agreement.

  They played long into the night, each taking a turn as Triad. The gentle sisters transformed into ruthless opponents and Karigan found herself, as usual, on the defensive. Miss Bay took a general and three of her knights. Miss Bunch killed her queen and abducted a spy. She watched their pieces march across the star-shaped board and annihilate her kingdom, and she wondered, with a bemused expression, if she and Estral had been too kind to one another. The sisters did not spare an inch where Estral would have allowed a concession.

  Karigan didn’t consider herself a ruthless person. Rather, she considered herself wise to the ways of survival. The swordplay “tricks” the cargo master had taught her, the stories her father had told her of his perils and adventures as a merchant traveling in far-off lands, her experiences far away from home among aristocrats . . . these were basic learning experiences for life. She had never thought of employing ruthless tactics in a harmless game of Intrigue.

  When the third and final round was won by Miss Bunchberry, the older woman sank back into the sofa with an ecstatic giggle. “That was just so fine. I could play endless games, but I know it’s late.” As if to accent her words, the last embers of the fire crashed in the fireplace, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney.

  Miss Bayberry’s lips were set in a taut straight line. She had won two of the three victories, yet she seemed none too happy about it. “I think the child wasn’t putting her all into the game. Perhaps she believed she was doing the polite thing by letting us win.”

  Karigan blushed, as she often did, somehow feeling guilty. “I did try . . .”

  “Tsk. Not hard enough. You’ve much intelligence for such a youngster. Use it. Many of the situations you come across in Intrigue aren’t too far removed from real life. Many of the aristocrats use it as a teaching tool for their children, and it may have been developed for that exact purpose.”

  Miss Bunchberry looked scandalized by her sister’s outburst. “Bay, you really oughtn’t criticize our guest.”

  Miss Bayberry rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Bunch, sometimes one must go beyond the bounds of propriety and speak her mind.” She jabbed her cane at Karigan. “Child, use your brain. Think on your feet. Being polite and reserved is how we were raised, but we learned the hard way that the rest of the world isn’t that way. I’ve perceived from conversation that you comprehend such things, like that swordplay with whatsit . . . that Titmouse, or whatever his name was. In other words, child, propriety has its place, but don’t let your guard down. In real life, you never know who the players of Intrigue really are, or what they stand for.”

  The words echoed in Karigan’s mind as she followed Miss Bunchberry and the glow of the oil lamp up the stairs to the second story. Weren’t Miss Bayberry’s words much like what Arms Master Rendle had told her one evening after sword practice, as she repaired fighting gear at the field house? “Do not make the mistake you made withTimas, lass,” he had said, pipe smoke curling above his head and up to the rafters of the field house. “Never assume the enemy is down and then turn your back on him. You will pay for it with your life.”

  In other words, expect others to play dirty. Miss Bayberry’s words, and Arms Master Rendle’s, hung heavy with her, but every time she thought of Timas as “Titmouse,” she was reduced to giggles.

  “This is the east gable guestroom,” Miss Bunchberry said. “You will see the sunrise from here and the morning sun will fill your room with warmth.” She lit another lamp for Karigan’s use. “Letitia h
as aired the place out and put fresh water in the pitcher next to the wash basin. She will draw a hot bath for you in the morning, as well.”

  “If I could see your Letitia, I’d thank her for her delicious cooking and all the details she has seen to.” Karigan thought it rather odd she had seen no signs of servants, especially the often talked about Letitia.

  “We will pass your praise on to her—if she hasn’t heard already. Now—”

  Karigan put a hand on Miss Bunch’s wrist before she could go on. “Why can’t I meet Letitia?”

  Miss Bunch brushed a gray curl from her face and looked at Karigan in surprise. “You want to know why . . . why you can’t meet Letitia? Isn’t knowing that she is here to serve enough?”

  “No. In my clan, the servants are practically part of the family. It only seems fair to thank Letitia in person.”

  Miss Bunch clucked her tongue. “Dear, dear,” she muttered. But when she saw Karigan’s look of resolve, she said, “We are not fond of relating painful stories, child, especially when one’s father is at fault. It was an accident.”

  “An accident?” Karigan’s brows drew together in a perplexed line. “What was an accident?”

  Miss Bunch’s eyes shifted and she plucked nervously at the hem of her apron. “Letitia’s invisibility was an accident. Oh, dear.” Miss Bunch drooped into a chair as if overcome.

  Karigan’s mouth hung open aghast. “Invisible?”

  “Very invisible. Far beyond what you are able to attain with your brooch, child. Completely, irreversibly, transparently invisible. She is more akin to an energy, or a ghostly presence, for we cannot hear her either. But we know she’s there, for the house is tidied when neither my sister nor I have lifted a hand, our meals are prepared for us, and so on. We know when she is less than happy, for she starts sweeping up a tumult like a great dusty tempest. And it’s not just Letitia.”