The Window and the Mirror

by Henry Thomas

  Galt and Kipren hurried to Joth and hefted anchors over the sides. The anchors were large stones with their centers bored out to allow ropes to be fixed to them, and when they landed the bow dipped as the ship righted itself. The crew left the bowlines there and went back to hauling and winding at the drags. Joth watched as the airship’s crew toiled at pulling the ship down toward the earth, winding the reels of the draglines in and applying the brakes to the spools of rope over and over again until finally the airship hovered a few feet above the grassy meadow in the fading light of the day. The captain moved the bronze lever a final time and the ship gently rested down on the ground with a groan. She removed the lever from the column with a twist and deftly hung it from her belt again.

  “Lower the gangway, Elmund. Galt, unhitch those horses. Make ready, Kipren. You two, help me with Dathe.”

  The crew set about their various tasks. Eilyth and Joth helped the captain carry Dathe’s body down the gangway and lay it down in the grass near the resting airship. After a few minutes had passed, the crewmen came down the gangway.

  They were sweating from their labors at the draglines, and they were all carrying their ditty bags with them. Kipren had a pair of shovels resting on his shoulder. He moved to Joth and handed him one. Galt led the horses down the gangway and passed the leads on to Eilyth, who stood near her gray mare Aila and looked on.

  “Let’s dig a hole now,” Kipren said solemnly to Joth.

  He nodded and followed the man as he picked out a suitable resting place for his fallen comrade. As the sun was slipping down behind the rising hills on the horizon they lowered the body of Dathe into the grave they had dug. Elmund and Galt pulled the ropes they had used to lower him free and Kipren coiled them and laid them in the grass. Joth put the shovel into the mound of excavated earth beside the grave and wiped the perspiration from his brow. He stood near Eilyth as she calmly looked on, the horses behind her. The captain undid her chinstrap and removed her hat and cleared her throat.

  “Gather ’round, shipmates,” she said softly. “We lay the body of our fallen crewman to rest, he who has soared the winds with the eagles now must rest in the dark reaches of the earth. He who has bathed in the sunlight high above the clouds must now know the darkness of the depths. May his spirit soar on high, now and for always!”

  “May his spirit soar on high!” the crew repeated.

  The captain looked to Elmund and the others. “Words, Elmund?”

  Elmund looked as though he was choking back emotion, and he shook his head.

  “He was a good lad, and a good hand,” Kipren said.

  “Aye. Too young to go,” Galt muttered.

  The captain nodded. “As the captain of the Skyward, I, Ryla Dierns, along with my crew lay the body of our fellow Dathe to rest. May he know peace.”

  “Aye,” they all replied.

  They took turns at covering the body with spades full of dirt until at last the grave was covered and in the fading sunlight they set out toward Grannock together in silence. Joth fell back with Eilyth as the ship’s crew walked together.

  “Lady, shall I take the horses?”

  “No, Joth, I am fine. Thank you.” She favored him with a smile.

  It was dark by the time they made the village. The cobbled road began and ended in a short stretch of a hundred or so yards and strung together the six structures that made up Grannock. The small village was perched atop a low hill and centered about the covered well that stood in the middle of the cobbled path.

  The buildings were all made from cut stone and the roofs were thatched, and Joth could see firelight coming from within them all through the windows on the ground and in the upper stories. He smelled food and woodsmoke and heard barking dogs and the more distant sounds of livestock. He began to hear the faint sounds of music as they neared the center of the village, and the noise of people laughing and talking began to grow louder as they walked past the covered well and crossed to a large sprawling building illuminated with torchlight at the end of the cobbled lane. A large wooden sign depicting a peasant with a jug and three yellow haystacks hung from a post over a double door and swayed gently with the cool evening breeze. Joth and Eilyth stood with the horses as Captain Ryla stepped in front of the men and held out her hands, halting them.

  “Stay atop your drinking, lads. Don’t none of you let your grief cloud your judgment.”

  “Aye, lady.”

  “Elmund? Can I count on you?”

  “Aye, lady.” He rolled his shoulders back and looked her in the eye.

  She held his gaze for a long beat. “Cool heads, boys.” She turned toward the door then turned back again. “You two wait and I’ll fetch the groom.”

  “You’re just gonna leave ’em here on their own with three horses?” Elmund muttered incredulously.

  “They ain’t going nowhere. I got Shiny’s writ, and his word; and Pretty’s sticking to Shiny.” Captain Ryla gave a wry smile as Galt and Kipren chuckled, and then she turned to the door.

  Elmund cast one more narrow-eyed glance their way and then followed his captain and crewmates inside the inn. The volume of the music and the chatter increased for a moment as the doors opened, smells of food baking and wood smoke and ale hit Joth’s senses in a wafting wave as the doors shut.

  “Leave that with the pack horse.” Eilyth motioned with her head at the cloak wrapped sword he held.

  “Lady? What if there’s trouble wi—”

  “No, not here. We will not be needing blades here.”

  He held her eyes for a long beat then relented and threaded the cloak-shrouded blade through the packsaddle cinching, suspending it. “I hope that you’re right.”

  “I’m always right.” She smiled. “It is good to be on the ground again.” She gazed up at the night sky, the waxing moon.

  “There’s always a chance of trouble, lady. I don’t know if it’s wise to—”

  “Tonight is for laughter, Joth Andries. Trust in me when I tell you this, and put your worries away.”

  Fine for her not to worry, Joth mused, it’s me that gets my teeth kicked in when one of the locals gets too much ale down his throat; or worse, Elmund assumes the full character of his attitude and plays his fool hand. He could not argue with the logic of keeping swords out of the equation however, and so he acquiesced and stood waiting with her on the cobbled street. He noticed she had not given up her staff and was about to say something to her about it when the noise and light erupted from the inn’s doors as they flew open and a stalwart-looking young lad somewhere in his mid-teenage years toppled out and righted himself before them, shrugging off his laughter.

  “I’m Bell, I’m the groom. Just these three then, Master? Hay and oats is extra, should you want them.”

  Joth passed a silver coin to the lad. “Take good care of them, and we’ll settle with you in the morning.”

  The lad blinked twice in a feeble attempt to cover his astonishment. “Yes, Master, at your pleasure.” The stammering boy took the leads to the horses and bowed to them both.

  “What is the name of this place?” Joth asked.

  “Grannock?” he croaked.

  “The inn. What’s the name of it?”

  “Oh!” he blushed, “I thought you meant the town. It’s ‘The Merry Haymaker,’ Master, but folks ’round here sometimes say ‘Grannock Inn’ or ‘Grannock Tavern’ and what-not, if it please you.” His eyes lingered on Eilyth and her airship’s crew costume a moment too long for Joth’s liking, but the boy at last turned and led the horses around the back of the inn to where the stables lay.

  “Strange custom, this passing of coin,” Eilyth noted curiously.

  “It’ll keep the horses looked after, that’s all I care about.”

  “Joth Andries, mind your tone with me. You had better get yourself in order now.”

  He almost began to protest.<
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  “If you do not let yourself be at peace, then Elmund will get the rise out of you that he has been seeking. You shall walk right into his trap. You jeopardize the safety of our envoy, and you dishonor the words you spoke to my father.”

  And she was right; he deserved it. He had jeopardized their mission, he had been thinking of himself instead of the Lady Eilyth, or Wat, or even his own oath to Tregaern, or his forced-upon oath with Eilyth’s brother Eilorn. He felt an even bigger fool as the world came into perspective for him at that moment, and for all that he was and all that he could feel he said to her simply, “I’m very sorry, lady. You are right. It will happen no more.”

  She nodded to him and walked to the doors of the inn. “Are you coming with me?”

  “Yes, of course.” He passed her and opened the door for her.

  Joth noticed more than a few narrow-eyed glares directed toward him and Eilyth as they entered. Apparently a drunken wit had taken a stab at making fun of the airship crew’s fashions and the slim Captain Ryla had said something funnier that set the whole inn to rollicking laughter. But not everyone was laughing, and it was obvious to Joth that the people of this village were wary and distrustful of strangers. For all of that it was a fine inn, Joth noted. The underside of the thatched roof was a vibrant green and the walls were all lime washed a stark white, which made the inn surprisingly bright inside in the lamplight. There were two large fireplaces roaring at either end of the hall, and the tables strewn between were littered with patrons. Four serving girls worked the room shuttling empty flagons back to the bar and bringing bowls and plates laden with food out to the tables. A piper sat on a stool in a corner of the room cradling his instrument and drinking from a tankard, enrapt in conversation with a drunk who was attempting to hum a tune for him, presumably a tune that he wished the piper to play next. A young man kissed a girl by the door and was rewarded with a slap and laughter from the table where his friends all sat spectating.

  Some men sat at a table throwing dice, some others were huddled in conversation. One man was crying and singing to himself at the bar. There were a fair few women in the place, Joth thought, more than one usually saw in a village tavern. But most of them were either working at the inn or sitting with their husbands as they grew drunk and talked with their friends. It took Joth a moment to realize that it was the fall harvest, and the village was in the midst of a celebration. Most of these men would be farm hands and laborers, teamsters and drovers working for the season’s bounty; and now they would be reaching the end of their labors with the harvest complete or nearly done. They would all be looking to round out their hard work with a little quiet time at the inn and a few flagons. There would most likely be a harvest fair happening soon in the village. There would be animals for the slaughter, masters taking on apprentices, games and contests. Couples would be getting married, girls and boys courting each other with the intent of getting married, crops and goods on sale. My life at one time years ago, Joth mused. He could be sitting at a shaving horse now instead of floating about in airships and running from the town guard but as Eilyth had said to him, his old life was gone; it was no more.

  He started toward the captain with Eilyth. “I’ve settled with the Innkeep and we’ve hot baths tomorrow and berths for the night, each to their own,” Captain Ryla Dierns said by way of greeting.

  “Baths? That will be most welcome.” Eilyth raised her eyebrows almost imperceptibly. Joth was not sure if that was a personal desire or a wish that extended to present company. He supposed that to Eilyth’s nose they were all a bit ripe smelling. They were stood at a bar that had been constructed between two large beams, and the jug-eared Galt was ushering over one of the serving girls, who was balancing a tray of flagons. As they arrived, Kipren smoothed out his long beard and solemnly passed them each a flagon. It was good Oestern ale; Joth could smell the hopped scent as the flagon passed his nose.

  “For Dathe,” Kipren toasted, raising his mug aloft.

  “For Dathe,” they all repeated, and drank.

  The piper began to play a reeling tune, and the locals began to dance. It was a rollicking scene as they began to clear tables back and mark out a space for the dancing. An argument started between the gamblers and a group of men who were there with their wives and keen on dancing. It was growing heated as he and Eilyth looked on.

  “Hit him!” cried Galt, laughing.

  “Wind yourself down, fool!” Captain Ryla shot at him, “Don’t involve yourself.”

  He looked down, admonished.

  The argument passed without incident, and the gamblers moved their table back away from the area that the others had cleared for dancing, and the villagers were now in full step. They danced as the piper blew out a reel, then a galloping tune that Joth had a hard time keeping time with, and then a country jig to which they all danced a round. Eilyth was watching the dancers with curiosity.

  “Do you know how to do that dance?” she asked Joth.

  “Not much of a dancer, lady.”

  She looked back at the dancers and nodded. She looked unspeakably disappointed at his answer.

  “I’ll give it a try if you would care to dance, lady.”

  She smiled then and took a drink of her ale before taking his hand in hers and leading him out onto the floor. The mood was lively, and the villagers were all in good cheer with smiles on their faces and laughter was heard all around as they stood apart from one another, and passed, and circled, and bowed or curtsied, and shuffled and jumped with the dance. Then the entire airship’s crew was dancing with them, and the villagers dancing along with them all. Eilyth was beaming, a sheen of sweat on her brow from the quick steps that she had mastered now, dancing in the line with the other women toward the line of men where Joth and the others stood, waiting to do their circling and passing.

  Although at first he had been nervous, Joth was enjoying himself too; even Elmund had a smile on his face, he noticed. After they had danced several rounds and different steps and rhythms to several different tunes the red-faced piper lowered his instrument and cried out, “I needs a rest now, my Gentles!” And though the audience called out for more, but the piper was adamant about needing a break.

  Joth and Eilyth walked back to the bar between beams together. Out on the floor Galt and Kipren aped a dance and cavorted around each other to Elmund and the captain’s amusement. As he looked at Eilyth, at the flushed cheeks, the happy expression in her eyes, he realized that this had been the good Oestern inn experience that he was hoping for back in Borsford. The joy was compounded when the serving girl brought a savory one to the bar and laid out trenchers for them all, complete with two cruets holding garlic sauce and a lemony parsley sauce as condiments. Joth had been famished and the smell of the pie set his mouth to watering. As the others landed back at the bar and the slices were cut and served by the young serving girl rather hurriedly and unceremoniously, Joth found himself smiling.

  “I’m sorry that it took so long,” he said to Eilyth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This has been the most hurried, harried day of my life, lady. All I’ve wanted to show you since before dawn has been the friendly feeling of an Oestern inn, and it’s taken until now to do so, with a lot of misadventure in between.”

  “I understand now, I do. Thank you for showing me, and this has been such fun, this dancing and the music!”

  “I’m glad then.”

  “But I am not yet fully convinced we have seen the last of our troubles on this journey.”

  “Lady?”

  Her face grew very serious. “Something is making me worry. Something I can not see clearly yet.”

  He looked at her and she met his eyes for a long beat and then turned her attention to her food. He did not know if it was the inn, the airship crew, the village, or Oesteria at large that was troubling Eilyth, but something inside told him it was all of those things
and more—that it was part of Eilyth’s mysterious knowledge whether that be magic or a heightened awareness or some sort of mystic perception that she was capable of. Perhaps she saw events that would come to pass? He could not know for certain, but he was certain that it troubled her.

  “Eilyth, whatever it is, I will protect you.” She smiled at him sadly. Why, he wondered? Had she seen something that was going to happen to him, to them all perhaps? “I’ll protect you as best I can.”

  “Yes, I know you will.”

  They ate and drank on into the night for another hour and a half before the villagers began to shuffle off and they were the only patrons left in the Merry Haymaker’s great room with its white walls and dying firelight. Another pie was brought before them, another savory pie full of mushrooms and smoked meat and root vegetables and peas. Elmund, Kipren, and Galt seemed to take that as a cue to throw caution to the wind and drink past their fill. Elmund seemed to be slightly less drunk than Galt, perhaps a bit more than Kipren, but altogether darker than both of the other men combined. His eyes were settling on Joth now more and more, and in the interest of keeping the peace Joth stood back from the bar and told Eilyth that he was turning in for the evening.

  “I shall turn in as well,” she said. They said their good nights and made to leave.

  “That’s a cute arrangement,” Elmund said lowly. Joth did not take the bait, even though it burned him not to. “Perhaps we could help you save a bit of coin and you two could just—”

  “Stand down, Elmund,” the captain said tiredly.

  “Just a bit of fun, my lady. Look at how cute they are, thick as thieves.”

  Elmund was stumbling back from the bar. Eilyth had a firm hand on Joth’s shoulder, and if she had not been there he would have flown into the man already. Now Elmund had planted his feet to slow his swaying world slightly, and he had squared off with Joth and Eilyth.