Return to Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘There you are!’ cried Lylian in a loud voice. Joril cringed as everyone in the line turned and stared at them. So much for sneaking about unnoticed. She smiled weakly and started to back out of the door. A black-cloaked mindweaver broke away from the knot of people at the front of the line and came towards them. Her mouth was lopsided; one side drooped as if half of her face was sad.

  ‘Come alone, come along,’ she said impatiently. She harried Joril and Lylian into the queue. Two more youngsters came in and were added to the back of the line.

  ‘That’s it. Orderly, no pushing. Thank you.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Lylian asked in a loud whisper as the mindweaver returned to the front of the line. Joril craned her neck and saw the glint of glass and a boy holding out his hand.

  ‘Testers,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh,’ said Lylian in disappointment. ‘Let’s go.’

  Joril grabbed her arm.

  ‘We can’t leave yet. People will notice. Just play along. Once you’ve been tested, they let you go. Look.’

  The boy at the front of the line was allowed to leave, pressing a small bandage against his palm. The line shuffled forward slowly, and stopped again. Joril tapped her foot with impatience. They’d hardly seen any of the castle yet. At this rate, it would be evening before they were tested. She began to think that perhaps Lylian had been right, and they should make a dash for it, when the line moved forward again. They were nearly at the front.

  ‘Oh no!’ Lylian shook Joril’s sleeve. ‘Look who’s here! And us with no bread.’

  Fester and Florian entered the chamber, arm in arm, and strode towards the testers.

  ‘Found any new unprovens for your class, Master Jallal?’ Fester asked. Or was it Florian? Joril reckoned it was Fester. She thought the older twin was slightly taller and his left eyebrow was a little more arched than his brother’s. Also, he was wearing his caralyx-shaped pin. The woman with the lopsided face spun round with a look of exasperation, but when she saw the twins in their purple shirts, her expression changed instantly into a crooked smile.

  ‘No luck as yet, Master Fester,’ she said brightly. Joril was quite proud she had guessed correctly.

  ‘You won’t find any among this lot. Servants and stable hands the lot of them. Best left that way, too.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Jallal raised an eyebrow. ‘Blue blood can turn up in the strangest of places, as you two should well know. Wasn’t your mother a—’

  A necklace around Jallal’s neck began to flap playfully. The woman clasped it in her left hand and laughed uncertainly.

  ‘Really, Master Florian, do stop teasing me so. I have work to do. Does Lord Rastran know you’re bothering your dear old teacher?’

  ‘He’s at Seacastle. Important business. You know all about it, of course?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Jallal quickly. ‘Of course I know.’

  ‘You won’t mind if we watch?’

  Jallal gestured towards the table and the line shuffled forward again. There was now only one person between Joril and the twins. Luckily it was a boy with a large head and unruly hair. Joril bent her knees and hid behind him. She had no desire to be spotted by the twins, especially if there was no chance of meeting Lord Rastran. The boy in front smelled faintly of horses. A scent she recognised from her father. Come to think of it, the lad looked familiar. She had seen him a couple of times with Tomik. Please don’t turn around. If the boy recognised her, he’d be sure to tell Tomik. Jallal took a small knife, wiped the blade on a damp cloth, and used the tip to make a small incision in the lad’s palm. Blood oozed out, and Jallal squeezed it into a narrow glass tube that was already half filled with clear liquid. She shook it with a flick of her wrist. The liquid stayed resolutely pink.

  ‘Never mind, big boy,’ said Fester. ‘A life mucking out stables for you, my lad.’

  ‘Thank the stars,’ Florian added in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘Who’d want to smell that all day?’

  Joril tried to slip backwards but it was too late. Fester raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, well, I do believe it’s Flour-head. What are you doing here? I thought they did the village this morning?’

  Joril thrust out her hand. Perhaps if it was over quickly, she could make her escape. She felt a sharp prick as Jallal made her incision and then squeezed her blood into a fresh tube. Fester grinned.

  ‘Really, Jallal, you are wasting your time with this one—’

  There was a collective gasp from the room. Lylian gave out a shriek.

  ‘It’s blue!’ she cried. ‘Joril, look!’

  The tube had turned a deep cloudy blue. Jallal looked at Joril in astonishment. ‘I’ve never seen it turn blue so quickly.’

  Joril could barely hear her for the singing in her ears. It was as if she had waited all her life for this moment. Everyone was looking at her. She drank it in like hot chala.

  ‘I knew it! I knew I was meant to be more than some stupid villager.’

  Chapter Ten

  Dalbric shrugged off his backpack and laid it on the ground while he waited for Findar to catch up. The lad looked done in, but he’d never once complained. He’d asked for no explanation when Dalbric insisted they return home at double speed. The lad was so honest and trusting. How would he react when Dalbric finally told him the truth about his past? He didn’t even know his sister’s real name. He only knew her as Layna, a mountain girl, supposedly Dalbric’s distant cousin. What would he say when he found out they had lied to him? As Findar limped towards him, breathing heavily, Dalbric felt glad, for once, that Hanra had insisted they live with her mother in Fivepeaks village. He didn’t think Fin could go a step further, let alone take the long trek to their old cottage, higher up the mountain.

  ‘Nearly home, Fin.’

  Findar squinted at the one house in the village that glowed orange in the dusk. All the others were dark shadows in the gloom.

  ‘Hanra must have known we were coming. She’s got the lamps up specially.’

  Jula oil was difficult to harvest and therefore valuable. Mountain folk tended to sell what they could, holding back the bare minimum for their own use. Zastra had been a natural at scaling the trees, which grew only on the steepest slopes, to harvest the precious berries, but neither he nor Fin were nearly so adept and their small stock of jula oil had run out well before the end of winter. Yet lamplight leaked out around the shutters of Frecha’s house. Hanra didn’t know the meaning of thrift. He doubted this display was in their honour. Hanra would not have been expecting them for days. She must have borrowed the jula oil. Dalbric only worried what had been promised in return.

  ‘Come on.’ Findar started forward. ‘It won’t get better for waiting.’

  Dalbric followed him reluctantly. Once inside, he would have to break the news that needed telling. The door opened to his touch and a wave of heat burst over them. He glanced instinctively towards the pile of logs he had cut before he’d left. Almost all gone. It would take days to chop a new pile. Even as his shoulders slumped at the thought, he remembered that there would be no time to cut more logs. No time for anything, other than to run. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  ‘Shut the door, will you? There’s a draught.’ Dalbric recognised his wife’s irritated voice. He nudged Findar forward and closed the door.

  ‘Here they are, my two boys!’ Frecha, his wife’s mother, glowed with delight to see them, but did not rise from her chair. Dalbric instantly felt guilty for begrudging the use of the logs. Frecha was hunched over by the rheumatism that had stopped her being able to work as a weaver. She deserved to be made as comfortable as possible. He went over and gave her a warm hug and in return she planted a kiss on his cheek. Dalbric felt a sharp twinge of regret.

  ‘Where’s my kiss?’ Hanra made no effort to rise from her chair, although she did not have the excuse her mother did. Dalbric leaned over and dutifully pecked her on the forehead.

  ‘Did you bring me anything nice?’

>   ‘Only bad news, I’m afraid.’ There, I’ve said it. No turning back now. His mouth went dry.

  ‘What do you mean? You got a good price for the wool, didn’t you? Or did you let Miray cheat you again? You insist you ain’t soft on her, but why else would you practically give our wool away like you do?’

  ‘I got the usual price. That’s not important.’

  ‘My husband making eyes at the cloth merchant is important to me. If you—’

  ‘We’ve got to leave,’ he blurted out. ‘Right now.’

  Hanra was stopped in full flow. She even set aside a plate of cheese that she’d been picking at.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Brutila. She’s here. She saw us.’

  Hanra stared at him dumbly.

  ‘Who’s Brutila?’ asked Frecha.

  ‘She’s a mindweaver. And a nasty one.’

  ‘What have mindweavers to do with us?’

  Dalbric tugged back his hair. Why didn’t they get it?

  ‘She saw me. I’m sure she read my mind.’

  Hanra snorted. ‘Well, she must have been bored to death.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Unless she saw your feelings for that woman.’

  Dalbric felt something snap. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Miray’s twice my age and happily married to another woman. As you would know if you ever bothered to go down to Kirkholme yourself. But no, that’s too much trouble.’

  ‘It’s a man’s job to do these things.’

  ‘Zastra never minded helping me.’

  ‘Who’s Zastra?’ Hanra’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  ‘I mean Layna.’

  His wife leapt up, her eyes flashing.

  ‘Layna this, Layna that. It’s been four years since she ran off and still you can’t think of anyone else. I suppose you wish you’d married her, instead of me?’

  ‘Hanra, please, that’s not what I meant.’ Dalbric’s head pounded. They didn’t have time for this, but somehow Hanra always seemed to lead him down this path, tying him up in knots with her accusations.

  ‘Layna’s not here,’ Fin said in a quiet voice. Dalbric squeezed his shoulder. The lad missed his sister. They knew she had been captured and forced to serve in Thorlberd’s fleet, but there had been no news since the previous winter. What if she was dead? Dalbric refused to think that. He took a deep breath. It was time Fin knew the truth.

  ‘I have a secret,’ he admitted. ‘Well it’s Fin and Layna’s secret really, but I know it, which means Brutila must know it by now.’

  Hanra stared at him as if he had grown a third ear.

  ‘What are you gibbering about?’

  Dalbric turned to Fin and crouched down so they were almost of a height and gripped him by his elbows as if to prop him up.

  ‘Fin, there’s no easy way to tell you this. Your sister brought you here when you were a baby. She had to run away because your father was Leodra, the old Marl of Golmeira, and your Uncle Thorlberd would have killed you both. He sent Brutila to capture you and she nearly did, only Layna…I mean Zastra — because Layna is Zastra — managed to escape and bring you to us.’

  ‘What a ridiculous tale,’ Hanra protested. ‘You can’t possibly be serious? Layna, daughter of a Grand Marl?’

  Fin flinched out of Dalbric’s grip and stared thoughtfully at him.

  ‘It’s the truth, Fin. And it means you’re in danger. Terrible danger. We must leave before Brutila finds us.’

  ‘Leave?’ Hanra cried. ‘I don’t care if this woman is under the delusion that Fin is some kind of royalty. We can fight her off. Our neighbours will help.’

  Dalbric turned to her.

  ‘You don’t get it. She’s a mindweaver. That means she can control people. She could turn me into a statue. And she’s sure to have a whole troop of soldiers at her command. She would kill everyone in the village without a second thought. Our only chance is to run. Fin, we must pack, and quickly. Take as little as you can.’

  Fin nodded silently and headed for his bunk at the back of the house. Frecha eased herself out of her chair and followed him. Hanra burst into tears.

  ‘This can’t be happening to me,’ she wailed.

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.’ Dalbric couldn’t bring himself to look at her. ‘I’ll ask Kikan to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of leaving me here?’

  Dalbric gaped at her. Surely Hanra didn’t think she was coming with them?

  ‘But it’ll be dangerous. We’ll have to move fast and sleep rough,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not letting you go off without me. Where will you go? To find Layna I suppose, or whatever she calls herself these days. I won’t have it.’

  ‘But, my love…’

  ‘Don’t give me that. Suppose that horrible mindweaver woman comes after me? Have you thought of that? Of course not. You don’t care what happens to me.’

  ‘Of course I care. But we’ll have to make long distances every day and you hate walking. Food may not be easy to come by and there’ll be no campfires, not if we are hiding out.’

  Hanra bridled. ‘I’m as good a mountain girl as the next.’ She yanked open a cupboard, extracted a large bag and began to stuff it full of clothes.

  ‘Don’t just stand there. Help me pack.’

  Dalbric knew he was beaten. All he could do was limit her to one bag and hope fervently she would see sense and turn back before they got too far.

  Chapter Eleven

  Zastra sank to her knees in despair. They had reached Etta’s house, her home for six years after she and Findar had escaped from Brutila. In front of her lay three burial mounds. One was covered in grass, the other two were newly turned, and of these, one was smaller, just the right size for a young boy. Zastra felt as if her whole body was silently screaming. Fin was gone, like her mother and father. She was utterly alone. She felt a light touch on her shoulder. It was Polina.

  ‘You’re certain this is the place?’

  ‘Of course I am!’ The words erupted out of her like an axe through timber. ‘Do you think I could forget the place where Fin grew up?’

  It had been the last place she had felt safe. Now it felt violated, like the turned ground before her. Beyond the graves, Etta’s house appeared tired and forlorn, the windows shuttered as if closed in sorrow. The wooden cladding had turned grey. Zastra remembered how she and Dalbric had oiled it each autumn and spring to keep it waterproof. Now there was no one left to care for it. The stepped vegetable beds had already been reclaimed by sponge grass and weeds growing out from the surrounding forest. Zastra got to her feet and wandered aimlessly around the smallholding. The door of the goat shed lay ajar. It was empty. It had been cleaned out and only a faint smell of the animals remained, soaked in the walls. Something did not make sense. The place looked as if it had not been lived in for years, yet the graves were fresh. As Zastra tried to solve the mystery, Kylen and Ithgol returned from the edge of the clearing. Zastra had not even noticed that they had gone. Kylen looked grim as she reported their findings.

  ‘There are soldiers’ footprints all around this place. Recently made.’

  ‘Whose soldiers?’

  Kylen averted her eyes. ‘I know the tread of a Golmeiran boot when I see it.’

  ‘Can you figure out what happened?’

  ‘Hard to say. There’s no blood, no signs of violence.’

  Zastra knelt down at the smallest of the graves and placed her palm gently against the soil.

  ‘Except this.’

  ‘We will avenge them,’ Kylen said grimly.

  Zastra closed her fist around a handful of cold dirt. ‘I’d forsake vengeance if I could just have them back. Can you do that, for me, Kylen? Can you bring them back?’

  There was a loud noise from the line of trees that surrounded the smallholding. Kylen whirled round.

  ‘Someone is here!’ she cried. Polina stood still and narrowed her eyes. ‘There – I have him.’ She pointed to a spot in the treeline and Ithgol and
Kylen dragged out a tall man whose thick black hair was peppered with grey.

  ‘Kikan!’ Zastra exclaimed. The man was as stiff as a plank of wood. Kylen nudged him sharply in the ribs, but he appeared unable to speak.

  ‘Release him, Pol,’ said Zastra. ‘He was a friend of Etta’s.’

  Polina exhaled and Kikan came back to life. He glared at them with intense suspicion, his eyes widening in recognition when they landed on Zastra.

  ‘Come,’ he said brusquely, striding towards the overgrown path that led down to Fivepeaks village.

  ‘Never thought I’d meet anyone with fewer manners than Ithgol,’ Kylen remarked. ‘Are all your friends this rude, Zastra?’ She headed off after Kikan, without waiting for the others. Polina sighed, smoothed the displaced soil on the small grave and helped Zastra with her backpack.

  ‘Some, but not all,’ she said, with a rueful smile.

  Kikan’s long legs took him down the mountain at a speed they struggled to match. Polina soon lagged behind, but Kikan didn’t check to see if they were keeping up. Zastra scrambled past Kylen and Ithgol until she reached the tall farmer.

  ‘Slow down, Kikan. What happened?’

  He did not break stride. ‘Frecha will tell you. And once she has, you must go. Trouble follows you, Layna.’

  It was clear there was no point in asking more questions. The big farmer had always been taciturn, but it was certain he blamed her for something. But what? Then she realised. Why else would Golmeiran soldiers come to Etta’s house, if not to look for her? Of course she was to blame. Fin, Dalbric and Etta are dead and it’s my fault.

  They reached Frecha’s house. Kikan banged on the door three times and strode off. Zastra tried the door. It was not locked and she eased it open. She remembered the dark passage well, and how it opened out in a room that appeared larger than she recalled. The huge loom that had once filled half the room was no longer there.