The Crowded Shadows

by Celine Kiernan

  He reached out and snagged a long strand of wool from Wynter’s tunic, then pulled one from the hem of his own. He quickly twisted the threads together, entwining the dark green wool of hers and the black wool of his own to make a single cord. This he tied around Wynter’s wrist. Then he repeated the process, holding out the second bracelet for her to tie around his arm.

  Wynter looked up at him as her fingers brushed the delicate flesh of his wrist.

  “Are we wed now, Christopher?” she teased.

  Christopher blushed, not certain what she wanted to hear. “Just pretending. So that… to make things easier for you.”

  Wynter paused and tilted her head back, looking him in the eye. “Just pretending?” She smiled wickedly and held his eyes as she finished knotting the cord around his wrist, then kept her hand on his arm. They stood gazing at each other, while within the tavern the music swung into a jig. Christopher’s lips curved gently.

  “Lass,” he whispered.

  Razi coughed and they glanced at him, startled. “I am not so certain that I am happy with that,” he said.

  Wynter’s heart sank, and Christopher’s expression drew down into a sudden, fierce resentment. He took firm hold of her hand, and stepped forward. “Not happy with what, Razi?” he said. “What exactly is it that you are not happy with?”

  Razi met his furious grey eyes and pouted in a most un-Razi-like manner.

  “Well, how come Wynter gets to wed you?” he said. “When surely it is I who most needs your protection?” He held out his wrist in mock supplication. “Wed me, Chris! Wed me and save me from those wicked Merron men.”

  Wynter laughed in relief, and Christopher punched Razi hard in the arm. “You bloody menace!” he growled, “I’ll feed you to them!”

  There was another roar from the inn and the three of them turned their faces to the door. Christopher squeezed Wynter’s hand and glanced at Razi. “Are you ready?” he said. They nodded and without any more hesitation made their way inside.

  The heat was tremendous, and the small room seemed thronged with giants. They slunk around the edges of the crowd and claimed a table that had been shoved up against the wall. Wynter and Razi sat themselves down, tensely facing the room, while Christopher remained standing.

  The entire company of Merron had their backs turned, their attention seemingly focused on the music, but Wynter had no doubt that every living person had noted their entrance. Christopher bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, his grin uncontrollable as he surveyed the room.

  Wynter turned to Razi, a question poised on her lips, and the look on his face stilled her. Razi was staring across the room, his brown eyes unusually wide, his lips parted. It was the same expression he sometimes had on first awakening—an innocent, round-eyed kind of wonder that Wynter had sometimes caught in him before the world inevitably rushed in and stole it. It plucked her heart, this expression; it was so rare in him. She turned to follow his gaze.

  He was looking at four people seated on the opposite side of the room. The indisputable leaders of this rowdy throng of men and women, they sat with their backs to the wall, looking out at their people. The six warhounds lay on the floor, their huge heads resting on their paws, their intelligent brown eyes following the movement of the crowd, an immutable barrier between their masters’ table and the rest of the room.

  Wynter regarded this group with interest. Yes, she thought, these are the ones we should try and get to know. Of all here they would have the information we seek.

  But there was no political interest in Razi’s appraising look, and she was amused to find his attention solely focused on the female member of the party. Wynter dug her elbow into his side and he jumped.

  “Pardon?” he said, startled.

  Wynter held his eyes and grinned. “Interesting people,” she said dryly.

  Razi blushed and made a show of looking to where Christopher stood, tapping his foot to the music, his way blocked by a solid wall of Merron backs. Just then, Christopher, apparently tired of the view, reached out and poked the man in front of him. The man, a great hairy bruiser, ignored him, but Christopher was not so easily dismissed, and to Wynter’s alarm, he tugged sharply at the man’s long red hair.

  The man spun with a snarl, his fist pulling back, and Razi and Wynter lurched forward in dismay. But something in Christopher’s grin seemed to hit home, and the man paused in mid-swing, his face questioning. Wynter saw him take in Christopher’s fine, pale skin and his long hair. His eyes slid to the tops of Christopher’s arms and his eyebrows rose at the unlikely sight of the snake bracelets. The man lowered his meaty fist. Smiling, Christopher waved a hand in the direction of the unseen musicians and asked a question in polite, respectful Merron.

  “Le meas, a dhuine uasail. Ach cé hiad na ceoltoirí?”

  The big Merron tilted his head uncertainly and growled, “Cé thú féin, a luch?”

  Christopher smiled. “Gabh mo leithscéal, ach b’fhéidirgo n-inseofa dóibh go bhfuil Coinín Garron, mac Aidan an Filid, anseo.” He bowed. “Mura mhiste leat.”

  The huge man looked at him uncertainly, then pushed away through the crowd. Christopher bounced happily up and down, waiting.

  “Christopher!” hissed Razi tensely. “Chris!” but Christopher had barely time to fling a placating gesture at him before a roar interrupted the music.

  As one, the Merron turned to stare at the slim, pale man standing at the edge of their circle. Wynter swallowed at how incredibly slight Christopher looked beside them. He gazed up into their wild, bearded, frowning faces and grinned.

  “Scéal?” he said impudently.

  Wynter leapt as two huge men suddenly grabbed Christopher around the waist and flung him into the air. Christopher howled. Within the blink of an eye Razi had his sword in his hand and was on his feet, shoving the table out of his way. Wynter leapt to his side. At their sudden movement, the four noble-folk startled, their hands dropping to their weapons. The great dogs rose and silently bared their teeth.

  It only took a moment for Razi and Wynter to see that Christopher’s howl had been one of joy. Slowly, they lowered their weapons and gaped in disbelief as their friend was hoisted over the Merron’s heads. Christopher whooped, the Merron laughed and he was passed from hand to hand across the crowd.

  Wynter looked around for a better vantage point, then hopped onto the table so she could witness her friend’s progress across the room. Razi, his sword still in his hand, leapt onto the bench at her side and the two of them watched, round-eyed, as a delighted Christopher bobbed away from them like a leaf on water. He was eventually deposited, feet first, onto a raised platform where a man and two women were standing, waiting for him.

  Christopher landed with a little bounce and stood smiling at the musicians, suddenly shy. The man and younger woman regarded him with glittering eyes, saying nothing, but the older woman launched herself at him with a little shriek and dragged him into a violent hug. She was a good head taller than Christopher and quite overcome with emotion. She squeezed so tightly that Wynter feared for her friend’s ribcage.

  Christopher laughed against the woman’s bony chest, murmuring something soothing and he lifted his arm to pat her on the back, unintentionally revealing his hands to the man. At the sight of the dreadful scars, the man roared in horror and grabbed Christopher by the wrists, dragging him around to face him. He pulled Christopher’s hands up to his eyes, as if doubting what he saw, then gave a great cry of devastation. The women wailed.

  Christopher leant back, tugging at the horrified man’s grip, his face desperate. He said something and made an awful attempt at a grin, but the man held on, staring at Christopher’s ruined hands. The crowd fell silent and Wynter’s heart dropped. Razi moaned quietly. This would be so far from what Christopher would want.

  There was a long emptiness of silence, and for a terrible moment, Wynter thought the evening was lost to her friend. Then Christopher broke free of the man’s grip, leapt to the side and snatc
hed up one of those wide, flat drums the Merron so loved. He swung to the crowd, and with a desperate yell commenced beating out an intricate, driving rhythm.

  Everyone stared at him.

  Come on! thought Wynter, willing the crowd to respond. Come on!

  Christopher yelled again and began to stamp his foot. Wynter started to clap in time with the drum.

  Suddenly, a man in the crowd whooped in counterpoint to Christopher’s driving tattoo. Someone else began to clap in time, and gradually the sound of stamping began to vibrate up through the floor.

  “Yes,” hissed Razi.

  The younger musician rose abruptly to her feet. She grabbed her fiddle and shoved it beneath her chin. She stood for a moment, eyes closed, bow poised, waiting as her body caught the cadence of the drum. Then she was away, the rhythm overtaking her, her hands flying, and music joyous as sunshine spun out from her bow. Christopher whirled towards her, his hair flying, his face lit with joy.

  The older woman bent to retrieve something from the table. When she turned she had a recorder held to her lips. She nodded in time to the music, and then she too was away, carried forward and up with the sheer joy, the sheer exuberance of the drum. The crowd roared and stamped, and Christopher whooped. The man jammed his fiddle under his cheek and let fly.

  Wynter and Razi stood for a long moment, watching as Christopher lost himself to what he used to be. Then the landlord came over and rapped his knuckles on the table at Wynter’s feet, pointedly looking up at herself and Razi. Wynter blushed, wiped her eyes, and stepped primly from the tabletop to take her seat.

  Razi, however, took his own sweet time in getting down from his perch. As he descended from on high, Wynter glanced at the table of Merron nobles, and to her delight she caught the woman giving her tall, long-legged pirate a very appreciative look. Razi adjusted his sword and folded his hands on the table, all the time staring coolly at the landlord.

  The Merron woman laughed in amusement and leant to murmur to her neighbour. He turned with a fond smile and Wynter realised that they were twins. There could be no doubt of it; they were the same height, both tall and slim with high sloping cheekbones and clear, dark-blue eyes. The man’s face was slightly heavier boned than the woman’s and dressed with a neat beard, but they shared a similar cool beauty that made Wynter think of tapestries and fairytales.

  The man pushed his hair back behind his ear and listened to his sister’s murmured comment. His mouth curved into a smile and he looked Razi up and down with amusement as his sister glanced back their way. They both had luminous waterfalls of blond hair. The woman’s fell around her shoulders and down her back like lemon fire.

  No wonder Razi noticed you, thought Wynter. You are like sunshine on ice. The woman dipped her head and smiled another comment to her brother. She looked older than Razi, well into her late twenties, but Wynter decided that they would make a handsome couple. The pirate and his pale lady, she thought. That would be lovely to see. Then she thought slyly, perhaps this will be our way to their table.

  Caoirigh Beo

  “You are being watched, Razi,” murmured Wynter, as she took a sip of her cordial.

  Razi lifted his eyes and discreetly took in the room. “Where?” he asked. He had been pointedly ignoring the noblemen ever since Wynter had caught him eyeing the woman, and so had not noticed the amount of attention he was getting from that quarter.

  Wynter chuckled. “Your pale lady seems quite taken with you. It must be the beard.”

  Razi tutted irritably, but he glanced across the room nonetheless, and then looked quickly away. The lady must still have been watching. He immediately began fiddling with the hem of his sleeve and Wynter felt a great rush of tenderness for him as the colour rose in his cheeks. She pucked him in the arm, and his teeth flashed in a quick grin.

  Wynter found it very tempting to fall into their old tease and rattle. But she cleared her throat and forced herself to concentrate on their surroundings. She reminded herself that Razi was one of the most hated men in this kingdom. At every turn of his back there were daggers and wolves, and an entire way of life depended on his actions. It would not do to forget their precarious position.

  She glanced sideways at him, and saw him cast another fleeting glance at the blonde lady. Wynter smiled. What harm? she thought. To see him so charmed for a little while, and so distracted. Can’t Christopher and I watch his back?

  She glanced around the room as she took another sip of her drink. The Merron were starting to dance, and she regarded them with interest. Her father had described Merron dancing to her wild, swinging set-pieces, complex and fast. Lorcan said he had never seen dancers leap so high. Wynter wondered if Christopher could dance like that. Maybe he would show her how? Razi tapped the table in time to the music. Somewhere across the crowd Christopher was still working the drum, adding his own thread to the sound, happy and wild. They had ordered him a meal, but Wynter did not think they would be seeing him for quite some time.

  Despite her best intentions, she did not notice the two men crossing the room until Razi got warily to his feet, his hand on his sword. Wynter rose to join him, and met the men’s eyes as they approached.

  One of them she recognised as having come from the nobleman’s table. He had been seated at the left hand of the male twin and had been much amused by the pale lady’s interest in Razi. Sandy-haired, wiry and slightly stooped, Wynter guessed this man was in his early thirties, though it was hard to tell because his pale face was so very weathered. He wore the symbolic bracelets of the Bear Merron at the tops of his bare arms and a plaited band of copper and silver on his wrist. He had an air of slouching good-humour, and as he came to the table, he pushed his curling hair behind his ears and smiled with open curiosity. Wynter saw that he was missing two top teeth and his neck and wrists were ringed with old scars. His companion, a broad-shouldered brown-haired giant, looked down at herself and Razi with similar openness and curiosity.

  The sandy-haired man offered his hand, and Razi shook it. Then, without deferring to Razi, the man turned and offered his hand to Wynter as if she too were a man. She accepted this as if it were normal, nodding as he met her eye. His hand was very strong, callused and tough as if his palms were made of polished wood, and his slim arms were like corded iron. He began to introduce himself in Merron, saw that they did not understand him, and paused, his forehead creased.

  “I am terribly sorry for our ignorance,” said Razi. “We have no understanding of your language.”

  The two Merron looked at each other.

  The sandy-haired man cast a glance at the noblemen’s table, and the male twin raised his eyebrows in query. The man waved the twin’s attention away, as if to say give me a moment and, with a determined roll of his shoulders, turned and addressed Wynter and Razi in Garmain. Wynter could speak this Northland tongue quite well, but she knew that Razi could not, so she stayed silent. Razi tried French and then Italian, but to no avail.

  The Merron men sighed in frustration.

  “Forgive me,” said Wynter in Hadrish, “but do we perhaps share this language?”

  The sandy-haired man gave a cry of delight and flashed his gap-toothed grin. He bowed slightly to Wynter and Razi and said, “With respect, honoured people, the Lords talk with Hadran tongue; it would be our pleasure for you would join us at our table for visit?” His hoarse voice and the drawling burr of his accent were warm and somehow reassuring. He indicated his companion, who had already turned away and was craning to see over the crowd. “Wari will get your small friend,” he said.

  Wynter felt a pang of regret that Christopher’s fun would be cut short so soon, but neither herself nor Razi moved to prevent the man named Wari from whistling for attention and waving towards the stage. It was time to play politics and they would need Christopher’s knowledge of the Merron to guide them. They went to gather their stuff, but the sandy-haired man waved them off with a frown. “All safe,” he said, impatiently. “All good.”

  Wynt
er and Razi glanced at each other and recalled Christopher’s warning about implied lack of trust. Razi dipped his head amiably and they turned away from their travel belts and belongings with concealed misgivings. They had just eased from behind the table when Christopher was handed across the crowd and deposited lightly onto the ground by their side. He shoved his clinging hair back off his face and Wynter saw wariness creep into his smile as he eyed the two grinning Merron.

  “What’s the story?” he said in cautious Southlandast.

  “We’ve been invited to the nobles’ table,” answered Razi, through a smooth smile. “We’ll be speaking Hadrish, as apparently it’s the only language we all share.”

  The Merron men nodded politely to Christopher. He smiled at them, still speaking quietly to Razi and Wynter in Southlandast.

  “Have you tried to introduce yourselves? Because that wouldn’t do at all.”

  “No,” said Wynter. “They approached us.”

  “Good, good. Now let them lead the way.”

  Wynter and Razi followed Christopher’s lead by bowing once more and letting the two men go ahead of them. The music continued unabated, but the crowd paid discreet attention to the strangers as they approached the noblemen’s table.

  Wari slipped easily between the warhounds and moved to stand by the wall. Wynter suspected that he was some kind of guard or personal assistant to the silent, black-haired fellow who sprawled in the chair on the pale lady’s right.

  “Tá teanga na Hadran acu,” said Wari. The twins raised their eyebrows and said, “Ahh, Hadrish.”

  The black-haired man watched the three of them, his dark eyes expressionless. His fingers were ornate with silver rings, the tops of his bare arms enclosed in the ubiquitous heavy silver bracelets. Wynter was surprised to see that these bracelets did not symbolise any of the four tribes of Merron. Instead of the usual hawk, panther, bear or snake, the tops of the open spirals depicted a human head, in its mouth a lamb or a small dog. Christopher eyed this man warily and the man eyed him back.