The Crowded Shadows

by Celine Kiernan

  “Wake!” he said, his voice deep and powerful, and Christopher snapped awake, his eyes wide, his breath stopping in a little grunt.

  “Good,” crooned Ashkr, releasing Christopher’s shoulder immediately. “Good. You come back now. You free.”

  Christopher’s eyes wandered to Ashkr without much comprehension. Then he looked at Wynter. “Iseult,” he rasped, “I’m afraid of it.”

  “Shhhh,” she said, gently. His lips were very dry. “Have some water.” He drank as though he would never taste water again, leaning up from the bed and gripping the waterskin with frantic desperation. In the end, Wynter had to pull it from him for fear he’d do himself damage. “Enough!” she cried.

  To her surprise, when Christopher pulled away, his eyes were focused, though still too black, and his face was attentive. He did not seem at all surprised to see Ashkr sitting beside him on the bed. “Ashkr,” he whispered. “It did not go well.”

  Ashkr compressed his cracked lips and grimaced. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No. No… it bad. We see only bad things. Bad things in the North, bad things here. Embla, she see blood, she see men dying so fast, one after another like—” He clicked his sweating fingers rapidly, snap, snap, snap, and then hunched into the covers, shivering. “Felled like corn under rain of metal and fire. Úlfnaor, he say it because the People new here. He say, the seeing all mixed up. An Domhan not know us yet, he say. When it know us, we be good.” Christopher and Ashkr went very quiet at that, looking away from one another, their faces tense.

  “Will An Domhan know you after you have declared Frith, Ashkr?” ventured Wynter. “Is that what the ceremony is about?” She wanted Ashkr to say yes. She wanted the ceremony of Frith, which Christopher seemed to love so much, to be the only thing necessary. But she knew, somewhere inside her, that there was much more to what Ashkr meant.

  Ashkr, his face tender, didn’t answer. Instead, he reached across and stroked her cheek with his cold, wet fingers. His eyes slid to Razi, and Christopher spoke sharply, drawing his attention away.

  “Your people will never be accepted here, Ashkr,” he said. “This is all in vain.”

  Wynter exchanged a grim frown with Razi. There was so much untold here. It was maddening.

  “Go home, Ash,” continued Christopher. “Tell your people to go home. There is no place here for the old ways, and no matter what you give to An Domhan, nothing is going to change that fact.” He reached and grabbed Ashkr’s hand, staring into the man’s troubled face. “Ashkr, please,” he said. “Please take Sólmundr and Embla and go home. Please!”

  “But there no place for us there either, Coinín,” whispered Ashkr. “Shirken he push us away and away. He take our Aoirí, he put them to the rack. He destroy our hunting grounds. What are we to do?”

  “Adapt,” said Christopher, his grey eyes wide and urgent. “It’s the only way! This world will not always stay the same just to suit you. You must adapt!”

  Ashkr chuckled sadly, as if Christopher had made a joke. “Like the Serpent tribe?” he said. “Like the Hawk? That not really work for them, now, has it? Anyway, I not the right person to ask that of, lucha. All my life been leading to here, it not in my power to change what An Domhan want.”

  Christopher groaned and turned his head away, but Wynter noticed that he didn’t release Ashkr’s hand. The two men remained heavily silent for a moment, each deep in thought. Then Ashkr squinted and shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “Oh yes,” he whispered, “Sól.” He shook Christopher’s hand. “Coinín, Sól …”

  Christopher tugged his hand away, his eyes averted. Ashkr smiled humourlessly, “You still think I cruel. You disapprove that I let him love me.”

  Christopher didn’t answer, and Ashkr released a bitter little laugh. He pulled the furs around himself and closed his eyes. “You not know love then,” he muttered, “if you think it should to be denied for fear of when it might end.”

  Ashkr hunched into himself miserably, shivering, and Razi laid a hand on his shoulder. “You should be abed, Ashkr.”

  The blond man cracked a bloodshot eye at him. “Aye, in moment.” He turned to Christopher again and pucked him. “Coinín, your friends tell Sól that you take his place for him. He think you stay.”

  Christopher’s eyes widened. “What?” he cried, pushing unsteadily to his elbows. “What? Are you out of your minds? That poor man! Good Frith! Razi! How could you be so cruel?”

  Wynter and Razi drew back in guilt and confusion. Razi hunched his shoulders. “I …” he said.

  “It good,” said Ashkr. “I want that you not tell him truth. Sól, he drinks, and he eats a little, and now he sleeps. This good. I want he not stop doing these things. I want you not tell him you leave.”

  Christopher covered his eyes and lay back down on the bed. “You’re cruel.” He shook his head. “You’re just bloody cruel.”

  “Today,” said Ashkr, laying his trembling fingers against Christopher’s chest. “Sól, he will ask you many thing. He will tell you all the thing he wants you to do when …” He glanced at Razi and Wynter. “When you …”

  “I know what you mean,” snapped Christopher, his hand still over his eyes.

  “You agree, Coinín.” Ashkr tapped Christopher’s chest firmly. Christopher uncovered his face and glared at him. But Ashkr was gazing down at him, his eyes full, and Christopher’s expression softened at the desperation in the man’s face. “You agree to all that Sól ask? Please? You make him think it all right? Even for just today? Please Coinín, to you I am begging. Make him this gift, just for today?”

  Wynter couldn’t help but be moved. She had no idea what it was they were planning to deceive Sólmundr about, but she found herself willing Christopher to agree. Without a word, Christopher jerked his head in consent, and Ashkr took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed his hand to his eyes in relief. “Good,” he said softly. “Good.” He seemed spent suddenly, all his tenacious energy gone, and he sagged.

  “Ashkr,” murmured Razi, “will I help you back to your tent?”

  Ashkr shook his head, “Hally, she help me.” The tent brightened as Razi lifted the door and then flickered with shadows as Hallvor stooped inside and rushed to crouch by Ashkr’s knee.

  Before he was helped to his feet, the Merron lord laid his hand on Christopher’s chest again. Christopher’s hands leapt and his mouth tightened in protest, but he said nothing. Ashkr was panting once more, his eyes no more than slits in his pasty face. “Thank you, lucha,” he said. Then he pressed down hard on Christopher’s chest, and his voice became strong for a moment, deeply commanding. “Sleep,” he said.

  To Wynter’s astonishment, Christopher went abruptly limp. His eyes slipped closed, his hands relaxed and he tumbled into a deep and mercifully untroubled sleep. “Good,” murmured Ashkr, tracing Christopher’s face with his finger. “Good.”

  Hallvor and Razi helped Ashkr to his feet. At the door, Ashkr turned back, his face blotted into darkness, his long hair shivering around him like summer gold. Hallvor supported him, a slim black shape by his side. It was impossible to tell what expression was on their faces.

  “I see you at dinner,” whispered Ashkr. “Do not forget …”

  Then Hallvor led him away, and Razi grimly dragged the door across.

  Promises Made

  “Did I miss aught?”

  At Christopher’s soft question, Wynter discarded the piece of tack that she was oiling and scurried forward to look in through the door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust after the sunshine outside, then she peered across the tent at her friend, and he gave her a small, affectionate smile.

  “How do, girly,” he said.

  Wynter sagged with relief. Christopher had pushed back his covers and was sitting on the edge of their pallet, his arms resting loosely across his bent knees. Though his eyes were still strained and pouchy, and his face still drawn, he looked a hundred times younger than he had before.

  “You’ve missed nothing,” she sa
id, smiling, “except the Merron’s shameless poaching of fish from the King’s river, and their continued gathering of unlicensed timber from the King’s forest.”

  Christopher’s eyes sparkled. “Bloody Merron,” he whispered.

  “They are incorrigibly dubious,” she agreed, delighted at his amusement. It seemed as though the scant two hours of drug-induced sleep had refreshed him greatly.

  “Where’s that stubborn brown bollix we’re lumbered with?”

  “I am right here,” grumbled Razi. “Waiting for my sister to shift her considerable bulk and grant me access to your company.” He nudged Wynter with his foot and, without bothering to stand up, she crawled through the door, grinning.

  “You look much better, she said, kneeling by Christopher’s side.

  His dimples flashed. I hadn’t thought it possible to improve on perfection,” he smirked, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Let me see you,” said Razi gruffly, and he grabbed Christopher’s jaw, tilting his head to the light, leaning in close to look into his eyes.

  “Stop that!” said Christopher, jerking his head away.

  Razi tsked impatiently, and he pulled Christopher forward again, checking his pupils. “Just hold still!”

  Christopher slapped his hands away and pushed him violently backwards. “You stop that!” he snarled, raising his foot as if to kick out. “Stop pawing me! Get off!”

  Razi pulled back, his hands up. “Christopher,” he said, carefully, keeping his distance, his eyes scanning Christopher’s face. “You were a God-cursed mess when those people brought you back. Your heart. Your temperature.” He shook his head, his face furious. “And Ashkr? The man was practically in shock, Christopher! I cannot permit that to happen again!” He sliced his hand downwards in imperious command. “I am serious! Whatever it is you people think you are doing to yourselves, I cannot—”

  “No!” cried Christopher. “You back off now, Razi. I mean it. It ain’t none of your concern. Nothing these people do is any of your concern; you need to stay out of it.” Razi scowled blackly, and for one scalding moment the two men glared at each other. Then Christopher glanced at Wynter and to her enormous relief, he winked.

  “No bloody manners,” he whispered.

  “He is very poorly bred,” she agreed gently. “Ran terribly wild as a youth.”

  Razi clamped his teeth against what was most likely a profanity and turned away, still angry.

  “Don’t fret, Razi,” whispered Christopher. “We’re all right. Embla’s all right. The seeing just knocks the feathers from us for a while, that’s all.”

  Razi sat on the edge of Embla’s bed, still looking away. “So,” he said. “We are to leave tomorrow, Christopher? That is still what you want? I am to lead you and Wynter out into the wilds. On our own.”

  Christopher gazed at him for a moment, his grey eyes solemn. “Oh aye, Raz,” he said. “More than ever I’m convinced we’ve got to get you out of here.” Wynter frowned in alarm at that and Razi looked sharply at their friend. “But I’ve been thinking,” said Christopher. “You’re right, the Merron are your best chance of finding your brother. It’s madness to think that an opportunity like this would ever come our way again.”

  “There’s no point telling me that, Christopher!” cried Razi. “Their knowledge is useless to me unless we stay!”

  “In two days’ time,’ continued Christopher. “When their business here is completed, Úlfnaor and his party will leave and commence their journey to your brother. Here is what I suggest: I suggest that you, me and our girl kiss the Merron goodbye tomorrow and set off on our merry way. We travel, oh… half a day, maybe. And we camp out for the duration of… of their business. We stay well away. Keep you out of things entirely. Then when they’re finished, we come back and we watch from the cover of the woods. Wait for Úlfnaor to take to the trail and …” he stopped uncertainly, spreading his scarred hands and looking down. “We follow him,” he finished weakly.

  Wynter and Razi sat silently for a few minutes.

  “Christopher,” said Wynter gently. She touched his arm, but he kept his eyes down, focusing on the dirt floor between his bare feet. “You want us to pretend to leave, only to return later and spy on the Merron?” Christopher nodded, his face tight, his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink. Wynter glanced at Razi. “Christopher,” she continued. “Sólmundr told us what they do to spies. He warned Razi. And those dogs… if we attempt to hide ourselves nearby, those dogs will sniff us out, they will find us in no time.” She ran her hand up and down the top of Christopher’s arm. “Would it not be better to stay?” she murmured persuasively. “Could you not try and build on the relationship we already have with them? Perhaps try and convince Úlfnaor that we should go with them? Surely that would be better? Surely that would be safer than turning ourselves into spies?”

  Christopher looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “We are spies, lass,” he said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “We’re already spies. The only reason we were permitted here at all is because Ashkr wanted Sólmundr to survive, and because Embla has taken a heat for Razi. Úlfnaor would never have brought you here if he were free to choose. He’s too noble a man. But the Caoirigh …” Christopher huffed bitterly. “The Caoirigh wanted Razi, and what the Caoirigh want, the Caoirigh get.” There was a moment of tense silence as Christopher glared into the corner. “But they never intended for us to go on with them,” he said softly. “And now they know you don’t support the old ways, well, they would have driven you out tomorrow anyway. Good omen or not, they would never risk you staying for the …” he trailed off. Then his grey eyes narrowed as something occurred to him. He glanced at Razi. “What did you say to Sólmundr to get him talking about spies?”

  Razi s colour deepened. “I tried to take advantage of his confusion to garner some information about those papers.”

  Christopher’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Oh, aye?” he said. “I bet you got a shock, eh? Bet that warm smile of his dropped a fair measure below freezing when he caught you out.”

  “Sólmundr said they would blood-eagle him,” whispered Wynter. “If they suspected that Razi was a spy, the Merron would blood-eagle him.”

  Christopher nodded. “I don’t doubt it,” he said quietly. “Do you know what Sólmundr is, Razi… No? That man ain’t just Ashkr’s croí-eile. He is what these kind of people used to call Fear Fada. He is a holy warrior, trained from childhood. His sole purpose in life is to keep the Caoirigh safe. If Sólmundr had thought that you meant Ashkr or Embla any harm, he would have slit you from breastbone to groin—both of you—and had you pegged out for the crows to eat your hearts. You’re lucky, Razi, you and our girl, you’re lucky that Sólmundr is an intelligent man, and not some mindless zealot like most of the Fadaí. Otherwise they’d have blood-eagled us long ago and we’d already have had our ribcages cracked, and be wearing our lungs as wings.”

  “Oh, Christopher,” moaned Wynter. “Please don’t.”

  There was a long, tense silence.

  “What do you think of my plan?” asked Christopher eventually, staring at Razi.

  To Wynter’s immense surprise, Razi glanced at her, wordlessly asking her opinion. “I worry about those dogs,” she said. “But still, I think it is the best that we can hope for under the circumstances. don’t you?”

  Razi nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I agree. Chris, we leave in the morning, as you have advised. And we will return, as you suggest, in two days. We shall see then where our luck takes us.”

  Wynter felt Christopher sag with relief. “Oh, thank Frith,” he whispered. Sighing, he kissed Wynter’s hand and tucked it affectionately under his chin.

  Razi looked from their clasped hands to his friend’s face. He took a deep breath.

  “There are other things we must discuss,” he said softly.

  Wynter looked at him. Comprehension dawned. “The Wolves?” she said. “Yes, they are still a threat.”

  Razi gla
nced at her, then met Christopher’s eye again. There was a lot of meaning in that look, and Wynter frowned. “What?” she said.

  Christopher pressed his chin down onto Wynter’s hand, clutching her fingers against the soft warm flesh of his throat, as if afraid she’d draw away. He did not take his eyes from Razi’s. “Tonight,” he said. “My People declare Frith. I want to enjoy it, Razi. I want to dance it with a clean heart. Everything else …” Christopher blew sharply into his free hand and fluttered his fingers up into the air as if casting a handful of ash to the wind. He stared at Razi. “I want it forgotten, Razi. That’s all. I just want it forgotten.”

  Razi’s dark eyes filled with doubt, and his mouth twisted. “Christopher,” he began, his eyes slipping to Wynter.

  “Let …” interrupted Christopher quickly, holding his hand up. “Let me tell you what the dances mean, shall I? So you can understand a little of what you will see tonight?”

  “I think that would be lovely, Christopher,” said Wynter, tearing her eyes from Razi and turning to their friend. “I should like that very much!”

  Christopher smiled at her. “Would you?” he said. “Will I show you now?”

  She nodded and Razi sat back, his face stiff with uncertainty.

  “I will show you as much as I can before they come to get us for dinner,” said Christopher, limping to the centre of the floor space “You won’t have to remember the steps or aught; you won’t be expected to dance.”

  Wynter leant in to Razi. “We can deal with the Wolves, brother,” she said softly. “There is no need to make him discuss it.”

  Razi just frowned, and silently turned his attention to their friend as he began the slow movement of the Merron dance, explaining each gesture as he did.

  To Wynter’s surprise, dinner was not a private affair. When they got to Ashkr’s tent, the front of the puballmór had been opened outwards and suspended on poles, so that the occupants of the interior could be included in the activities outside. The entire company of Merron was ranged about outside the tent, sitting on mats and blankets, sharing many small cook fires and chatting. Embla, Úlfnaor, Ashkr and Sólmundr were inside the tent.