‘Kikan seemed hard at work when we passed,’ she remarked. ‘He didn’t even say hello.’
Frecha stopped dead, the spool of yarn still in her hand.
‘Haven’t you heard, duckie? Raurak is missing. Old Haq’s donkey too.’
Etta stared at her.
‘Missing? What do you mean?’
‘They had some bags of oats spare after the winter so Raurak took them down to Kirkholme to sell, along with some of their bamboo cloth. He and the donkey were due back last week, but there’s been no sign of them.’
Kirkholme, the nearest trading post, lay several days journey away. Whenever the villagers had goods to trade, they paid Haq a small fee to hire his donkey and cart.
‘I bet Raurak has run off with another man,’ Hanra said with a giggle. ‘He’s always had roving eyes, that one. And Kikan is so much older than him.’ Frecha looked at her disapprovingly.
‘Even if that were true, Raurak would never take the donkey and not bring it back. He knows how important it is to all of us. Kikan says if he’s not back by tomorrow, he’ll go down to Kirkholme himself.’
‘He’ll kill Raurak if he finds him. I’d never run away from my husband.’ Hanra sidled up to Dalbric and put her arm through his. Dalbric’s face went bright red. Zastra reached between them and banged the hot pan down on the table.
‘Lunch is ready.’
‘Don’t want to eat the poor fishy,’ protested Fin.
‘What do you mean?’ Zastra asked. ‘You were the one that asked for fish for lunch. That’s why I caught it in the first place.’ Fin pouted and crossed his arms.
‘He was happy and you killed him.’
‘Ain’t no such thing as a happy fish,’ scoffed Dalbric, but Fin still refused to touch his plate. Frecha found some bread and syrup for him to have instead.
When they had eaten, Frecha stood up and began clear away the dishes, wincing with the pain. Hanra made no offer of help, so Zastra leapt up and took the plates from Frecha’s hands.
‘You rest, Frecha.’ She shot a pointed glance at Hanra, but it was wasted. The weaver’s daughter rested her head on Dalbric’s shoulder and sighed as if she didn’t even have the energy to sit up properly. Resisting the temptation to throw something at her, Zastra scrubbed the plates and pots so hard that they shone. When she was done, she was at last free to go in search of Lindarn.
‘I’m just popping out to see Gonjik. To apologise for being so rude.’
However, her lie was unnecessary as no one paid her the remotest attention. Etta and Frecha were working the loom, Hanra and Dalbric were deep in some secret discussion, and Findar…was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where’s Fin?’
Etta, roused by Zastra’s worried cry, shot to her feet.
‘I thought he was with Hanra.’
‘What?’ Hanra turned towards them. ‘No – not since we finished lunch. Ain’t he in the bedroom?’
Zastra dashed into the bedroom. It was empty. She searched every other room in the house, but there was no sign of her brother.
Chapter Five
Zastra shot out into the street. A fog had descended and the outer edges of the village were shrouded in a pale grey curtain. Findar was nowhere to be seen. Where could he be? Had he disappeared, just like Raurak? A figure loomed out of the mist. Gonjik, smirking as usual.
‘Looking for something?’
‘My brother. Have you seen him?’
Gonjik hopped from one foot to the other. ‘Maybe, maybe not. I might remember, if you were nice to me. Just one little kiss.’
Zastra gathered a fistful of Gonjik’s shirt in her hand and pushed him backwards until he was pressed up against the trunk of a tree.
‘Tell me where he is. Right now.’
Gonjik just grinned and spread his hands wide
‘Why resist this attraction, Layna? You can’t keep your hands off me.’
Zastra dropped him in disgust and stormed off down the street, looking behind every fence and knocking on every door. No one had seen her brother. The fog thickened until she could see barely three paces in front of her.
Gonjik skipped after her. ‘I’ll help you look.’
‘Just leave me alone,’ she growled. She began to run, yelling her brother’s name, panic beginning to flutter in her chest. Then, out of the grey mist, a thin cry echoed her own. She followed the sound and found herself at the healer’s house. Fin was pounding on the door with both his little fists. Zastra gathered him up in her arms.
‘Fin, thank the stars. Where have you been?’
‘Fetching healer for Etta. Make her better.’
‘Oh, Fin, you are a love.’ She hugged him close and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Her brother giggled and tried to wriggle out of her grip but Zastra held firm. She wasn’t going to let him escape again, not with the mountain fog thickening by the moment.
‘If you’re wanting Lindarn, he ain’t here.’ Gonjik emerged from the murkiness. ‘He’s gone to Steepcrest to help his son’s wife have her baby. Won’t be back for days.’
‘Fin? Layna?’ Zastra recognised Etta’s voice. She set Fin down, but kept a firm hold of his hand.
‘Come, Fin. We mustn’t tell anyone that we were looking for Lindarn. It’s our secret.’
‘Secret,’ echoed Fin with utmost seriousness. Etta and Dalbric emerged from the mist.
‘You found him. Thank the stars!’ Etta cried in relief and planted a kiss on the top of Fin’s head. Dalbric peered behind them.
‘Where’s Lindarn?’ he asked expectantly. Zastra shot him a look of exasperation.
‘Lindarn’s a secret.’ Fin’s exaggerated whisper was so loud that everyone in the village must have heard. Etta pinched her left earlobe between her thumb and forefinger, a sure sign she was seriously displeased. She waited a moment before speaking, and when she did, she was dangerously calm.
‘I see. Sneaking around behind my back, the lot of you. We’re going home. This instant. And when we get there, Layna can start cleaning the next batch of wool and Dalbric, you can dig a new waste pit. You should have plenty of energy after mooning at Hanra all day. It seems I’m not keeping you busy enough if you have time to hatch plots behind my back.’
Zastra and Dalbric exchanged glances as Etta strode off up the mountain, coughing.
‘I don’t care how many chores we get, I’m going to find Lindarn,’ Zastra insisted. Dalbric nodded in silent agreement, and they headed home.
Chapter Six
Kylen squinted through the branches of a tree at the familiar village. Something was wrong. Breeze sensed it too and nudged her nervously in the back with his nose. She scanned every house carefully. There was no sign of Golmeiran soldiers, but her intuition told her not to move. Something is different from the last time we were here.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Hylaz broke her concentration. ‘I’m starving. The thought of Loran’s pancakes gets my taste buds itching. And we need to get the rest of these Golmeiran weapons hidden away.’
His stomach emitted a loud rumble. Kylen frowned in annoyance.
‘I don’t know what’s worse. Your grumbling, or that of your belly. We’d best hope there aren’t any Golmeirans nearby. I was hoping to remain unnoticed.’
‘I don’t understand. If there were a hundred soldiers in this village, you’d have already sent us in to fight them.’
‘Because then we’d have known what we were facing.’ Kylen continued her scan of the village. Her eyes came to rest on a large house of clay bricks that sat opposite the watchtower.
‘See Loran’s house? There’s something odd about the door.’
Hylaz took out a telescope and peered through it. ‘Looks as if it’s been boarded up.’
Kylen snatched the telescope from him so that she could see for herself.
‘That’s odd. Why would Loran close up his house?’
‘Only one way to find out,’ offered Hylaz hopefully. His stomach rumbled again and Kylen relented. As she led
her small group and their fellgryffs into the village, it became even more apparent that something was amiss. Sendorans were usually keen to welcome their own, and they had many friends in this village. But today no one came out to greet them. A woman emerged from her house carrying a large bucket, but the moment she saw them, she ducked back inside and slammed the door behind her. Others lowered their eyes as Kylen passed, with no word of welcome. When they reached Loran’s house, Kylen peered between the rough boards that had been nailed across the doorframe. There was no sign of movement, even when she banged her fist against the wood.
‘There go my pancakes,’ Hylaz remarked sorrowfully.
‘Shut up about your stupid pancakes.’
Kylen strode to the house next door to Loran’s and thumped on the door. No one answered. Resting her ear to the wood, she gestured for quiet. She closed her eyes, cutting off all other senses. She attuned herself to the swish of the wind playing through the highest branches of the trees. A raven squawked somewhere in the treetops and further down the village a door creaked. She acknowledged these sounds and searched for something more. There it was; soft, nasal, pulsating in time with her own breathing. She stepped back and pounded so hard that the door threatened to come free of its hinges.
‘I know you’re in there!’
A small crack appeared between the door and the jamb.
‘Noonan, isn’t it?’ Kylen peered into the darkness. ‘There’s no need to hide from me. We are all friends here. I just want to know what has happened.’
The door inched open and a woman stuck her head outside, scanning the village nervously.
‘Golmeirans. They knew we’d been supplying you with food, Lady Kylen. I don’t know how, but they knew. Someone had to take the blame.’
‘So you gave up Loran?’ Kylen swelled with rage. She grabbed Noonan by her arm and dragged her bodily into the street. ‘Who gave him up?’
Hylaz prised Kylen away from the woman.
‘These people are not our enemies, my Lady.’
Kylen shrugged him off and jabbed her finger towards Noonan.
‘They gave up Loran. That makes them traitors to Sendor.’
Noonan returned her gaze levelly.
‘Loran gave himself up. They were going to burn all our food, so Loran stood forward to take the blame. Then they burned the food anyway.’
‘What, all of it?’ Kylen exclaimed in dismay. ‘They left you nothing?’
‘We managed to keep some supplies hidden, but we must hope for a good harvest.’
‘And Loran?’
‘They took him away. He was a good man.’ There was bitter accusation in her voice, and it seemed that it was not only directed at the Golmeirans. Kylen strode towards the edge of the village, chewing her lower lip. She gathered her small band of fighters and issued a few, brief orders. Her comrades mounted their fellgryffs and scattered, reappearing just as the sun was setting, bearing the fruits of a day’s hunting. Kylen ordered the meat to be placed in front of Loran’s door.
‘We are not your enemy,’ she called out into the dusk. But she was answered only by the slamming of doors and closing of shutters. One by one the lights in the village were extinguished until they were left in darkness.
Chapter Seven
It was several days before Etta let Zastra or Dalbric out of her sight. She kept them working from before dawn until well after sunset, barely speaking to them except to deliver orders, or think of new chores. However, when the final batch of wool was all cleaned and spun, she had no choice but to allow the two of them to take it down to Frecha.
‘I won’t come with you,’ she said. ‘I need to start making the cheese. Make sure you come straight back. No dallying.’
As they were preparing their backpacks, Findar ran up to Zastra.
‘Can I come? Want to show Frecha my knee.’ He pointed proudly at a small scab at the top of his shin. A she-goat had taken offence when he had tried to cuddle her newborn kid and kicked him.
Zastra chewed her lip. She didn’t want Fin to come, but couldn’t explain why, not with Etta listening. Dalbric interjected bluntly.
‘You’ll slow us down, little man. We are late already and you’re getting too big to carry.’
Findar’s face fell and his eyes moistened with tears, but his protest remained unspoken. As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Zastra gave her pack of wool to Dalbric. He added it to his already heavy load.
‘I feel like Haq’s donkey,’ he protested.
‘Oh, stop moaning. Just think how it will help firm up those lovely ankles of yours.’
‘Very funny. Just make sure you find Lindarn. It’s not like Ma to turn down a chance to visit Frecha. She looks ready to drop. Did you hear her last night? She was wheezing and coughing so much I didn’t get a wink of sleep.’
The grey bags under his eyes told the truth of his remark. With a quick goodbye, Zastra left the path, skirting round the crown of the mountain before heading downwards in a southerly direction. She had only been to Steepcrest once before and hoped she was going the right way. It was hard work at first. Prickly silver ferns grew densely at this point and there were no paths. She prised her way between entwined limbs and several times was forced to crawl under low lying branches in order to make progress. She had been going for some time when yet another set of low hanging branches forced her to crouch down on her belly and wriggle beneath them. In this uncomfortable position, she felt something she had not felt for many years; the sharp pain and pressing weight of a mindweaver trying to enter her thoughts. Taken unawares, she had no mental barrier in place and she was fixed, utterly helpless as a dark shadow fell across her. I thought I’d taught you better, Zastra. To her relief, the pain vanished and she was free to move again.
‘Dobery?’
An old man, his ugly face blemished by a large brown birthmark, held out his hand to pull her up. Zastra jumped up and squeezed her old teacher in a fierce hug.
‘Your mental defences are weak,’ he clucked. ‘Remember what I taught you? You must practice every day without fail, or else you will be vulnerable to any passing mindweaver.’
‘Well, you should come more often and make me. Besides, we’ve barely seen anyone except the villagers. Soldiers and mindweavers don’t come this far up from the valleys.’
‘You have been fortunate. But I’m afraid your luck may be about to run out.’
The lines across his face were deeper than she remembered. He had always been an old man, but now he looked drained and frail.
‘What do you mean?’
‘There is a shift in Golmeira. A turn for the worse. There are tales… well, I have not time to tell them now. Suffice it to say, there are soldiers everywhere and the Kyrgs are back. There was a whole troop of them at Kirkholme when I passed through, wearing your uncle’s uniform.’
‘Kyrgs? Zastra shuddered. She’d had brushes with Kyrginites on her escape from Golmer Castle and had seen for herself how brutal and merciless the race of warriors with red faces and flat nostrils could be. ‘What are they doing out here?’
‘The last time Thorlberd called on them it was to defeat your father. He must have something big in mind, to risk such an unpopular move. Sendor perhaps. He thought it conquered years ago, but he should have known better. You must be on your guard, my dear.’
He darted a probe into her mind. This time, she was prepared, offering him only the mind of Layna, a mountain girl. Dobery nodded in satisfaction.
‘Why don’t our people stand up to my uncle?’ Zastra asked.
‘Everyone is scared. He controls all the mindweavers and to even think the wrong thing is a crime. He also has many supporters. Invading Sendor was a popular move and the marls that sided with him when he overthrew your father have been rewarded for their loyalty. Unfortunately that means the most greedy and selfish are now in positions of power.’
‘I feel so useless,’ Zastra said bitterly. ‘Hiding in the mountains, while that traitor rules Golmeira
. The thought of what he did to my parents makes me want to pull up trees with my bare hands. Is there nothing to be done?’
Dobery looked thoughtful.
‘You ask that, my dear and I almost dare not answer. I have long debated whether I should even come.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘Our people are almost without hope. Unless we act now, I fear Thorlberd’s grip on power will become absolute. We must show them that someone can dare to stand against him.’
‘By someone, you mean me?’
‘Only you could bring together those who are faithful to your father’s memory. He and your mother both inspired considerable loyalty, especially amongst the soldiers. They would support you, if only you have the courage to reveal yourself. You are the rightful heir to the throne of Golmeira after all.’
Zastra yanked a twig from a nearby tree and snapped it in half.
‘What would you have me do? Walk down to Kirkholme, proclaim myself the daughter of Leodra and politely request to have back my rightful position as Grand Marl?’
‘That would be foolish. Although my plan may hardly be less so. The question is, are you ready?’
‘I’ve been ready since the day Thorlberd murdered my parents. What is this plan?’
‘There are some who refuse to kowtow to Thorlberd. They are barely more than a thorn in his side at present, but at least they stand up to him. Their leader is called Lord Justyn. I have made contact with one of his followers and she waits for us a few leagues south, where a small waterfall falls into a narrow lake. Do you know it?’
Zastra nodded.
‘She has horses ready and a boat that can take us down to Castanton. I have told her you are alive and may be willing to join them, but you must come now.’
‘You can’t be serious? What about Fin? I can’t just leave him, especially if Kyrgs are around.’
‘If we don’t act soon, then nowhere in the whole of Golmeira, or Sendor for that matter, will be safe. The future for Findar, Kastara and any other children growing up in Thorlberd’s Golmeira will be bleak indeed. We can leave word for Etta, but we must be on our way before nightfall.’
Murthen Island: Book Two: Tales of Golmeira Page 3