Cattra's Legacy

by Anna Mackenzie

Amos led her towards the tall towers of the granaries. The air of the city freshened as they neared the lake. Crossing a cobbled square, Risha glimpsed the masts of ships, but lost them again among the city’s winding alleys. From the door of a tavern a group of men spilled out around them, staggering and singing. Amos pulled her away down a side street. The city seemed poorer in this quarter, the buildings tightly packed and in need of repair.

  ‘This is surely not where the lord lodges,’ Risha said, seeking the reassurance of conversation. The shadows seemed suddenly threatening and she had long since lost her bearings.

  Amos made no answer other than to steer her down a narrow alley that led into a mean little courtyard circled by dark-windowed houses.

  Risha stared about. It was a dead end. ‘What—’

  ‘We were followed.’

  Her eyes darted back along the alley. It was nearly dark and the shadows fell thick between the buildings. ‘Who would follow us?’ she whispered.

  ‘Who indeed.’ Amos’s voice sounded oddly amused.

  As she glanced back towards him, she caught a flash of movement: a shadow detached itself from a doorway on the far side of the courtyard. ‘There,’ she cried hoarsely. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Quiet, you little fool.’ Amos gripped her roughly by the arm, his voice twisting into a sneer. ‘So, my lady. Welcome to Caledon.’

  As her mouth fell open, Amos clamped a hand across it. She struggled and lashed out, feeling the satisfaction of her boot connecting with flesh. The hand around her mouth slipped and she bit down hard. Amos cursed. His grip faltered and she pulled away, but now other hands grabbed at her. Her call for help was cut short by a brutal slap to her face. She stumbled. Her head was spinning as someone jerked her roughly around. She caught a glimpse of her attacker, a lean wolf of a man with a hash of scars across one cheek. He rewarded her efforts to escape with another stinging blow.

  Risha struck at his face. Cursing, he caught her arm, twisting it cruelly. She cried out. Light flashed on metal and her attacker let out a low guttural sound, almost a moan. His grip slackened and he slumped against her, forcing Risha to her knees. Sobbing for breath, she shoved him away and began to scrabble across the cobbles. Someone grabbed her hair, pulling her up. It was Amos, his face a snarling mask. His hand closed around her neck, fingers biting viciously into her flesh. She gasped and choked. Her vision had begun to grey at the edges when Amos jerked, his hands falling away. Risha crumpled, her lungs wheezing and rasping as she fought for air.

  Someone was coughing nearby. Risha turned her head. It was Sulba. He was on his knees, his body bent like a supplicant. Amos lay beside him, his head at an impossible angle. A little distance away the scarred man was slumped on the cobbles, dark liquid pooling around him. A wave of dizziness threatened her. Her neck ached inside and out.

  ‘Risha.’ Sulba’s voice sounded thin and strained. ‘We must go.’ He levered himself slowly to his feet.

  ‘But …’

  ‘There may be others.’

  With his hand on her shoulder, Sulba steered Risha along the alley. At its mouth he waited for the street to clear before turning them into it. They’d gone barely a dozen paces when he stopped, bent forward, one arm gripped tight across his belly.

  ‘Sulba? Are you hurt?’ His face was pale and slicked with sweat. His teeth bared as he shook his head — more to clear it than to answer her question, she decided.

  ‘Straight on till we come to a tavern.’ He forced the words out with a grunt. ‘The Greasy Hog. Turn left there.’

  Risha set their feet in motion, Sulba’s weight resting on her more heavily now. She slipped an arm around his waist. When they reached the tavern she turned. The street was dark but she could smell the harbour. ‘Are we going back to the inn?’

  Sulba lifted his head. ‘Too far. My cousin. Turn right at the end.’

  They were a handful of paces along the wider street when a group of guardsmen rounded a corner. She hissed a warning in Sulba’s ear. He roused himself and staggered on, Risha weaving beneath his weight. As the guards neared, Sulba began singing in a cracked, tuneless voice. It was a bar-room ditty, the words suitably slurred. Risha kept her head low. As the guards passed, one of them spat and muttered something coarse about drunks.

  When the sound of their steps faded, Sulba’s singing came to an abrupt halt. His breath wheezed, but he forced his head up.

  ‘Here,’ he muttered. ‘Left. Ninth house. Green shutters.’

  She found it. She couldn’t manage the knocker and kicked at the door with her boot. Something flickered at the window. ‘Please!’ she cried. Sulba lifted his head. A moment later the door opened.

  ‘Olli,’ Sulba whispered, falling into the stranger’s arms.

  The harsh light of the cramped kitchen showed Sulba’s face, greasy pale against the red that stained his shirt.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We were attacked. I was. Sulba saved me. He …’

  Olli lifted Sulba onto the table and stripped away his sodden shirt. An ugly gash beneath his ribs was oozing blood in a steady flow. Olli swore. Wadding the shirt, he pressed it tight against the wound.

  Risha’s legs abandoned her and she sank into a chair. A flicker of movement caught her eye. A boy stood in the doorway.

  Olli looked up. ‘Fetch me towels. And call Lillet.’

  The boy ducked from sight.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  Risha’s brain brought her the question only slowly. ‘Risha,’ she said finally. ‘I’m travelling with the traders.’

  The boy returned with a towel. Olli rolled it single-handed into a ball, removed the soaked shirt, and pressed the fresh cloth against the wound. It turned red almost immediately. The boy watched, large-eyed. ‘Bring more. All we have.’

  A girl a few years older than Risha appeared, stared a moment, then hurried to fill a basin.

  Sulba’s eyes flickered. ‘Olli.’ His voice was scarcely above a whisper.

  ‘Don’t waste your breath on talk.’

  Sulba ignored him. ‘Keep her safe. Away.’ He coughed. ‘South.’

  ‘Hush,’ Olli told him, his eyes flicking quickly to Risha.

  Lillet began sponging the sweat from Sulba’s face.

  He gathered his breath. ‘Like your mother,’ he said, his tongue slurring on the words.

  Lillet’s face twisted.

  Risha stood. ‘Will he … will he be all right?’

  Olli looked at her. The blankness of his expression gave her an answer of sorts.

  ‘He saved my life.’

  ‘At the price of his own.’

  Sulba had lapsed into unconsciousness, his breathing short and fast. Risha walked unsteadily to his side. Her legs felt not her own. When she laid her hand on Sulba’s shoulder, Olli moved a little aside. The minutes ticked by, measured by each of Sulba’s laboured breaths. He roused again, calling for his cousin.

  ‘I’m here,’ Olli answered.

  ‘Protect her,’ Sulba whispered. ‘Cattra’s child.’

  ‘She’s safe here.’ Olli’s face was stiff.

  Sulba’s eyelids fluttered then steadied. His lips, as bloodless now as his cheeks, twitched as he exhaled a last rattling breath.

  Tears ran down Olli’s cheeks as he touched his cousin’s face. There was a sharp, strangled sound. Risha realised only as she heard it that it came from her. She clamped her lips. She had seen death before, but not like this, violent and ugly.

  ‘It’s wrong,’ she said. Her throat felt raw. ‘Barc warned me about Amos, but I didn’t believe him.’

  ‘Barc?’ Olli turned to face her. ‘I might have known he’d be involved. Does he know who you are?’

  She flinched from the urgency in his voice. ‘I’m not … I … I was travelling with the traders, but …’ She floundered in confusion. ‘I don’t know why Amos …’

  ‘Keis, fetch her a cup of tea.’ Olli pushed her towards a chair, turning it with his foot so that it faced the stove’s
warmth. ‘Sit,’ he said.

  The boy brought tea and she drank it. It was sweet and strong. Though the room was warm, she had begun to shiver. Keis refilled her cup and she laced her fingers around it.

  When a hand touched her shoulder, jerking her out of a daze, cold tea spilled on her thighs. She stared around. They had cleaned Sulba’s body and wrapped it for burial.

  ‘Lillet, she needs fresh clothes.’

  Looking down, Risha saw that her dress and hands were spattered with Sulba’s blood. ‘The traders will be wondering where I am.’ Her voice came out a harsh croak. ‘I need to tell them about—’

  ‘I’ll get a message to them.’ Olli took her chin in his hand, tilting her head to study the bruises that were darkening on her face and neck. He fetched a bottle from a shelf and poured a measure into a spoon. ‘Here. It will help your throat.’

  The viscous liquid was bitter and Risha coughed. The inside of her throat felt raw and thick. Lillet handed her water and she drank it in painful gulps.

  ‘Come with me.’

  Lillet led her to a bedroom and helped her undress. Risha felt as if she were inside a dream. The girl washed her face and hands and slipped a nightgown over her head, moving her as if she were a puppet.

  ‘I should …’ Her words came out slurred and she lost the thought before she finished it.

  Lillet pushed her back against the pillow. Risha fought the sag of her eyelids as the girl tucked a quilt around her. ‘He gave you a sedative.’ Lillet’s voice was cool and distant. ‘Sleep, child of Cattra.’

  7

  Cattra’s child

  Risha’s eyes opened to an unfamiliar room and the sound of muffled voices. Her throat was swollen and sore, her eyes heavy with drugged sleep. Memory seeped back into her fuddled mind: Sulba. And Amos. She sat up.

  A pallet lay by the bed, the blankets rumpled but empty. The voices had grown louder. Dizziness swayed through her as she stood. She waited till it had passed then walked stiffly across the room.

  The narrow hall was empty but the voices, coming from the room opposite, were suddenly clear. ‘He won’t be alone in seeing it.’

  The raised voice held the same burred consonants as Sulba’s. Grief rushed through her like snowmelt.

  ‘This goes beyond Sulba’s wishes.’ Barc! Risha reached for the doorknob.

  ‘She should know her heritage, of Cattra at least.’

  Her fingers stilled. It was the third — no, the fourth time she’d heard that name since arriving in Caledon. The first had been the prisoner at the market — though he’d not actually spoken; it had been more that she’d imagined hearing him say it, which made less sense than none.

  ‘Will knowing keep her safe? The fewer who know, the less chance others will hear.’

  ‘If they haven’t already. The boy—’

  ‘The boy proves nothing, save that spies and informers are as thick as maggots on a week-old carcass,’ Barc said.

  ‘And the traders?’

  ‘They believe I’ve delivered her safe to her family.’

  ‘Would that you had.’

  There was a creak behind her. Risha spun to find Lillet watching. Embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping, she twisted the knob and marched into the kitchen. The men looked up, startled.

  ‘Risha.’ Barc crossed to her side, taking her arm solicitously. ‘You’re safe. When I got back and you were gone, you can’t imagine—’

  ‘What heritage should I know?’

  ‘Risha—’

  Olli pulled out a chair. ‘Take a seat. You’ll be hungry.’

  ‘You drugged me.’ She fixed him with an accusing stare.

  Barc turned to face Olli. ‘Did he?’ His voice was flat.

  ‘I gave her a sedative.’

  The men sized each other up, hackles raised like dogs facing down an intruder. Lillet brushed past her father.

  ‘Perhaps you should all sit down. I’ll make tea.’

  The tension in the room abruptly abated. Risha sat, mainly because she felt too wobbly to stay on her feet. Barc pulled a chair close, tracing with one finger the bruising on her cheek.

  ‘You’re all right?’

  She nodded.

  A muscle jumped in his cheek. ‘I should have taken Sulba’s suspicions about Amos more seriously.’

  ‘If you had, my cousin might still be alive,’ Olli said curtly.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Risha said. ‘Barc tried to warn me but I didn’t listen. I—’

  The trader cut her off. ‘You weren’t to know what Amos was. Believe me, Risha, the fault is mine.’

  She stared at her hands. If she hadn’t gone with Amos, Sulba would still be alive; three men would still be alive. But that was not the only matter weighing on her mind. She looked up. ‘Barc, who is Cattra?’ She felt the sudden stillness in the room, felt all their eyes upon her. And something else: Nonno? ‘Barc?’

  ‘Cattra was your mother.’

  ‘You knew her,’ she accused. ‘All along you knew—’

  ‘I knew of her.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘In that, I was honouring Pelon’s wishes.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Risha. I haven’t time for lengthy explanations, but I swear’ — he placed his closed fist over his heart in an oddly formal gesture — ‘when I come back for you, I will answer every question you might have.’

  She frowned. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To Fratton, and I must hurry if I’m to catch up with Marit.’

  ‘They’ve already left?’

  ‘They have. Death can pass unremarked in a city, but I doubt it will in this case. Better that the traders are long gone when questions are asked.’ He shrugged. ‘And a false trail can do no harm.’

  ‘But I’ve not said goodbye.’

  ‘I’ll say it for you.’ He stood up. ‘I brought your things.’ He gestured to her pack, leaning up against the wall.

  Something painful caught in her throat. ‘Barc—’

  ‘You’ll be safe with Olli.’ He turned to lock eyes with the other man. ‘And I trust he will also allow me the privilege of honouring my pledge.’

  There was some kind of threat in his low words. Risha felt as if she was skimming over a thin crust beneath which dangers lurked.

  Lillet set a pot of tea on the table. ‘The guard will be changing soon.’

  Barc dropped to one knee and took Risha’s hand between his own. ‘I’ll return as soon as I may: two weeks, three at most. Till then, keep to the house. Don’t let Sulba’s sacrifice be wasted.’

  Before she could ask what he meant, he was gone.

  ‘Drink your tea,’ Lillet said. ‘I’ll cook you some eggs.’

  For three days Risha rested, helping Lillet where she could. She felt battered and bruised, in spirit as well as body. A man had died on her behalf — three men. Memories of Amos as well as Sulba haunted her nights. Nor was she alone in her suffering. Lillet’s eyes were constantly red-rimmed with grief, and Olli looked little better.

  On the fourth morning, Risha woke before dawn with the certainty that she should not sit placidly waiting in Caledon. In Torfell she had formed a plan — to find Meredus and thereby trace Pelon’s family — and there was no reason not to follow it. Except that now she had two families to trace.

  Taking care not to wake Lillet, she pulled on her clothes and went to the kitchen. By the time Olli appeared she had the stove hot and a pot of porridge simmering. ‘Where’s Lillet?’

  ‘I left her asleep. She’s exhausted.’ She set a cup of tea before him. ‘Will you tell me about my mother?’

  Olli eyed her warily. ‘Barc has promised to answer your questions.’

  ‘Barc is not here.’

  Olli’s eyes settled on his cup. Risha held her breath. At last he sighed.

  ‘You look a little like her.’

  She felt a lilt of excitement. ‘You knew her? Was she from Caledon? Or Elion?’

  ‘Neither.
’ He hesitated. ‘Your mother was born in Havre.’

  My little Cat.

  Nonno’s low croon startled Risha. It was the first she’d heard from her in weeks. She cleared her throat. ‘Did she have siblings or—’

  ‘She was an only child. As were you.’

  Risha buried a sudden dream with a brisk nod. ‘When did she die? And how?’

  Olli stood. ‘She died when you were young.’ He drank his tea in a gulp and reached for his coat. ‘Tell Lillet I’ll be back in an hour.’

  ‘You’ve not eaten.’

  ‘Later.’ He paused on the threshold. ‘Bar the door behind me.’

  Risha did as he asked. She had no desire to bring additional trouble to Sulba’s family, but restlessness tugged at her. Pouring Lillet a cup of tea she returned to the bedroom.

  ‘You should have woken me,’ the older girl told her, pushing her blankets aside. ‘My father will want breakfast.’

  ‘It’s done. I lit the fire and made porridge. Your father said to tell you he’s gone out for an hour. Stay in bed,’ Risha added. ‘You look tired.’

  Lillet shook her head. ‘It feels wrong to lie in bed while you serve me. You’re a guest.’

  ‘A guest you were lumbered with. And—’ There was no need to finish the thought. They stared at each other. ‘I’m sorry,’ Risha added.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’ The words came mechanically.

  Turning away, Risha caught sight of herself in the room’s small mirror. The bruises Amos had left on her neck had blossomed to a livid purple, darker than those on her face. She met Lillet’s eyes in the glass. ‘Lillet, how far away is Elion?’

  The girl’s eyebrows lifted. ‘It depends how you travel. Ten days or more by road, about half that by boat.’

  ‘Across the lake?’

  ‘The lake, then down the El by barge. I’ve been twice, with my father.’

  ‘Could he take me?’

  Lillet shook her head. ‘He sold the barge after my mother died, keeping only the lake boat. Why do you want to go to Elion?’

  ‘There’s a scholar at the university I need to see. A friend of my father’s.’

  ‘You should ask him then; he might take you as far as Leighton.’