Bound into the Blood

by Myers, Karen

  He told George, “Gwyn has licensed Broch’s clan for access to the first way-tokens. You’ll get an idea of what this place will look like when you come out at Tremafon—we used their design for much of it.”

  Alright, Mag, George thought. We’re ready.

  She flowed over to the spot Rhodri showed her, careful to avoid contact with anyone else. Before she could begin. Broch intervened.

  “My lady, if you don’t mind… We’d like to line the exit up alongside the Korrigans’ Way, if you can be so precise, just to the east of it. We’ve blocked off the area, so no one should be in the way.”

  Seething Magma rumbled, “Precision over such a short distance is not difficult.”

  She faced south just outside the oval of rocks, then flowed over them and vanished progressively. George could see the glow of the leading edge of the way tunnel being created until it left his sight behind. He looked over at Rhodri’s and Maelgwn’s shining faces and knew they had seen something of it, too.

  Everyone else had seen Mag vanish, and that was impressive enough. A sigh rose up from the crowd behind them after she left. George was reminded of the first time he’d been up in a plane, until it became a commonplace for him, and more of an annoyance than a convenience. Would way-creation eventually become so ordinary here that it was like road-building, worth a glance but not all that exciting? How long would it take for that to happen? How long before the sense of wonder vanished?

  He felt Rhodri claim ownership of this end of the new way. He’d have to travel through with them to claim the other end, and thus the entire way. Only then could he and Maelgwn settle down to the work of creating first a master-token, and then subsidiary way-tokens to allow the use of the way to be controlled.

  Rhodri set Maelgwn to rolling the river rocks aside, and then the two of them remounted to accompany Broch and his passengers. Ifor Moel remained behind to wait for Rhodri’s return. Before George lost sight of him, from the wagon, Gwyn’s steward was already surrounded by a surge of those villagers who were eager to take advantage of this opportunity for an impromptu discussion of trade and way-tokens.

  The way-passage was short and George could already feel Rhodri’s claim on the full way. As Broch drove the wagon out at a walk, the light brightened. It was sunnier here, fifty miles south of where he’d been a moment ago.

  A rope had been laid on the ground in a semicircle at least twenty feet from the anticipated new entrance, and a crowd of korrigans began to gather along it, careful to keep out of the protected space. The paving stones to the left of the wagon marked the entrance to the Korrigans’ Way which glowed to George’s inner sight, even closed as it was.

  Broch rolled right over the rope on the ground in front of him, and the bystanders made room for the wagon to go by. He crossed a broad square and pulled the horses up at the entrance to a large building.

  Must be a warehouse, George thought. He craned his neck around like a tourist. The square was stone-paved and surrounded on all sides by a series of stone buildings interrupted by gates in all four walls. It reminded him of the old Dutch merchant towns, with their warehouses in squares near the ports. The style of these was different—low, strong stone rather than tall, colorful Baroque confections—but the function was clearly similar. There were stables for horses, something that looked like an administrative building or maybe a mercantile exchange, and some sort of assembly hall, but the rest seemed to be buildings for storage and supplies.

  He knew Tremafon was sited along one of the east-flowing Piedmont rivers, and a glimpse of chandlers’ supplies and small boats under shelter near the south gate made him think that’s where the river trade came in.

  Behind him, to the north, the line of buildings yielded halfway down to a solid wall, with the invisible way-entrances occupying the space a building might have used. The older way had a low protective wall around it on either side stretching back to the bare wall, as well as the marked paving in front of its entrance. Beyond the two ways there was a break in the wall of structures and a gate that gave access to a road leading out of the great square. The buildings continued beyond the gate and on around to the next break, at the east wall gate.

  Broch hooked his reins around the holder on the wagon seat and looked up at him. “Over there,” he said, pointing to the west where a substantial road came in through another gate, “that’s how we reach the great south road, the land route to Greenhollow and beyond.”

  “Will this new way kill that traffic?” George asked, remembering his concern earlier when they left.

  “Some of it may shift, but there will always be local demand, and some of that will grow, now that we have another route.”

  A girl came from Broch’s warehouse and walked up to the wagon. “Welcome home, father.” She was short, like all the korrigans, and broad, but George thought she was young, perhaps twenty years old.

  Broch leaned over and smiled down at his daughter from the wagon seat. “This is my daughter, Drilego,” he told George and Benitoe. “She’ll be coming with us this afternoon.”

  To her, he said, “These are our lord Gwyn’s huntsman, George Talbot Traherne, and Benitoe, one of his whippers-in, our new competitor.” He favored Benitoe with a wink as he said it, then turned back to his daughter.

  “Do you run home now, girl, and let your mother know we’re here. Then come back, quick as you can. We’ll not linger before the next delivery, tell her, but she’ll see us tonight for supper.”

  “I will, father,” Drilego said. She turned and walked away at a good pace, heading for the north gate and the road beyond.

  Broch climbed down and summoned helpers from the warehouse to unload the apples from Edgewood and the rest of the contents of the wagon, leaving George and Benitoe to step down and explore.

  They walked back to the new way-entrance and found Rhodri and Maelgwn working together to finish securing the way. A korrigan held their horses for them, and several bystanders looked on with interest. One by one the older ones had begun to return to their work, but several youngsters seemed to be evading their tasks in order to linger.

  Mag stayed on the inside of the rope where it would be easier to avoid any accidental contact and the young korrigans pestered her with questions.

  “Are you one of the old ones? What’s your name? Did you make a new way for us? Where do you live?”

  George had heard the deep rumble of her conversation from the other side of the square but he hadn’t been able to make out the words. He admired the patience of her replies.

  Do you mind, he asked her, ready to chase the kids away if need be.

  *Not at all. They’re not as shy of me as their elders are.*

  She flashed him her old shorthand image of mouse, deer, man, Mag, horned man. It was her way of saying “we’re all living creatures, it’s just a matter of degree.”

  Maelgwn was doing as much of the way-mechanic work as he could, under Rhodri’s supervision. “You want to mark the way entrance a good five feet out, and exactly as wide as the way itself. If you do it like that, then when they build another barrier wall like the other one, they’ll know what to surround. They’ll take it all the way back to the outer wall there, like the other way. That’s more than necessary—you can see it doesn’t go back that far from the outside—but better too much space blocked off than not enough.”

  Maelgwn was very familiar with the damage done to anyone who tried to cross through a way from the side. It was the same as touching a rock-wight directly, and he’d experienced that first hand when he was Granite Cloud’s companion. So had Rhodri, with Mag herself, and he kept an eye on the korrigan youngsters lest they get too close.

  Benitoe excused himself to walk around the square and look at the buildings. George assumed he was thinking about what the Kuzul might need to set up if they entered into trade in any significant manner. Large stone buildings didn’t seem like the lutin style to George, but he presumed they had some sort of plan in mind.

  A
wagon stood by with dark paving stones and two korrigans were laying them in neat rows where Maelgwn indicated. Rhodri looked up and told George, “When they’re done here, we’ll bring the rest of them back with us, wagon and all, and have them do the same thing on the other end. Broch’s suggestion. We’ll have the master-token and some lesser ones ready by then.”

  He straightened up and said, “I thought to give you your own way-token for the Korrigans’ Way, in case you needed to come back after Broch leaves, but with Mag along and everything…”

  “No, that’s alright,” George said. “Mag can take us anywhere and, besides, I can always find my way to Mariah Catlett’s and get back from there, if there’s an emergency.” A thought occurred to him. “Maybe Benitoe should have one, if there’s some disaster?”

  Rhodri nodded. He reached into his pocket and took out a small square piece of wood, bound in silver along the edges, and engraved with a smooth-lipped bearded man. “That’s the Korrigans’ Way. I’m not sure what that icon is about—maybe Broch can explain it to you.”

  George shoved it into a pocket for Benitoe. If there really was a disaster and both he and Mag were unavailable, he thought Benitoe would have a hell of a time trying to get back to a particular spot in the human world to use this token, but better that he have that chance than no chance at all. He resolved to show him how to find Mariah Catlett’s house, too, in case that became necessary.

  He turned around to check Broch’s wagon across the square and discovered it had been completely unloaded and carried a new cargo of straw for horse bedding, hay, and other supplies. Two fresh cobs were hitched to it, and Broch was just in the process of mounting up. His daughter climbed into the back of the wagonbed over the drop-gate and found a comfortable spot to sit. They looked ready to go, and he glanced around for Benitoe.

  Benitoe must have been watching, too, for he walked diagonally across the square from the southeast corner to meet George at the way-mouths. He must have made it almost all the way around the buildings, George thought. Broch spotted him, and clucked the horses into a walk to join them.

  They stopped about a dozen feet short of the entrance to the Korrigans’ Way. “Ready to go, huntsman?” Broch asked.

  “Just give me a moment,” George said. He was tall enough to see over the wagon sides and checked that the two packs were still there. Then he walked over to Maelgwn and pulled him away from the workmen. He knew his foster-son wouldn’t welcome a full embrace in public like this, so he grasped him by both shoulders instead.

  “Look after them, son. And take care of yourself.”

  Maelgwn looked at him with that extra gravity beyond his years that George had become used to. “I will, father, I swear it.”

  George’s ears shifted back at the words. He felt the echo of the oath.

  Maelgwn pulled away and made a little bow. “Come back safe to your family.”

  Family, yes… He had a family to protect. What was he doing, chasing after ghosts, and leaving it behind?

  Rhodri called over. “They’ll be fine, kinsman. You can count on it.”

  George smiled his thanks, but it was Maelgwn’s words that he dwelt on.

  He let Benitoe climb up ahead of him onto the wagon seat, and joined him. Broch called out to Seething Magma, “My lady, you’ll need to enter first—you’ll understand once you get there. Go in no further than the length of the horses and wagon, then turn left into the corridor. We’ll be right behind you, but we’ll not turn.”

  Seething Magma carefully flowed over the rope and took her place ahead of the horses. Broch reached into his pocket and pulled out his own token for the Korrigans’ Way, and opened the entrance with it. George could feel the change, like a brightening light.

  “After you, my lady, if you please.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The passage was only a dozen yards long or so, and Broch reined the cobs to a halt as soon as the tailgate of the wagon emerged. The horses’ hooves clopped on a wooden floor and George blinked as he peered into dimness. They had come out into some sort of barn, he realized, and he sneezed at a strong scent of raw tobacco.

  Light penetrated the gaps in the vertical wall planking. As his eyes adjusted, he looked down and saw the mark engraved on the floor, just where the front wheel touched it. The wagon sat at the near right corner, with a bit of clearance along the wall to the right. The muzzles of the horses stopped just short of a transverse aisle running from right to left, and across from that were several loose boxes for horse stalls, all now empty.

  Broch saw the direction of George’s gaze and told him, “Usually we only need two stalls, but sometimes we have two wagons here at once.”

  Mag occupied most of the cross aisle which terminated at an old-fashioned rolling double door in the middle of the left wall. In the near left corner, there was a wide open area, all the way up to the side of the wagon, with a gap between. One part of it was clearly given over to tack and supplies, hanging on the wall, but there were boxes, human world boxes and barrels and crates of all sorts, piled up in the rest of the space.

  George climbed down and made his way over to the goods on the floor. He leaned over to look at the labels. Many of the packages seemed to be from some place called Lehman’s Hardware, in Ohio. “Simple Products for a Simpler Life” said the motto, and he wondered if this was some sort of rural Amish supply store. This must be where the Aladdin oil lamps and other items he’d seen in Greenhollow came from. There were also bulk paper bags of sugar and rice, and bundles of whole tobacco leaf loosely wrapped in paper. One pile of oddly proportioned items turned out to be bolts of fabric, mostly cotton, as far as he could tell.

  George straightened up again and thought, if they ever have a second wagon, they must keep it outside. There’s not enough space for two to maneuver in here.

  “Go open the door for her. What are you waiting for?” Broch chided Drilego, and she let herself out of the back of the wagon and picked her way through the piles of merchandise to reach the door without coming near enough to Seething Magma to touch her. She unlatched the barn doors and with an effort rolled them back along the rail from which they were suspended, one at a time, and light flooded into the space.

  “Hold up a moment, Mag,” George said. He reached out with his beast-sense to see if he could discover any humans within range. He assumed Broch would have warned him if this wasn’t private enough but he wanted to check. There was no one nearby.

  *I already looked. No people nearby, nor my kin either.*

  She flowed out of the double doors into the sunlight to give them all a bit more room.

  Broch followed her with the wagon, swinging left into the aisle, and George could see how important it was to leave enough clearance on either side to turn the wagon. He drove it outside and George walked after him, looking into the empty stalls as he passed. Before he reached the doors, Broch called back over his shoulder, “Stay put, I’m just turning around so we can load up and return. We’re not staying the night, this trip.”

  George stood in the doorway as Broch swung the horses in a broad circle so that he could reenter the barn facing the other way. All around were dense woods. A dirt road led left into the trees. The cleared space in front of the barn was rough cut, and George remembered the scythe he’d spotted hanging on one of the walls. There was a small midden pile off to the right against the margin of bushes, where they clearly piled the stable leavings. They must not stay here with their horses for very long each time, or it would be bigger, he thought, or maybe they cart it away when necessary.

  When Broch drove back in, he brought the horses right up to the wall, and George could see the glow of the way-entrance. The wooden floor was engraved to show the exact spot, and Broch and Benitoe climbed down to tie up the horses carefully so that they wouldn’t carelessly move forward while the wagon was being loaded.

  George lent a hand with the labor, under Broch’s direction. “So, how does this work?” he asked Broch, while they lifted and sho
ved.

  Broch paused to use his hands while he described the process. “Once we place our orders through Ifor Moel, and he to Mrs. Catlett, the goods are delivered to a fellow named Jacob Zuck, in Woodward. He rents us part of one of his barns for storage. It’s something he does for some of the humans, too, so we don’t stand out. Then every week, usually on a Monday, he delivers whatever has arrived here, to this warehouse. We’ve given him a key.”

  “Have you ever met him?” George asked.

  “It’s happened, when there was something urgent we needed to pick up from him directly, and sometimes when we were here at the time of a delivery.”

  “Who does he think you are?”

  “Show him, daughter.”

  Drilego led him to one of the empty stalls. She leaned over a trunk on the floor, but George suddenly knew what would be there. The plain black hats, and the natural straw ones, with flat brims, hanging on nails high on the wall gave it away. The girl lifted out a starched white caplet with dangling ties, and he nodded. “Amish clothing, or Mennonite, I suppose.”

  The two of them walked back over to Broch and Benitoe.

  “It goes with the horses and wagons,” Broch said, and George could see his point. He understood the icon on the way-token now, the bearded man, clean-shaven about the lips. That reminded him, and he reached into his pocket to hand the token over to Benitoe.

  “Just in case,” he said, and Benitoe nodded.

  “I don’t know much about your religions,” Broch told George, “but I understand there are some old-fashioned groups who live apart from the world, and that seemed like a good model for us.”

  He stopped, and George thought he was considering how much to tell them. “Our youngsters talk about trading more openly with the humans, but most of us think it’s safer this way. Mr. Zuck doesn’t ask about our size. Maybe he thinks that’s why we want to stay apart.”

  George told him, “They have a religious requirement to ‘go and be separate,’ and he must think you’re some sort of splinter sect. They have more dwarves in their bloodlines than the general human population—a matter of limited breeding choice, you understand—and that’s what you most resemble. I’ll bet he thinks there’s a whole community of you out here in the woods somewhere.”