Under a Winter Sky

by Jeffe Kennedy

Emerence growled under her breath. Her pity for Culkhen’s drunkenness had evaporated when his snake-oil concoctions, sold from the back of his cart, had poisoned a half dozen people. She’d warned folks of the dangers in buying from him, not because he was a competitor but because he was incompetent and dishonest. He blamed Emerence for the loss of his business and had sworn revenge.

  “This is the second time in a week he’s come calling,” Glauca said. Her eyes rounded as did the clerk’s when Emerence snatched one of the grabber poles leaned against the corner. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Get rid of a loiterer.” Emerence strode out of the stockroom with her clerk tight on her heels.

  The clerks and customers in the apothecary’s storefront only glanced at her as she passed them with her weapon of choice. The apothecary boasted floor-to-ceiling shelves displaying a large selection of jars filled with herbs, unguents, and tinctures. Those who worked in the store often used a grabber pole to reach the items on the highest shelves. This was the first time Emerence had armed herself with one to do battle with a nuisance.

  “Go fetch Guzman,” she instructed the clerk who’d brought her the news of trouble and visitors. “Tell him I’ll give him a day’s wage for a half day’s door duty if he comes now.”

  The boy nodded and shot past her out the door. Emerence followed, nodding and smiling to a few customers who greeted her. She didn’t linger, and her hand clenched tighter on the pole as the sound of Culkhen’s slurred haranguing reached her ears.

  He stood in the middle of the cobblestone walkway, between the apothecary and the drapery, also owned by Emerence’s father. He had his back to the apothecary’s doors while he bellowed his complaints to passersby and those who sought to enter the shops. “You’ll not want to buy from these thieves,” he yelled into the street. “These Ipsans will take your hard-earned coin and sell you toad guts for a cough and moth-eaten blankets to keep you warm on a winter’s day like today.” His glassy gaze returned to Emerence. “Isn’t that right, Madam Ipsan?”

  She rolled her eyes. The Ipsan family’s reputation as honest traders of quality goods was well-established. A drunkard’s claims to the contrary wouldn’t harm that reputation. Except for a few gawkers, most people ignored Culkhen and went about their business, but his bellowing presence kept potential customers from their doors, and when he clutched the arm of one bolder, would-be visitor she took action.

  Flipping the pole in her hand so that she held it like a washing bat, she swung, striking Culkhen’s backside hard enough to throw him forward. Caught by surprise, he pinwheeled into the street and fell into the muck churned up by wagons, riders, and foot travelers. Those who witnessed Emerence’s attack laughed. She did not. Instead, she glared at Culkhen when he flipped over to stare at her with a bewildered expression that swiftly turned ugly.

  “You bitch,” he snarled, rising unsteadily to his feet, his front caked in filth from neck to feet. He took a menacing step toward her.

  Instinct warned her she no longer faced a loud-mouthed albeit harmless drunk, but she gripped the pole tighter and held her ground. If she fled inside, backed away, or showed any hint of weakness or fear, he’d take it as a signal and only increase his harassment.

  “You get one warning, Culkhen,” she said. “Plant yourself here again to disturb the peace, and I’ll see to it you take up residence at the Zela. Again.” She had no idea how she’d make such a thing happen, but Culkhen didn’t need to know that.

  She must have sounded convincing if the sudden flash of fear in his eyes was any indicator. Her triumph was short-lived. His lips peeled back in a feral baring of yellow teeth, and his hands clenched into fists. He took two steps toward her. Emerence gasped to suddenly find her view of her opponent partially blocked by a tall, broad-shouldered figure.

  “You heard Madam Ipsan,” her defender said in accented Beladine. “Go your way and don’t return.”

  Stepping to the side for a better view of both Culkhen and this man, Emerence watched as Culkhen swayed on his feet, blinked slowly and executed an unsteady pivot before lurching away. The show over, those who who’d stopped to watch the confrontation continued on their way, a few going into the apothecary and the drapery just as Emerence had hoped.

  She released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding until now and addressed her companion. “I thank you for the intervention, sir. Culkhen is troubled and troublesome.”

  He turned fully to face her. She caught and held a second breath, this time for a very different reason.

  A Quereci nomad. A strikingly handsome one at that. Swarthy skin made even swarthier by the mountain sun and sharp features that reminded her of a raptor bird, he stood out among the pallid, sun-deprived Beladine crowds like a memory of summer, beautiful and brief in these climes. She guessed him to be in his late twenties, though it was hard to tell. The sun had carved small fans into the skin at the corners of his black eyes. His eyes too seemed older, ancient even, as if he’d witnessed the passing of centuries or stared into a darkness that stared back and showed its fangs.

  Those eyes narrowed as his gaze took in her stance and the grabber pole in her grip. “Have you faced him alone before?”

  She liked his voice, soft around the edges, deep in the middle, as if he rarely spoke loudly, and if he did, others sat up and paid attention. “No, He hasn’t been this bold until now. I suspect he learned my father and half our staff are working at the palace today. He must have assumed he’d only have me to deal with.”

  “More fool him then.” The Quereci tipped his chin toward the grabber pole. “You’re good with that stick.”

  Emerence felt the hot waterfall of a blush descend from her scalp to paint her cheeks and stain her neck and was horrified by her reaction to a polite compliment. The memory of her clerk’s words when he first warned her about Culkhen saved her from an awkward response. “I was told a group of Quereci were waiting to see me. I’ll risk a guess and say that’s you?”

  Her champion nodded. He gestured to where a trio of women waited just outside the entrance to the drapery. Bundled for winter weather, they waved with gloved hands. Emerence recognized the one who held up a stack of packages to show her.

  “Dahran Omeya!” She strode to the women, leaning in to gently kiss the elderly woman’s cheeks and have same done to her.

  The Quereci woman perused Emerence from head to toe, finally declaring with a frown, “You shouldn’t be fighting men in the streets in this weather dressed like that, Mae Ipsan. At least wear a shawl and cap.”

  Emerence laughed. In the many years her father had traded with the Quereci, she’d learned of and grown to admire the fiercely independent mountain nomad women. Dahran Omeya had been their principle contact, and Emerence was always glad to see her. The reminder she stood outside in a harsh winter wind with the threat of snow hanging in the air made her shiver.

  “Come inside,” she said, gesturing toward the drapery’s entrance. “There’s a fire going in the parlor, and if you’ve time, I’ll serve tea so you can warm up and rest for a time.”

  They followed her into the shop, past the customers inspecting bolts of cloth and tailors either cutting lengths to order or taking measurements, to the very back of the store. Unlike the apothecary, the drapery’s stockroom was a two-story building with its stockroom upstairs. The back had been turned into a parlor where more genteel business negotiations were made over pots of tea or glasses of spirits Emerence’s father Tocqua served to his clients.

  The drapery had preceded the apothecary. Tocqua Ipsan was a tailor by trade and expanded his trade from working with cloth to importing it and selling it, concentrating on high quality woolens as well as luxury silks and velvets that appealed to the wealthy Beladine citizenry. While the apothecary was redolent with the scents of herbs, spices, and infused oils, the drapery smelled of wool. It was also a warren of smaller rooms with the walls padded in bolts of cloth stacked atop each other to the ceiling.

 
; The parlor Emerence led her guests to was a comfortable room, kept warm by a fire burning brightly in the hearth, a thick rug on the floor and tapestries on the walls to ward off the cold seeping through wood and stone. Comfortable chairs had been placed about the room, along with a pair of tables. She invited her visitors to sit and took Dahran Omega’s packages to set them on one of the tables.

  The shop’s all-maid darted inside before Emerence could call for her. Her glance swept the room, and she raised five fingers in silent question. Five for tea? At Emerence’s nod, she disappeared, closing the door behind her.

  “We’ll have tea very soon,” Emerence said, growing increasingly uncomfortable under four intent gazes. She nodded to those women seated on either side of Omeya and to their fierce-looking escort with the golden voice who stood behind the elder’s chair. “Dahran Omeya may have already spoken of me, but if not, I’m Emerence Ipsan, the daughter of Tocqua Ipsan who owns this shop and the apothecary next door. I was the one who placed the order for a bolt of amaranthine-dyed wool.”

  The order hadn’t been for her but for the future aristocratic bride of a high-ranking nobleman who wished to include the costly bolt of purple fabric in his bridal gift to her. The Quereci were renowned for their weavers. Her father hadn’t trusted anyone else to make good use of the expensive skeins of amaranthine-dyed wool he’d managed to get his hands on from a merchant who traded with the non-human Kai. He’d almost worried himself into an early grave wondering if he could deliver the promised gift on time. Fortunately, the Quereci had arrived, and if Tocqua’s luck held, one of those packages Dahran Omeya had brought contained the prized bolt.

  The two women who’d accompanied Omeya smiled when she translated Emerence’s introduction to them. “This is Dahran Sulti and Dahran Bulava,” she said. She pointed to Emerence’s erstwhile defender. And that is Gaeres, fifth son of the Kakilo clan’s chieftain. Sulti here is his aunt. He’s being considered for the position of council sarsen.” A proud note entered her voice when she included that last bit of information. She looked as if she wanted to say more but Gaeres’s warning glance stopped her.

  Emerence wondered at the interaction but didn’t comment. Whatever silent communication was exchanged between the two, it was neither her business nor her concern. She gave them all a swift bow. “You were very kind to intervene on my behalf earlier,” she told Gaeres. “I thank you.”

  His hair, revealed once he removed his fur-lined hat, was as black as his eyes and fell around his face in tousled waves, tamed at the temples by small braids woven with tiny coins. She’d heard the Quereci people valued their women so greatly it was difficult for a Quereci man to obtain a wife. Emerence doubted this one had any trouble at all and likely had more than one wife waiting for his return to the camps currently wintering on the plains at the base of the Dramorin mountains.

  He returned her bow, his gaze never wavering from her face, his expression solemn. “It was my privilege, Madam Ipsan.”

  Once more the annoying blush she couldn’t seem to control heated her face. For the gods’ sakes, she was no green girl to turn red under a man’s admiring eye, not even a man as handsome as this one. Surely, she must be coming down with one of the fevers that tended to crop up this time of year.

  Before she could ask about the packages Omeya had brought, a quick tap at the parlor door signaled the all-maid’s return with the promised tea. She let her in and helped her clear the tray of cups, teapot and plate of small pastries, setting them on the table in front of the Quereci women.

  Emerence gave the girl instructions before she left. “Go next door and tell Glauca I’ll be gone for sometime. She’ll have to manage the stores until Papa returns or until I do.”

  The maid nodded and left. Emerence set to filling cups, waving away Gaeres’s surprising offer to help. He insisted on delivering the cups to the women once Emerence had doctored them to their liking with honey, milk, and turmeric and waited until they’d all taken a first sip—including Emerence—before partaking from his own cup.

  His actions were so strange to her, she couldn’t help but stare. Beladine society was distinctly patriarchal and in the more orthodox families, men weren’t only heads of their households, they were small gods. Emerence’s father followed a more balanced philosophy, his business acumen overriding any belief of male superiority, at least when it came to running his shops. He’d put Emerence in a supervisory role the first time she turned a profit for him years earlier. Still, he’d never displayed this sort of deference to the women of his family, not even his mother when she was alive. It seemed the rumors that the Quereci were ruled by women might well be true.

  Beladine men would sneer at Gaeres’s actions and call him weak. Emerence suspected that would be a life-threatening mistake.

  “We’re different from the Beladine in many ways,” Omeya said, her knowing half-smile hinting she’d guessed at her host’s thoughts.

  “But the same in others.” Emerence raised her teacup in a quick toast. “To fine tea, a warm fire, and good company.”

  Tocqua Ipsan had always believed a client made welcome was a repeat client and a vendor made to feel the same gave one the best workmanship, first pick from a shipment, and the best goods from a coveted lot. He’d built this parlor for that purpose. Hot tea, comfortable chairs, and an inviting fire remained in memory long after negotiations were over, and the return on hospitality was great.

  Emerence employed that philosophy every chance she got. In this instance though she simply enjoyed her Quereci guests’ company and Dahran Omeya’s conversation. Watching Gaeres over the rim of her cup while he drank his tea wasn’t a hardship either.

  “Tell me of your trip to see us,” she told Omeya. “Did you encounter much snow?” She refilled teacups and offered tiny, coin sized pastries to eat.

  With Omeya translating at times, the three women took turns describing their journey, which consisted mostly of cold days, colder nights, a great deal of snow, and a small avalanche.

  “Gaeres saw the warning signs before it was upon us,” Dahran Bulava said. “We managed to get out of the way in time.” She gave Gaeres a wide smile. He returned it with a smaller one and the touch of his fingers over his heart in salute to her.

  Playing savior obviously came naturally to him, and Emerence liked the fact he didn’t crow about it. There was charm in humility.

  “It’s dangerous this time of year to travel here to Timsiora. My father and I appreciate your willingness to deliver the order, especially with the festival about to start and no lodgings to be found in the city.”

  Gaeres spoke this time, once more treating her to the sound of his fine voice. “We’re camped outside the city walls. We prefer it anyway. Fewer people. Better smells.”

  He wasn’t wrong about that. Timsiora’s reek wasn’t so bad in the colder months but in summer it was choking. “Will you stay for the Festival of Delyalda?”

  Omeya nodded. “For a few days. A dozen of us traveled here. The younger ones want to attend the events as well as the market. Those of us who prefer quiet and an early bed will stay in the camp.”

  “And I will play escort to my cousins to some of the celebrations,” Gaeres said without resentment.

  Emerence, who attended a few of the smaller Delyalda parties each year but eschewed the bigger events, suddenly found renewed interest in the annual celebration. Foolish, foolish old maid, a voice inside her admonished. She ignored it.

  “Have you attended Delyalda before?” Gaeres shook his head. “Then you’re in for a treat. There are far more events going on than you can possibly attend even were you to stay for the entire festival. I can assure you that neither you nor your cousins will lack for things to do.”

  “Will you also be attending these celebrations, Madam Ipsan?”

  His question took her by surprise, as had many of his actions and statements in the short time since they’d crossed paths. Emerence glanced at Omeya who returned her look with a shrewd one of her o
wn but said nothing. Surely Gaeres wasn’t hinting at wanting her company? Then again, she was a logical choice for such help. She was local with in-depth knowledge of the city and the festival, the perfect guide for newcomers looking to attend the best events. Were she not so buried in work, she might have offered to take on the role.

  “I’ve grown too busy and too dull over the years to take part in all but a handful of festival gatherings,” she said, giving him a smile so he’d know she didn’t really mind that fact. “If you’d like to know the best things to attend, my clerk Kaster is a font of knowledge. I can send him to your camp once his work shift is done and he can give you his recommendation of the best gatherings to visit.”

  Their respite ended with the emptying of the teapot, and they all turned tot he business at hand. Gaeres opened the packages Emerence had set on the second table in the room, spreading their contents across its surface.

  Swaths of wool dyed in both vibrant and muted colors, the weaves tight and durable while still being soft, warm, and light as spiderweb were laid out for Emerence’s inspection. Tocqua had ordered several bolts of dyed wool from the Quereci, not just the extravagant amaranthine. Emerence exclaimed over the beauty of each item, imagining shawls and scarves, head wraps and cloaks edged in fur or lined with tiny, semi-precious stones and carved beads.

  Omeya opened the last package herself. This was why they’d made the cold, arduous trip from the plains to the canyon in the dead of winter.

  “My gods,” Emerence exclaimed in a reverent voice at her first sight of the rich purple cloth, nearly black in places where the folds created pockets of shadow.

  The Kai made amaranthine, and the skeins they dyed and exported to the Gauri in the south commanded a high price, even higher now as that kingdom still reeled from the aftermath of a demon attack on a massive scale. Tocqua refused to tell Emerence how he’d gotten his hands on the costly skeins this far north, but he’d put them to good use, commissioning the Quereci, renowned weavers, to make this stunning cloth.