Witchsign

by Den Patrick

  Steiner shrugged. ‘I lost my temper. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, probably won’t be the last time either.’

  Maxim crossed to the stairs, making sure the soldiers were well on their way. ‘They’ll skin you alive if they catch you.’

  Steiner nodded. The plan had seemed more straightforward when it was just a plan, but plans had a habit of turning on you like that.

  ‘And they’ll skin me alive just for talking to you,’ added Maxim.

  Steiner and rubbed his forehead. ‘This isn’t going well at all.’

  The trapdoor jolted under Steiner’s foot and a sliver of darkness appeared between the door and the flagstones.

  ‘Have they gone yet?’

  Steiner opened the door and extended a hand, helping Tief up out of the hole.

  ‘Good thing your friend here stepped in, halfhead,’ said Tief, jerking a thumb at Maxim.

  ‘What’s it like? Down in the forges?’ asked Maxim.

  ‘How do you know about that?’ demanded Steiner.

  ‘Silverdust told me,’ replied the boy. ‘He watched over me in hospital and I asked after you.’

  ‘It’s terrible,’ admitted Steiner. ‘A vast cavern of furnaces making weapons, all attended by ghosts.’

  ‘What?’ Maxim stared at him. ‘There’s no such things as ghosts.’

  ‘They’re the spirits of all the children who died during their training on Vladibogdan,’ said Steiner.

  ‘It’s true,’ added Tief. ‘An enchantment binds the souls of the dead to the island, they’re forced to work below.’

  ‘They call them cinderwraiths,’ said Steiner.

  ‘That’s impossible,’ replied Maxim. He shook his head and looked at the knife in his hand; such a simple implement could damn him to an eternity of toil.

  ‘Best you keep this little secret to yourself,’ said Tief.

  ‘We can’t stay in this place,’ said Maxim after a moment. ‘How are we going to escape?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yet.’ Steiner looked around the pantry. ‘But I do know I’m going to need to make some friends downstairs if I’m going to survive.’

  ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all night,’ said Tief.

  ‘What do you need?’ whispered Maxim. ‘It must be pretty important if you’re willing to risk coming up here in the dead of night.’

  ‘Well.’ Steiner smiled; things might work out rather well after all. ‘I need access to the kitchens.’

  ‘Kitchens?’ Maxim nodded, sombre and serious. ‘I’m your man when it comes to kitchens.’

  Steiner smiled at the bruised and rangy ten-year-old before him. ‘Thank you.’

  Maxim headed deeper into the kitchens, past sacks of flour and battered barrels, towards what Steiner hoped was the pantry door.

  ‘He’s our man, is he?’ said Tief, with a mocking smile and shake of his head.

  ‘Men come in all shapes and sizes,’ replied Steiner. ‘He’s risking his neck for us, so you could at least act like you’re grateful.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Tief looked away and shrugged. ‘He’s just so small is all.’

  ‘Let’s just get the food and get back to the forges in one piece.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Steiner

  A Vigilant draws his power from the schools of fire, air and earth, power that flows from dragons. It is possible for some students to draw on the power of earth from another source, Frejna. This is to be discouraged. Students stumbling across the school of water invariably start asking questions leading to doubt. Water is the sole province of Frøya. It will not do for the Synod to suffer a schism of orthodoxy, any more than it suits us to have a schism of politics.

  – From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.

  A hush descended on the cavern; the absence of sound a wondrous luxury. The cinderwraiths needed no sleep, and having no need to eat or make ablutions, they rarely paused in their tasks, yet no hammers fell on iron or steel. No anvils chimed with the sound of indentured industry, no echoes of artifice sounded in the dismal cavern. The clatter of weapons in crates was silenced and only the dull scrape of a wooden spatula on a frying pan could be heard. Sound had given way to smell, and it was the smell of meatballs emanating from the pan that Steiner worked at. An old shield had been pressed into service as a griddle, and a score of herring sizzled in a mustard marinade.

  ‘How in Frejna and Frøya’s name did you steal all this?’ said a Spriggani woman with long black hair. She bore a stern cast to her delicate features and Steiner took a moment before answering her.

  ‘I know people. Good people.’ Steiner turned his attention back to the task at hand. ‘Who’s your friend?’ he asked Tief, casting a glance to the Spriggani who had questioned him.

  ‘This is Sundra. And she’s not a friend, she’s family.’

  The woman stepped closer, into the light of the furnace and few lanterns. She wasn’t coated in soot as Tief was, but wore black robes. Bird skeletons had been sewn onto her sleeves near the shoulder, wings splayed wide and stark against the dark fabric. Another bird skull adorned her breast, framed in a diamond shape made from other bones.

  ‘Are those crow skulls?’

  Sundra gave a curt nod, her expression disapproving.

  Steiner pushed the meatballs around the pan with the spatula. ‘Is she always this cheerful?’ he whispered to Tief.

  ‘I thought this business was an attempt to make friends?’ replied Tief, gesturing at the food.

  Steiner lifted the shield from the furnace he’d commandeered and set it down on an anvil. A vast audience of cinderwraiths had come to watch him cook, which Steiner found mildly disconcerting. Sundra continued to regard him with a baleful look.

  ‘I foresaw your coming,’ whispered the black-clad woman. ‘The bones whisper your name.’

  ‘Not now, Sundra,’ said Tief, under his breath.

  ‘The bones?’ Steiner frowned in confusion.

  ‘Tokens and charms,’ explained Tief. ‘It’s all interpretation and nonsense if you ask me.’

  ‘No one asked you,’ replied Sundra.

  ‘Did these bones of yours whisper anything about meatballs,’ asked Steiner with a wry smile. ‘Or creamy potatoes and grilled herring?’ He plucked a side of fish from the griddle and held it out to her. ‘Did they mention cheese or fresh bread?’

  ‘It’s not often a Northman comes bearing food,’ admitted Sundra. She extended a hand slowly and accepted the morsel.

  ‘Are you …?’ Steiner eyed Tief warily, keen not to show his ignorance again. ‘Are you a priestess of Frejna?’

  Sundra drew herself up to her full height, which was not much at all, and raised her chin. ‘I was before I was brought here.’

  ‘Now we’re just slaves,’ said another Spriggani.

  ‘My other sister,’ supplied Tief, eyeing the frying pan with a ravenous look. The second woman was attired in green robes, grimy and patched in grubby grey. ‘I’m Taiga,’ she replied. ‘The youngest.’

  ‘You want to help me and cut that bread, Taiga the youngest?’

  Taiga cocked her head on one side as if considering some great decision, then nodded and picked up a knife.

  ‘What’s this?’ The words were loud enough to turn heads, with enough steel in them that cinderwraiths shrank back, parting to let Kimi Enkhtuya through.

  ‘Just some food is all.’ Steiner forced a smile he didn’t feel. His ribs had ached with every step down the stairs from Academy Square. He had no wish to earn more injury. ‘This is for you.’ He held up two thick slices of dark bread, meatballs gleaming and sizzling between them.

  ‘I’ll not take food from a Northman.’ Enkhtuya’s face was hard as stone. ‘What is this meagre offering?’

  ‘We call it housman’s fare. Peasant food made by workers for workers.’

  Tief cleared his throat. ‘The boy risked his life getting this for us, Kimi. And if you don’t want
it … Well, there’s no need to waste good food. That would be foolish. And it will only stretch so far between this many.’

  Steiner eyed the thirty or so Spriggani and winced. The portions would be small indeed. Enkhtuya waved away Steiner’s offering and turned her head in disgust. It wasn’t long before Tief, Sundra, Taiga and the other Spriggani were sitting in a loose circle. Their lips were bright with grease and the sound of smacking lips and contented mumbles could be heard over the sizzling pan. Steiner served up more of the bread and herring, placed it on a chopping board and set the offering at Enkhtuya’s feet.

  ‘In case you change your mind,’ he said, backing away from the stern-faced Yamal princess.

  ‘Fish? All we ever have on this island is fish,’ she said, though she didn’t take her eyes from the food. There had to be half a loaf on the chopping board, not too soft, not too crispy, just as how Marek loved it, Steiner realized.

  ‘You’ve not had it like this before. It’s a marinade my father taught me.’

  ‘Turns out the boy is a cook and a blacksmith,’ said Tief contentedly.

  ‘Do you have any salt?’ rumbled Enkhtuya after a moment’s consideration.

  Steiner’s eyes widened. He had fetched a pan and kettle, tea leaves, meat and fish, cheese and bread. He’d even managed to swipe two dozen withered apples but salt had not been a priority as he’d raided the kitchens with Maxim.

  ‘Salt?’

  ‘I need salt,’ said Enkhtuya.

  ‘I …’ Steiner froze. All of his good work was about to unravel for the want of a pinch of salt.

  ‘I marinaded it for about an hour. I’m not sure it needs more—’

  ‘I have salt!’ Tief wiped his hands on a kerchief. He tucked the scrap of fabric away and produced a small pouch. ‘For soups and so on,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘We’re slaves, not feral beasts,’ he added indignantly.

  Enkhtuya sat cross-legged by the chopping board, took one pinch, and threw the powder over her shoulder.

  ‘Now we can eat,’ she said, though she refused to look at Steiner, biting and chewing, slow and methodical. Steiner tried not to stare, mindful of causing further insult. The Spriggani watched with fascination though Steiner guessed they hoped for leftovers. It was a faint hope as it turned out.

  ‘It’s good, no?’ said Tief, sidling up to the Yamal princess.

  ‘Better than the slop you call food.’ Kimi allowed herself a brief smile before she stood, brushed the crumbs from her palms and rinsed her hands in a nearby barrel of water. She glanced at Steiner.

  ‘I still don’t like Northmen.’

  ‘You made that much clear,’ replied Steiner, one hand straying to his ribs.

  ‘You’re too puny to be of any use,’ said Enkhtuya. ‘No better than the cinderwraiths. Stay out of my way.’ She slunk off, sending the odd cinderwraith flitting from her path.

  ‘For frigg’s sake.’ Steiner’s shoulders slumped and he released a long breath of disappointment. ‘That didn’t go anywhere near as well as I’d hoped.’

  ‘Don’t be so damn foolish,’ said Tief, grinning. ‘She threw salt.’

  Steiner shrugged. ‘And what does that mean?’

  ‘Frøya save us but the boy is stupid.’

  ‘It means,’ said Taiga, ‘that she’ll be civil with you. The Yamal put great store in flinging a pinch of salt over their shoulder. They say it discourages evil spirits and wards off unfavourable destiny.’

  Steiner looked around at the host of cinderwraiths and opened his mouth to comment on spirits and unfavourable destinies but thought better of it.

  ‘The fact she honoured your meal with salt, well …’ Tief shook his head. ‘You’ve got some stones, sneaking up to the kitchens like that.’

  ‘What stones?’

  ‘Never mind about stones,’ replied Tief. ‘We need to get you strong. It’s all to the good you’re brave and all, and it would be better if you had some brains, but what you really need is strength. Fortunately, we have just the thing.’ Tief kicked the nearest sack of coal.

  ‘And what am I supposed to do with that?’

  ‘Carry it to the furnaces. And there’ll be plenty more so don’t dawdle.’

  ‘Can I have my food first?’ said Steiner with a scowl.

  ‘I reckon you’ve earned it,’ said Tief.

  Steiner was no stranger to hard work. His father’s forge was not a place for the weak or the idle, but there was at least the odd snatch of friendly conversation. People would knock politely and stop in for the occasional repair, perhaps buying a pan or knife, or less commonly a horseshoe. And when the day was done there was the tavern with all its good cheer and Verner’s tall stories.

  The cavern was devoid of such things, as if scorched by the heat or occluded by the ever-present coal dust. Steiner carried sacks along avenues between the workstations, each step rewarding him with pain from his fractured rib. Every time he set down a burden his bruises rumbled and moaned. The only words he whispered were curses, words said aloud were spare and sparse. A dozen or so of the workstations featured Spriggani overseers, but none had much to say, eyes dull with tiredness.

  At first the place had simply been a sprawl in the darkness. Hundreds of cinderwraiths drifted over the packed earth of the cavern’s floor. The spirits of doomed children attending the fires, the hammering of iron and steel. When the air wasn’t filled with the sound of beaten metal it was the harsh hiss of quenched steel, slipped into barrels of grimy water. In truth the cavern was arranged like a vast cartwheel, the many spokes leading to the great furnace at the centre where Enkhtuya worked alone. Sometimes the Yamal princess would step off the dais and give instruction to a crew of wraiths but for the most part she made an ally of solitude.

  ‘There you are.’ Sundra emerged from the darkness.

  Steiner nodded. ‘Of course I’m here. Where else would I be? And where is Tief?’

  ‘Tief is our unofficial foreman,’ replied Sundra. ‘And is currently busy. He asked that I speak to you, though the bones do not speak favourably of you, Northman.’

  Steiner set down the sack of coal that he carried across his shoulders and glared.

  ‘Were you going to get to the point any time soon, because more coal came in this morning and I need to get it to Enkhtuya before …’ He opened his mouth but the words turned into a sigh. Time was meaningless down here with no day and no night to mark the passing of the hours. There were no clocks to be read, certainly none that announced the hour in muted chimes, even if such things could be heard down here.

  ‘Come with me,’ said the sullen priestess. ‘We have found something for you.’

  Steiner followed, more concerned with putting one foot in front of the other than the where or the why of it. Sundra glided past the furnaces in her black robes, to the edges of the vast cavern, where the workstations were less crowded. Pallets of coal loomed in the darkness, some as tall as Steiner himself.

  It was darker here, away from the constant sunset glow of the furnaces and the cinderwraiths’ coal-ember eyes.

  Sundra bowed her head and mumbled a few words and a ring of flames danced up from the ground at her feet.

  ‘Corpsecandles,’ whispered Steiner. Sundra arched an eyebrow.

  ‘They are not corpsecandles, just a minor spell. The Spriggani rarely summon fire, but there are precious few spells of illumination in the earth or water schools, so fire it is.’

  Steiner blinked. He never heard anyone speak so casually of something so wondrous, so unknowable. So illegal.

  ‘Is it true that Spriggani take the last spark of a person’s spirit and make it a light for their lanterns?’

  Sundra turned to him slowly, crossed her arms and frowned.

  ‘Sorry. I was told …’

  ‘You were told wrong.’ Sundra sighed and shook her head. ‘Imperial soldiers have been telling that story to each other for decades, centuries even. It is stories like those that mean my people are distrusted, or killed when Northmen
think they can get away with it.’

  Steiner looked down at the tongues of flame as they danced around Sundra’s feet. Suddenly he was jealous of Sundra and Kjellrunn. What might he be able to do if he had witchsign? How might his life have turned out differently but for this small quirk of fate.

  ‘Do you think you can teach me to do that?’

  Sundra shook her head. ‘It’s not something you can teach. You cannot name it. You cannot categorize it or pin it down. You cannot write it in books neatly. The arcane is more like …’ Sundra smiled then. ‘It’s more like a feeling.’

  ‘I’d give anything to be able to do that.’ Steiner gestured at the dancing flames.

  ‘The arcane demands a high price. It poisons people and makes them sick. Why do you think Shirinov is so twisted? Why do you think he suffers that wracking cough?’

  ‘And Khigir? Felgenhauer?’

  ‘Their time will come,’ said Sundra.

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘The Spriggani draw their powers from the goddess, water and earth are our birthright. Fire and wind are the province of dragons.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid it will make you sick, or kill you?’ asked Steiner.

  ‘Do you think I will leave this place alive, Steiner Vartiainen?’ Sundra gestured to the cavern. ‘Do not worry for me, I have my goddess.’ The priestess turned on her heel and disappeared into the rock wall at the cavern’s edge.

  ‘Sundra!’ Steiner stumbled back in shock. Only when the priestess’ head reappeared did he start breathing again.

  ‘There is a cave here, a fissure in the side of the cavern. Did you think I could pass through solid rock?’

  ‘I’ve seen a lot of things in the last few days. Nothing’s impossible on Vladibogdan.’

  The cavern wall parted in a cruel jag, an opening in the rock, almost invisible in the darkness. Sundra’s circle of flames illuminated the inside of the fissure, throwing flickering light across dark stone.

  ‘Come on, now,’ said the priestess. ‘I want to show you this.’

  Steiner bowed his head to enter the split rock and found himself in a small cave, perhaps the size of his kitchen back at Cinderfell. How he wished he were back there now.