Witchsign

by Den Patrick

  ‘And what do you propose I do now?’ she asked, folding her hands beneath her armpits, trying to keep warm.

  ‘What would Steiner want you to do?’

  ‘He’d want me to learn how to protect myself. That and stay out of trouble with the Empire.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s good you spend time with this Mistress Kamalov,’ said Verner. ‘Go and spend time in the woods, it will keep you out from under the feet of the townsfolk. They barely let me in Bjørner’s tavern these days.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ replied Kjellrunn.

  ‘It’s not your fault, just a fearful and suspicious people who don’t know even half of what they speak of. Go on now, run along, and keep an eye out for the Okhrana.’

  ‘Haven’t they moved on yet?’

  ‘If only they had, I might sleep easier.’ Verner looked out to sea and said nothing more.

  Kjellrunn nodded. She felt lighter somehow. If Verner believed Steiner was still alive then she could too.

  ‘Kjellrunn?’

  She turned to see Verner cleaning the knife. ‘Don’t give up hope.’

  ‘I won’t.’ She smiled.

  Kjellrunn was reluctant to leave Verner’s company but keen to be back in the warm. Her feet led her from the shore road and up Cinderfell’s cobbled winding streets. Tonight they would have beef stew, she decided, with carrots, rutabaga, onion and potatoes. She’d make a meal to thaw Marek’s frosty mood and there would be peace in the blacksmith’s cottage. They’d eat a meal as father and daughter, not the hollow-eyed strangers they’d become.

  She wasn’t keen to enter the butcher’s without Steiner at her shoulder, but there wasn’t much choice.

  ‘I don’t have anything left for you today,’ said Håkon, smoothing down his vast beard.

  ‘But you have all this meat right in front of me.’ Kjellrunn gestured to the cuts of beef on the slab before her.

  ‘This is all for the Smouldering Standard. Big feast tonight, they need all of it. Best you buy your meat somewhere else.’ The butcher wiped a greasy hand on his apron, the other gripped a cleaver.

  ‘Is this something to do with Steiner?’ she said. A glance over her shoulder confirmed they were alone. No customers could be seen by the door or waiting in the street.

  ‘Best you buy your meat somewhere else,’ repeated Håkon, and Kjellrunn realised he left the words from now on unsaid, but they rang loud all the same.

  Kjellrunn looked at the money in her hand, the coins dull and always too few.

  ‘I just want to make a stew for my father. He’s been so …’ She sighed. ‘Since Steiner was taken, my father …’ But the expression on the butcher’s face told her there would be no appealing to his good nature, if indeed he had one.

  ‘I would like to buy that beef, please,’ said a confident voice from over Kjellrunn’s shoulder. It was said in such a way that brooked no refusal, the accent making the words clipped and impatient. The butcher swallowed. For a moment his beady eyes wavered in their frowning steadfastness.

  ‘Well, I …’

  ‘Mistress Kamalov,’ said Kjellrunn, nodding to her. The woman nodded back. She appeared larger than Kjellrunn remembered, her spine straight as an oar handle, eyes sharp and hard like cut stones. She was well scrubbed and her wiry hair was concealed beneath a headscarf; her clothes were worn and tired but immaculate and clean.

  ‘I would like to buy that beef. And I would like to buy it before I grow old. Understand?’

  ‘I, well …’ Håkon fell silent, caught in his own lie. Kjellrunn smiled bitterly at the butcher, enjoying his discomfort.

  ‘Are you deaf or merely stupid?’ continued Mistress Kamalov. ‘Would you have me write it down for you? Can you even read?’

  ‘I read just fine,’ said the butcher, remembering himself and resuming his usual frown.

  ‘Good, you speak. And if you so much as entertain the notion of overcharging me I will take my knife to you and dine on your kidneys tonight, instead of this meagre offering.’ Of the Mistress Kamalov in the woods there was no sign. Gone was the doddering stoop, the moments of introspection and reverie, replaced by an imperious aspect that knew what it was to be obeyed.

  ‘There’s no need to be rude, I was just—’

  ‘There is every need to be rude. You were overcharging this girl. Yes?’

  The butcher opened his mouth to speak, flicked a guilty glance at Kjellrunn, and closed his mouth.

  ‘He was refusing to serve me,’ said Kjellrunn, though it pained her to admit it.

  ‘I know too well Solmindre is mired in thieves and cowards.’ Kjellrunn’s eyes widened as Mistress Kamalov scolded the butcher. ‘But I had hoped for better in Cinderfell, and from a man of your position.’

  ‘Take it.’ The butcher thrust a heavy hand at her, laden with meat wrapped in brown paper. ‘Take it and leave my shop with your noise and harangue.’

  Mistress Kamalov laid a half-dozen coins on the counter, took the meat and gave a curt nod. ‘How dare you. I do not take charity. Do I look like a beggar? No. Do I look like a thief? No. I have my pride.’

  Kjellrunn followed her into the street, stunned at seeing such a large man cut down to size.

  ‘You can bet your boots there’s going to be a few rumours going around after that.’ She grinned, almost giddy with amusement.

  ‘In a town this small?’ Mistress Kamalov looked about her, eyeing a few folk further down the street hurrying home. ‘There are always rumours. Best they speak of me for being a mean old crone than get ideas for themselves.’ She looked at Kjellrunn and her expression softened. ‘Here.’ She took Kjellrunn’s hand and gave her the beef. ‘This is yours.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You brought bread and fish to me when I was starving, so you’ll take my kindness in turn.’ She’d not raised her voice, but the note of command remained. ‘I have my pride.’ Kjellrunn nodded and thanked her.

  ‘Besides, I caught a whole deer yesterday. Why eat beef when you can dine on venison?’ She broke into a mischievous smile and Kjellrunn returned it.

  They walked down the street, unhurried, neither feeling the need to fill the quiet with unneeded words. Kjellrunn snatched a glance from the corner of her eye and noticed Mistress Kamalov had resumed her stoop, becoming the old woman she had first met in the woods once more. The effect was like a change of clothes, ultimately the same person, but easy to mistake for someone else.

  ‘There will be more of that to come,’ said Mistress Kamalov, cocking her head at the butcher’s shop. The owner stood in the doorway, hands on hips, glowering at them as they departed.

  ‘Bjørner, the tavern owner, came to my father’s smithy.’ Kjellrunn remembered the look of sadness on Kristofine’s face. ‘He told my father to think about moving on.’ The pang of unhappiness was a physical thing as she said the words aloud, full of shame.

  ‘It’s often the way after an Invigilation,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘People fear what they do not understand.’

  ‘Do you think I might come to your chalet tomorrow?’ said Kjellrunn. ‘To try some venison?’

  ‘Venison. Yes. You will try venison. And you will also try using your gifts. You will need them in the years ahead. Do not waste any time, Kjellrunn. Already sixteen with no training and all this power.’ Mistress Kamalov shook her head and tutted. ‘It is unthinkable such a thing should happen.’

  ‘Tomorrow then?’ said Kjellrunn.

  Mistress Kamalov gave a nod, then smiled. ‘As early as you can. We have much work ahead of us. And more with the listening.’

  ‘Not so much with the questions,’ said Kjellrunn.

  ‘Just so.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Steiner

  Artefacts are largely the domain of old tales: enchanted swords that whisper to the kings who wield them, enchanted rings granting immortality and so forth. In some rare cases artefacts do exist, but the greater ones are the creations of dragons, while charms and fetishes are almost always crafted by Sp
riggani. The latter should always be distrusted.

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

  Shirinov stood on the central dais of the cavern, leaning on his cane. The gently smiling mask returned the steely stare of Enkhtuya. It was difficult to think of her as ‘Kimi’ when she stood like this, arms folded, frown set on her wide brow, eyes narrowed in suspicion. A sturdy hammer hung from her work belt, her leather apron more akin to armour. The air was loaded with accusation and violence was not far behind.

  A heavy silence had descended over the furnaces. The cinderwraiths had vanished, perhaps hiding in the cavern’s darker reaches. Matriarch-Commissar Felgenhauer was also present, along with Khigir, who Steiner couldn’t help but think of as Corpsecandle. A score of soldiers escorted the Vigilants, more intimidating than usual in the gloom, armoured in black with the dull gleam of mail and spiked maces.

  ‘This is much worse than I had hoped,’ grumbled Tief, just low enough that the words reached Steiner and no further. ‘The Matriarch-Commissar never set a foot down here before.’

  ‘What do we do?’ replied Steiner.

  ‘Say nothing. The novices were never here. And you haven’t seen anyone,’ replied Tief.

  Taiga took her place beside Sundra, the younger sister little more than shadows in black and green, the soldiers’ lanterns illuminating the flat, unfriendly stares of the two women. The other Spriggani hid at their workstations, close enough to hear but beyond arm’s reach.

  Shirinov turned his gleaming mask to Steiner, leaning on his cane. The old Vigilant cocked his head to one side as if seeing Steiner anew. The effect of his gaze was chilling. Steiner wondered if a Vigilant could pluck the words from his mind as easily as the dark-haired novice had inserted them.

  Tongues of fire performed a slow dance at Khigir’s feet as he took his place beside Shirinov. The Vigilant looked especially unnatural, lit from below, pitted mask blank of everything but the frown crowding his eyes. The soldiers formed a loose circle around everyone, a deadly cordon.

  ‘Why have you summoned us here?’ said Shirinov, a note of complaint in his voice.

  ‘One of our novices failed to report for lessons,’ said Felgenhauer, her words measured and calm. She turned her stony, androgynous mask from Tief to Steiner and then Kimi. None flinched under the weight of her scrutiny, though Steiner wanted nothing more than to run back to his cave.

  ‘Perhaps he swam the Spøkelsea and escaped?’ said Tief with a bitter smile on his lips. ‘Or hitched a ride in the mouth of whale.’

  ‘The novice was a young man of considerable talent,’ said Felgenhauer, ignoring Tief’s insolence. ‘You would know him, Shirinov, he was one of yours. Matthias Zhirov.’

  The Vigilant spread one hand and gave a shrug. It was a curious gesture in his Vigilant’s robes, made insincere by the mocking smile on his silver mask.

  ‘Most strange,’ said Khigir.

  ‘Most strange,’ agreed Shirinov. ‘My novices are known for their utmost devotion to the Empire.’

  ‘Runaways are not uncommon,’ said Felgenhauer. ‘If indeed he ran away.’

  Steiner couldn’t shake the feeling it was Shirinov who had earned the greater part of Felgenhauer’s suspicion. The soldiers had split into two distinct factions; six of them bore axes and stood behind Felgenhauer, while the remaining six flanked Shirinov and Corpsecandle.

  ‘I suggest we search the pirate’s ship,’ said Shirinov, his tone patronising, obviously pleased with himself. ‘It is possible Zhirov found a way to bribe that odious pirate to give him passage.’

  ‘She’s here?’ said Steiner, earning a dark look from Tief. Steiner reminded himself to be quiet.

  ‘We must interrogate the pirate at once,’ countered Khigir, the flames at his feet flickering as if excited by the prospect.

  ‘No!’ said Steiner, taking a step forward.

  ‘Shut up, Steiner!’ hissed Tief. For a moment he’d assumed his outburst would only make things worse, but the Matriarch-Commissar’s quiet fury was reserved for the other Vigilants.

  ‘The pirate’s name is Captain Romola,’ said Felgenhauer, stepping closer to Khigir. ‘And she is a privateer in service to the Empire.’

  ‘What in Frejna’s name does this have to do with us?’ said Tief, and he flashed an angry glance at Steiner.

  ‘Be quiet, Spriggani scum,’ grunted Shirinov.

  Steiner swallowed in a dry throat, edging the few steps to Kimi’s anvil where he had left his sledgehammer. He remembered the moment the granite-skinned boy’s head had come apart in a shower of stone.

  ‘It’s possible the runaway stumbled down here by accident,’ said Felgenhauer, her eyes on Steiner. ‘Or perhaps he ventured here for other reasons.’ One by one each person turned to him. Even Kimi ceased her baleful glaring at Shirinov to glance at Steiner from the corner of her eye.

  ‘I’ve not seen a soul,’ said Steiner. The lie emerged from his throat as a dusty croak. ‘Busy carrying sacks of coal.’

  ‘Then it must be the pirate who is responsible,’ continued Shirinov. ‘Perhaps she thinks to steal our novices and smuggle them to Shanisrond.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Corpsecandle, pulling himself up straight and pushing back his shoulders.

  ‘We can’t trust her,’ added Shirinov. ‘Or any of her crew. A full search of the ship will end this business once and for all.’

  Steiner thought of the storyweaver and the small kindness she’d shown him. He remembered the beautiful music and imagined Shirinov entering the captain’s cabin, the soldiers smashing the domra. Anger kindled inside him and his fingers curled around the sledgehammer handle. He eyed Felgenhauer and Corpsecandle. Even if he managed to strike Shirinov down he’d be killed a moment later. He forced his hand away from the sledgehammer, felt it tremble. He couldn’t protect Romola by force of arms, but perhaps there was another way.

  ‘Matthias Zhirov was here.’

  There was a second of silence before Tief uttered ‘Damn fool boy’, and covered his eyes with one hand. Taiga and Sundra whispered to each other and Kimi let out a long sigh.

  ‘What?’ said the Matriarch-Commissar.

  ‘Matthias Zhirov came here and attacked me. I fended him off and …’

  ‘You?’ Shirinov’s voice was ripe with scorn. ‘You fended off Matthias Zhirov? I think not.’

  Steiner curled his lip. ‘I fended you off in Academy Square, didn’t I?’

  ‘And you’d have us believe you fought off three novices?’

  ‘I had help.’

  The silver mask nodded and the Vigilant flexed his fingers. ‘And here we are again, with a dozen soldiers at my command.’

  ‘Shirinov.’ Felgenhauer’s voice was frosty. ‘The boy didn’t mention three novices. Curious that you know how many.’

  ‘A lucky guess,’ he replied. ‘Vigilants frequently associate in threes, even the novices.’

  Felgenhauer stepped closer. ‘And that you’ve made no secret of the fact Zhirov is your favourite student. And these soldiers are under my command. Try to remember that.’ She swept her gaze over all the soldiers. Clearly it wasn’t just Shirinov that needed reminding. The androgynous mask turned back to Steiner. ‘What else can you tell me about these three novices?’

  ‘They fled,’ said Tief, before Steiner could speak. ‘They were aghast at the boy’s terrible prowess with his sledgehammer, fleeing for their wretched lives before my sisters and I could intervene. Fled back to their damn fool masters, no doubt.’ Tief glowered at Shirinov, who held one hand to the chin of his mask, mockingly pensive.

  Felgenhauer approached Tief, towering over him. For a moment Steiner imagined she might grasp him by the throat and lift him from the ground.

  ‘And that’s how it happened, is it, Steiner?’ said Felgenhauer.

  Steiner cleared his throat. ‘Yes, that’s how it happened. With my hammer.’

  ‘And your boots,’ added Felgenhauer.

  Steiner looked down
at his feet and felt foolish. He wasn’t much given to lying, and the untruths that had spilled before him, by him, had vast consequences he couldn’t imagine. It was as he looked down that he noticed the grit and shards of stone. Was that a splinter of bone? Had Matthias Zhirov’s skull transitioned back to the stuff it was born as? Did the evidence of Zhirov’s death lie at Steiner’s very feet? The cavern’s heat was suddenly unbearable, intensified under the Matriarch-Commissar’s gaze.

  ‘You’re very pale,’ said Felgenhauer.

  ‘Then send more food,’ said Tief, earning himself an icy moment as Felgenhauer turned her attention back to him.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Steiner with a weak smile. ‘Just hungry.’

  The Matriarch-Commissar turned, gesturing that the others should follow. Her stride was long, her step determined. Shirinov did his best to keep up, his cane counting out painful steps with a clack-clack. Corpsecandle spared a glance for Steiner before following Felgenhauer back to the surface. The soldiers jingled with each step. A few lingered behind to cast threatening stares at the many Spriggani who had witnessed the scene.

  ‘Where are they going?’ whispered Steiner.

  ‘Who cares?’ grunted Kimi. ‘As long as they’re out of my forge. They’d be dragon food right now if it was down to me.’

  ‘Will they arrest Romola?’ asked Steiner. ‘Will they search the ship?’

  ‘You did well.’ Kimi wrapped a protective arm about his shoulders, a pleasant crush. ‘Nothing like telling the truth to keep people off balance.’

  ‘I was trying to keep Romola out of this,’ mumbled Steiner. He thought of the domra and the beautiful yet haunting music.

  ‘Let me do the talking, I said,’ muttered Tief. ‘Don’t say a word, I said.’ He stalked off. ‘Damn fool child.’ He scowled over his shoulder. ‘What next?’

  ‘Ignore him,’ said Kimi. ‘He’s on edge is all.’

  ‘He has a point. What will happen now?’ said Steiner.

  ‘Difficult to know for sure,’ said Taiga. ‘No knowing when Vigilants are involved.’

  ‘I suppose we’d best get back to work,’ rumbled Kimi, reaching beneath the stout leather apron.