Witchsign

by Den Patrick

  ‘Sorry, Kjell. Where have you been today?’

  ‘Fetching carrots and firewood.’ She crossed the room and deposited a heavy bundle beside the chimney breast. The carrots hung from her belt.

  ‘Did you dig up the smallest ones you could find?’

  ‘Better wizened and small than a growling stomach. I see you come laden with things for the pot, as ever.’

  Verner cleared his throat, embarrassed, then reached into a pocket and slipped a few coins onto the table.

  ‘We can’t eat money. Would it kill you to stop at the shops occasionally? Or bring some fish? You are a fisherman, aren’t you?’

  Verner’s eyes widened but he said nothing.

  ‘How is he today?’ said Kjellrunn, jutting her head towards the smithy.

  Verner smiled and made to say something, but caught the look of warning in her eye and puffed out his cheeks. He raised his hand, palm down, and waggled it.

  ‘No one has bought a thing from the smithy all week. As if losing Steiner isn’t bad enough,’ Kjellrunn tied on her apron, ‘now we have to starve to death.’

  ‘He did make some money today,’ said Verner. ‘We took some things to Helwick early this morning. Spent most of the day on the road, truth be told. The local smith wasn’t so keen to see us, but life is full of disappointments.’

  She wanted to agree with him, but the day had been anything but disappointing. Mistress Kamalov’s look of pride as she’d said farewell was reward enough. Protecting oneself from flying carrots was hardly the stuff of legend but Kjellrunn enjoyed the warm surge of satisfaction all the same.

  ‘Were they there?’ she asked, fetching a knife and chopping board. Who ‘they’ were was not in question. The horsemen had not been seen since visiting Mistress Kamalov’s chalet.

  Verner shook his head. ‘It’s why we didn’t go to Helwick sooner. They’ve searched every inch of that town. A lot of unhappy people there. People unhappy we were asking after the horsemen too.’ They were only ever ‘the horsemen’, as if to say the word Okhrana might summon them like an evil spirit. ‘I had to do some quick talking to avoid suspicion.’

  ‘Avoiding suspicion is all we ever do,’ said Kjellrunn. Her thoughts turned to her conversation with Mistress Kamalov and how the Okhrana hunted disobedient Vigilants.

  Verner nodded and tucked away his knife, a look of weary sadness crossing his face. ‘I don’t like it any more than you do, Kjell.’

  ‘Answer me straight, not as a child, not as the little girl you used to lift up on your shoulder. Tell me the truth or may Frejna strike you blind.’

  Verner frowned. ‘What truth?’

  ‘Are you one them, the Okhrana? Were you one of them? Nothing makes sense. You promised my father that Cinderfell will be passed over for Invigilation, two Vigilants in a nearby town die and another goes missing. Now I learn the Empire uses Okhrana to hunt its own. How does this all fit together?’

  Verner released a slow breath and sat back in his seat. ‘That head has always been full of questions.’

  ‘This head wants answers.’

  ‘I’m not Okhrana. I swear to you, Kjellrunn. The horsemen, Okhrana, whatever they are, they are here looking for someone.’

  ‘Looking for you. Because of what happened in Helwick.’

  ‘No. Yes. Well, they’re looking for the last Vigilant. If there’s one thing the Empire hates more than a dead Vigilant, then it’s a Vigilant who defects.’

  ‘She’s going to be in a lot of trouble when they find her,’ said Kjellrunn, thinking of the wizened old woman in the woodcutter’s chalet, the same old woman who could be icy and imperious in the blink of an eye.

  ‘It’s the same all over, Kjell. Most soldiers serve their whole life, no retirement. A Vigilant is as much a slave to the Empire as the Yamal to the south. And the Okhrana, they’re little better than a gang of thugs. You’re in the gang or you’re in the ground. No exceptions.’

  ‘And you?’ Kjellrunn shook her head. ‘Just like that you’re off the hook?’

  ‘To them it must seem that the last Vigilant killed her colleagues and fled into Nordvlast. No reason to suspect anyone else.’

  ‘So you’re not in danger?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think so. Or no more than anyone else, I’d think.’

  He smiled a moment and looked down at hands that had gutted any number of fish and gods knew what else. Or who else. ‘What I did in Helwick I did to protect you. I swear it by Frøya and Frejna, and by the north wind.’

  Kjellrunn nodded but couldn’t say she felt any satisfaction in his answer.

  Verner rose from the table. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Kjellrunn set down the knife and sighed. ‘No. It’s I that should be sorry. You’ve always worked hard to keep us fed and looked out for us over the years. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.’

  ‘I didn’t do such a great job of looking out for Steiner.’

  Kjellrunn wanted to tell her uncle how she was going to get Steiner back, but just then the door latch rattled and Marek entered, tired and stooped.

  ‘No, it didn’t work out so well for Steiner,’ said Marek. ‘And I might suggest you speak of other things, I can hear you outside. Our friends are back in town.’

  Kjellrunn snatched a glance through the window, but only darkness waited beyond the glass. Her mind conjured memories of the two horsemen at the chalet, how they’d leered at her, and the easy contempt they’d shown.

  ‘You mean … the dark-haired horseman, is he back?’

  Marek nodded. ‘And there’s no telling which doors they’ll press their ears to, but this one will be high on the list, especially after the business with Steiner.’

  ‘Did you see them?’ asked Verner.

  Marek shook his head and pointed a thumb back over his shoulder. Kristofine stood in the doorway.

  ‘You need to be careful,’ replied Kjellrunn. ‘It’s not only me that’s under suspicion.’

  ‘But I don’t have witchsign,’ Kristofine sighed. ‘I came to warn you, I wanted to help.’

  ‘And help you did,’ said Verner. ‘Now it’s best you be on your way, and keep out of the tavern while they’re in town.’

  ‘The tavern?’ Kristofine gave a bitter laugh. ‘You think my father will let me work in the tavern since all this started? He barely speaks to me.’

  Kjellrunn and Marek exchanged a guilty glance.

  ‘You’d best pull up a chair then,’ said Marek. ‘We don’t have much though.’

  ‘So they’re back,’ said Kjellrunn as she prepared the dinner, but no one answered her. They dined by the light of the lantern, wooden spoons scraping their bowls all too soon as the meagre fare was eaten.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Kristofine when the meal was done.

  ‘I have money to buy meat tomorrow,’ said Marek, laying a tender hand atop of Kjellrunn’s.

  ‘And I’ll go into town to fetch it,’ said Verner. ‘Spare you the trouble of dealing with that butcher.’

  Kristofine rolled her eyes at the mention of Håkon.

  ‘I take it he’s no fan of yours, then?’ said Verner to Kristofine. She sighed.

  ‘He used to be very keen on me, too keen.’ Kristofine shook her head. ‘But that changed when everyone assumed I have witchsign.’

  A knock on the door set them all rigid with nerves and all eyes turned to the source of the noise.

  ‘It’s late,’ shouted Marek, as he pulled a kitchen knife from the counter and hefted it.

  ‘It’s cold too,’ came the reply. ‘And it’s not getting any warmer, right.’

  Verner and Marek exchanged a look of surprise and the blacksmith threw the door open. ‘Get in, quickly. There’s eyes everywhere.’

  ‘What the Hel are you doing here?’ whispered Verner.

  Kjellrunn blinked as Romola entered.

  ‘You’ve picked a bad time to come calling in the night,’ said Marek.

  ‘You think I want to be here? You think I had an ea
sy time persuading my first mate we should drop in at Cinderfell under the cover of night like smugglers?’

  ‘Solmindre has sent watchers,’ said Verner.

  ‘Solmindre has watchers everywhere.’ replied Romola. ‘I only just escaped Vladibogdan with my life.’

  ‘Is Steiner with you?’ The desperation on Marek’s face was difficult to witness. The captain shook her head. A look of annoyance crossed her face, though if Kjellrunn had to guess she’d have said the woman was more annoyed with herself.

  ‘He’s so much like you it makes my head hurt,’ said Romola to Marek.

  ‘He’s …’ Marek’s hands twisted together, as if clasping onto a shred of hope. ‘Is he still …’

  ‘Alive? You can bet your boots the boy lives. There’s little that will slow that one down.’

  The room became chaotic with the scraping of chairs. Verner hugged Marek, who in turn hugged Kjellrunn and Kristofine, somewhat awkwardly.

  ‘I knew he’d survive,’ said Verner after they’d retaken their seats and shared relieved smiles. ‘What happened?’ he pressed.

  ‘What happened is that I’ve made an enemy of Shirinov. I’ve cut ties with the Empire and I’ll be staying in southern waters for a good time to come.’

  ‘But without you we’ve no way of contacting Steiner,’ said Marek.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Romola, ‘But things are difficult over there. All you can do is pray the boy makes it off that rock by himself.’

  All the joy Kjellrunn had felt at receiving the news was washed away by that one simple statement.

  ‘No one escapes Vladibogdan,’ she said. ‘Not without help from the outside.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ replied Romola. ‘Really I am, but there’s nothing else I can do.’

  ‘Will you stay in touch, at least?’ said Verner.

  Romola shrugged. ‘I’m going far to the south and don’t intend to return. There’s trouble brewing between the different factions, and it would be too easy to get caught up in it. I have my own problems.’

  Kristofine looked up at the pirate but said nothing, though the frown on her face said she longed to. Verner shook his head with resignation.

  ‘Thank you for bringing word of my son,’ said Marek.

  Moments later the pirate was gone, back into the frigid night, back to the frigate by the pier.

  ‘Steiner is alive,’ whispered Kjellrunn, through tears of joy. He was alive and she would rescue him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Steiner

  A Troika of Vigilants is a distinct unit, each group as individual as the three Vigilants that form its number. A Troika is required to serve during times of war. The Vigilants are sanctioned to use their abilities in the open provided there are no witness to speak of their powers. Other Troika serve the Emperor in more discreet ways.

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

  Things were easier when the Matriarch-Commissar had you locked up in the gatehouse.

  At first Steiner thought he was dreaming, or succumbing to madness. His face ached down the left side where the soldiers had beaten him into submission. He was grateful they’d used fists and not maces.

  The gatehouse is more secure than this old ruin. Something about the words made Steiner open his eyes, the way they drifted into his mind like a procession of ghosts.

  ‘Silverdust?’

  The Vigilant stood near the door, head bowed. The blank mask showed Steiner a bloodied and warped reflection. The corridor beyond the dank cell was all darkness save for the dull gleam of mail and armour. Steiner coughed a bitter laugh, shocked that he could be important enough to warrant a guard.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you again,’ he croaked, his throat parched. His left wrist was raw where it remained held fast against the stone wall of the circular room. He’d not been able to see once they wrapped his cloak around his head, and hadn’t been able to determine where he was being held. The cloak lay on the floor, a bloody reminder of the beating they’d meted out as revenge for their fallen comrade. ‘Where I am?’

  An old tower in Academy Zemlya. Silverdust regarded the empty cell and the rusty chain that circled Steiner’s wrist. No one has come to this place in a very long time.

  Steiner had spent the days lamenting Felgenhauer’s departure and worrying at the fates of Kjellrunn and his father.

  The soldier outside will not speak of my passing. We have an arrangement, but I cannot be too long.

  Silverdust drew close, lowered himself to his knees and produced half a loaf, an apple, a waterskin and some cold chicken. He drifted back to his place by the door without a word.

  Steiner gorged himself, forcing down scraps of food and closing his eyes.

  When was the last time you ate? asked Silverdust, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were undisturbed.

  ‘How long have I been up here?’ asked Steiner, trying to chew and speak, and chew some more.

  Three days. It is why I came. Shirinov would have you half dead. I would prefer otherwise.

  Steiner didn’t interrupt his hurried feast to question the Vigilant’s motives. Silverdust crossed the room to the narrow window that allowed a meagre light to enter. The cell existed in a feverish state of permanent twilight. There was no feature to inspect or anything of interest in the room, which made the two orbs of orange light somewhat conspicuous.

  ‘Why did you bring a cinderwraith with you?’

  The shade blinked glowing eyes and drifted to a spot behind the door, keen to remain unseen by the soldier outside.

  It was Kimi’s idea. Silverdust looked over his shoulder at the apparition. Keep your voice down. Things will not go well if Shirinov discovers the Ashen Court has a spy in your jail cell.

  ‘What’s the Ashen Court?’

  The cinderwraiths feel a kinship with you, Steiner, ever since you first arrived on Vladibogdan. And I in turn have my own kinship with the cinderwraiths, as you well know. We have decided that we should make efforts to escape our enslavement and have named ourselves the Ashen Court.

  ‘You’re going to rebel against Shirinov?’

  Silverdust nodded. Kimi asked me to send the cinderwraith to keep an eye on you. She worries Shirinov will have you executed.

  ‘And Kimi is in this Ashen Court, is she?’ Steiner’s heart was beating loudly in his chest; his mouth was dry with excitement.

  No, she is not welcome among our ranks. We have very specific entry requirements.

  ‘Why hasn’t Shirinov had me executed me yet?’ Steiner felt the familiar pang of panic in his gut and throat. ‘I’ve been here for three days, he could have had me killed at any time.’

  He has plans that require you to draw breath. He told me as much.

  ‘Why would Shirinov tell you anything? I thought you were allied with Felgenhauer?’

  Now the Matriarch-Commissar has gone it serves my interests to play along and ingratiate myself, though in truth I have always thought Shirinov a thug and an ass.

  ‘I’d always assumed you, Felgenhauer and Marozvolk were a Troika,’ said Steiner.

  Not officially a Troika as you know it, but we share a certain point of view. It pleases me to work together, for the moment.

  Steiner leaned forward as much as the chain would allow. ‘Why should I trust you?’ he whispered. ‘And what’s Shirinov up to?’

  Shirinov is keeping you alive because he intends to present you as proof to the Emperor.

  ‘Proof? Of what?’

  Khigir’s sister has gone missing on the mainland, her colleagues are slain, and you have some connection to the deaths.

  ‘Sharpbreath.’

  Exactly. Khigir and Shirinov think Sharpbreath’s disappearance is part of a larger conspiracy. Silverdust steepled his fingers. A conspiracy of rebels trying to keep the children in Nordvlast safe.

  ‘Children like Kjellrunn,’ said Steiner.

  Specifically Kjellrunn is my guess, and Shirinov is keen to redr
ess his mistake.

  ‘So how is Sharpbreath caught up in this?’

  Sharpbreath only just survived her training, and many of the Vigilants never trusted her. Now she is missing and the two Vigilants she served with were killed before they could carry out Invigilations. Shirinov is sure the roots of that conspiracy reach back to Vladibogdan.

  ‘And that’s why the Matriarch-Commissar was taken by the Envoy,’ said Steiner. ‘Shirinov thinks Felgenhauer hired the assassin in Helwick to protect Kjellrunn.’ He glanced up at the curving mask. ‘Did she?’

  It is possible. While we agreed on many things, we also disagreed on many more. Felgenhauer may have been compelled to help if she knew of a family in Nordvlast that might fail an Invigilation.

  Steiner chewed his lip, not trusting himself to say anything else, still unsure how much he could trust the Vigilant before him.

  Did your family know Felgenhauer? Do they have ties to Matriarch-Commissar?

  ‘No,’ said Steiner. ‘No, nothing.’

  Though in truth there is much that you do not know. Your own father is hardly trustworthy, is he?

  ‘Stay out of my head,’ growled Steiner. Silverdust drifted across the cell and picked up Steiner’s bloodied cloak.

  Shirinov and Khigir will not stop until they have found Sharpbreath and saved face, even if that means turning you over to the Emperor himself.

  Steiner felt an icy chill. He had no wish to be transferred to Khlystburg and presented to the Emperor. The city of whips would draw every truth and secret out of him. He’d shout Verner’s name to make the searing irons stop, he’d give up Kjellrunn just to stall the razor-sharp blades from carving his flesh.

  ‘You have to get me out of here,’ said Steiner. ‘I can’t to go to Khlystburg. I’ll do anything.’ But Silverdust didn’t reply; the silence was just another discomfort in the drab cell.

  Harsh words in Solska caused Steiner to flinch as the soldier shouldered his way through the door. Silverdust exited the chamber without pause or ceremony, leaving Steiner to agonise over Shirinov’s next move.

  Hours passed by and light at the window dimmed. Steiner shifted and cursed when his backside went numb on the cold flagstones. Occasionally he stood in order to take the pressure off his shackled arm, but no position was entirely comfortable. The silence beyond the cell door was broken, and Steiner’s stomach clenched in fear; perhaps Shirinov had changed his mind. The reality was rather different.