by Den Patrick
‘They’ll be a lot of weapons after they defeat the south,’ said Steiner.
‘And a lot of veterans that know how to use them,’ added Tief.
‘This act of rebellion can be the clarion that unites the Scorched Republics and the Spriggani and the Yamal to rise up and attack the Empire.’ Steiner took a step closer and looked into Kimi’s broad face, saw the worry in the set of her brow, the conflict as she tensed her jaw. ‘If we do this now things can change.’
‘You promise?’ said Kimi.
‘I can’t promise anything. I’m just a blacksmith’s son who can’t read, with nothing but my boots and a sledgehammer to my name. But it’s better to try for a thing than not try at all.’
Kimi reached into her tunic and brought forth the shard of stone, the dragon etched in exquisite detail.
‘I’m not just giving this artefact to you, Steiner. I’m handing over the fate of my people.’
Steiner nodded and held out his hand, trying to ignore how it shook. ‘We can stop them, Kimi. I don’t know how yet, but I intend to find out.’
Kimi lowered her eyes and handed over the amulet. Steiner opened his mouth to thank her but she turned and exited the room, ducking beneath the low doorway. Steiner started after her, only for Tief to block the way.
‘You can bet your boots she needs some time alone after that. This is no small thing she’s given up.’
Steiner looked around at the congregation of cinderwraiths crowding the room.
‘If you do this for me, if you help me now, I’ll make sure you’re freed. You’ll never work another day in the furnaces, never drag another sack of coal or hammer steel into weapons for the Empire that killed you.’
The wraiths dipped their heads, almost in unison, a wave of dark grey shadows signalling their agreement. Steiner smiled, feeling a thrill of danger course through his veins.
‘Hunt down the soldiers.’ Steiner hefted the sledgehammer, felt the reassuring weight of the metal head. ‘I’m going to settle a score with Shirinov.’
The cinderwraiths fled from the room. They swept through Academy Zemlya, no longer lost souls toiling for the Empire, but avenging spirits come to haunt the living. Startled cries sounded through the building, high-pitched voices of scared novices mingling with the surprised grunts of soldiers.
‘How will Kimi get back to the furnaces?’ asked Steiner, unable to turn his full attention to the task at hand.
‘The same way we arrived,’ said Tief, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. ‘There is a secret way through the rock to this academy. You didn’t think we’d be foolish enough to try and cross Academy Square in broad daylight, did you?’
Steiner smiled.
‘Come on.’ Tief drew a curved knife from under his jacket. ‘Let’s find this Vigilant of yours and finish this once and for all.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Kjellrunn
A soldier has his discipline and a Vigilant his authority, but the motives of the Okhrana are less clear. Some are no better than feral dogs given a long leash. Others fancy themselves noble justiciars, meting out punishments to those who have displeased the Emperor. They are a ramshackle lot, unpredictable and all the more dangerous for it.
– From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.
Kjellrunn emerged from the cottage door and settled the yoke across her shoulders, buckets dangling from fraying ropes. The day remained shrouded in darkness, no way of knowing what the time was, earlier than she’d like, that was for sure. It’d be a comfort to stay in bed an hour longer and curl up in the blankets. All her waking thoughts turned to riders in black and she couldn’t remember her dreams; in truth she had no wish to. It was a fair bet her slumbering mind would conjure Okhrana and soldiers and Vigilants, all storming over the border and breaking across Nordvlast, an irresistible wave of violence.
Her breath steamed on the chilly air. Small rectangles of golden light spilled across the cobbled streets from windows. In other places the light slashed the ground, escaping from gaps between shutters. The sky overhead was a vast canvas of darkness, only a faint aura of pale light betrayed the fading moon’s place behind the cloud.
Kjellrunn’s thoughts turned to the captain of the Watcher’s Wait. That she’d brought word Steiner remained alive was a comfort, though the comfort was bitter; there would be no escape from Vladibogdan.
‘One day soon I’ll travel south,
to clearer skies and sunshine bright.
One day soon I’ll travel south,
to stars that glitter through the night.’
The song had woken inside her, as if hibernating in a deep corner of memory, come to her lips unbidden. She had not sung loud but the words drifted on the morning air all same, finding an audience.
‘A pretty song for a pretty girl,’ said a voice in the dawn gloaming. Kjellrunn stumbled, stopped. The buckets swung on their ropes, buffeting an elbow.
‘Who’s there? Show yourself.’
Slivers of shadow moved in the dawn gloom, detaching from it, stepping closer to the light of a window.
‘Apologies,’ said the dark-haired horseman. He performed a mocking bow, never taking his eyes from her, thick curls tumbling across his forehead. Kjellrunn struggled to keep her face neutral. ‘We were just on our way to see the blacksmith.’
‘He’s not awake yet,’ lied Kjellrunn, hearing the edge in her voice.
‘And how would you know that?’ said the horseman. She was sure he was the very rider who’d left his boot print on Mistress Kamalov’s door. Though indistinct in the darkness there was no mistaking the cruel twist to his words, nor the harsh Solska accent.
‘I’m his daughter,’ said Kjellrunn, fearing this small truth might be the snare that saw her trapped.
‘You look much like another girl in this town, but as I say to Yuri here, you Nordvlast girls all look the same to me. Thin as a whip, with sour faces that don’t remember to smile when a man passes by.’
‘Perhaps if there was more food there’d be more to smile about.’ Kjellrunn lifted her chin and her anger rose up like a wave. ‘And I’m not here to smile for strangers, much less strange men. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve water to fetch.’
The horsemen sniggered.
‘Still no smile?’ he called after her. For a moment she wanted to turn and issue another rebuke, but the yoke was an ungainly burden and she stomped to the well with gritted teeth.
It had never taken so long to fill two buckets. Her mind raced with each turn of the handle, hands burning with the deep cold of the winter morning.
‘One day soon I’ll travel south, simply to be spared this miserable climate.’ Her anger built, a storm inside, the rise and swell of the ocean, a stinging rain of irritation. Beneath all of it was a quiet voice like a sinister whisper, speaking of all the things the horsemen would do to her father. What they might be doing to him this very moment. A smithy was not so very different to a torture chamber after all. Or might they simply snatch him away? That would be worse still, being left behind and not knowing where they had taken him.
Kjellrunn hurried back, short of breath and panicking, not caring that water slopped from the buckets, not caring that she’d have to make another trip later in the day. She only cared about returning to the smithy, and to Marek. He may well keep truths from her she couldn’t guess at, but he and Verner were all she had left.
The furnace was lit, a glow beneath the stout wooden doors, falling as slivers of gilt on black cobbles. Kjellrunn divested herself of the buckets in the kitchen, then grasped the yoke in both hands. The wood was almost as wide as she was tall and had none of the balance required for a weapon. She strained to hear but the muffled sound of voices in the darkness gave no clue to what fate had befallen Marek.
In desperation she took the kitchen knife, knowing she wouldn’t shirk from bloodletting should horsemen threaten her father. Silent feet spirited her outside, picking her way through slush and reaching the smithy doors, still
ajar by a handspan. The voices were clearer now, strong voices yet not pitched in anger. Kjellrunn’s eyes widened as she realized Marek was speaking in Solska. While the words remained unknown to her the voice was the bedrock of her life. Solska was the language of soldiers, the tongue of Invigilation, the command of a cruel Empire. To hear it spoken by Marek unsettled her in ways that hushed the roaring anger within, leaving a cold driving rain of dread.
Slowly, silently begging Frejna not to see her, entreating Frøya to keep her close, Kjellrunn retreated to the kitchen. With trembling hands she surrendered the knife, feeling foolish for even considering she could fight. Her father’s evasions about the past were many, but surely he couldn’t be connected to the Empire? Hadn’t Verner said they were spying on the Empire, not for them?
Kjellrunn ran. Running through darkened streets deep with grey snow. Running past homes and families that knew each other, away from families that were as open books with all their tales for the telling. Each breath stung her lungs with freezing air, each step took her away from a father with secrets she dare not discover, away from a father that spoke in the tongue of their enemy.
‘No lesson today,’ said Mistress Kamalov. She poured tea and drummed her fingers on the table. Kjellrunn had forced her way into the chalet, just as the words had forced their way out of her mouth. ‘We sit, we wait.’
‘He was speaking in Solska,’ whispered Kjellrunn, repeating herself for the fourth or fifth time. She lingered by the door, glancing through the window every few heartbeats.
‘Lots of people speak Solska,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘It does not mean they are bad people any more than having witchsign does.’
‘But my own father!’ Kjellrunn glared at the old woman. How could she not see how important this was? ‘He was speaking Solska, the language of the Empire.’
‘The language of Solmindre,’ said Mistress Kamalov, holding up a finger. ‘The language of the Empire is fear. Which sounds entirely different.’
‘But they’re evil. And now my father is speaking Solska too.’
‘I speak Solska,’ said Mistress Kamalov. The stooped peasant woman was gone; she stood before Kjellrunn with a noble bearing, eyes hard, mouth set in a thin line of disapproval. ‘Not everyone in the Empire loves the Emperor. Solska was spoken before the Empire was even an idea. Try to separate the language and the culture from the actions of a dangerous and power-hungry tyrant.’
‘Sorry,’ whispered Kjellrunn.
‘How easy life would be if you could tell evil by language alone,’ continued Mistress Kamalov. ‘Or the colour of your skin.’
‘I’ve not met anyone from Solmindre that was anything but evil though.’
Mistress Kamalov frowned. ‘It is not the point! The point is people are people, some are good and some are bad. And every now and then some one you thought was bad does something kind, just to confuse you.’
‘But why would my father be speaking in Solska to the Okhrana?’
‘Why don’t we ask him?’ said Mistress Kamalov.
‘What?’
The old woman pointed through the window. ‘He’s at the edge of the clearing now.’
Kjellrunn lunged for the counter and snatched up a knife. She flung open the door and gestured with the blade, an accusing finger of steel.
‘Stay away. I want nothing from you. Nothing. You’re a liar.’
Marek and Verner exchanged a glance and Marek held out his hands, palms uppermost.
‘I just want to talk, Kjell,’ said Marek. ‘There’s been too much not talking but that time is over.’
‘We both do,’ admitted Verner.
Mistress Kamalov wrapped an arm about Kjellrunn’s shoulders and eased the knife from her grasp.
‘Please. Come in. And stop shouting in my forest. You will wake up the animals. You may even wake the dead.’
It didn’t take too long for the four of them to crowd into the kitchen.
‘You have some truths to tell,’ said Mistress Kamalov to Marek as she poured the tea. ‘She is not a child any more. Not since they took her brother. She needs to know.’
‘I know, but …’ Marek shook his head.
‘And I did not think I would see you again,’ said Mistress Kamalov to Verner.
‘How do you two know each other?’ said Kjellrunn.
‘I have a confession,’ said Verner. He eyed Marek, regret writ large on his honest face. ‘I went to Helwick to kill the Troika, just as you asked, so Kjell would be safe. I wanted to send a message to the Empire, truly I did. I wanted to let them know they couldn’t come here and take our children.’ Verner looked into the dark mug of tea and sighed. ‘The first two died easily, I caught them unawares and it was over before they knew it. But when the time came to kill the third Vigilant I couldn’t do it. She was waiting for me, wide awake as if it were the most natural thing in the world for an assassin to have broken into her room in the dead of night.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ asked Marek, stern and pale in equal measure.
‘Seeing her there, without her mask, without her robes, she wasn’t a Vigilant, she was just an old woman in bed, trying to sleep.’
Kjellrunn then looked to Mistress Kamalov. ‘What?’
‘I thought you knew?’ Mistress Kamalov shrugged.
‘I suspected you’d been a Vigilant at some time in your life,’ muttered Kjellrunn. ‘I didn’t know you were the missing Vigilant from Helwick.’
‘And why not?’ said Mistress Kamalov.
‘Well …’ Kjellrunn wrinkled her nose. ‘You’re so old. I thought—’
Mistress Kamalov rolled her eyes. ‘And I suppose Vigilants Khigir and Shirinov are spring chickens, yes?’
Marek stood up from the table and stared out of the window, into the clearing.
‘I couldn’t tell you I’d failed,’ said Verner, not looking at Marek. ‘Not after everything you’ve done for me.’
‘What?’ Kjellrunn looked from her uncle to her father. ‘What did he do for you?’
Verner opened his mouth to speak but Marek cut him off. ‘A long time ago, before your mother and I got together, I was an Imperial soldier. I found two soldiers beating a man, robbing him for the little money he had. It was late at night and the man was drunk, but he didn’t deserve what he was getting. I tried to stop it. Things went … wrong.’
‘He saved my life,’ said Verner, looking up from his tea.
‘For the cost of two soldiers who should have known better,’ admitted Marek.
‘You killed both of them?’ asked Kjellrunn.
‘I’m not Marek’s brother,’ explained Verner, ‘I’m his brother-in-law.’
‘So, you knew my mother?’ said Kjellrunn, leaning close to Verner.
‘You might say that.’ The fisherman grinned and for a second he was his old self. The half-drunk, smiling fisherman of a hundred tall stories. ‘Your mother was my older sister.’
‘Was?’ Kjellrunn felt the hot spike of tears at the corners of her eyes, burning with disappointment.
‘I’m one of three, but the Empire took two of us.’ Verner forced a bitter smile. ‘I’m all that’s left.’
‘But you’re still my uncle.’
‘Very much so. But an uncle on your mother’s side.’
Kjellrunn hugged Verner fiercely. ‘And you were a soldier?’ she asked her father, keeping her distance from him.
‘I served with your mother and in time we fell in love, which is forbidden. Everything is forbidden in the Empire. Your mother came with me when I defected, but in time she went back. She didn’t want to, but she knew they’d hunt her until the ends of Vinterkveld. That’s how we came to be in Cinderfell, we were always on the move.’
‘And she’s …?’ Kjellrunn couldn’t bring herself to say it.
‘She was a Vigilant. A high-ranking one too. The Empire asked more and more of her.’ Marek squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a fist to his mouth. When he spoke his voice was a faint rumble, every syllab
le loaded with pain. ‘In the end the arcane used her up, hollowed her out until there was nothing left. That’s why I couldn’t let them take you to Vladibogdan, Kjell. I couldn’t let what happened to your mother happen to you.’
‘She did not rejoin the Empire because she was tired of running,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘I met her once. She said the Empire needed moderate voices to speak up from within. Attacking the Empire from the outside only ever means death, but from inside, with her influence, with her rank, she hoped for something better.’
‘I didn’t say she was tired of running,’ said Marek. ‘She wanted to avoid the Okhrana turning up on our doorstep to kill our children.’
Kjellrunn rose from her chair and held Marek close, both wordless in their grief.
‘And now we have a new Vigilant in our midst,’ said Verner.
‘Not a Vigilant, not any more.’ Mistress Kamalov frowned. ‘Had I known you lived in Cinderfell I would never have come here. I assumed you were from Helwick. Still, I am grateful you helped me defect. It is better than being dead, though almost as cold.’
‘What happens now?’ asked Kjellrunn.
‘What happens now is that we find a way to get Steiner off that island,’ said Marek.
‘What happens now is we are arrested,’ said Mistress Kamalov quietly. ‘Your father came here not realizing he led the Okhrana to my door.’
‘We weren’t followed,’ said Verner, though his eyes flitted to the window, uncertainty writ across his face.
‘Perhaps I am imagining the dozen men sneaking through the trees? Perhaps I am imagining the thoughts of men, thoughts formed from words in Solska?’
Marek stood, face grim, hand straying to the long knife at his belt. Verner cursed softly and fisherman and blacksmith slunk to each side of the window.
‘I think I’d like that knife back now,’ said Kjellrunn.
‘I think it would be best if you were unarmed,’ Mistress Kamalov said. ‘Less likely to kill you this way. Not much, but less.’
Kjellrunn opened the door, causing Marek to round on her. ‘What are you doing?’ he said, an outraged hiss.