Witchsign

by Den Patrick

  ‘It is perfectly natural,’ said Mistress Kamalov, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  ‘I’d say it’s pretty unnatural.’ Kjellrunn pulled her knees to her chest and hugged her legs.

  ‘The arcane and death are not so different.’ The old woman sat at the kitchen table. ‘Both are part of life, both are things we would prefer not to speak of, prefer not to think of. This is why the Spriggani are such a mystery to Northmen. They live each day with death as a companion, as a goddess.’

  ‘Maybe they have the truth of it,’ said Kjellrunn.

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed Mistress Kamalov. ‘Sleep now. Today has been unkind and there is nothing else to be done.’

  Kjellrunn stood up and found herself face to face with the old woman. Without a word they fell into each other’s arms and Kjellrunn sobbed some more.

  ‘Sleep, clever girl, brave girl. Sleep.’

  The silence in the chalet bore down on each of them, so heavy it might have been a wet cloak or a weighted net. Kjellrunn lingered by the door to the back room, watching Marek and Mistress Kamalov at the table, two strangers united by a common threat.

  ‘It stands to reason he couldn’t kill you,’ said Marek. ‘He always was a soft touch when it came to women. And not just the pretty ones. In his own way he was always looking out for his sisters.’ Marek sighed. ‘I should never have let him go to Helwick.’

  ‘He was a good man,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘I would have liked to know him better.’

  ‘And what will you do now?’ said Marek. ‘You can’t stay here.’

  ‘That much is true,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘I need a ship. I will go south, to Shanisrond. It is the only place left for people wanted by the Empire.’ Mistress Kamalov turned in her seat and looked directly at Kjellrunn. ‘And you must come too. Word will get out, it always does, and it will bring soldiers, Vigilants, more Okhrana.’

  ‘I’m not going through that again.’ Kjellrunn nodded outside. A glance out of the window revealed only darkness. None of the corpses could be seen but the sun would be up soon. Even the forest couldn’t hide all the terrible things Kjellrunn’s power had wrought.

  ‘Someone comes,’ said Mistress Kamalov, making a lazy gesture towards the door. ‘Someone from town. Not Okhrana.’

  Marek stood and drew his knife.

  ‘I said they’re not Okhrana,’ repeated Mistress Kamalov.

  ‘Just because they’re not from the Empire doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous,’ said Marek, though he looked unsteady on his feet and Kjellrunn wondered if he would be able to fight at all, given his injuries.

  ‘Leave this to me, Father.’ Kjellrunn opened the door. The darkness of the forest was near-absolute, the sky a shade lighter than the deep shadows between the trees. A light bobbed through the gloom.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Who knows in this wretched country,’ replied Mistress Kamalov. ‘Even the sun refuses to come here.’

  ‘A few hours before dawn, I think,’ said Marek.

  ‘Hoy there!’ Kjellrunn shouted into the darkness, a good imitation of Steiner.

  ‘Hoy there.’ The response was quieter, a woman’s voice.

  ‘Kristofine?’

  The lantern came closer and hesitated in the middle of the clearing. An anxious face appeared in the light. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’d best come in,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘I assume your no-good father threw you out?’

  ‘My no-good father has done no such thing. He sent me to warn you.’ Kristofine slipped through the door, her eyes widening as they settled on Marek. Kjellrunn was glad it was still dark outside, the devastated woodlands and strewn corpses would take some explaining.

  ‘The Okhrana came for us,’ said Marek. ‘Things didn’t go so well.’

  Kristofine blinked and looked to Kjellrunn. ‘Things are about to become worse.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Kjellrunn.

  ‘They sent a ship,’ said Mistress Kamalov.

  Kristofine nodded and slumped into an empty chair.

  ‘You will have tea?’ said Mistress Kamalov.

  Kristofine took Kjellrunn’s hand. ‘The fishermen saw a light when they set out this morning. They think a ship is coming, but the headwind is all wrong and it’s making slow progress.’

  ‘The wind will not be our ally for long. Wind changes. We must leave Cinderfell now.’ Mistress Kamalov pointed at Kristofine. ‘You will come too.’

  ‘I can’t. My father is here, my tavern is here.’ Kristofine looked at Marek. ‘There’s the whole town to think of.’

  ‘And when has the whole town ever thought about you?’ asked Marek. ‘Or me, or Kjellrunn? Never. They only spared us a thought when they suspected us of witchsign.’

  ‘The ship is Imperial,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘Trust me. I feel it in my bones. We must leave now.’

  ‘But everyone in the town will die,’ said Kristofine.

  ‘You need to decide what you want,’ said Marek. ‘You can come with us, or die with them.’

  ‘Father!’ Kjellrunn glared at Marek.

  ‘The only one who knows anything is Bjørner,’ said Marek.

  ‘He won’t say anything.’ Kristofine glanced at Kjellrunn, then back to Marek. ‘I promise he won’t say anything.’ But no matter where she looked none believed her.

  ‘Your father may keep his mouth shut at first,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘But he’ll speak of what he’s seen. They always do.’

  ‘The Synod will send for Kjellrunn,’ said Marek, ‘and the whole town will pay the price for the dead Vigilants, and all these dead Okhrana.’

  ‘We leave now.’ Mistress Kamalov stood up and crossed to the door. ‘I’m not staying here to be butchered by the very madmen I am trying to escape.’

  ‘I’m not leaving.’ Kjellrunn had not raised her voice, but all eyes turned her, silhouetted by the fire.

  ‘Kjell, we have to go …’ Marek fell silent as his daughter looked up from the dancing flames in the hearth.

  ‘I’m going to Vladibogdan to find Steiner. You can do as you please, but I’m staying in Cinderfell.’

  ‘Kjell.’ Marek held a hand to his forehead. ‘It’s bad enough we’ve lost Verner—’

  ‘I am staying.’

  ‘And what have you got in mind?’ said Mistress Kamalov.

  ‘Can’t you tell?’ said Kjellrunn. ‘Can’t you read my mind?’

  A tense moment passed in the chalet. Marek and Kristofine waited for Mistress Kamalov to speak.

  ‘It is not something you can do alone,’ the old woman said. ‘You will need my help. It is a good plan. More ambitious than sane but …’ The old woman shrugged.

  ‘You said you weren’t going to use the arcane again,’ said Marek.

  ‘It’s not as if there’s another choice,’ said Kjellrunn, ‘not another good choice, anyway. And I want Steiner back.’

  ‘What’s this plan then?’ asked Kristofine.

  ‘Come on,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘I’ll tell you on the way to the cliffs.’

  ‘Why do we need to go to the cliffs?’ said Marek.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Kjellrunn, hearing the hushed roar of the Spøkelsea in her mind.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Steiner

  Many within the Empire question how Vladibogdan can contain such dangerous beasts, yet there is more to dragons than merely fiery breath and gouging talons. Theirs is a singular intelligence, but it is an intelligence that is easily stunted. Starvation, cold, and a lack of freedom reduce even the most mighty dragons to little more than dumb beasts. Dragons are not so very different to humans in this regard.

  – Untainted Histories Volume 3: Serebryanyy Pyli

  Academy Square looked no better as a corpse-strewn battlefield. Bodies and weapons lay forgotten and discarded on cobbles slick with freezing rain. The dragon statue lay crumpled across the cobbles, the vast panes of stone wings shattered, like uneven flagstones. Steiner forced himself not to s
tare at the blank faces of the fallen. The novices had hurried back to their academies and Steiner hoped the smarter ones had barricaded themselves in.

  ‘We made a real mess, didn’t we?’ said Steiner, looking around the square.

  Tief rubbed his forehead. ‘I’ve seen worse.’ Steiner thought he was gaming, but the expression on Tief’s face confirmed the contrary. ‘Much worse.’

  ‘When the Empire came for the Spriggani?’

  Tief nodded and looked away, unwilling or unable to say anything else.

  Silverdust watched silently as Sundra and Taiga bundled him up for the weather, using the clothes of fallen soldiers. Steiner shrugged on a padded coat but declined the mail armour on account of the weight. No one said anything, but all shared anxious looks. Would Själsstyrka be strong enough to carry him to Cinderfell, or would they plummet into the Spøkelsea and drown?

  Själsstyrka emerged into Academy Square step by reluctant step. The wedge-shaped head cast about slowly, then she lifted the mighty jaw to look at the sky. Silvery wings shivered with anticipation or excitement, Steiner wasn’t sure which, but knew he would find out soon enough.

  Sundra fashioned a scarf out of a long scrap of fabric she’d scavenged and bade Steiner kneel down. ‘Keep warm. You’re no good to anyone if you arrive frozen to death.’

  ‘But I’m chosen,’ said Steiner, smiling sadly. ‘The bones whisper my name, remember?’

  ‘The bones don’t feel the cold, but you do.’ A glimmer of a smile crossed her slender face. ‘Now go to your sister, and know that Frøya and Frejna’s blessings fly with you.’

  Steiner stood up and Kimi approached holding a Vigilant’s red leather surcoat. ‘Something for you. It might help keep the rain off.’ She held out the surcoat and Steiner slipped his arms into the garment.

  ‘I’ll come back,’ he said, mouth twisting with upset. ‘I’ll find a way to come back for you.’

  ‘You owe me,’ said Kimi, handling him the sledgehammer. ‘Once you’ve done this you have to find a way to keep the Yamal safe, or I’ll kill you myself.’

  ‘It’s not Shirinov I’m afraid of,’ said Steiner, ‘it’s you.’ He was surprised to find that he meant it. It was not a physical fear of Kimi, but the fear of letting her down. The Ashen Torment hung heavy around his neck and his hand strayed to the artefact and patted the bulge by his heart.

  Maxim stepped forward and flung his arms around Steiner. The boy tried to say something, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve and ran off.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ said Kimi. ‘I’ll look out for him.’

  Sundra held out a hand to the dragon and rested it on the ridge of bone that ran along the pointed head. ‘Själsstyrka, we have freed you and you have dined. Now take our friend to the shore where he may avenge himself on his enemies.’

  ‘Avenge myself?’

  Sundra frowned. ‘Dragons care nothing for rescues, but vengeance is quite a different matter.’ Steiner nodded and Sundra continued her entreaty.

  ‘Själsstyrka, do this thing and we will ask no more from you.’

  The dragon lay down and lifted her wings until they were vertical.

  ‘She can understand you?’ said Steiner.

  ‘Not language perhaps, but dragons perceive intent,’ said Sundra. ‘Don’t ever lie to a dragon, Steiner. They have no patience for it.’

  Steiner eyed the row of sharp spines that began at the nape of the neck.

  ‘This could be uncomfortable.’ He edged towards the dragon, noting that the spikes were shorter where they ran between the dragon’s wings, flat at the section of spine that came after.

  ‘Not much good if you pierce a wing on your own backbone,’ said Tief, urging Steiner to climb on. ‘And a useful spot to cling on.’

  ‘There’s not much to hold on to,’ said Steiner, anxious he would be thrown off the moment they launched into the air.

  ‘Then lie low, best to get out of the way of the—’

  And with one great beat the wings flared out, like silver sails in a headwind.

  ‘Maybe we could find a saddle?’ Steiner grasped a great spike of bone where it emerged before him, lying flat along Själsstyrka’s spine to do so.

  ‘Hold on tight, Hammersmith!’ shouted Tief.

  The dragon lurched upward before Steiner could reply. The rocky chasm of Academy Square raced by to one side while Steiner gazed down at his friends as they spun beneath him. Själsstyrka was circling Academy Square, flying so close to the sides she must surely smash her wings. Steiner clung on with hands and legs, his boots pressed tight to Själsstyrka’s flanks. Round they went in a dizzying arc, banking sharply until they were flying in a tight circle over Academy Square.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Steiner looked down to see his friends made small by distance. The rock on all sides dropped away and Själsstyrka opened her wings even wider.

  ‘I’d thought we might try hovering above the ground a bit first,’ shouted Steiner. Själsstyrka answered with a plume of smoke that emerged from her nostrils and raced along her back, into Steiner’s face.

  ‘It’s going to be like that is it?’

  The wings snapped out and beat no more, held out wide above the island that had kept them prisoner for so long. The only sound was the keening wind.

  ‘I really hope you’re strong enough to carry me back to land,’ muttered Steiner, eyes fixed on the green and choppy swell of the ocean below. To his surprise Själsstyrka gave a dismissive snort and wheeled about once more, climbing ever higher.

  ‘Much more of this and we’ll reach the clouds.’ His teeth were already starting to chatter and he was glad of the leather gloves Taiga had forced onto his hands. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the sledgehammer was still in place, the shaft forced under a thick leather belt that circled his waist twice. Själsstyrka tensed and beat her wings just once, her body moving sinuously.

  ‘I can’t tell if we’re moving or not this far up,’ said Steiner. Again she beat her wings and Steiner dared himself to look down, past boots clamped to the dragon’s silvery sides. Vladibogdan and the shattered rock of the Nordscale Islands were far behind.

  ‘You’re doing it,’ said Steiner. ‘You’re taking me home.’

  Själsstyrka gave a snort and beat her vast silvery wings, iridescence dancing in the meagre light of the winter’s day, flying so high they must surely graze the clouds with their passing.

  Steiner’s heart leapt when he sighted Cinderfell. It was not a pretty town, but it was all he had ever known. The ashen pall, so much a part of life in Nordvlast, was fortified by dark clouds that promised icy rain. Far below, sailing an oblique towards the shore, was the Imperial galley.

  ‘Shirinov!’ Steiner’s hand strayed to the sledgehammer and he felt his anger and impatience as keenly as the wind. Själsstyrka seemed to understand and began to descend. The wind, their constant companion during the flight, was now roaring in his ears. For the first time Själsstyrka struggled, the headwind a match for her powerful wings. For a time they simply hung in the air. The ship fared little better, edging towards the pier, lashed by angry waves.

  Steiner blinked. ‘This can’t be right.’ Despite the darkness, despite the rain, his gaze fell on three figures who stood on the headland to the north of Cinderfell. Two of the people held arms raised to the skies, as if reaching out to the wind itself, the third held a torch.

  ‘Vigilants from Academy Vozdukha?’ said Steiner, hoping the dragon understood him. ‘What are they doing here?’

  Själsstyrka lurched downward, head dipping lower and lower, wings held along her body, barely extended at all. Steiner clung to her sides with both hands as the wind tore at his clothes, threatening to unseat him. Anxiety rose in his gut as he pitched further forward, sure he would tumble along Själsstyrka’s spine, spinning away, past her angular skull to fall to the waves below. Steiner closed his eyes, blinded by wind-whipped tears. He imagined hitting the Spøkelsea so hard it would be no different to crashing into rock.
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  A sudden lurch forced him to look. Själsstyrka had plummeted until she was gliding above the violent waves, trailing the Imperial vessel like a silver shadow. A sailor at the back of the ship started so violently he slipped and fell. A host of cries and shouts issued from the length and breadth of the vessel. They were flying so close that Steiner could see each of the crew clearly, the pained look of panic, the disbelieving wrench of fear that crossed every face. The shouts became louder, more shrill. Själsstyrka lunged forward with a beat of her silver wings. The bleak day was sundered as a plume of flame in pale blue erupted from Själsstyrka’s jaws. The main mast responded, catching fire where the sail had been stowed away.

  Steiner eyed the ship with shock. He was very warm, the insides of his legs uncomfortably so. Själsstyrka dived forward again, coming up over the handrail at the stern of the ship and banking hard. There was a tortured heartbeat as Steiner realised she’d drawn her wings in tight, and then the dragon slammed down on the deck, a sailor pinioned by her talons. Steiner was flung from her back and found himself in a dazed tangle, head resting against the ship’s wheel.

  ‘That was a landing?’

  Själsstyrka snorted black smoke, followed by a guttural snarl.

  The captain of the ship stared in sickened fury, then drew his cutlass and and lunged for Steiner, still sprawled at his feet. Steiner fumbled for the sledgehammer but it was held fast in his belt. The cutlass hacked into the deck as Steiner rolled to one side, then the captain made to strike again, but Själsstyrka reared up, lunging down with an open mouth, revealing rows of serrated teeth. The captain was consumed to the waist, screaming as the teeth impaled his soft flesh. Själsstyrka whipped her neck back and the captain continued screaming, his legs running on empty air. The dragon shook her head to one side, breaking the captain’s spine with a terrible snap.

  Steiner struggled to his feet, watching as Själsstyrka savaged the corpse on the deck. ‘Thanks,’ he breathed, pulling the sledgehammer from his belt. The main deck had surrendered to chaos, sailors torn between defending themselves from the winged terror or extinguishing the fire raging on the sails and rigging. Only one person on deck moved towards Steiner with any surety, clad in the red leather surcoat of the Vigilants. He did not pause or rush, but one step followed another up the wooden steps to the stern, accompanied by the clack-clack of his walking staff.