by Jae Waller
Marijka answered the door with rolled-up sleeves and stained hands. She led us into the kitchen and went back to dicing herbs. The windowsill and mantelpiece were lined with plants. Delicate leaves trailed over the sides of clay pots, the wood underneath stained red and yellow with pollen. Her house smelled different every time we visited. This time, it was deep and earthy, like soil after a rainfall.
I half-listened, adding comments to Tiernan’s retelling of events as Marijka pulled glass jars from neatly organized shelves or twisted bundles of roots from the ceiling. She worked with a calmness that seemed to come from more than just practice. Watching her was like gazing into the depths of a still lake.
“We had stories about all kinds of spirits back east in Nyhemur,” Marijka said. “None about elemental beings though.”
“They’re old, old beliefs,” I said. “Tel-saidu cause wind, anta-saidu bring rain and snow, edim-saidu grow forests, and jinra-saidu cause fire. The world swung out of balance when they went dormant. Weird things started happening. Like all those storms we had six years ago.”
Marijka looked thoughtful. “I suppose it’d be easy for an air spirit to create a blizzard if snow was already falling, but causing a rockslide seems much harder.”
“Honestly, I hope the Iyo got it wrong.” I fiddled with a set of metal scales. “Suriel’s the only saidu who’s woken so far. In the stories he was always odd, but not violent. If the first saidu to wake went crazy . . . that’s bad. Really bad.”
“You already knew of Suriel? The Iyo nation only mentioned him two years ago.”
“He’s been around longer than anyone knows. Thousands of years at least, probably forever, always living in the Turquoise Mountains. I didn’t make the connection at first because we don’t call him Suriel. He’s not a ‘he,’ either. I don’t know where that idea came from. Saidu aren’t male or female.”
Marijka smiled slightly. “That’s our doing, most likely. There’s no good term in Sverbian.”
“Well, most saidu never interacted with people. Sometimes they listened to our rituals asking for good weather or foraging, but that’s all. Suriel was one of the few who learned human language, and one of the last to go dormant, something like six hundred years ago. That’s when the stories end. Or so I thought. After those storms, the Okoreni-Rin told me another story. I’d completely forgotten about it until Ingard mentioned kinaru.
“Ninety years ago, a Rin boy named Imarein came south to fight the Ferish in the First Elken War. He was the only one of his family who survived. I know that’s true since it’s recorded on his plank house. Afterward, Imarein went . . . wrong in the head. The Iyo told him about windstorms deep in the mountains and he became convinced Suriel had woken. So when he was — I forget, sixteen, seventeen — he left to find Suriel. He didn’t come back. Everyone thought he’d died.
“Imarein turned up ten years later, missing half his fingers and toes. He’d shaved his head and inked over his family crest, leaving just his kinaru tattoo. According to him, he found Suriel’s mountain and tried to climb it. A blizzard struck, but he kept climbing, black with frostbite, half-starved, swept off cliffs by wind and snow. When he finally reached the top, Suriel praised his devotion. Imarein said he’d been living there ever since.
“The Iyo believed him. The Rin didn’t. I mean, he spoke in bird calls half the time. Something was wrong. Imarein got angry and left. That’s the last time anyone saw him. People stopped talking about it because they didn’t want anyone to copy him. No Rin has seen Suriel since.”
I stopped tilting the scales and looked up. Tiernan sat rigid, hands clenched, staring out the window at the snowy yard. The kitchen felt too warm. Marijka and I had sweat on our foreheads.
“Your people mentioned none of this,” Tiernan said.
“What difference would it make? No one in Crieknaast would’ve believed it. Storms don’t usually wind up with people’s throats slit.”
Tiernan rose from his stool. “Maika, I need to go cut down that hemlock. Don’t want it coming down on the roof.” He strode out the door.
I stared after him. “What was that all about?”
“Don’t worry about him.” Marijka tipped a bowl of crushed red-brown roots into a pot over the fire. “What did you think of Crieknaast, all that trouble aside?”
I turned back to her reluctantly. “It might be nice if I spoke Sverbian. I didn’t expect all the women to be in dresses though. It wasn’t like that in the north.”
“Ah, rural folk are more lax. Some call us backward,” she said with a smile. “No one will mind as long as you’re covered. When I first came through Crieknaast on the trip from Nyhemur, I made the mistake of rolling up my sleeves to treat a woman with itchbine rash.”
“What happened?”
“She recovered, but insisted her children were traumatized and her husband scandalized.” Marijka held up her bare arms. “I had no idea these could drive a man to attend stavehall rites. The clerics should thank me.”
I clamped a hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle. “I can’t imagine you offending anyone.”
She laughed. “I’m not infallible, I guarantee that.”
“Why’d you leave Nyhemur?” I rested my chin in my hands as I watched her work.
“After I finished my medical training, I got a herbalism apprenticeship in Caladheå.” She sniffed a spoonful of dark paste before adding it to the pot. “Tiernan and I made the trip together. He originally immigrated to Nyhemur, but there were better prospects for both of us here in Eremur.”
“I didn’t realize you’d known him that long.”
“Well, I barely saw him for years. Mercenaries are like migrating geese. Every time they pass through town, you wonder if it’ll be the last.” Marijka rapped the spoon on the pot, maybe harder than necessary. “I never expected him to settle down.”
“I’m not sure he has. He owns more carpentry tools than furniture.”
“You’re welcome to stay here if you need somewhere else to go.”
“I don’t mind living with Tiernan.” I frowned, remembering Leifar’s parents didn’t like him being in my tent when I traded in Vunfjel. “Do itherans consider it . . . inappropriate?”
“No — well, yes, but it’s not anyone else’s business, and that’s not what I meant.” Marijka sighed and wiped her hands on a rag. “Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but be wary of getting involved with Tiernan. You saw in Crieknaast how his work follows him.”
“Everyone at the tannery might be dead if I hadn’t gone with him.”
“I’m not lecturing, Kateiko. I just want you to have options.”
It was odd for people to be concerned about me when my future had no impact on theirs. No jouyen reputation to uphold, no aeldu to appease. Tiernan cared in his own way, but that way usually involved a lot more opinion.
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” I smiled and gestured at the pot. “Do you need help?”
•
The temperature plummeted. Lethargic snowflakes piled up in the clearing. I went to the creek with my net and found solid ice from bank to bank. Tiernan showed me how to make rye into sourbread or thick dark porridge, but eating grain all winter didn’t appeal to me, so he carved two rods and agreed to come ice fishing.
When a day dawned with cloudless sky, I gathered our gear and waited outside while he fed the horses. Sunshine dazzled my eyes. The air was clear enough to see frost on evergreen needles a stone’s throw away. A deer stared at me before bounding off, flinging up clouds of white powder.
I twirled Nurivel with my gloved hand. Once, using my throwing dagger had been as natural as walking, but my arm felt tight where the soldier’s arrow had sliced through. I aimed at a cottonwood with grey bark like cracked mud. Nurivel sank into the tree, missing my target by a finger-width.
Then I saw the itheran.
He stood in the
forest watching me. Tanned skin, black hair pulled back from his face and draped over his shoulders, longbow on his back. No elk sigil. Possibly Ferish. He didn’t look very old, maybe early twenties.
The man pulled my dagger from the cottonwood. “Your form is poor.”
Cold air caught in my lungs. “It’s good enough.” I stayed still, trying to decide whether to yell for Tiernan or just run.
He came forward and held out Nurivel. “Does Heilind no longer live here?”
“He does. Who are you?” I took my blade back but didn’t sheath it.
Just then Tiernan emerged from the stable. He stopped short. “Rhonos!”
Tiernan’s face split into a grin. The men strode toward each other and embraced, clapping their hands on each other’s backs. All I could do was stare.
“This is Kateiko,” Tiernan said. “She is staying here awhile.”
“Rhonos Arquiere. Pleasure.” He bowed stiffly and turned back to Tiernan. “I have news from Caladheå.”
“We were just heading to the creek. Tell us on the way.” Tiernan slung his axe over one shoulder and the rods over the other.
I was struck by the contrast between the men. Rhonos was light on his feet while Tiernan trudged through the snow. Rhonos’s green cloak was bright as moss next to Tiernan’s faded one. Yet they fell into conversation as if picking up from yesterday.
“There has been an incident in Crieknaast,” Rhonos said, and I snapped back to listening.
“I know about Suriel,” Tiernan said. “We left the day Montès tried to keep the tannery open. We passed soldiers heading there.”
“Then you were lucky. The military received a report that Montès was being held hostage in the town hall. They broke him out and the townspeople rose up in protest. Now the soldiers have closed off the town.”
Tiernan’s hand tightened around the axe. “How many dead?”
“Forty-three Crieknaast residents and five soldiers.”
Their words were like a flood of ice down my back. “Do you know who was killed?”
“No,” Rhonos said without looking at me. “At least the Council is paying attention now. They are organizing an inquiry into Suriel. Montès will no longer be able to control the proceedings.”
“The rest of the Council is no better,” Tiernan said. “They would not believe Suriel exists if he knocked down Caladheå’s Colonnium gates.”
“They will not be able to deny it much longer. Rumours are circulating that Crieknaast is not the only target. Suriel’s soldiers have been spotted as far away as Rutnaast.”
“Where’s that?” I asked, scurrying to keep up with their pace.
“It does not concern you,” Rhonos said.
“How exactly does it not concern me? I have family in this region.”
“Yet you clearly cannot read a map of it.”
“Rhonos,” Tiernan said. I felt a flash of spiteful pride it wasn’t me getting told off for once.
“The Council is calling for people to testify,” Rhonos said as if he hadn’t heard anything. “Your name will come up sooner or later, Tiernan.”
“Sooner, I expect. Montès knows we were in Crieknaast.” Tiernan sidestepped a boulder. “I know how it will go. They will deliberate for weeks and do nothing.”
“The Council will not ignore you. They will come knocking at your door.”
“Let them. They cannot force me to testify.”
“Do you not have a duty like the rest of us?” Rhonos put a hand on Tiernan’s shoulder.
Tiernan shook him off. “What of you? Are you staying for the inquiry?”
“No. I am headed to southern Eremur for the winter.” He glanced at the sky. “I hope the weather holds.”
“Stay for a meal,” Tiernan said. “With any luck, we’ll have fresh fish.”
I immediately wondered if I could get away with releasing all the fish back into the creek. Or burning lunch. Or serving it raw.
Rhonos shook his head and pulled up his hood. “My ship leaves this afternoon.”
“At least stop in and see Maika.”
“I will. Farewell.” Rhonos turned to me. “May our next meeting be less . . . unexpected.”
I waited until he disappeared among the trees before saying, “How did you become friends with him?”
Tiernan shrugged. “Moths of all kinds flock toward the same light.”
“Moths are dumb.” I slung the fish bucket over my elbow and stuffed my hands into my pockets. “What’s so bad about an inquiry?”
“Politics is a game no one wins.” He gazed into the snowy woods. “If the Council does send the military after Suriel’s soldiers, I do not want to be near the blade when it falls.”
“Do you make a habit of ignoring your friends’ advice?”
“Rhonos is a ranger, a young one at that. He wanders remote lands, comes back after a year, and thinks he still understands the government. Caladheå will offer us no protection.”
•
Fishing distracted me for the rest of the day, but when the coals were dying after dinner, I finally had to face the thoughts I’d been avoiding. Forty-three townspeople had their blood in the ground. Some might be people I had told to come back to Crieknaast.
I knew the fear in Ingard’s eyes when I said Dåmar was in danger. I helped raise Nili’s brother after their father and sister were killed in the Dona war. Yironem was thirteen now, but Rin could be sent to war as soon as we attuned. The morning Nili and I left Aeti Ginu, I begged the aeldu to keep him from attuning as long as possible.
I sipped my tea. It was cold. I held a hand over the mug until steam rose from the surface, but there wasn’t much point. The only tea Tiernan had was painfully weak.
The porch creaked. I heard Tiernan stamp snow off his boots before he came in carrying his axe. Melting snowflakes glittered in his hair. I could never tell if he was in the mood to talk, but when he took a whetstone out of his pocket, I realized he’d chosen not to stay in the workshop.
I dove in before he changed his mind. “I have to go back to Crieknaast.”
“Why?” Tiernan braced the axe against the table and began sharpening it.
“To find out if Ingard and his siblings are alive. I know the town’s closed, but—”
“Kateiko, the military will be all over Crieknaast,” he said between the slides of his whetstone. “Do you want to risk sneaking into a town where you will be one of the only viirelei? You saw what soldiers did to you just for poaching.”
I flinched. “How else am I supposed to find out?”
“Why does it matter so much? You only met that boy once.”
“It’s not about that.” I set down my tea and went to the window, looking at moonlight on the snow. “I could never forgive myself if I sent Ingard to rescue his brother, only for them to come back and . . . If we were wrong, Dåmar might’ve been safer at the tannery.”
The grating stopped. “And if you do not get the answer you want?”
“I’ll deal with that when it happens.”
“You have your whole life ahead. Do not throw it away so easily.”
“I won’t pretend I’m not scared.” I pressed my hand against the pane. Frost crackled out from my fingers. “But other things scare me more. I wake up most nights in a cold sweat because I hear voices in the wind and don’t know what they’re saying. You said I won’t forget. That I have to accept it. I can’t do that unless I know the truth.”
Tiernan set down his axe and came toward me. The frost melted and ran down the glass in rivulets. “There is another way. I know people in Caladheå who may have heard something about the riot and who was killed.”
“How far away is Caladheå?”
“Four hours by horseback.”
“I won’t ask you to come. Just tell me where to go.” I ran my finger through wa
ter pooling along the sill. “Even if I never see Ingard or his family again, I need to know.”
Tiernan slumped into a chair. “It is not that simple. You are likely not in Eremur’s birth records. Unregistered viirelei cannot enter Caladheå alone.”
“Who would I have to go with?”
“An itheran. The law is . . . well, it was written to accommodate settlers with viirelei wives.”
“Then where do I register?”
“The Colonnium. In Caladheå.”
“Aeldu curse it.” I paced across the room, knotting my fingers into my hair. “That’s the stupidest law I’ve ever heard.”
He clasped his hands in front of his forehead. “If it matters so much, I will take you.”
“I can’t ask you to do that, Tiernan.”
“Rhonos was right, in a way. The Council will not forget about me.” He rose and took his cloak from its peg. “I need to talk to Maika.”
“Now? Why?”
“She might want something from the market,” he said without meeting my eyes. “Try to get some sleep.”
10.
SLOW DESCENT
There was a knock at the door just as Tiernan and I finished breakfast. Marijka came in carrying several bundles of fabric. “Morning. Kateiko, I brought you something to wear.”
I wiped my hands on a rag. “Maika — you didn’t have to do that—”
“It’s fine. I just lengthened an old dress.” She unfolded some white fabric to show me a blue hem. “There are slits in the skirt so you can ride. Come, try it on.”
In the bedroom, Marijka helped me put on all the different layers. An unbleached linen chemise, grey woolen skirts, the hemmed white dress with tight sleeves that hid my kinaru tattoo. A stiff dark blue bodice cinched the fabric, curving under my collarbones to cover my antayul mark.
“Itheran clothing is so complicated.” I held my hair aside while she laced the bodice. “I think I’m wearing an entire goat.”