By Darkness Hid bok-1

by Jill Williamson

  Hello, new one. Welcome to our ears. My, how strong your presence is. Who are you?

  A woman’s voice. Kind. Again Achan twisted around in the grass, nearly dropping the doe. “Who’s there?”

  Grass surged for miles around like a great green sea. He was alone. He swallowed, his heart pounding, and gripped the doe’s legs tighter. Perhaps he’d been too close to the Evenwall after all. But wouldn’t he know if he’d stepped into the mist?

  He turned back toward Sitna Manor and waded through the grass. He wanted to reach the gate before they raised the drawbridge for the night.

  Who are you, gifted one? a deep male voice asked.

  What are you called? an old woman asked.

  Please! the humming voice said. What is your name?

  Achan cowered, wincing at the strain on his mind. Perhaps his headache was not from the stench of blood. “Stop it!” Achan yelled to the voices. “Don’t speak to me!”

  Do not be afraid, the kind woman said. It is a gift.

  Achan screamed to block out the voices and staggered toward home.

  Despite his efforts, it was after dark when Achan approached Sitna Manor.

  The drawbridge was up. Arrow loops glowed brightly in the dark night. Yellow flames spaced around the parapet and listed to the east, flickering in the gentle breeze. Achan still held the slain doe around his neck, gripping two legs in each hand.

  He stopped and yelled up to the guard. “Lower the drawbridge!”

  Are you all right? the kind woman asked. I sense blood.

  He cringed, by now hating the painful force the voices brought. Hating how they knew things. Hating how he couldn’t silence them.

  “State yer name and yer business,” a voice yelled from the gatehouse above.

  “’Tis Achan Cham. I’ve returned from an errand for Sir Gavin Lukos.”

  Cham? He’s a stray!

  Achan! Where are you, Achan? Is Sir Gavin with you? the deep-voiced man asked.

  Achan stiffened. How did this strange voice know of Sir Gavin? He looked over his shoulder but already knew there was no one.

  “Stay put,” a guard yelled down.

  Achan waited. His back and shoulders were numb from the deer’s weight. The leaden stench of the doe’s blood haunted him. Its stickiness drenched his left side. His fists trembled and his head ached from the voices calling out. He’d gone mad. It was a certainty he could no longer deny. The Evenwall must have drifted lower, or maybe killing the doe had somehow—

  The familiar boom of the lock and the clinking chain snapped him out of his deranged fog. The drawbridge lowered slowly, revealing a lone man standing inside the outer bailey facing him.

  Sir Gavin Lukos.

  When the drawbridge hit the ground, Achan dragged himself across it. His new boots made dull, hollow clunks on the thick wood. He then clacked over the flagstones of the gateway and clomped onto soft dirt. The outer bailey was dark and nearly deserted. A few guards looked down on him from the sentry walk. The forge still burned in the armory.

  “What yeh got there, boy?” a voice called down from above.

  Achan flinched as the compression in his head grew and voices attacked at once.

  What has he got? a man asked.

  He’s killed something, another said.

  Killed? What have you killed, dear? the kind woman asked, a slight edge to her voice.

  Achan stopped in front of Sir Gavin.

  Are you well? Sir Gavin spoke inside Achan’s head, just like the others.

  Achan perked up, ignoring the pain, and stared at Sir Gavin. Then somehow, he sent a thought of his own. How do you do that?

  Please tell me where you live, dear, the kind woman asked. And if you are hurt.

  Where are you? the humming voice asked. I must find you.

  Do not say, another man responded. He’ll only bring you trouble.

  But he must have training, the kind woman said.

  If the gods will it, he will learn.

  I can teach you much, droned the humming voice. Tell me your location, and I’ll send someone for you.

  Achan dropped to his knees and moaned. He clutched his temples, and the doe’s body slid off his back and thumped onto the ground.

  He’s fainted. This voice was familiar. A guard. Achan looked up to the gatehouse.

  Naw, he’s hurt.

  Think he stabbed himself? Dumb stray don’t know which end of the knife is which.

  You’re a stray?

  Speak to me for a moment, I beg you, the humming voice said. Concentrate on my voice alone.

  Yep. That’s the boy’s blood, thought another guard. He’s keeling over. He’s wounded for sure.

  You’re a boy? How old? the humming voice asked.

  Achan leaned forward and set his brow against the dusty ground. They could know not only his thoughts and words but the thoughts of others around him? How could this be? His head pounded as if it might burst. He rolled onto his side, clutched his hands over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut. Please stop! “Stop!”

  Sir Gavin knelt beside him and massaged the base of Achan’s head, right where it hurt most. You must shut the door, Achan. Focus on a quiet place. See yourself there. Focus on the silence.

  Sir Gavin’s voice and tone seemed to cushion Achan’s pain. The sensation was somehow familiar, like this had all happened before. But it hadn’t. Achan tried to sit, but the pain surged.

  Listen to the knight, Achan.

  This was a new voice. Unlike the others, this one seemed to come from inside him, like a warm breeze confined to his body alone. Achan froze and blinked up at the night sky. What was that?

  Focus, Achan. A quiet place. Sir Gavin’s words flooded Achan’s mind again, blowing away the warmth of the strange voice. Only you can ease this pain.

  Listen to the knight. Focus. Achan thought of the allown tree by the river, in a summer sunset. A pleasant wind rustled the grass, and the flax fields bloomed with lavender blossoms.

  The pain in his head diminished instantly.

  “That’s right. Concentrate.” Sir Gavin stopped rubbing. He patted Achan’s shoulder, then stood. “Now get up. Get your deer. Let’s go.”

  Achan opened his eyes. The voices had gone, and the throbbing in his head remained manageable. He got to his feet and hoisted the deer over one shoulder.

  “Let it be known,” Sir Gavin called out, “that on this day, Achan Cham has killed his first animal and is worthy of the journey to knighthood.”

  Few people mingled in the outer bailey at this hour to witness his achievement. A handful of guards roamed the sentry walk. Harnu’s father stared from the armory, most likely working late on armor and swords for the coming tournament.

  Right now Achan didn’t feel worthy to be a knight. He wanted to get the blood washed off him, crawl into his bed, hold a wet cloth to his temples, and sleep. He trudged across the outer bailey in a daze, following Sir Gavin past the stables and barn to the tanner’s wagon, which smelled strongly of urine. A high trestle stretched along the side of the wagon. A cowhide hung on one end, the brown pelt glistening in the torchlight.

  Sir Gavin helped Achan hang the deer from the trestle. “I’ll see that someone takes care of this for you.”

  Achan nodded and stared at the deer’s glassy eyes. “It had a fawn. I didn’t see it at first.”

  “Most have fawns in spring.”

  “You don’t understand.” Achan’s hands trembled. “The fawn is a stray now…like me…because of me.”

  “Aye.” Sir Gavin stroked his beard. “And that’s the reality of it, Achan. In war, people die. Every one of them is important to someone. A child, a husband, a father, a brother, a mother, a friend. War’s ugly. And being a knight, you’ll have to deal with that. You’ll kill or be killed.”

  But the doe hadn’t been at war, not with him.

  Achan blinked. Being a knight was his chance at freedom, his only chance to win Gren. He wanted to learn to use a sword because it was ex
citing and made him feel strong and in control. But he’d never thought about actually killing anyone. His naïveté stung. Why else would he be learning to use the sword, axe, and dagger if not to kill?

  Sir Gavin gripped Achan’s shoulder and steered him around to the back of the kitchens. He stopped at the well and drew out a bucket of water.

  “I cheated,” Achan said. “I told the doe to come to me and she did. I’m no hunter. I’m a deceiver.”

  Sir Gavin’s bushy eyebrows knit together. His one blue eye lay in shadow, making them both appear dark.

  “Why could I talk to the deer? Why can you talk to my head? Why did I hear all those voices? One of them knew you were with me. How?”

  Sir Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “How many voices did you hear?”

  Achan shook his head. “Dozens. The whole way back. I think the Evenwall somehow…” He looked at the knight. “Why didn’t you leave me Etti?”

  Sir Gavin’s questioning expression faded. He slapped Achan’s shoulder. “Stop whining. Go to bed. We’ll talk about the voices in the morning.”

  Achan didn’t complain. He used Sir Gavin’s water to wash the blood from his body the best he could. Then he rinsed out his tunic. He didn’t remember walking down the stairs to the cellar, but suddenly he found himself there. He hung his tunic on one of the ale spouts to dry then crawled onto his pallet under the casks.

  Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age celebration began tomorrow. Poril would be in a frenzy, and Achan wouldn’t have a moment to spare. But Sir Gavin had declared him worthy of knighthood. Would Poril allow him to watch any of the tournaments?

  The thought should’ve thrilled him. But at the moment, he didn’t even care.

  Part 2. Vrell

  4

  “Now pull the laces as tight as you can,” Lady Coraline Orthrop said.

  Vrell obeyed, then tied the silk strings in a tiny bow and tucked the ends into the scooped neckline. “It is more comfortable than the binding and all the tunics.”

  Lady Coraline stepped up to Vrell and ran her fingertips down the front laces. “And this will be easier than wearing so many layers. No one will suspect a thing.”

  Lady Coraline was a master with thread and needle. She had crafted Vrell’s snug undergarment to be similar to a corset. This one had no uncomfortable whalebone at the waist, though. It was designed to give Vrell a small paunch of wool fleece rather than suck her stomach in. With Vrell’s only confidante going to Carmine, she would not have help to bind her breast and dress each day. The new undergarment would enable her to do it alone.

  Vrell gripped Lady Coraline’s hands. “I wish I could go with you,” she said. “Must you really leave?”

  Lady Coraline’s brown eyes met Vrell’s. “My father is ill, and I am overdue for a visit. Plus I have not seen your mother in over eleven years. Do not fret. You will be safe here.”

  But Vrell wasn’t sure. She had been safe only because of Lady Coraline’s care. Lady Coraline had been like a mother to Vrell these past months, though she did not look like a mother of four, which she was.

  She wore a maroon silk gown with green and gold embroidery. Every curl of her golden hair was pinned into place with a turquoise and silver circlet. At first sight, Vrell had thought Lady Coraline looked very out of place in this fishing town. A noblewoman from Zerah Rock, she was all elegance and decorum. She had married beneath her but did not care. In that, Vrell hoped to someday relate.

  Lady Coraline walked back to her bed and began to pick up leftover scraps of fabric. The morning sun beamed though the closed shutters, painting stripes of light over the blue bedspread.

  Lady Coraline’s bedchamber was small compared to Vrell’s chambers at home, and not more than a garderobe compared to Mother’s room there. Still, there was something quaint and cozy about this manor. Walden’s Watch was like a getaway cottage. This room consisted of a large oak bed and matching sideboard, a tall mirrorglass, and two chairs in front of a warm fireplace. An oval braided rug covered most the floor.

  Vrell lifted the orange tunic from the sideboard and ran her thumb over the scratchy fabric. “I know I’ll be safe, but I miss Mother so.” And Bran. Her lips curved into a smile at the thought of Bran’s sunburned face. It had been six months since Vrell had gone into hiding here at Walden’s Watch, the home of her mother’s childhood friend.

  Lady Coraline took Vrell’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Dearest, I cannot believe this will go on much longer. Your suitor will soon tire of searching and wed another.”

  Vrell hoped so. She had come to Walden’s Watch last November to hide from the horrible man. Mother had felt the need to conceal more than Vrell’s location — thus the idea to take on a new identity and gender. Vrell’s suitor might be scouring all Er’Rets in search of her, but he would not be looking for a fourteen-year-old stray boy.

  “I hope you are right.” Vrell pulled the orange tunic over her head and tied the brown rope belt. “Masquerading as a boy is fun, though. Trousers are so comfortable, but I wish I could have worn blue.” She walked to the mirrorglass that stood in the far corner of the bedchamber.

  At seventeen, Vrell was fully grown, but because of her small frame, Mother had suggested her boy persona be fourteen. Vrell examined her short black hair and fair skin in the mirrorglass. She wrinkled her nose and gave her round cheeks a pinch.

  “Orange does nothing for my complexion, and strays are treated so horribly. When I return home, I vow to be kind to every stray I see.”

  Lady Coraline’s rose leaf-toned face appeared in the mirror over Vrell’s shoulder. “I am sorry you must take the part of a stray, my dear, but it is truly the safest hiding place. Few take notice of strays, and your sallow complexion better hides your beauty.”

  It certainly did. That and the fact that the padded garment made her torso chubby despite her skinny arms and legs. Her shaggy, chopped hair would not lie flat, and she could only describe the dingy, orange tunic as hideous. Would Bran still think her beautiful if he saw her now? Would he forgive her for running away?

  Vrell pulled on worn leather boots and set her hands on her hips. “Well?”

  Lady Coraline clapped. “Perfect! Now just you remember your words.”

  “I am trying!” She cleared her throat. “I mean, ‘I be tryin’ real hard, m’lady.’”

  Lady Coraline giggled.

  In Vrell’s efforts at playing a stray boy around Walden’s Watch, she most often forgot to speak like one. Thrice now she had ordered servants about in the manor before remembering her place. Lady Coraline had introduced Vrell to them as her husband’s ward and had insisted the boy be treated as a guest and not a servant.

  The servants did not like Vrell much.

  For the first time in her life, she was thankful for her hoarse, gravelly voice. She had always hated sounding like she had a cold that would not go away. Finally it came in useful.

  A pressure squeezed in on Vrell’s mind. The thoughts of the little girl climbing the stairs at the end of the hall echoed through Vrell’s inner ear. “Aljee is coming,” she said to Lady Coraline. “She is hoping to wear your pearls and coral necklace.”

  Lady Coraline’s face paled. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “I cannot help it.”

  “You and your mother and your bloodvoices.” Lady Coraline scowled. “Your mother played the most rotten tricks on me until she finally confessed her gift. I had feared she was a witch for the longest time.”

  Vrell laughed. “Yes, Mother told me.” The gift had begun in Vrell a month before she had gone into hiding. Mother had explained that bloodvoicing was an endowment. It enabled Vrell to speak with her mother’s mind when Mother reached out, but Vrell did not yet know how to reach for Mother. She found she could also hear the thoughts of anyone who was nearby. Some minds were easier to hear than others. Children were always susceptible.

  Vrell had wanted to learn everything right away, but Mother said it would be safer to wait until thi
s crisis passed so that she could be trained properly.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Lady Coraline scowled.

  “Sorry!” Vrell whispered.

  “One moment, please,” Lady Coraline called.

  Vrell darted behind the mirrorglass. It would not do for even young Aljee to see a boy in her mother’s bedchamber.

  Lady Coraline’s footsteps creaked across the wooden floor until the door grated open. “Hello, dearest.”

  Vrell peeked around the edge of the mirrorglass.

  Nine-year-old Aljee, Lady Coraline’s youngest daughter, stood in the doorway looking lovely in ruffles of blue silk. “Father is ready to see you off.”

  “Of course. Carry my purse?”

  Aljee skipped to her mother’s table, golden ringlets bouncing, and swung a red silk purse over her shoulder. “Can I play with your jewels while you’re away?”

  Lady Coraline sighed, and Vrell suppressed a giggle. “No, but you may use my purses and shawls.”

  “Hurray!”

  Vrell smirked at the child who could not wait to be a young woman. It would happen all too soon, and once Aljee tried the corset and learned the politics of court life, she might wish to return to age nine. After Lady Coraline and Aljee left, Vrell sneaked from the room and went downstairs to bid her mother’s dear friend farewell.

  *

  Less than an hour later, Vrell stood on the embankment with the four Orthrop children, just below the stone walls of Walden’s Watch Manor.

  Lord Orthrop had walked Lady Coraline and her serving woman onto the ship that would sail to Nesos. Vrell had heard Shoal, the Orthrops’ eldest son, refer to the wooden boat as a cog. Vrell didn’t think a cog looked at all safe. Lady Coraline and her serving woman would be riding with six men in a space no bigger than Lady Coraline’s bedchamber. And the cog was stacked with cargo that caused it to sit low in the gentle waves. What if there were a storm? There had to be a better way to travel.

  The unfamiliar warmth of the sea breeze tousled Vrell’s short hair in and out of her eyes. Her skin felt damp with the abrasive smell of seaweed, fish guts, and paraffin oil from boat lamps. The smell stuck to her. With Lady Coraline gone, Vrell would not have a decent bath until her return.