Shards of Time

by Lynn Flewelling

“Must have been one of the servants,” Micum said with a yawn.

  “Knocking the whole house awake? And all the rooms at that end of the corridor are empty.”

  “Very odd. Well, it seems to have stopped. Good night, Alec.”

  “What was it?” Seregil grumbled as Alec returned to the couch.

  “Nothing, I guess. No one’s raising the alarm and the noise has stopped.”

  “Thank the Light. I’m exhausted.” Seregil burrowed down into the folds of his cloak again.

  Alec was headed for the bed to check the state of the sheets when he noticed that the side window was open again. He closed it and checked the latch; it didn’t appear to be loose. The sheets were damper than ever, though, so he blew life into the embers, rebuilt the fire, and rejoined Seregil. “I guess we’re spending the night here,” he sighed, pulling his cloak around him and resting his head against the back of the couch.

  Seregil’s only answer was deep, even breathing.

  Alec was nearly asleep when he heard a tiny rattle from the direction of the window. As he watched, it slowly swung open again. That latch clearly needed replacing.

  He gave the fire a stir with the poker and threw on another chunk of wood to brighten the room, but even that couldn’t banish the dank chill. As he approached the window, tendrils of sea mist curled into the room, then dissipated in the marginally warmer air. Going to the window, he felt a deeper chill here that he suddenly knew had nothing to do with the fog. As he leaned out, he felt wetness under his fingers. Two wet handprints had appeared on the windowsill, just where he’d rested his fingers—where anyone would rest their hands—dark against the weathered wood, and so wet that they dripped down the wall underneath. He pulled back quickly, wiping his hands on his coat. Just then he sensed movement to his right, through the panes of the window.

  There was a face there, and it wasn’t his reflection; a haggard woman gazed back at him, her image carved into diamond-shaped puzzle pieces through the leaded glass. Frozen with fear, Alec stared back at her. Her eyes were lost in shadow, long hair hanging limp and dripping over bare shoulders. She wore an ornate necklace of antique design at her throat—a person of rank rather than a servant or slave. Her pale lips moved as she tried to tell him something. He couldn’t hear the words, but a wave of crushing sadness rolled over him, pushing aside the fear. He couldn’t move, but felt the tickle of tears rolling down his cheeks.

  He had no idea how long he stood there like that, lost in grief, before Seregil whispered behind him, “Artha dom alika, sala.”

  She bowed her head, then slowly faded away, taking the deeper chill with her.

  “That—That was—” Alec stammered, wiping his cheeks with shaking fingers.

  “Our first ghost, yes. Are you all right?”

  Alec looked down at the sill, where the wet handprints still showed. “I don’t know.”

  Seregil touched the handprints and licked his finger. “Salty. Seawater, probably. Our sad lady must have drowned.”

  Delayed shock was setting in, and Alec began to tremble in earnest. Seregil pushed the couch closer to the fire and made Alec sit down, then put his cloak around him.

  “What did you say to her? What language was that?” Alec asked through chattering teeth.

  “Middle Konic. I told her ‘Go to your rest, my lady. Be at peace.’ It’s the language that would have been spoken when the house was new.”

  Seregil latched the window, lit fresh candles on the mantelpiece, and settled down beside Alec with an arm around his shoulders.

  “Did you feel the sadness?”

  “No, but you did, didn’t you?”

  Alec let out a shaky breath. “It was like she was making me feel what she felt.”

  “Anything beyond the sadness?”

  “No. Well, fear, but I don’t think that was her doing. Do you think she’ll come back, after what you said to her?”

  “I doubt a few kind words will lay her to rest after all these years. I’ll speak to Dorin about shifting rooms.”

  As Alec gradually calmed down, he noticed that the fire was burning brighter than it had before, spreading more warmth. The damp was gone. Whoever their night visitor had been, she seemed to be gone, too.

  Despite that, his dreams were uneasy.

  The room was cold again, and stank of seaweed and mud. Despite Seregil’s arm around him, Alec felt the short hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Someone was standing behind him.

  Seregil didn’t wake as Alec slipped from his embrace and stood. The woman was standing by the window, looking as solid as the wall behind her. Her ragged gown was sodden, and as Alec watched a crab scuttled out from under the hem of it and scrabbled away into a shadowed corner. As she slowly walked toward him, Alec could see that her eyes were moon snail shells and that her tangled, dripping hair was crawling with sea lice and tiny crabs. A spiny green urchin clung to the bodice of her gown like a brooch.

  The couch stood between them, and she stopped just behind it. Seregil was no longer there; Alec didn’t dare take his eyes off the woman to look for him.

  The hand she raised to point at him dripped with mud, spattering the fine carved wood and upholstery. She pointed first at the bed. The bed curtains were gone, and something hung by a thick string from one of the posts: a dead owl, hanged by the neck.

  More mud dribbled over her chin as she gagged out, “Only the dead can walk with the dead.”

  Terrified, he found she was pointing at him now, as if she could see with those blind shell eyes. “Only the dead can walk with the dead.”

  Alec jumped up from the couch and twisted around toward the window, expecting the woman to be standing there, dripping. But the window was still closed and there was no one there but Seregil, looking up at him with concern. The bed curtains hung in neat folds; no dead owls there.

  “What’s wrong, talí?”

  Alec shuddered, overcome with dread. “The woman—she was back. Right there behind you. There was a dead owl hanging from the bedpost, and she told me that only the dead can walk with the dead, just like that madman said to you!”

  “Interesting. And an owl, you say?” Seregil frowned and made a sign against ill fortune. “Come back, Alec, and sit down before your knees give out. I can see you shaking from here.”

  Instead, Alec went to the bed and felt the sheets. They were dry. “I’d rather sleep here.”

  It was farther from the window.

  BETWEEN the night’s terrors and the unforgiving mattress, Alec woke tired and out of sorts. Seregil didn’t ask any questions, just gave him his space.

  By the time they entered the dining room Micum was already at breakfast, waited on by a very cheerful Willow and her son. Dorin was there as well, a dour presence in dark livery as he oversaw the breakfast.

  Morning light slanted in through diamond-paned windows. Bands of colored glass at the top of the casements cast rainbow hues over the silver chargers and delicate porcelain on the table. The previous night’s events seemed even more impossible to Alec in daylight.

  “I’m afraid we didn’t sleep very well,” Seregil said, stifling a yawn. “Dorin, our room was very damp. Is it always like that?”

  “I’m so sorry, my lord,” the steward replied. “I’ll have your things moved to the purple suite at once.”

  “There was someone making a racket, too, knocking on doors,” said Micum, and Alec saw Willow exchange an uneasy look with Vhadä.

  “A ghost?” Seregil suggested.

  “She’s—” Vhadä began, but Dorin cut the boy off with a dark look.

  “Who?” asked Alec. “Please, continue.”

  “There is a ghost here, my lord—”

  “Please, just Alec.”

  Willow nodded. “It’s just that the ghost is most likely what you heard.”

  “What sort of ghost?” asked Micum.

  “Oh, nothing to concern yourself with,” she assured him. “As the story goes, a few hundred years ago the noblewoman who o
wned Mirror Moon disappeared mysteriously, and her lover was hanged for murder, though her body was never found. It’s said she walks the corridors on misty nights, dripping with seawater and knocking on the doors, looking for him. She doesn’t hurt anyone, and she doesn’t appear often, but is known to when there’s a new master or mistress in the house. She’s just a lost soul, or perhaps only a memory.”

  “How sad,” said Seregil.

  “So she just knocks on doors?” asked Alec.

  “Well …”

  “Go on then, tell them,” Dorin snapped.

  Willow nodded. “It’s just that the chamber you had last night was her room and she’s known to haunt it, as well.”

  “She opens the window and lets the sea fog in,” Vhadä added.

  “Not for many years, my lord,” said Dorin. “I’ll have the latch seen to. It’s probably just loose.”

  “Is there anything about a dead owl in the room, in the old stories?” asked Alec. “A hanged owl?”

  Vhadä and his mother both made a warding sign on the air.

  “No. But it’s terrible bad luck to kill an owl on Kouros!” Willow told them.

  “Thank you,” said Seregil. “You can leave us for now. I think we have all we need.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Dorin led the others out.

  “Seregil, did you know it was a ghost?” asked Micum.

  “Ask Alec. He saw her.”

  “Just for an instant,” Alec explained. “But we both felt her. And then I dreamed about her. There was a dead owl in the dream.”

  “I’d say that would be bad luck anywhere, especially to a ’faie.” Micum stroked his moustache. “Well, we’re off to quite a start.”

  Dorin returned as they were finishing to inform them that more refugees had arrived. “I have them in the front hall, my lords, if you’d care to look them over.”

  Seregil slammed his knife down. “Damn it, Dorin, they are not livestock! I will thank you to treat any ’faie who come here with more respect than I’ve seen thus far. You may hate your own lineage, or have been mistreated because of it, but it is time you let go of that, or I shall have to find myself a new steward.”

  The color drained from the man’s face and to everyone’s amazement, he fell to his knees. “Please accept my apology for my behavior, Baron! I—this has always been my home. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “You have my terms,” Seregil replied coldly. “Now bring them in to meet us. Respectfully.”

  Dorin rose and strode from the room, returning a moment later with a bedraggled-looking woman clutching a little girl in her arms.

  “May I present Oria, and her child Daisy. They have come here for shelter, as you offered, my lord.”

  Alec felt his heart torn between gladness and sorrow as he went to greet the newcomers. The woman was pure ’faie and young, barely old enough for childbearing. The little girl had the dark eyes of whoever her Plenimaran father had been. The right sleeve of the woman’s dress was pushed back, exposing her former master’s brand on her forearm.

  “Ysanti maril Elustri,” Seregil greeted her.

  She did not look him in the eye as she replied softly, “I don’t understand, my lord. I never learned ’faie talk.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She just shrugged.

  “It’s no matter,” said Alec. “You’re safe here. We want you to consider Mirror Moon your home. And no titles, please.”

  “I’m not looking for charity,” she replied. “I’m a chambermaid, come to offer my services.”

  “Do we have work for another chambermaid, Dorin?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Then the position is yours, Oria,” said Seregil. “Dorin, see that our new friends have clean clothing, a proper bath, and a good meal.”

  Oria gave him a grateful look. “That would be much appreciated, my lord. I’m sorry for you to see us in such a state.”

  “You never need to apologize for that, my dear. Tell me, do you know your mother’s name?”

  “Laziel, my lord.”

  “And her mother’s?”

  “Qani, I think.”

  “Then your true name is Oria ä Laziel Qani. The last of it should be your birthplace.”

  “Here, my lord.”

  “Then from this day you have your true name: Oria ä Laziel Qani Kouros.”

  Oria curtsied again, looking a little overwhelmed.

  “Is Daisy the name you chose for your child?”

  Oria shook her head. “I called her Tala, but ’faie names weren’t allowed by her—by my master.”

  Seregil held out his hand to the child and she grasped his fingers. “Hello, Tala ä Oria Laziel Qani Kouros.”

  A tear rolled down her mother’s cheek. “You’re not ashamed of us?”

  “How could we be? No one chooses slavery. You’re a free woman now, and can raise your child in freedom and dignity.”

  Oria began to weep in earnest. Alec reached out to her but she flinched away. Seregil signed too soon and Dorin led her away toward the kitchen.

  Alec shook his head. “Are you going to rename every ’faie on the island, Seregil?”

  “I’ve giving them back their names.”

  “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, talí. It’s just that you might ask first if they want you to.”

  “He’s right, you know,” said Micum. “You’re a noble and they’ve been slaves. It’s not as if they can say no if it seems you’ve made up your mind.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Seregil sighed. “It’s just—”

  “I know,” said Alec. “But give them time to get used to us, all right?”

  “Yes. Consider me chastised.”

  “You know we don’t mean it that way.” Micum sat back down at the table and poured more tea. “So, Klia doesn’t need us ’til tomorrow. What do you two have planned for the day?”

  “I guess we’d better ride over the estate and act baronial,” Alec replied.

  “You don’t need me for that. I have a mind to go into town, have a look around, and do some listening.”

  “Good idea,” Seregil replied. “I expect the average citizen will be more comfortable talking to you than a ’faie lord. It will take some time for the people of Kouros to get used to the idea, given recent history. Perhaps you could call on the good Doctor Kordira and give her our regards, too.”

  Micum chuckled. “Consider it done.”

  Micum set off just before midday and gave his horse a good gallop back to Deep Harbor. As beautiful as Mirror Moon was, he was more unsettled by the previous night’s spirit visitation in the hallway than he cared to admit. Finding out how the wind was blowing in a new place was much more to his taste, and he was looking forward to it.

  The road branched as he neared the town and he decided to come in from the north, passing by the governor’s mansion as he made his way to the wealthy district that bordered that estate. Quite a number of fine houses here were shuttered, the gardens already sprouting weeds. Nonetheless, there were carriages and riders about, and not a few of them looked to be Plenimaran, judging by the preponderance of dark hair and eyes, not to mention some of the unfriendly looks he was getting.

  It was a bit of a surprise when a dandy on a fine black-and-white mare reined in to ride beside him.

  “Good morning, sir. You arrived with the princess’s entourage yesterday, didn’t you?” He looked to have Plenimaran blood, but his accent was pure island.

  “Word certainly gets around fast here,” Micum replied, and extended a hand. “Micum Cavish of Watermead.”

  The man shook with him. “Azrin of Kouros.” He gave Micum a wry look. “Formerly a lord myself, as it happens, but alas, times change.”

  “Yet you’re still here.”

  “I was born here. My grandfather came over from Benshâl years back, but I’ve never been. Don’t let my appearance fool you; I’m as island as they come.”

  “So you had no problem taking the oa
th?”

  Azrin shrugged. “Queen or Overlord, it’s all the same to me, so long as I get to keep my farm. This is my home.”

  “Home is home,” Micum agreed. “Say, if you can point me to a good tavern, I’d be happy to stand you a meal.”

  “My pleasure! The Fox is just two streets over.”

  The Fox turned out to be a fine establishment, with superb mussels boiled in ale and wild herbs. Azrin was well known here, and a lively dining companion. They talked horses, which Azrin’s family had traded for generations.

  “I know the Mirror Moon herd well,” he told Micum. “Please tell the new baron that if he wants to sell off his stock, I’d be happy to assist.”

  Micum chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll be parting with any for the moment, and there are two barons: Seregil and Alec.”

  “Two? Are they brothers?”

  “No.”

  Azrin raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I see. Such things are common in Skala, I suppose. Which one is the ’faie?”

  Micum grinned and pretended to not notice the man’s clear disapproval on both counts. “That would be Baron Seregil. Do you think they’ll be unwelcome here?”

  “It’s none of my business. Are you their friend?”

  Micum shrugged. “I met them on the ship.”

  “And do you approve of such—relationships?”

  “I can’t make much sense of it, really.”

  “Then you are a sensible man!” Azrin laughed and poured more ale for both of them. “So, what brings you to Kouros?”

  Micum gave him a wink. “I happen to be friends with Klia’s aide-de-camp and she got me a warrant to buy island horses. I hope to be the main Skalan importer in Rhíminee. Perhaps the two of us can work out some mutually agreeable relationship, eh?”

  “I think we might, my friend.”

  “So, how’s the political situation here? Was the transition of power a smooth one?”

  “About what you’d expect. Your General Klia came with a large force, evicted the Plenimaran governor, fought any who stood against her, and drove out anyone who wouldn’t swear an oath of loyalty to Queen what’s-her-name. Quite a few chose to go to Plenimar.”

  “Did many of them take slaves with them?”