The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  There was a kind of warped symmetry in it all. It had been ten years almost to the day that their own boy had been taken from them.

  Contagion and disease were quite rare, but the flux had swept through the district like a flame in dry grass, carrying off young and old alike. She'd cried for a solid month afterwards and refused to this day to visit the place where Khorin had laid him into the ground. Somehow, knowing where he was buried would make it real. He'd planted an apple tree with the body in the old tradition, but she wasn't interested and refused to take the fruit from him when he'd first brought it to her. The idea was that eating the fruit made the child always stay with you, but she didn't care. He'd been stolen from her, and she didn't want fruit. She wanted her baby back. Now this child appeared from nowhere. And found under a tree no less.

  She felt the stairs flex behind her before the hand landed lightly on her shoulder.

  “Come away Hannah.” Khorin's gentle voice rumbled. “We'll get no more answers just looking at him. Let him rest.”

  She let him lead her down the stairs and sat silent at the old kitchen table as he pulled the kettle out from over the fire and went about making her tea with a generous dollop of honey. She took the steaming cup from him mutely, her eyes expectant.

  “We'll have to wait until he wakes up, Hannah. Boy asleep in the middle of the woods like that? It's like he crawled out of a child's tale. He's bound to have family around here somewhere looking for him.”

  “Where are they then, Khorin?” she demanded. “How does a boy find himself alone in the woods at his age, with no one looking for him?”

  “We wait Hannah. We wait for him to wake, and find out the truth of things. Then we wait for his family to come and get him.”

  She stared at him, words left unsaid on both sides but both hearing them regardless.

  Devin spent three days sleeping whilst Hannah hovered over him, bathed him and fretted. Khorin was back to the farm the next day. There were crops that needed tending and animals to be fed and, at the end of the day, taxes and rents to be paid. Truth be told, he felt he was better off out of the house than in it. Hannah would have driven him crazy.

  On the evening of the third day, as they both sat in the long low-beamed kitchen, a tentative creaking down the stairs announced the boy before he appeared in the doorway. He looked confused and a little scared. His cheeks looked more hollow than they had before, but he was awake.

  Hannah rushed out of her chair with a low cry and smothered him to her breast. Bustling him into a chair and setting broth and warm bread before him with a large cup of fresh milk. He inhaled the food like a bear waking in spring and then looked up with fragile eyes. “Where's my mother?”

  “I'm sorry lad. I only found you.” Khorin managed as Hannah moved over to the table and placed a comforting hand on Devin's shoulder.

  “I remember things,” he said. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Things I thought were a dream.”

  Hannah pulled out a chair and sat next to him, taking his hand. “Do you want to talk about it? It might help.” She mothered his story out of him with a skill that would have impressed any noble's inquisitor. Later, once Hannah had fed and mothered him into submission, and encouraged him back into bed, she and Khorin sat and talked long into the night in hushed tones.

  “I tell you love, the boy's tale makes no sense!” Khorin puffed on a hand-carved pipe. “Those woods are only half a day's walk from the road. No more than a full day, even for a boy younger than Devin! They're not so dense you could get lost in them and they've not had any wolves in them for decades. You know this as well as I do.”

  “He believes it all Khorin,” Hannah replied with infuriating calm.

  “I know he believes it. You can see that on his face, but that don't make it true. I reckon he caught a touch of sickness and wandered away from his Ma at night or something. He was probably walking in circles, fever mad for a day or so.”

  “Well where is she then?” Hannah retorted, her temper rising. “This is the only village for a good ten miles in any direction and it's older than dirt. Any mother worth the name would have been here by now looking for help. Looking for her boy!”

  “I don't know Wife.” Khorin trailed off, staring into the fire. “There's something about the whole thing that worries me. Something that's wrong.”

  Hannah let it drop. The truth was she felt the same way. The story was fantastical, the type of thing you'd tell children at bedtime, or hear from a storyteller or minstrel making his way through the village. Despite all that, there was something about the tale that put a chill on the back of her neck. A feeling that made her walk to put an extra log on the fire and glance at the thick oak door and then up the stairs to where the boy slept.

  ***

  On the third day after Devin woke Hannah judged him well enough to be up and walking. She had almost pushed him out of the door with Khorin. The morning was bright and the sun shone on the grass still wet with the morning's dew.

  “I expect she wants you filling your lungs with good fresh air,” Khorin said with a sly wink as he stepped out behind him. “She's got some funny ideas sometimes. I doubt a walk will do you any harm but I've never known the smell of horse shit to do much for me.” He wrinkled his nose and Devin laughed. “Tell you what lad, we'll take a little walk around the farmstead here and you let me know if you feel tired. Then as we walk I can bend your ear and tell you all about this place. How does that sound?”

  “That would be nice sir,” Devin said, making an effort to be polite.

  “Sir?” Khorin laughed again. “I'm a lot of things boy, but I'm definitely not a 'sir'. Khorin will do nicely alright?”

  “Khorin it is.” Devin agreed smiling sideways at the grey-haired man.

  “Widdengate is really a farm that's grown out and turned into a village,” Khorin explained as they ambled around the edge of the cottage towards the barn and fields. “There's been a farm here since before my great-grandfather's time. Over time that farm grew and attracted farmhands and workers and the like. They brought families with them of course, and families need homes. Within just a few short years I imagine, the original farmhouse was surrounded by little cottages dotted all over the place.” He waved his arm vaguely at the homes Devin could see in the distance.

  “All farmhands?” the boy asked.

  “No, there were tradesmen too. Coopers, smiths, wainwrights and the like.” Khorin replied but Devin seemed to be only half listening as he spun round in a slow circle looking into the distance.

  “So where is it then?” Devin asked after a moment.

  “Hmm?”

  “The farm.” Devin explained. “I see the village over that way, and I see little farms like yours, but you made it sound like it was a big place.”

  “You're a sharp one aren't you?” Khorin looked at the boy with raised eyebrows. “You're right of course, it's long gone. The lands were all sold off or rented. The farmhouse stood empty for years before they finally tore it down. The inn is built where it used to stand, in the centre of what became the village. It's a good thing really. I don't think a village feels complete without an inn. Folk can get by without almost anything else, but a man needs some place to go and tell tales, poke fun at his neighbours and grouse about his wife.” He said the last with another sly grin and a look back towards the cottage.

  There were other children in the village of course, and word of Devin's appearance and convalescence had spread. In a village as small as Widdengate, with little to do and less to gossip about, a strange boy found in the woods was a tale that would keep tongues wagging for weeks. Khorin had suggested keeping the news to themselves, but Hannah had confided, and so naturally the whole village knew the story.

  It took only three more days for two of the village children to come calling. Erinn was a sweet young girl of nine summers. She was pale-skinned with bright flaming hair but also as thin as a rake. Not from any lack of food, she was just one of those girls who seemed de
stined to be willowy. Willowy, and without a husband, as her father was the blacksmith. A great hulking bear of a man who glowered at anyone who looked at his daughter twice.

  Kainen was the innkeeper's son, a friendly faced child who always seemed to be following Erinn around. They were too young for much mischief, but Hannah suspected that before too much longer, Kainen was going to be taken aside by Erinn's father and have a few things explained to him.

  She'd hesitated to let Devin out of the house alone just yet, but finally relented when Khorin insisted. “He can't just lay in the bed or sit all day Hannah. It does a body no good. He needs to be out, getting into trouble and getting dirty.”

  They'd listening with broad grins as Hannah gave strict instructions to walk slowly and not take him too far. Devin's tour of Widdengate wouldn't take long anyway as the village was far from a bustling metropolis. As Devin stepped out of the doorway, dressed in clothes that had once belonged to Hannah's son, he felt a moment's trepidation. He paused on the threshold and gave a long glance back over his shoulder into the cottage. He was only just beginning to feel comfortable with Hannah and Khorin and it felt odd to be moving on so soon, making new friends, almost like he was betraying his mother. He told himself to stop being foolish as Kainen gave him a curious look, and forced himself to follow Erinn out into the sunlight.

  Erinn proved to be a fun companion, easy to talk to and happy enough to carry the conversation by herself when she needed to. Devin hadn't had many opportunities to play with other children, and was quite shy to begin with, but he soon found that her ready smile was bringing him out of himself. Kainen was quiet and watchful with his dark eyes never far from Devin's face, taking his measure. So it was Erinn's voice that led them around the village.

  She took them through the narrow winding streets filled with tidy cottages and houses with thatched roofs to the smithy. They stood and watched her father and his apprentices beat away at cherry-red steel with huge hammers as the bright sparks flew. The heat, and sheer noise of the place soon chased them out, and she led them through field-lined lanes to the mill, with its great wheel turning ponderously in the slow-moving stream.

  They ended up sitting on the front steps of the inn as they talked about this and that. Erinn advised there was an old farmhand named Samen who was the best in the village for telling stories. Her mother said he was a lazy old sot, but he still spun a good tale. If you could catch him on a Setday he would usually tell a story to a small crowd of the village children.

  After a time, as if the questions could be held back no longer, Erinn turned to him with curiosity burning in her eyes. “What happened to your mother Devin? There are all sorts of rumours.”

  “I don't know really,” Devin replied hesitantly. “I remember some things but Khorin says I was sick and so it's a bit like dreaming.”

  “I bet it was a troll!” Kainen burst in with wide eyes. “Did she get eaten by a troll Devin?”

  “You shut your hole Kainen,” stormed Erinn looking furious as Devin's face paled. “There's no such thing as trolls anyway. Everyone knows that.”

  “Maybe it was droos then,” muttered Kainen. “They'd be coming for you next with your hair like that.”

  “There aren't droos either, stupid,” she retorted. “You need to learn what's a tale and what's true. Just 'cause Samen said it, don't make it real.”

  Devin looked back and forth at the two of them, clearly this was an argument that had been going on some time. “I don't know what happened to her,” he said in an effort to stave off further bickering. “Like I said I don't remember much of it.”

  “So what about the rest of your family then?” Kainen asked with a defiant look at Erinn. “Ain't you got aunts or uncles, or a grampy that you could go to?”

  “We were heading to find my Grandpa in Savarel when the bandits attacked us,” Devin explained.

  “Real bandits?” exclaimed Kainen with wide awe-struck eyes. “Did you see them? What was it like? Were you scared?”

  “Shh!” Erinn scolded as she glared at him. “Let him tell it.”

  Devin smiled, the story of the bandits didn't seem to bother him as much as talking about the forest and the boy's excitement was infectious. He spun the story of the bandit attack, exaggerating his own part only slightly. He ended with Garrit's order for his mother and him to keep going, whilst he dealt with the bandits that followed them.

  “Did you really shoot one with a bow?” Kainen asked doubtfully. “I bet you never did. I never even held a bow, and I know I wouldn't dare shoot a man with it. I'd be scared I'd miss or it wouldn't kill him or something.”

  Erinn looked at the expression on Devin's face as his lips pressed hard together and his face grew pale. “Do you want to head back Devin? You don't look so good.”

  He looked at her and nodded gratefully. “Maybe that's a good idea.”

  Much later, as he was sat in front of the warm fire in the cottage, he turned to Khorin who was sat in a comfortable looking armchair. “What do you think happened to my mother Khorin?” He stared into the fire, not meeting the man's eyes.

  The grizzled man cleared his throat as he pulled himself upright and exchanged a meaningful glance at Hannah. “Well I can't say Devin, not for sure. If you're old enough to ask the questions though, I reckon you're old enough to hear what I think, and I don't think it's anything good.” He carried on quickly as Devin's eyes filled with tears and Hannah rushed across the kitchen to pull him in close, shooting furious looks at her husband.

  “She looked after you though boy, and that's something to think about. I reckon the only reason she's gone and you're not, is that she made sure you were okay. That was probably the best gift she could have given you, and that shows love my lad. Deep and powerful love that does.”

  Devin sniffed and rubbed his eyes as he pulled away from Hannah. “What's going to happen to me now?”

  “Well, I think that's up to you,” Khorin said as his eyes flicked back and forth between the lad and Hannah. “I do need to go to Savarel at some point. You could come along and we could see if we can find your grandpa. Do you remember his name or anything?”

  “No,” replied Devin as he plucked at a loose thread on his sleeve, his eyes downcast. “I don't remember anything about him. I don't even know if I ever even met him.”

  “Well now that might change things a bit.” He reached into a pouch at his waist and began filling his pipe as he spoke, tamping down the leaf with his thumb. “You know,” he said as if the thought had just occurred to him, “you'd be welcome to stay here with us. I might not be your Da' and Hannah is never going to try and be your Mother, but we could do the job better than some and no worse than most.”

  Devin looked at the pair of them as they watched him. Khorin met his eyes for a second but then looked down and busied himself with his pipe. Hannah was far less subtle and the hope was clear in her warm brown eyes. “I think I might like to stay for a while, if you really want me to.” He cut off as Hannah gathered him up in her arms again and snuffled into his hair in between kisses on his head.

  “Glad to have you Devin,” Khorin said gruffly. “You stay as long as you like.” And then, “Stars above Hannah! Let the boy breathe!”

  Devin soon found that Khorin was a practical man who valued hard work and honesty above most things. He and Hannah owned a smallholding which took up a portion of the southern end of Widdengate, and though he didn't have the ability to farm it all himself, he managed to provide for himself and Hannah and remain comfortable. The little cottage had outbuildings across from it in the stone-walled yard that housed the chickens and pigs as well as a small stable which was home to the goats and horses.

  Hannah maintained a productive looking vegetable plot which almost overflowed with carrots, beans and potatoes. One of the first things that Devin learned as he became accustomed to living on the farm, was that there was always something that needed doing. That, and the fastest way to be given chores, was to look as though you we
re bored or had nothing to do.

  He was well-treated, though he grew to despise the vegetable plot and the weeds that seemed to spring up there overnight. His favourite chore by far was spending time with the two huge horses that Khorin used to plough the fields. Devin was both terrified and enthralled the first time Khorin took him to meet them. Named Clover and Bramble, they were that odd breed of horse with shaggy hair hanging down over the hooves. A horse is an odd thing, it can be so often reduced to a simple beast of burden in your own mind that you forget just how large they are until you are stood right next to them. Devin's head didn't even reach the horse's shoulder and he had to stand on a wooden stool to help brush them down after a day's ploughing or haying.

  When he wasn't helping with chores, he spent more and more time with Erinn and Kainen and the three soon became fast friends. One Setday afternoon Erinn appeared with Kainen in tow and suggested that the three of them go and listen to Samen. The inn was a large stone and timber building with a dark thatched roof which sprouted chimneys like an oversized fungus in a forest's shade.

  The well-worn stone front steps gave way to a warm and friendly common room with doors in the back leading to the kitchens and stores. It was almost empty on the warm sunny day, with only a few men talking quietly around tables in the corners. Samen sat alone at a sunlit table sipping slowly from a tankard occasionally. He fixed the trio with a dark stare as they approached.

  “Hello Samen,” said Erinn with a smile, her red hair catching the sunlight through the well-washed windows.

  “What do you three want?” the old man muttered sourly.

  “I hoped you might tell us a story?” Erinn replied, ignoring the sour note in Samen's voice.

  “Do you think I have nothing better to do than entertain you three brats?” the old man said, grinning and showing his many missing teeth as he caught Devin's shocked expression.