by Jack Massa
Ten
She heard singing, muffled and far away.
Opening her eyes, Glyssa stared at gray, mottled canvas. She blinked, trying to understand. She was in a sleeping tent, lying under a fur. She shifted her head and saw—Draven.
“You are awake?” he said with surprise. “How do you feel?”
She tried to speak, but found her throat swollen, painfully dry.
“Here.” Draven pressed the spout of a water skin to her lips.
Glyssa swallowed eagerly. She coughed, sat up, drank more.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
Draven laughed. “You are back! I am so glad. We were all so worried.”
“How long was I … ?”
“Six days—No six and a half. The sun just set. We are on the boat. We will sail tonight.”
Glyssa started to rise, found herself stiff in every muscle. “Six days?”
Draven supported her arm as she climbed, grimacing, to her knees. She was dressed in tunic and trousers. Her wool cloak lay nearby.
“Amlina initiated you,” Draven said. “Do you remember?”
Before she could answer, Karrol poked her head between the tent flaps. “Glyssa! Are you well?”
“I think so.”
Draven and Karrol each took an arm and helped her out of the low tent. She stood on the deck of the klarn's new boat, which rocked gently in the shining water. She looked around at the hills and the darkening sky. The clouds in the west were stained with the last reds of sunset. She breathed in the cold, bracing air.
“How do you feel?” Karrol asked. “You were gone a long time.”
Glyssa puzzled over the question. She recalled her meeting with Belach on the frozen lake. She remembered Amlina touching her skin, singing magic words, and power like cold fire flowing through her body. She felt that same power now, and at her heart, felt the same dreadful weight. But it seemed lighter now, diminished—an enemy she could face.
“I feel strong,” she said. “Where are the others?”
Draven and Karrol burst into laughter. They both grabbed and hugged her at the same time.
“You are really yourself!” Karrol cried.
“Of course,” Glyssa said. “Now where are the others?”
“They are guarding Amlina's door,” Draven answered.
He explained that tonight, Amlina would perform the blood ritual. He and Karrol were assigned to watch the boat, and have it ready to sail after nightfall. A faction of Gwalesmen, led by Prince Penredd, opposed the queen's leaving and whatever witchery they supposed Amlina to be doing. Another group, led by Prince Leidwith, supported the queen's decision. Both factions were in the castle, and the dispute had simmered for two days. With Amlina and the queen planning to leave tonight, there were fears it would come to a battle.
“I don't like the klarn being separated,” Glyssa said, “if there's to be a fight.”
“None of us like it.” Draven shrugged. “But we agreed we must have two guard the boat.”
“Well, there are three of us now,” Glyssa said. “I will go and stand with the others. Where are my weapons?”
Draven and Karrol exchanged doubtful glances. “Are you sure you're strong enough?” Karrol said.
Glyssa thrust back her shoulders. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Draven unrolled a fur that contained Glyssa's clothing, sword belt and blades. But as Glyssa bent to pull on her boots, she felt dizzy and lost her balance.
“Here,” Karrol caught her arm. “No battles for you tonight, mate.”
“I'll be fine,” Glyssa insisted.
“You haven't eaten in six days,” Draven pointed out. “Have some meat and drink, then decide.”
Glyssa had to acknowledge the wisdom of that. While Draven unpacked the food, she walked aft and stood on the rear deck by the tiller. Three windbringers had been brought on board and were humming softly together. Glyssa smiled to recognize Kizier in his ivory pail. She placed a hand on his stalk.
The bostull’s eye opened and immediately shone with recognition. “Glyssa. You are back to yourself.”
“I am happy to see you are with us, Kizier, and that you have two companions.”
Noticing the interruption in their chorus, the other two windbringers had opened their eyes.
“Yes, I will do my best to introduce you,” Kizier said. “Though I must confess, I have difficulty with their Gwelthek names: Next to me is Bryyverdydd and beside her is Ossvindufurvin. My friends, this lady is Glyssa, the kindest human you will ever meet.”
The bostulls gazed at Glyssa incuriously and whispered words of greeting. Glyssa nodded in return. Typically, windbringers had little to say to humans.
Draven brought a platter of dried venison and hard bread, along with the water skin. Karrol remained amidships, keeping watch. Glyssa ate deliberately, cautious of her stomach after the long fast.
“How is Amlina?” she asked.
Both Draven and Kizier sighed.
“She seemed well enough when we left her,” Draven answered. “Sunk deep into her witch-work, of course.”
“She has taken on a great burden,” Kizier said. “She sees it as a duty laid upon her by the Ogo. Perhaps she is correct. In any case, her thinking this as good as makes it so.”
While Glyssa reflected on that, a voice shouted in Low Tathian from the beach. “Hallo! May I come abroad?”
“Come ahead, Wilhaven.” Karrol called.
Glyssa set down her food and went forward with Draven. Wilhaven splashed through the shallows, kicking up gleaming waves. The water was waist high by the time he reached the boat. He tossed a long duffel bag over the side, then climbed up over the gunwale. He was dressed in leathers, a seaman's cloak, and a hat with a feather. His thigh-length boots dripped on the deck.
“Thank you, friends. I thought it best to stow my gear before heading back to the castle. Ah, Lady Glyssa, you are with us again. That is fine. Now our crew will be complete.”
“I am glad to see you,” Glyssa said. “Will you play for us, on the voyage?”
Wilhaven grinned and touched the harp-bag that hung from his shoulder. “In fair weather and foul, I promise.”
“We heard you singing from down the beach.” Draven said—and Glyssa realized that was the singing she had heard, the music that woke her.
“Aye, that you did,” Wilhaven said. “I paid a little visit to the men watching the decks of those cranocks.” He pointed over his shoulder, to where the hulls of three long warships floated by the village docks.
“We understand those ships belong to captains who stayed on after the assembly,” Karrol said, “because they oppose Leidwith and the queen's leaving.”
“Aye, you are not wrong. Penredd has been politicking many, and won some to his cause. Tonight, at the queen's request, I did a little politicking of my own.”
“Successfully?” Glyssa inquired.
“Ha. We shall see what we shall see. Now, if you'll show me where I can lash down my things, I'll be heading up to the castle.”
“Wait for me,” Glyssa said. “I'll go with you.”
While Draven showed the bard to a corner by the foredeck where he could store his gear, Glyssa ran aft to collect her weapons. She placed sword and dagger in their sheaths, and hefted a spear.
“Are you sure you are fit for fighting?” Karrol asked.
For answer, Glyssa drew her sword. She struck a defensive pose, sword and spear-tip leveled, then wheeled and lunged with the spear. The cold fire came to life and surged through her limbs. She felt stronger and braver than she had for months, since before she was abducted.
“Yes. I am certainly ready.”
* O *
In the fading twilight, Glyssa and Wilhaven marched up the hill through the village. The streets were deserted. Muffled voices came from behind closed doors, and the chill air smelled of wood smoke and cooking meat. The crimson face of Rog hung over the cliff in the east.
At the rising of the red moon, Kizier had
said, Amlina would begin the blood magic.
“Will we get there in time?” Glyssa asked the bard.
“Oh, aye. The rite will take two hours or more, according to the witch.”
His tone was uncommonly terse, and Glyssa sensed a shade of discomfort—or aversion. “You do not approve of the queen’s decision?” she asked. “You wish it were otherwise?”
“Aye, you read me well, Lady Glyssa.”
“And yet you agreed to sail with us.”
“Oh, I could hardly do otherwise … You see, Meghild is not only my sovereign. I love her as my own mother. I was an orphan, fostered in her castle. When I showed a talent for music, she sent me to the College of Bards at her own expense. All that I am, I owe to her. Of course, I am grieved that she has chosen to sacrifice herself … And yet, given her wild nature, I understand why she would seize such a chance.”
In the dim light, Glyssa perceived a rueful smile.
“So, I will support her with all my strength,” the bard said. “And so, we shall be shipmates.”
Turning a corner, they came in sight of the tavern. A group of warriors stood in the light that spilled from the open doorway. They looked up from their tankards to stare suspiciously as Glyssa and Wilhaven hurried by. The bard showed them a curt smile, his hand resting on the hilt of his long sword. Glyssa knew he also had a dagger hidden in his cloak.
“Do you expect fighting tonight, Wilhaven?” she muttered.
“Aye, ‘tis very possible,” he answered through the side of his mouth. “Prince Penredd is an angry man, and an ambitious one—a very dangerous combination.”
“Are there many who support him?”
The bard grunted. “Nearly half, from what I can tell. If Prince Leidwith were a more ruthless man, he would have crushed Penredd days ago. Now I fear Leidwith might be forced to fight, or else give in to Penredd’s demands and try to stop the queen from leaving.”
“If that happens,” Glyssa said, “we’ll have to fight our way past both factions.”
“Aye, my lady,” he laughed grimly. “So let’s hope that it doesn’t happen.”
Past the last log houses and fenced enclosures, they climbed the slope leading to the moat. The castle loomed against the stars like some giant, brooding beast, waiting to devour them. Glyssa brushed aside the fear brought on by that thought. If she died tonight, it would be a warrior’s death, fighting shoulder to shoulder with her mates. She could take comfort in that.
Fear was the enemy, and must be faced each time it appeared.
Their footsteps clattered on the boards of the drawbridge, rousing the attention of the two men-at-arms who stood below the portcullis. They lifted spears as Glyssa and Wilhaven drew near.
“Stop and be recognized.”
The bard smiled, lifting his empty hands. “Sure, gentlemen, you recognize Wilhaven the bard, and this Iruk lady, a guest of the queen.”
“Enter in peace,” one of the guards said, though Glyssa noticed their faces did not soften.
She and Wilhaven were not challenged again as they traversed the dark passageway and crossed the courtyard. The main door to the keep stood open, and the guards stationed there merely nodded as they passed. It was the dinner hour, but the castle seemed eerily quiet. When they reached the great hall, Glyssa understood why.
In the firelight cast by the twin hearths, warriors and courtiers sat feasting at the long tables, and attendants served them from trays and pitchers. But there was none of the usual laughter and merriment. The little talk that could be heard was muted and sullen. Worse, Glyssa saw that most of the men wore chainmail and carried arms—violating the queen’s prohibition against bringing weapons into the hall.
“Let us move now like mice in a room full of cats,” Wilhaven said. “Quick and quiet and keeping to the walls.”
Glyssa followed him along the back and then up the length of the chamber, passing close to alcoves and the wide hearth. But their arrival had not gone unnoticed, and the hall seemed to grow even stiller. As they neared the dais, Glyssa spied Leidwith and Penredd, seated at opposite ends of the high table, each flanked by warriors.
Penredd’s eyes locked on her for an instant, and he leaped out of his chair. He pointed at her and his angry roar echoed through the hall. His words were in Gwelthek, but Glyssa understood well enough. He shouted that she was an enemy, a companion of the witch. Across the feast hall, a number of men growled in agreement, a few bolting to their feet.
“Peace to you all,” Wilhaven held up his hands, smiling. “We go on the queen’s business.”
He turned and hurried Glyssa across the dais and through the arched portal. They paced quickly up the passageway, dimly lit by lamps set in niches. At the far end, before the door to the queen’s apartments, they turned left. Up another corridor, they came to the doorway that led to the round tower with Amlina’s apartment. Six soldiers in chain mail stood at the portal, holding spears and shields. One of them was Frenrik, captain of the queen’s guard.
“Greetings, my lord,” Wilhaven said to him. “Any news from up the stairs?”
“The queen went up at sunset,” the captain grumbled. “We’ve heard nothing since except chanting through the door. What is the mood in the feast hall?”
“Ugly,” Wilhaven responded. “Best that you be wary, captain.”
Glyssa sidled past them and ran up the curving steps. She passed four more of the queen’s men, leaning against the stone wall. Beyond them, on the landing in front of Amlina’s door, stood Lonn, Eben, and Brinda.
“Glyssa!” Lonn exclaimed as she threw herself into his arms. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” she laughed with joy, hugging the others in turn. “I am so glad to see you, mates.”
“And we you,” Brinda answered.
“But are you sure you should be here?” Lonn said. “There may be danger.”
“I know.” Glyssa felt the strength of the klarn-soul in heart. “But I have been apart from the klarn for too long. Now I am back.”
* O *
They waited.
From time to time they heard Amlina chanting behind the oak door. Her evocations were not in the vibrant, singsong Larthangan tongue Glyssa had come to know a little. This language sounded hollow and ominous, imbued with a menacing power. Listening, Glyssa shuddered inwardly, for she recognized that Amlina was summoning dark forces akin to those Kosimo the serd had used to enslave her.
Glancing at her mates, she saw her apprehension reflected on their faces, though they remained stoically quiet.
After a while Wilhaven joined them, lounging on the step below the landing, his legs outstretched. He appeared completely calm and at ease.
Suddenly the chant grew deep and loud, the witch’s voice rising to terrible, strangled moans. The guardsmen on the steps below cast frightened looks at the door.
“Steady, my lads,” Wilhaven advised, then added something in Gwelthek that Glyssa found puzzling.
“What did you just tell them?” She spoke to the bard in Tathian. “Something about the queen and considering what song they would sing?”
“Aye, that was it exactly.” Wilhaven smiled with a flick of irony. “You see, my lady, in our beliefs, each man and woman has a fate. But our word for fate is danna, the same word we use for song. Each person’s song is written by three divine Sisters, who sit at the base of the Tree of Worlds.”
“Then how can you advise them to consider what song they will sing?” Glyssa asked, “if that is their fate?”
“Oh, because the Sisters only write the song. It is up to each of us how we perform it—and in the performing, change it and make it our own. These lads are sworn to serve the queen, as I am. So I was encouraging them to sing bravely and well.”
“That is interesting,” Eben said. “To what degree is it possible to alter your song?”
“Well,” Wilhaven laughed, “that depends on how canny and determined you are. But tell me, what do you Iruks believe about fate?”
“We don’t worry about it,” Lonn answered gruffly. “We are aware of how the Tathians philosophize and debate such things. But the Iruk seas are cold and bleak, and we are mostly concerned with hunting and surviving.”
“And drinking and mating,” Eben added with a grin. “It’s not all misery.”
“We have our rituals and stories, of course” Glyssa said. “And we believe there is a Great Mother, from whom we come and to whom we return. But Lonn is right, we don’t worry about what might or might not be fated. We just do our best to live bravely.”
“And so you do, from all I have seen,” Wilhaven noted with respect. “And to my mind, that is your song.”
Glyssa gave a slight smile. She had not been brave lately, to be sure. But now at last she believed her courage was returning. “A strange song it must be,” she said, “to have brought me and my mates from the far South of the world to the far North.”
“Aye.” Wilhaven’s eyes sparkled. “And now sailing to lands barely known, in the company of a witch of Larthang and a queen of Gwales. It may be a truly glorious song by the time it is done.”
A crash like thunder boomed inside the chamber. The Iruks went rigid, eyes wide. Wilhaven scrambled to his feet and, below him on the stairs, the guardsmen jerked down their spears as though for protection. The chanting resumed, but now the voice was not Amlina’s. Rather, it sounded like many voices—roaring, bellowing, howling. The appalling clamor went on and on, seeming at once to be calling something huge and monstrous into the world, and to be that monstrous thing.
Then, suddenly, all went quiet.
Eleven
Gripping their spears, the Iruks eyed each other and waited. Moments passed. Glyssa felt sure that the ritual had ended.
Eben whispered, “Maybe we should …”
“No,” Lonn said. “Amlina’s orders were clear.”
Time crept by. The queen’s men on the stairs, who had looked to be ready to charge the door, now leaned, solemn and tense, with their backs to the wall. Glyssa breathed deeply, trying to stay calm.
A scraping noise made everyone start. Bolts were thrown. The door creaked open.
Amlina appeared, hollow-eyed, her face and hair splattered with gore. She was dressed in boots and a long coat. In her arms she held the talking book, with extra parchments stuffed among the pages. Her voice was a hoarse whisper.