by B. V. Larson
Crouched before the crackling flames with a poker in his hand, he felt eyes on his back. He turned and Telyn was there, standing just a few feet behind him. He blinked in surprise. “How do you do that? I know this house so well, no one can move through it without me hearing their steps on the boards.”
“The wind drowns out sound,” she said with a slight shrug and a tiny smile. She pushed back her hair from her face. “Besides, I’m no great thumping river-boy with wading boots on.”
“But I know every creak and groan those stairs make...” he protested. It just didn’t seem possible, but then, she had always moved differently.
She silenced him with a finger to her lips. “It doesn’t matter,” she extended her delicate white hand. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Brand hesitated for a moment, then set aside the poker and took her hand. The look in her eyes told him she was serious about something. She led him up the steps to the old nursery.
“You’re sleeping in here?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s the room I have the best memories of.”
Then he noticed the candle in the window. It was a single taper of waxy white tallow, not like the ones they had kept in the house.
“But the shutters are closed,” he pointed out. “You can’t hope to signal Myrrdin with that.”
“Not Myrrdin, necessarily—”
“But it doesn’t matter who you’re trying to signal,” he said, still staring at the tiny flame. It bothered him, somehow. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something odd about it. “No one can see it through the shutters. Only the hurricane lamps can be seen from the river, and then only if they are on lampposts at the shoreline. The River knows that a candle would just blow out if you opened the shutters, anyway.”
Telyn silenced him with a single finger to his lips this time. She gave him one of her knowing smiles. “How did you see the one in my window last night, then?” she asked.
His mouth sagged open. “Are you saying that—that your shutters were closed?”
She made no attempt to answer. Instead, she guided him out of the room with light touches of her hands. Hardly aware of it, he moved at her slightest touch, and soon found himself standing in the hall. “You should know better than to be caught in a lady’s room this late at night,” she scolded, closing the door.
“Wait!”
“Good night,” she said sweetly.
He was left standing in the dark hall, at a loss. Later, when Jak and Corbin had returned from their work, stamping their boots and rubbing their hands, he went to bed. It was then, staring at the ceiling, that he recalled what was odd about that candle.
It had not flickered, even when in the window, where drafts and gusts always came through the shutters. The flame had been perfectly steady and still. Even in a light wind, much less a storm, it should have flickered and danced and perhaps even been blown out by the drafts. He fell asleep trying to remember if Telyn’s hair had been tousled by drafts that should have affected the candle, but that just got his mind onto the subject of her face, and then it was hard to think at all. His dreams were troubled.
Chapter Six
The Battleaxe Folk
Many hours into the night there came a loud hammering at the door. The storm was at its peak. It howled and clawed at the shuttered windows, seeking to slip in cold fingers and pry away the protective boards. Brand, who had been dreaming of owls and strange lights and Telyn’s fine face, awoke with a start. Beads of cold perspiration were on his forehead and cheeks. It took him a moment to realize where he was and what had awakened him. Out in the hall he heard the boards creak beneath Jak’s feet, then Corbin’s heavier tread. The hammering came again, thump, thump, thump. He scrambled out of the bedclothes and pulled on his trousers, shivering in the cold.
Telyn, wearing a nightdress that would have set Brand’s heart to pounding if it hadn’t been pounding already, was the first to reach the door. She seemed in a terrible hurry, her cheeks were flushed with excitement as she lay her hands on the bar that held the heavy oaken door. Although most folk on the Berrywine River rarely barred their doors, Rabing Isle was close to the northern border of the River Haven and things had not been well this autumn. Jak had decided to bar the door tonight as a precaution.
“Hold it!” Jak shouted as she made ready to throw up the bar and open the door. He extended his hand, palm outward.
Telyn paused with a visible effort of will and stepped to one side. “You set the lamps out,” she said. “You wanted them to come, so why do you hesitate now?”
“Them?” questioned Jak. “I wanted Myrrdin to come, none other.”
Telyn crossed her arms beneath her breasts, looking cold and a bit cross. “Perhaps it is Myrrdin, his beard white with frost and his feet half-frozen in their boots.”
Thump, thump, thump. The door resounded with heavy blows.
Suddenly, Brand felt a bite of concern. Would Myrrdin’s fist fall so heavily? It sounded as if a smithy’s hammer were being wielded full force upon the door. Despite it’s heavy oaken timbers, it shook and rattled with each blow. What kind of man would come to Rabing Isle on such a night?
“Who hammers on my door in the deep of night?” Jak demanded loudly.
Thump, thump, thump. The hammering was the only reply.
Jak scowled, his mood turning dark. Before Brand could caution him, he had thrown up the bar and swung open the door. Corbin raised the lantern he was carrying a bit higher so that all could see into the dark night. The figure that stood outside in the raging blizzard was not what they had expected. It was not tall like Myrrdin or a shadow man, nor as short as one of the Faerie.
It was clearly one of the Battleaxe Folk. Although he stood very tall for one of his race, almost as tall as Telyn, he was built along the lines of all his folk. The head was massive with crude, overlarge features and a heavy beard of coarse, red and gold hair. The arms were long and thick and the legs short and thicker. His powerful barrel-like chest made up the rest of him. Brand was taken aback, he had seen a few wandering Battleaxe Folk trading fine goods , but never one nearly as large as this. He had to weigh as much as Corbin, at least. Brand’s eyes drifted uncontrollably to the heavy, doubled-bladed battleaxe that hung on a leather thong from his wide belt.
Jak crossed his arms and glared at the visitor. “Who disturbs our rest on such a night?”
“I am Modi of the Warriors,” answered Modi, haltingly, but clearly. It was obvious that he was not used to their speech.
“I am Jak of the Clan Rabing,” said Jak, frowning less. “What can we do for one of the Battleaxe Folk on a night such as this?”
Modi’s lips worked for a moment, his huge brows furrowed in concentration. “Gudrin—she is of the Talespinners—she sent me. She saw your light.”
At this, Telyn took a half-step forward. Brand eyed her, thinking of her candle. Surely, Modi meant the light from one of the lamps set out to guide Myrrdin.
“There are more of you? Do you need shelter?” asked Jak.
Relief flooded over Modi’s face. “Yes, shelter. There is only I...and the Spinner.”
“Why didn’t your companion come up with you?” asked Telyn, slipping herself into the narrow space between Jak’s shoulder and the doorjamb. “Is she sick? Too weak to walk?”
Modi eyed her critically for a few moments before answering. He seemed to see something that made him uncertain. “Gudrin is not sick. She is...burdened. She rests in the boat.”
Donning their boots, cloaks and hats, the four of them followed Modi down to the docks in the swirling blizzard. The path was pitch-blackness streaked with white. The world lost its form only a few feet away in every direction. Only the stones along the path kept them from losing their way. Brand realized that the hurricane lamps would only have been visible from a few yards out on the river. He wondered if the Battleaxe Folk had keener eyes than did the folk of the River Haven.
Despite his short legs, Modi ma
rched quickly down the hill. The others had to hurry to keep up, except for Telyn, whose light tread barely seemed to sink into the wind-fluffed powder. Brand was surprised to see that the snow had already piled up in drifts two or three feet high in places. Modi plowed through it all as if it was nothing, giving the impression that snow was no more worthy of notice than mist on a fine morning. Likewise, the freezing wind that whipped his weathered cloak of earthen brown wildly about seemed no more to him than a light summer’s breeze. The questions that they shouted at his back were snatched away by the wind, and in any case he answered them all with only broad, vague gestures of his long, thick arms.
When they reached the docks they found a small boat there, made of stiff hides sewn together in the fashion of the Battleaxe Folk. In the middle of the leather boat sat a hunched figure wrapped in cloaks. At their approach, the figure stirred, but didn’t rise. Telyn skipped forward, jumping down into the boat beside the figure. Modi stumped forward in sudden concern and stood on the dock, watching her and his companion closely. Brand had a sudden feeling that his eyes were less than friendly. He noted that one bulging fist now gripped the haft of his axe.
Brand rushed forward, putting a hand on Modi’s huge arm. It felt as if he had grabbed onto a boulder. “There’s no need for that, sir,” he said. “She only wishes to help. She is a good healer.”
Modi looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. His eyes were the color of tarnished steel. Then he returned his attention to the two in the boat. His hand remained where it was, as if he, Brand, were not worthy of concern. Brand wondered if he could even slow the warrior down, should he decide to act.
Gudrin rose up and climbed out of the boat. She mounted the dock with deliberate movements that weren’t those of someone frail or sick. She stood on the dock between them all. Telyn jumped up and stood at her side. The River Folk all stared at Gudrin, while she eyed each of them in turn. Modi watched the River Folk. His fist was still firmly planted on the haft of his axe, as if rooted there. Feeling a bit foolish, Brand let his hands slip down to his sides. He knew he was a strong man, very strong for his young years, and he could not but wonder how strong Modi was.
“That’s enough, Warrior,” said Gudrin. She made a gesture, and Modi reluctantly released his hold on his weapon. “We are clearly among friends.”
Gudrin, unlike Modi, spoke their tongue flawlessly. Also unlike Modi, she was of normal size for her race, being perhaps four feet in height. The barrel-chested build, long arms and large features were all there, but her hair was dark gray shot through with streaks of white. She wore a black cloak, a tunic and trousers of leather, high boots and an old wide-brimmed hat of stone-gray material. On her back she carried a heavy rucksack of riveted leather and tucked under her arm was a large package of some kind.
“Greetings, good folk of the River,” she said, her voice booming in the storm. “I am Gudrin of the Talespinners.”
They all nodded politely and introduced themselves. Corbin and Brand moved to help pull the boat up out of the water, so that it would not capsize during the night with the weight of the snow, but Modi waved them off with his large hands. Stumping down into the freezing water, he grabbed ahold of the boat’s prow and dragged it up onto the shore single-handed. Lifting up two heavy packs, he unloaded the boat. Then without a word to anyone, he moved back to Gudrin’s side, slinging one of the heavy packs over each shoulder.
With Corbin and Brand trailing behind the party marched back up the hill to the house. When inside they stoked up the fire to a cheery blaze and Corbin worked in the kitchen to feed them something. After his guests had settled and been given steaming mugs of hot spiced tea, Jak asked them if they had caught sight of Myrrdin.
Gudrin looked up sharply at the name. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. She seemed to hold the package under her arm closer to her chest. Her eyes burned into Jak’s, and for a moment Jak’s face seemed emotionless, frozen. Then Gudrin nodded, as if to herself or someone unseen, and lowered her head. “Yes, yes, we’ve seen Myrrdin, but not for some time. It is he, in fact, that we’ve come to find.”
Jak explained why they were on Rabing Isle rather than attending the festivities at Riverton.
“So Myrrdin is not in the Haven to maintain the Pact?” asked Gudrin. “That is bad news indeed. I can think of nothing that would delay him from such an important task. Yes, bad news indeed. I believe it is as the signs portend.” She sighed and shook her head. She sipped her spiced tea, while Modi still eyed his mug doubtfully. “Ah, thanks for the refreshment. It has been a long journey.”
“I assume you hail from the North?” asked Jak.
Gudrin nodded, doffing her hat and cloak. “We came to the light,” she said.
“The light?” said Telyn, leaning forward. “How could you see a light in such a storm?”
Gudrin turned to face Telyn, who had been staring at her intently for some time. “And you, my fair lady,” she said. “Where do you hail from?”
Their eyes locked for a few moments, and then Telyn dropped hers. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Brand could not hold his tongue. “She is Telyn of the Fob clan,” he told Gudrin. “She is from Riverton, on Stone Island.”
Gudrin looked at him, and for a moment Brand felt the power in her eyes and knew why the others had been acting strangely. Those eyes were incredibly blue and as deep as the open sea—as wide as the sky on a clear summer’s day. There was something there, something he’d never seen before. Gudrin gave him just a flash of her eyes before returning her gaze to Telyn. Brand swallowed in relief when Gudrin’s attention shifted.
She eyed Telyn a few moments longer and Telyn, for her part, bravely returned her gaze this time for several seconds before again dropping her eyes. Gudrin pursed her lips and nodded. She tapped the package clamped under her arm. Brand had the sudden impression that it was a large book of some kind, probably wrapped up to protect it from the river and the weather.
“Children shouldn’t play with flint and tinder, lest they burn more than tallow and timber,” Gudrin quoted. Brand half remembered the old rhyme from his childhood, but he was at something of a loss to understand its meaning now.
Telyn, however, jumped as if struck. Her hands twined about one another. Brand realized Gudrin suspected Telyn had used magic, and that she could be right.
Chapter Seven
The Shade
It was then, in the awkward moment of silence that followed, that Brand saw the rucksack on Gudrin’s back jump, just a little. It was really more of a twitch, as if something inside had suddenly moved or shifted uneasily. He wondered vaguely if Gudrin had a rabbit in there or some other kind of captured game. Out of politeness for other people’s customs, he decided not to mention it.
“I don’t understand your meaning, madam, but I do know that I have offered you hospitality and you don’t seem overly gracious about it,” said Jak. Brand and Corbin exchanged glances. Brand knew that they were both thinking Jak was perhaps pushing too far. The Battleaxe Folk were known to be honest and just, but often gruff and surly as well.
Gudrin dropped her powerful gaze, and for a moment she looked truly old and burdened. She leaned her head forward, rubbing the back of her neck. She sighed and looked back at them, smiling. It was a very different effect this time; her eyes no longer seemed to bore into one’s head. They looked friendly and tired. “I apologize. You are clearly all good folk, you must understand that we are tired and have journeyed far. All the world is not at peace like the River Haven. In fact, very little of it is. We of the Kindred have suspicious natures that should be left at the border, but it is hard to change one’s nature so quickly.”
“Yes, I can understand that. It’s very late. I think it’s time we retired,” said Jak, nodding. His tone indicated that the apology was accepted. “Brand, Corbin, show our guests to their rooms when they’re ready.”
And so the lights were doused again, and the two strangers were given rooms in th
e back of the house with many apologies for the dust and old linen. As Modi mounted the steps, Brand felt sure they would give way under his weight. He now recalculated the warrior’s weight to be greater than Corbin’s. Considerably greater. On his way back to his own room, he passed by Telyn’s room, and noted that the candle she had burned all night was now out. Telyn caught him by the arm as he went by and dragged him in, shutting the door.
“They make me nervous. Don’t you feel it? Gudrin has a power, I’m sure of it. That’s why she saw my beacon,” said Telyn, speaking very quickly. Before Brand could comment, she snatched the candle he had been carrying to light his way and took it over to the window. With it she relit the candle in the window. “Well, I’m not going to have some old talespinner scare me out of my plans with a few words.”
“Telyn, are you saying you think they saw your candle?” Brand asked. “How could they have?”
She looked him in the eye. “You saw it last night, even though the shutters were closed,” she said. A far-away look came over her face. “To one of the Kindred, especially a wise one like Gudrin, it must stand out like a brilliant point of light visible for a great distance.”
“But how?” he demanded, knowing the answer, but not wanting to hear it. “How is such a thing possible?”
“Because it is a magical beacon. I’ve had visions about how to make it—the tallow is not normal tallow, there are many ingredients—but none of that matters now. I—” she came forward and took his hands. “I’ve got a bit of the power in me, Brand, just a spark. I’ve known it for a long time, the visions, this beacon, other things….”
Fear came over Brand, a more direct and immediate fear than even the shadow man brought. He felt that he was losing Telyn. How could she ever be his when they reached marrying age if she indeed had some kind of power?
“Telyn, in the River Haven, such things aren’t looked upon favorably. Magic is strictly to be kept out of the Haven—for the River’s sake girl, that’s what the Pact with the Faerie is all about!”