Talus and the Frozen King

by Graham Edwards

  Talus smiled. He couldn't help himself. 'I call it a map. Each herb bundle is a house. The spaces between them are passages. Yes, this is Creyak, laid out for us to study.'

  'What are the stones for?' said Bran.

  'I know,' said Lethriel. She picked up one of the stones—a coarse chunk of shale—and turned it in her fingers. 'This is Gantor.' Before replacing the stone, she kissed it.

  'You are correct,' said Talus. The first time he'd encountered Lethriel, he'd recognised the intelligence in her eyes. It was pleasing to see it at work.

  'Here is the house of the king.' Lethriel pointed to some bound strips of willow bark. Three stones lay beside the bundle: smooth grey pebbles from the beach, one large, two small. 'The big pebble is Hashath. The smaller pebbles are the youngest brothers: Sigathon and Arak.'

  Warming to his task, Talus traced his finger through the gaps he'd left between the herbs. He reached a bunch of lavender and two lumps of green jade.

  'Tharn and Cabarrath, the elder sons. They share the home of the huntsmen. They live at the entrance to the maze, strong men guarding the settlement's most vulnerable spot.'

  He was no longer looking at herbs and stones, but at walls and faces. The map wasn't just a picture; it was real.

  'Here stands Fethan's house. He is the only man in a home occupied by artisan women. Gantor lived here, remote from the rest, close to the burial cairn.'

  'All very clever,' said Bran. 'But how is playing with stones going to help us?'

  'Playing with stones turned out to be very important to Gantor,' said Talus.

  'You think he was murdered too,' said Lethriel slowly. 'Gantor, I mean. Do you think it was the same person? Do you think whoever who killed the king tipped those stones down over poor Gantor too?'

  'I thought you said Gantor killed himself,' said Bran. Lethriel flinched.

  'That is not what I believe,' said Talus.

  Bran sighed. 'Talus, we've only been here a day and we've spent most of that time under guard. How do you suddenly know exactly where everyone in Creyak lives?'

  Delighted by Bran's question, Talus laced his fingers and stretched them until his knuckles cracked.

  'As you must have noticed, Bran, most of the people in Creyak leave their doorways open.

  On our various trips around the village, therefore, I have been able to look inside most of the houses. Shall I tell you what I have seen?'

  'Will it make a difference if I say no?'

  'In the house that stands beside the maze, a cloak was clearly visible lying on the nearest bed. I later saw Tharn wearing that same cloak. The house is therefore his. Above the next bed, the low roof was badly dented, so Tharn clearly shares his home with an unusually tall man: almost certainly his brother, Cabarrath.'

  'He's right,' said Lethriel. 'In Creyak, older brothers live together until both have married.'

  'The custom is common. I also knew it was likely that the youngest brothers, Sigathon and Arak, lived with their father. This was proved when I saw mock-weapons—driftwood axes and so on—stored beside two of the beds in the king's house: the same weapons the two youths wore at tonight's feast.

  'Again, he's right.' Lethriel couldn't have looked more excited. Bran, on the other hand, just looked bored. 'Which brings us to Gantor. Lethriel has already told us he lived alone. That puts him in this isolated house near the cairn. As for Fethan: he clearly enjoys the company of females.'

  'I did notice how all the women at the feast kept smiling at him,' said Bran.

  'Not all of them,' said Lethriel with a scowl.

  'This house --' Talus pointed to a bundle of dried samphire and its accompanying stone '- contains five beds for women and only one for a man. The man who lives there has long black hair; I saw many strands of it spread over not just one bed but all of them.'

  'Have you finished?' said Bran.

  'You asked me to explain.'

  'All right, Talus, you've proved you're just as clever as you always were. But this still doesn't tell us anything useful.'

  'I disagree,' said Talus. 'It proves that Gantor did not kill the king.'

  Tears welled in Lethriel's eyes. 'What? How?'

  Talus stepped into the middle of his map. He felt like a giant stepping on to the world. The patterns he'd made on the floor were vivid, and told him much. He wondered why they couldn't see.

  'As heirs to the king, Tharn and Cabarrath could have lived in any house they chose. They chose this one, which lies to the left of the maze. Inside the house, they chose beds in positions that favour the left hand. Their cloaks and possessions lie at their left side.'

  'So they're left-handed?' said Bran. 'That's unusual, I suppose.'

  'Sigathon and Arak carry their mock-weapons at the left side. Fethan, when he threatened you with his bonespike, Bran, held his weapon in his left hand. Tell me, Lethriel, did Hashath favour his left hand too?'

  She nodded. 'He did.'

  'The king and his sons: a strange family, whose hands work in strange ways.'

  Bran's good right hand stole across to cover his useless left. Talus knew that he too had been left-handed once. 'I still don't understand,' said Bran.

  'All the sons are left-handed except Gantor.' He stepped, light-footed, across the map. 'Do you see how he built his house on this side of the cairn and not the other? And did you not notice which hand he used to take his bowl of broth from Lethriel at the feast?'

  'It must have slipped my attention.'

  'Why does that not surprise me?'

  'Why does it matter?'

  'Stand up,' said Talus. He stepped out of the miniature Creyak he'd made. Bran heaved himself to his feet. 'Pretend you hold a bonespike in your right hand and stab me under the left arm.'

  'But why ...?'

  'Do as I say.'

  Bran bunched his fist and lunged towards him. Talus blocked him easily with his upraised hand. Bran tried several times more, but each time the bard fended him off.

  'Enough,' said Talus. Bran backed away. 'You are stronger than me, Bran, and heavier. Yet I held you off. For Hashath the warrior-king, fending off such an attack would have been even easier.'

  'It would be different if his attacker came from behind.' Now they were talking about fighting, Bran's interest was aroused.

  'At last you are thinking for yourself! Very well, then, come behind me!'

  Again they played out the little scene. Lethriel watched, her mouth a thin, tight line. Again they parted.

  'You landed five blows out of six,' said Talus.

  'Proving?' said Bran, panting a little.

  'You landed them on my right side. The wound that killed the king was on his left,' said Talus.

  'This play-fight—together with the shape of the king's wound—proves to me that the king's attacker was left-handed. Gantor was innocent.'

  'All right' said Bran. 'I believe you. But Gantor could still have killed himself.' Talus closed his eyes. He recalled the image of the pit he'd fixed in his mind: Gantor lying crushed; the angle of the big man's body; the resting places of the gigantic stones; the way the heaviest one had first landed, then rocked back under its own weight.

  In seeing how the stones must have fallen, he saw too what must have driven them to fall.

  He opened his eyes again.

  'Gantor had his back to the boulders as they fell. The position of his legs tells me he tried to run. It was not Gantor who brought down the stones.'

  'An accident, then?'

  'Did you not see the ends of the ropes? They were cut clean. And the largest of the stones could not possibly have fallen unless it was pushed from behind. No, I am certain Gantor was murdered.'

  Bran gave a vast yawn. 'Talus, I'm tired. I'm sure Lethriel is too ...'

  'I can speak for myself,' she snapped. 'Who killed them, Talus? Gantor and the king. Do you think it was the same person?'

  'It is likely. Just as it is likely the murderer placed this behind the door to the afterdream.'

 
Talus brought out the bonespike again. 'Are the people of Creyak allowed to enter the cairn at all times?'

  'No,' said Lethriel slowly. 'On ritual days, the villagers may enter for the ceremony.

  Otherwise only the king and his heirs are allowed inside.'

  'Nobody else? Not even the shaman?'

  'Well, obviously him.'

  Lethriel looked agitated. Talus decided not to pursue it—for now.

  'Very well,' he said. 'Let us talk about the shaman for a moment. Where does Mishina live?'

  'Don't you know? I thought you knew everything.'

  'If I passed the shaman's house, its door was closed to me.'

  Lethriel stabbed a finger towards an empty space in the exact centre of Talus's map. 'There. And there's a reason you won't have seen into his house. But this ... this has nothing to do with the killings. Please, can't you put that bonespike away?'

  'If you had to choose a herb to mark the house of the shaman, which would it be?'

  Talus spun the bonespike in his fingers, enduring her glare. Finally she stomped over to where Bran was sitting. Her agitation was fascinating.

  'Out of my way,' she said.

  Bran stood. She shoved aside the stone he'd been sitting on. Beneath it was a deep hollow.

  She rummaged in it for a moment before holding up a tiny, wizened object.

  'What is it?' said Bran. 'Does the shaman like dried fruit?'

  'Hardly,' said Lethriel. 'It's a kind of fungus, very rare. I gather them along with my herbs, but it's better if people don't know where I keep them.'

  She threw the hideous thing down in the middle of the map. Her distress was obvious.

  'Greycap,' said Talus. It was just what he'd been expecting. He wondered if Bran knew of the mushroom's special properties—and why, therefore, Lethriel kept it hidden. 'Thank you, Lethriel.

  You have answered my question and explained a great deal.'

  'Have you finished your games?' said Lethriel. 'Are you going to take my question seriously now?'

  'I take all questions seriously.'

  'Who killed them?'

  Her voice cracked with a sound like splintering wood. Her eyes were filled with anguish. No wonder: she'd just lost a man she held dear. Talus felt pity for her. But it was a distant emotion, overshadowed by his own overwhelming curiosity. What was she holding back?

  'Ah, we come back to the question!' Talus rubbed his hands. 'Sad to say, I do not know. Yet.

  But we have this!'

  Again he brandished the bonespike. Again Lethriel flinched.

  'Whoever hid this in the cairn either killed the king or knew the killer. So our eyes turn back to the king's sons. Unless ... Lethriel, are you sure you told me the truth about the cairn?'

  'I don't know what you mean?'

  'Are there any others, apart from the king's sons, who are allowed inside? Any women, for example?'

  'Why would I know such a thing?'

  'You know it. That is all that concerns me.'

  Lethriel's eyes flared with defiance. 'Say what you mean to say!'

  'Very well. As the keeper of herbs, are you, Lethriel, able to come and go as you please, in and out of the cairn, so as to keep the dead smelling sweet?'

  'You know I am!'

  'And as a server of food to the king, do you also come and go in his house, whenever you choose.'

  'Yes!'

  'Catch!'

  Talus tossed the bonespike to her. She raised her hand instinctively to catch it.

  Her left hand.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lethriel stared at her fingers as if they'd betrayed her. She opened her hand and let the bonespike fall to the floor.

  'Talus, surely you don't think ...' said Bran. Talus raised a finger to silence him. A blush was rising up Lethriel's face.

  'If either of you think it,' she said, 'you can leave this place right now.' Her hands and voice trembled as she spoke.

  Talus stroked the top of his head. 'It does not matter what I believe,' he said. 'All that matters is what I know.'

  Lethriel's cheeks showed no sign of losing their scarlet hue. 'You are a strange man.'

  'Yes.'

  'But clever.'

  'Yes.'

  'Then tell me, clever man, what is it you really want from me?'

  'You claim you are innocent of murder, Lethriel. I want you to prove it.'

  'If you think I killed the king, you're no smarter than starfish,' Lethriel's body shook as she spoke.

  'Why do you say that?' said Talus.

  'Do I look strong enough to drag a man the size of Hashath through the snow?'

  'Perhaps you were not alone.'

  'I didn't do it.'

  'So you say.'

  Lethriel stamped her foot. 'You really are stupid!'

  'Is that what you believe? Or is it what you know?'

  Talus's face was calm. Bran wasn't surprised at Lethriel's reaction. Sometimes, when he was arguing with the bard, Bran felt like the ocean beating itself to a froth against a particularly smug rock.

  'Does it give you pleasure to do this to people, Talus?' he said.

  'I do not know what you mean,' the bard replied. 'She claims she wants to help. That is what I am helping her to do.'

  'You're not helping her. You're driving her. You might as well take a stick and ...'

  'You're talking about me as if I'm not here!' said Lethriel.

  'Then speak for yourself!' said Talus, matching Lethriel's suddenly sharp tone with eerie accuracy.

  'What I know is this: at the moment the king was killed, the two of you were plodding down the south cliff making ready to cross the causeway and stir up trouble. I know this because I was on the south cliff too, gathering the herbs you've so gleefully scattered across my floor. I saw you.

  Earlier this evening you accepted my word on this.'

  'You spoke the truth,' Talus agreed. 'For that we are grateful.'

  'Then believe what I have to say now.' She took a deep, snuffling breath. Little by little, the hectic colour was fading from her cheeks. 'Like you, I heard the screams of my people across the water. As I said, I was high on the moorside path, looking down. At the same time, I saw you both, like insects, stepping out across the causeway. The sun was low, barely risen. It looked as if you were walking on water.'

  'Go on,' said Talus.

  'I gathered my bundles and ran. I knew something was wrong. By the time I reached Creyak, Hashath had already been carried to the tomb. I was too late to do anything. Too late to help. So, you see, it doesn't matter that I use my left hand instead of my right. I wasn't there. I couldn't have been, not if I saw you as I say I did. I couldn't have killed the king.'

  'I know,' said Talus.

  'What?'

  'Just as you saw us on the cliff, so I saw you on the moor. When I saw you again later, first in the king's house and then at the feast, I recognised you.'

  'Recognised me? But you can't have seen my face. I was so far away.'

  'Your hair gives you away. And your height. And the way you walk. Faces are just the surface of people.'

  'You ... so why did you make me go through all this?'

  'I did not want you to prove your innocence, Lethriel. I wanted you to prove your ability to use your mind.'

  The blush gathered anew round Lethriel's bare neck. Bran hated Talus for teasing her like this. But he was relieved to know she wasn't a killer.

  'You were testing me.' To Bran's amazement, Lethriel laughed. 'You cruel, clever man—you were testing me!'

  Talus clapped his hands. 'So. Now, it is time for us really to get to work!'

  He crouched over his map and started sketching lines in the dirt floor. Lethriel watched him for a while with wide, appraising eyes. Finally she joined him. Outside, the moon rose out of sight.

  Inside the chamber it grew dark again. The moan of the wind drifted in and out, sounding more than ever like the voices of the dead.

  As the night rolled on, Talus tossed
out one theory after the next, describing any number of possible ways in which the king might have been killed. Bran added his own thoughts when they occurred to him, but mostly he left Talus to it. The bard's mind was like a running horse: get too close and you risked a kick to the head. Lethriel, however, seemed to be keeping up rather well.

  He found himself watching Lethriel. So like Keyli, yet so unlike her too. Bran had never met a woman more gentle than the wife he'd lost; Keyli had been the calm to his storm. Lethriel, however, had a temper to rival the fiercest warrior. To rival Bran's own, actually. Was it her grief, he wondered, making her like this, or her nature?

  He imagined lying with her. What would it be like? There had been nobody since Keyli's death. In the dark of the night, Lethriel would look just like the woman he'd lost. He imagined caressing her, saying nothing to her for fear of calling her the wrong name. Did she bring her temper to her bed? The thought excited him.

  Bran suddenly realised Talus was speaking to him.

  'What was that?' he said.

  'If you were not listening,' Talus replied, 'then clearly you have nothing of value to add to the discussion.'

  'I was thinking,' said Bran.

  'About what?'

  'Nothing important.'

  'I thought not. However, I will ask you again: have you noticed anything unusual about the behaviour of any of the king's sons?'

  'You mean apart from Fethan trying to kill me?'

  'I am aware of what Fethan did. Is there anything else?'

  Bran thought hard. 'Well ... Cabarrath did look nervous when Gantor spoke to him, just before he died. More than nervous, actually; he looked guilty.'

  Talus nodded. 'Gantor said, "You." Do you know what that was about?' he said to Lethriel.

  She shook her head. 'Is there anything else, Bran?'

  'I don't know. The youngster—Arak—is a bit twitchy. And the other one ... Sigathon, is it?

  The one who paints his face black. He hasn't said a single word since we arrived here.'

  'Sigathon is a quiet one,' said Lethriel. 'Talus, are you certain it was one of the king's sons that killed him? There's a whole village of people here. It could have been anyone.'

  'No,' said Talus. 'It could not. Bran will tell you why.'