Talus and the Frozen King

by Graham Edwards

  'So tell me, bard. What is it that you wish to discuss?'

  Talus regarded the little drawing scratched into the floor. 'Spirits and kings. I am interested to know, Mishina, what you think of such things.'

  'In the desert, men believe in the sun,' said Mishina, daubing the black paint over the blue that was already there. 'In other places beliefs are different. If you have travelled, you will know this.

  In the high mountain lands of ...'

  'I am not interested in mountains. I would rather hear about Creyak.'

  'Very well. In Creyak, men believe their king is like the trunk of a tree. His living subjects are the branches, and his ancestral spirits are the roots. When a king dies, another must take his place, or else all communication must end between those who live in the air and those who are dead in the ground.'

  'Is it what all the people here believe?'

  Now the entire top half of Mishina's face was black. His old eyes stared deep into the fire.

  'I do not understand what you mean.'

  'To kill a king, a man must first rid himself of fear. Fear of the ancestors. Fear of the spirit world and all the power it holds over him. This is a very difficult thing to do.'

  'Difficult indeed.'

  'But not if that man does not believe in the spirit world to begin with.'

  Mishina looked up from the flames and into Talus's eyes. His half-painted face made him look like two men. The illusion made Talus feel momentarily dizzy.

  Then Mishina's mouth split wide open and he let out a great guffaw of laughter. 'A man who does not believe in the spirits? Who has ever heard of such a thing? You joke with me ... ah, but I should expect nothing less from a wandering bard! Tell me, what other tales of fancy do you carry in your motley travelling robes?'

  Talus traced the sloping sides of the desert-cairn Mishina had drawn. 'I carry many tales. But I had rather hoped to hear one of yours.'

  Mishina wiped his hands clean on a scrap of paint-clotted rabbit-skin. Then he dipped one fingertip back in the paint and began to dab black spots on to the blue paint covering the bottom half of his face. 'What would you have me tell you?'

  'Tell me about Farrum. There is a feud going on here, I think. That interests me.'

  Mishina nodded. 'A feud, yes, you are right. It began many years ago, when Hashath and Farrum were children together in Creyak. At that time, Sleeth was an empty island, far out to sea.

  Farrum was the son of a warrior—this was a time when the people of Creyak fought often against their neighbours, you understand. They were violent years.'

  'Creyak seems peaceful enough now,' said Talus.

  'When he became king, Hashath brought calm and order. He made truces with his neighbours. He turned Creyak in on itself, and made it a haven for all those who lived there.'

  'What about Farrum?'

  'Farrum became frustrated. His father died in a fierce fight with a rival warlord and he swore to avenge him. But Hashath forbade it. So Farrum did the only thing he could think of. He challenged Hashath himself.'

  'He fought the king?' In Talus's experience such challenges were rare, though not unheard of.

  'The fight was brief. Hashath was a powerful man and his strength and skill made Farrum look a fool. Farrum fled in shame, taking his supporters with him. Most were his dead father's friends and their women.'

  'That was when Farrum made his home instead on the island of Sleeth?'

  Mishina closed his eyes. The black paint around them was already dry. 'Yes. And has lived there ever since. Others have joined him over the years—outcasts from many of the settlements along this part of the coast.'

  'Outcasts,' said Talus. 'Tell me—do these outcasts include other people from Creyak? People Hashath did not ... approve of?'

  Mishina shrugged. 'Hashath was strict. If there were people in Creyak he did not care for, he did not encourage them to stay.'

  Talus could feel his thoughts buzzing again. He pressed his hand against the top of his head to stop them spilling out. 'If Farrum had beaten Hashath in that fight, he would have become king of Creyak and the history of this place would have been very different.'

  Mishina opened his eyes again. 'For many years now, the people of Creyak have feared attack from the sea by Farrum. He is brutal and ambitious, and his people are clever boatmen. But the attack has never come.'

  The shaman reached behind him and brought out another bowl. This one was filled with blue pigment. He picked up a little of the colour on a clean fingertip and pressed blue dots into the new black. Soon his new face was completed. The design reminded Talus of the scarred faces of the visitors from across the sea.

  'You know much about the history of this place, Mishina,' he said, 'considering you are not a native.'

  'How do you know that?'

  Talus pointed to the drawing. 'Like me, you are a wanderer.'

  'It is my duty to seek out truth wherever it is to be found.' The shaman's eyes seemed to glow inside their rings of black paint. 'The spirits guide me in this. They take me where I need to go in order to see the things I need to see.' He rose to his feet. 'Now please, forgive me. There are rituals I must attend to.'

  'May I ask one more question before I leave?'

  'If you must.'

  'Where do you keep your supply of greycaps?'

  Mishina frowned, cracking his newly-applied mask a little. 'An odd question for a bard.'

  'Indulge me.'

  The shaman considered for a moment, then crossed to the far side of the room. Talus followed close behind. Mishina lifted a lid of stone to reveal a shallow pit in the floor. The bottom of the pit was covered in fine grey dust.

  Mishina delved first down, then sideways. His hand came up holding a pale leather pouch.

  Mishina felt inside it. Even through the paint on his face, Talus could see his expression change to one of shock.

  'Gone!' said Mishina. 'How did you know?'

  'Who can say? Perhaps the spirits are guiding me too.'

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As soon as he reached the king's house, Bran rolled the doorstone aside and entered. The heat of the fire struck him an almost physical blow. Someone had piled the hearth high with peat and the flames were licking halfway to the ceiling. The whole interior was thick with smoke and aglow with dancing light.

  The meeting was over. Talus and Mishina were nowhere to be seen. But Tharn and Lethriel were still here. They were lying together on a bed of grey furs, their naked bodies locked together.

  The flickering firelight painted their movements orange. The red of Lethriel's hair was a flame all its own.

  Bran couldn't move his feet. He knew it was wrong to watch, but he couldn't look away. Had he wondered what Lethriel looked like underneath her winter wraps? Well, now he knew. Countless tiny moments suddenly made sense: shared glances between her and Tharn; and what she'd said to Bran in the passage about love coming again. So this was what she'd meant.

  Lethriel's head came up. Her eyes—each holding a bright point of vivid light—found Bran and widened in surprise. Tharn didn't see him at all. Lethriel's hands stroked the skin of Tharn's back.

  Holding Bran's gaze, she shook her head. Her expression pleaded.

  Bran left, rolling the doorstone back into place as quietly as he could. His notion of remaining in Creyak with Lethriel had been nothing more than a fantasy. He was trapped on the path after all, facing the same two choices he'd always faced: go on, or turn back.

  The fog enveloped him, sucking at his thoughts. After the heat he'd felt inside the house of the king, it was very cold. He felt foolish. But he was also relieved. If his brief dream of being with Lethriel had come true, what would Keyli have thought? Would she not want him to be happy? If only he could see her one more time, he could ask her for himself.

  But Keyli was dead.

  Back at their temporary home, Bran was relieved to find the hearth alive with a fire almost as vigorous as the one he'd just left. Even better, a deer
haunch was roasting on a stick. Fat dripped sizzling into the flames. The smell of cooked meat was overwhelming. Bran's stomach let out a bellow. It was as much as he could do not to grab the meat right out of the hearth.

  'A gift from Mishina,' said Talus. He was standing by the open doorway with his arms clasped over his chest: a meditative stance.

  'Are you sure it's not poisoned?' said Bran. Even so, he squatted by the fire and judged the venison was cooked to perfection. With his good hand, he tore off a hunk.

  'You do not like the shaman.'

  'I just don't think he likes us.' Bran took a sank his teeth into the juicy meat. At that moment he didn't care if it was poisoned or not. 'Oh, this is delicious! Talus, you've got to try it.'

  Like a bird taking flight, Talus unfolded himself from his position of rest and started dancing round the fire. 'And now,' he said as he pranced, 'you must tell me what you learned on the beach!'

  'Slow down. Sit down. Let me fill my belly.' Bran was tired of Talus's lightning changes of mood.

  'Never mind your belly, Bran. We do not have much time.'

  Bran carried on eating. 'What's the rush?'

  'I have asked Tharn to send his brothers here to us, each in their turn. This is our only chance to speak with them all before the final rituals begin to send Hashath to the afterdream. Once they start, days will pass before we can do any more useful work. By then, it may be too late.'

  Bran looked around the empty house. 'They're not here yet.'

  'Tharn will send them when he has concluded his business with Lethriel.'

  'I think they might be a little while.'

  Talus stopped dancing. He cocked his head on one side. 'Ah, so you know about them.'

  'Now I do. I suppose you knew all along?'

  'Of course! Now, tell me about the boat.'

  Bran sighed. The bard was incorrigible. Well, talking about what he'd found on the beach would at least distract him from the turmoil of emotion he'd felt since seeing Tharn and Lethriel together. And he had to admit to feeling smug about having his own surprise to spring on the bard.

  'The boat has a clever design,' he began. 'There's a flat deck inside. It makes it much easier to move around. Well, it would have been, if it hadn't been for all the clutter.'

  He went on to describe the vessel's internal structure in as much detail as he could remember. It felt good to talk like this; for a long time, boats had been his whole life, and he'd forgotten how much he missed being around them.

  'Anyway, Talus, since when were you so interested in boats?'

  'I am interested in everything. Now tell me the rest.'

  'There's not much more to tell.' Bran paused. 'Oh, unless you wanted to hear about the woman I found hiding in the hull.'

  The bard's eyebrows lifted up, making deep creases in his hairless brow. Bran suppressed a smile of satisfaction, then related his encounter with Alayin.

  'A woman,' said the bard. 'Very interesting.'

  'I hope she managed to get out of the boat,' said Bran. 'Lath—that's the guard—was unconscious when I left him. It was the best chance she was going to get.'

  'Oh, believe me, Bran—the woman you found has not gone anywhere. She is still on the boat, precisely where you left her.'

  'What?'

  'Let us return to the man you found asleep: Lath.'

  'Yes. He was guarding the boat.'

  'Against what?'

  'Well, against ...' Bran could hear himself beginning to bluster. He battled on regardless. 'Theft. What if someone from Creyak wanted to steal it?'

  'Steal the boat? A boat that requires at least eight men to crew it? What person, in a community that has turned its back on the sea, would want to steal such a vessel? Try again, Bran.'

  'There must be valuables aboard. Farrum put Lath on guard to stop someone stealing things from inside the boat.'

  'Very well. So tell me, Bran, what valuables did you find?'

  'Well ... none, I suppose. Just the usual boat clutter. Provisions, clothes, tools, that sort of thing.'

  'But there was something, Bran, was there not? A single thing you found, surely the most valuable thing on board? The thing Lath had really been put there to guard?'

  Bran shook his head. 'I don't know what you ...'

  Then he had it.

  'Her,' he said. 'Alayin. That's what you're talking about, isn't it? Lath wasn't there to guard the boat at all. He was there to guard Alayin.'

  'You found your way to the truth in the end!'

  'Farrum didn't want anybody finding her there.'

  'Yet that is exactly what you did. I think we should keep your discovery to ourselves, for now at least.'

  Bran called up an image of Alayin: dark, scarred skin surrounded by white fur. 'She lied to me,' he said. 'She didn't come to Creyak to see her lover at all. So why is she here?'

  'Perhaps some of her story is true,' Talus replied. 'Perhaps not. But it is an interesting development, is it not? Now, can you guess what I have been doing while you have been playing with boats?'

  'You always tell me not to guess.' Bran waved the hunk of meat he was steadily working his way through. 'But if you want me to I will. Has it got something to do with the shaman?'

  'I have been speaking with Mishina, yes.' Bran put down the meat and stared out into the fog. Mention of the shaman made him feel cold again, despite the heat of the fire.

  'He is unusual among shaman,' Talus went on. 'Although he serves Creyak as spirit-walker, in the past he has walked himself, far across the world. He is interested in all spirits, not just those of this land.'

  'Sounds like someone else I could mention.' Bran didn't have much time for the wider world Talus often talked about. The world beneath his feet was enough for him.

  'But, clever as he is, Mishina did not know his greycaps were missing.'

  'Greycaps? Oh, the mushrooms. What have they got to do with ...?'

  Talus was up and dancing again, unable to contain himself. Bran felt himself beginning to relax. Sometimes the bard was too much like a little boy not to smile.

  'There is a truth here in Creyak which nobody wishes to face, Bran, because it is too terrible to contemplate.'

  'And what truth is that?'

  'The fact that someone has killed a king.'

  'I know. We've been over this already. I can't imagine the punishment that waits for the killer in the afterdream. Nobody in their right mind would consign themselves to it.'

  Talus clapped his hands. 'Precisely, Bran! The question is therefore: how does a man remove himself from his right mind?'

  Bran was pleased he was managing to keep up. 'The greycaps,' he said. 'They affect thoughts and dreams. The shaman probably uses them to enter his spirit-trance.'

  'Well done, Bran. A man who eats greycaps might convince himself of anything. Might convince himself, for example, that it is perfectly safe for him to kill a king. Of course, it is only an idea.'

  Talus sat on the dirt floor before the blazing hearth. Bran tore another chunk of meat from the haunch and tossed it to him. Talus caught it and started to nibble. 'How did we get mixed up in this, Talus?'

  'Our path leads us where it will. You know that.'

  'I suppose so. I just don't know why it had to lead us here.'

  'We are where we need to be, Bran. We always are. Which reminds me of a tale I know in which ...'

  'Forget the storytelling, Talus. Just tell me what you think is going on in Creyak.'

  'Ah, to the point! Reliable Bran! But you forget that what we think is not important. All that matters is what we know.'

  Bran finished his meat and licked the last of the juices from his good hand. 'All right. What do we know?'

  'We know two men have died mysteriously.'

  'And that a third man has arrived unexpectedly.'

  'Farrum, yes. Good again, Bran. Farrum's arrival is certainly suspicious. And here is something else: we can guess that the king was probably killed by someone close to him. This is not
something we can know, but we do know that this is how the pattern of the world is woven.'

  'Now who's making guesses? I'd tuck in to this deer, Talus, while there's still some left.'

  'No time, Bran!' Talus pointed outside. 'See? Our first visitor is here!'

  A man emerged from the fog to fill the doorway. He was so tall he had to stoop.

  'Please come in, Cabarrath,' said Talus. 'We have a little food, if you would share it with us.'

  'I am not hungry,' said Cabarrath. He smiled, but it was a smile filled with sadness. Bran felt sorry for him. For them all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  'Tharn tells me you have questions,' said Cabarrath, seating himself by the fire. He moved his long limbs with economy and grace. His face was sad and open. He did not look like a killer.

  In Talus's experience that meant nothing at all.

  'Yes,' said Talus. 'My questions are few, and they are simple. Are you ready to answer them?'

  'I will tell you what I know. Anything to catch the demon that is loose in Creyak.'

  'Demon? So do you believe the spirits are responsible for the deaths of your father and brother?'

  Cabarrath shook his head. There were dark rings under his eyes. Grief could keep a man awake. So could guilt.

  'All I know is that I helped carry my father's body from the snow into the cairn, and that I held my brother Gantor in my arms as he died. How these things happened, I cannot say.'

  'Where were you on the night your father was murdered, Cabarrath?'

  'In my own house.'

  'Can you prove it?'

  'I do not understand.'

  'Was there anybody else there with you?'

  'Tharn was there. We live in the same house.'

  'I suppose that, if I asked Tharn the same question, he would say he was with you?'

  'Of course.'

  'Your house lies near the maze, does it not?'

  'Yes.'

  'And you heard nothing?'

  'Not until the screaming.'

  'The screaming?'

  'When my father's body was found.'