The Ways of Winter

by Karen Myers

  “What is this?”

  “It’s an old, old token, a call to assembly. It signifies a place where lutins are welcome and honored. I made a lot of these, yesterday, and I want to put them where they might be found.”

  “You want them to be curious,” Maëlys said. “That’s what you’re trying to do.”

  “Well, I can’t find them, if they want to hide, but we can make ourselves easy enough to spot, can’t we?”

  She reached for the red cloak bound to her backpack. “We’ll make ourselves the most conspicuous lutins in Edgewood,” she said, as she put it on in a blaze of color. Maybe the only ones, too, she thought, outside the manor.

  CHAPTER 14

  Rhys shivered in the dark and dreaded the time when he was likely to lose what clothing they’d left him, after stripping him of his coat, shoes, and the contents of all his pockets.

  He envied his young sister Rhian who’d recently shown him how she kept a little three-inch knife tucked in under the root of her braid for emergencies. He’d thought her recent habit of carrying knives a silly sort of youthful enthusiasm, but now that they’d taken all of his, he’d wished he’d found more creative ways to hide one himself. He’d tell her so, when he saw her again, and make her smile.

  If he saw her again. He knew it was unlikely. This was the man who’d murdered their parents.

  They must be dead. Madog would never have had the patience to keep them alive all this time. Had they been in this very cell? Were they kept together? How long did they last?

  What did Madog do to them?

  He remembered vividly being ten years old and told he couldn’t come with them this time, that he had to stay home with his baby sister. He’d resented it—visiting his grandfather was a treat he enjoyed.

  Then something happened. The adults dodged him for days before Edern sat down and explained to him, with tears in his eyes, that his parents had been captured, that no one knew how to get them back. That no one was even sure they were alive. He’d felt his childhood stop on that day.

  He’d nodded soberly as his grandfather explained to him that he must now look after his baby sister, that she was his responsibility. He didn’t fully understand what had happened—that would come later—but he remembered being pleased, in the midst of everything, that Edern had told him the truth. That was a consolation he clung to in the years that followed, that someone he respected had judged him strong enough to bear it.

  Now he’d come full circle and ended up where his parents did, as if he’d accompanied them on that journey after all. As if nothing that had happened since was quite real, just a temporary postponement of what was meant to be.

  Rhys knew, in a distant way, that focusing on his parents’ fate was a way of avoiding thinking about his own, something his mind kept shying away from.

  Of all the fool things to do, picking up that spell-stick. When he heard George’s shout he’d finally put it together, that George had moved the entrance to the way and he’d walked into it. He could still hear that cry ringing in his ears as he stumbled off balance into the arms of Madog’s guards and saw the grins on their faces, the smoke of the torches on the wall—the disdain they had for him as two of them effortlessly bound his hands and disarmed him before he could even reach for a blade.

  What worth was all that training with Hadyn when I can’t defend myself when I most need to?

  He knew, better than he wanted to admit, that this could only end one way. The faster he could resign himself to it, the better. Face that fact and square up to it, he told himself, regrets are pointless. They can only kill you once.

  Madog felt as full of pride as a tick. The partridge walked right into the snare, first try. It made up for the botched version of a few years ago.

  It was going to be delicious playing with him. Young, just had a taste of rule, and in Creiddylad’s domain, no less. Shame she wasn’t here to see this, she’d appreciate the justice of it.

  He’d have to keep Scilti from ruining him right away—he’d need him to bait Gwyn. Still, as long as the damage wasn’t too permanent, that left a lot of room for fun and games. If he did have to give him back to Gwyn eventually, to entice him into a trap, how much better if he went back broken, a weakling for a foster-son.

  He’d never liked him, too much a reminder of Gwyn. Let Gwyn see what he could do to one of his.

  He could taste the possibilities. His possession of this piece would constrain Gwyn to at least meet with him, and he could control where. He started thinking about ambushes and angles, his mind humming. With Gwyn dead, nothing could keep him from Annwn.

  Rhys looked up as his cell door opened and the light of the torches carried by three guards dazzled his eyes. He made himself stand up awkwardly, his bound hands impeding his movements. He wanted to meet his fate with whatever dignity he could, for as long as possible.

  Madog stood in the doorway, looking like a genial host with that bland expression Rhys was learning to loathe. He stared at Rhys in silence, then a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

  “I don’t know if you ever met Scilti, here,” he said, and stood aside as a tall, thin, cadaverous man stepped into the cell.

  Rhys had never seen the man’s face and knew he’d been glamoured when Rhian met him. “Is this the man who was bested by my little sister and her friend, before we defeated your last attempt? Why, I’m pleased to meet such a man.” He put a juicy sneer into his voice.

  Scilti scowled and strode forward, giving Rhys a vicious backhand blow that knocked him down and bounced his head off the stone floor. With his hands bound behind him he couldn’t break his fall. As his head spun he heard Madog say, quietly, “Now, now, we want him to last quite a while, we do. I have much more satisfying plans for him. I want Gwyn to see him with his mind gone, before I kill them both.”

  The lights spun crazily as they left and the door shut, leaving him in darkness again. He couldn’t quite tell up from down in the dark with his head throbbing, so he slowly scooted across the floor until he fetched up against a wall and leaned against it, working his arms to try and keep the circulation going.

  I’m going to rot in here, he thought, or worse, I’ll break. He didn’t doubt that Madog might be able to do it. How strong could he be, in the face of hopelessness? He’d never been tested—he feared the failure more than the test.

  He’d had a young man’s confidence in his personal immortality but now he thought, I’m only twenty-two. I’m going to die before I really start my life. Never to have a wife or child. He hadn’t expected to marry for decades yet—after all, there was no rush. And now it was too late.

  Oh, grandfather, he thought. All that work to save me from my parents’ fate and look what happens. I’m so sorry to bring this on you. I wish I could tell you so.

  He knew his foster-father Gwyn would mourn him deeply. He understood the emotions under the public face he used for ruling. I mustn’t be the instrument that brings him down, he thought. If I can’t stand it, I must find a way to end it. It’s the only way I can thank him now for his care of Rhian and me.

  Rhian. I’m sorry, sister. I wanted to see you grow up, such a woman as you’ll make. Don’t grieve for me. You’ll inherit all the wishes for both of us, and I know you can bear it.

  He couldn’t think about it anymore. The throbbing in his head reminded him that as long as they gave him this much freedom of movement, he could always run at a wall and dash his brains out. He promised himself not to do anything that would jeopardize that option. He thought he might be able to withstand whatever came, as long as that possibility remained open.

  CHAPTER 15

  Ceridwen rose to her feet at the council table in the conservatory and slapped her hand down, loudly. The noise startled everyone for a moment and even George looked up from where he’d been sitting, silent. “Enough! We must master our grief if we’re going to be of any use to Rhys.”

  The tumult of the various reactions subsided, and Edern raised his han
d for silence, the tracks of his tears still visible on his grim face.

  “Thank you, Ceridwen. You are, as always, correct.”

  She sat down, looking prepared to do it again if necessary.

  Edern said, “While Rhys is absent I take upon myself the office of regent on his behalf.”

  There were no objections.

  “First question, are we sure he’s with Madog?” he said.

  Edern looked to George, but it was Rhodri who answered. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  George opened his mouth reluctantly. He’d said little since returning from the Edgewood Way’s entrance. “We know the way ends in roughly the same place, over in the valley.”

  “So, we know who and where. Can we attack?” Edern asked.

  George shook his head. “Remember the courier’s tale to Gwyn. That trap way probably emerges into a secure area, like a dungeon.” What about the other one, Mag, any idea what it’s like at the other end?

  *Dark, underground.*

  “Mag says the other one also comes out underground.”

  Lleision said, “We’d be sending our men into certain ambush, my lord.”

  “Will Madog hold him as a hostage or kill him?” Edern said. George could see the effort it cost him to say it.

  “We have no way of knowing,” Ceridwen said, “but consider his previous actions. He’s been trying to undermine Gwyn’s rule for a long time. I think he wants Annwn itself, and for that he must defeat Gwyn. Rhys is more useful as a live hostage for that purpose.”

  Edern nodded. George could see that no one wanted to say, “but look what happened to Rhys’s parents,” though everyone around the table thought it.

  “Let’s operate on that belief. How can we rescue him?” Edern said.

  Once again the room erupted into a variety of wild suggestions.

  “I’ll do it,” George said quietly, almost to himself. In all the noise, no one heard him except Rhodri, next to him, who stared.

  “What? How?”

  “I’ll cross the ridge. Madog doesn’t think it’s possible.”

  Their nearest neighbors quieted to listen.

  “What makes you think you can?” Rhodri said.

  George looked at him, angry. “Just like the hounds, remember? Like I can do this,” he said, his voice rising as he slapped a hand on Mag, and Rhodri winced, clearly remembering what it felt like when he touched her. “I might as well be good for something.”

  By now the room was silent, listening to him. He rubbed his face and drew himself upright in his seat.

  “I can cross the ridge. Probably. I know the land, at least the version in my world, and it’s not that far, maybe thirty miles. There’s a river to cross, the Shenandoah, but only the one. It shouldn’t be hard to find where all the ways converge, and that’s where Madog will be, in the center of his web. And where he is, I’ll find Rhys.” If he’s alive, he thought.

  “Mag, can you hear me, that far away?”

  *Picture of Cloudie, Picture of George.*

  “I think that was a yes. She can hear Cloudie that far.”

  Lleision said, “But no one else can understand our guest.”

  “No, that’s not true anymore,” Eluned said. “It’s clumsy, but we’re making great strides. We could keep in touch using Mag, if she’s willing.”

  One knock.

  “Cloudie will be in the same place, I imagine,” George said.

  “But to free her you’d have to get Madog to release his claim on her, if she’s really like a way,” Rhodri said.

  “Or I could kill Madog,” George said, matter-of-factly.

  The room went quiet.

  Edern said, “I don’t know what it would take to free Rhys. He must be under guard.”

  “But killing Madog would be a good first step,” George said, his face unchanged.

  “Be serious,” Rhodri said. “How would you do that?”

  “I’ll think of something.” He roused himself. “Look, do you have a better idea? We can’t leave them there, even if it’s hopeless. We just can’t.”

  Ceridwen said quietly, “Let’s look at this as a possibility and explore how it would be done.”

  Lleision said, “We must secure our own borders first, and we must retain communications with Gwyn. If you leave, huntsman, who can use the Archer’s Way?”

  George said, “Here’s what we can do. I’ll kill that new way to the west and the trap way before I leave. We can send one more batch of messages to Gwyn through the Archer’s Way this afternoon, then I’ll seal that shut, just in case. Without the trap way, we should be able to use the Edgewood Way again, and that solves the communication with Gwyn issue.”

  He turned to Mag, “Madog might bring Cloudie to make more ways here. Is there anything you can do about that?”

  *Picture of Mag, picture of Rhodri. Picture of Cloudie coming, then going.*

  “I don’t understand. You and Rhodri can keep Cloudie from coming?”

  One knock.

  “How?” Rhodri said.

  “I don’t know, ask her later,” George said impatiently. “There’s your defense, Lleision.”

  Edern said, “My boy, Gwyn will not thank me if I let you throw away your life on this. It’s not your fault.”

  “Then whose fault is it?” George said. “Besides something like this had to happen eventually, for Cloudie’s sake, and at least Madog won’t expect it. Who knows, it might even work.” Not likely, he thought, keeping his face straight.

  He looked at Cadugan. “I’ll go in at the nearest gap, on foot, so I can get through the woods on the slope. I’ll need supplies for at least six days, that’s three coming and going, more if I can bring Rhys out.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “At first light. I’ll kill the ways and then leave.”

  He stood up abruptly before they could try to talk him out of it and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

  George dismounted from Mosby in the river meadow at the exit to the Archer’s Way. He’d made the courier delivery and picked up the message packets from Greenway Court and now it was time to seal it, just in case Madog’s partial ownership in it still posed any sort of threat.

  Mag had come with him, to take him through the way she’d made, but she’d said little to him since the council meeting. Now she stood motionless in the late afternoon sun, like a boulder that had recently been brushed clean of snow. Something in her posture caught George’s eye.

  “What?” he said.

  *Hesitance.*

  “Go ahead, spit it out.”

  *Picture of George, picture of Madog. Picture of George shrinking and vanishing.*

  “You think Madog will kill me?” he said evenly.

  *Agreement.*

  “Well, it may be so.”

  *Picture of Granite Cloud, picture of Madog. Picture of Granite Cloud, bigger. Picture of Madog shrinking and vanishing.*

  “If Cloudie waits long enough, Madog will die? Is that it?”

  *Agreement.*

  “That could be thousands of years. He might pass along his claim to someone else. And while he controls her, others will die.” His manner was curt and grim. “Now, you picture this.”

  He portrayed for her a picture of Rhys laughing, a scene of his hunt staff all trying on their brand new livery. He pictured the scene with Rhys gone, then Rhys broken on the ground somewhere dark, with the ghostly images of his parents broken on the ground behind him, and Edern left standing. He pictured Rhian weeping.

  “No,” he said. “No. Not while I can help it.”

  She backed away from him, and he turned to the Archer’s Way and began the weaving of the seal.

  Cadugan had been a pleasant relief, George thought, treating his requests with impersonal coolness and efficiency. He was finally satisfied that the pack waiting on the bench in a corner of the main hall was as close to ideal as he could achieve, given the necessary trade-off between weight and supplies. He hefted it and estimated its weight at about fifty
pounds, a heavy load, but he had food for a journey in and out, and extra for Rhys if he was successful, as well as adequate shelter for a winter trip in snowy conditions.

  He could hear the post-dinner conversations in the other rooms but had no desire for company. Even Mag had picked up on his mood after her unexpected try at dissuading him this afternoon. He’d been able to avoid most other encounters, something in his face clearly warning them off.

  He was grateful for it. He couldn’t speak about why he found this attempt so necessary, and he would not be prevented from it.

  But now he stood in the empty hall and thought of Angharad. When I leave in the morning, I may not come back, he acknowledged. He drew out the pendant and let it hang suspended, the arrow pointing south, firm as a rod. I have a duty to her, too, he thought, and his heart ached.

  He tucked the pendant back under his shirt and walked down the hallway to the estate offices. As he expected, Ceridwen and Eluned were both there, helping Cadugan with his continuing search through the records. They looked up as he came in.

  “Huntsman,” Cadugan said, carefully. “Something we can do for you?”

  His expression wavered before settling into its official mold, and George realized that his demeanor earlier had been his way of making things easier for George, not his genuine feelings.

  “Yes, sorry to disturb you all,” he said. “I’m looking for pen and paper. I’d like to write something for Angharad tonight.”

  Ceridwen handed him the materials and he thanked her, trying to ignore the sympathy on her face. He carried them up to his room and shut his door.

  Benitoe knelt before the main hearth at the mill while Maëlys prepared an evening meal for them both. She was frying sausage slices in a small iron pan and had promised corn cakes fried in the fat afterward.

  He busied himself with preparing water to refill their water bags, from snow newly melted and boiled in their bronze bowls. He took the bowls by their handles, using cloths to avoid burning himself, and placed them on a convenient snowbank to cool, watching as they melted the snow around them to keep them from tipping over. When they had lost most of their heat, he poured the contents into the bags for tomorrow’s journey. He kept back about a cup of water that Maëlys had asked for.