Crier's Knife

by Neal Litherland

  “It sounds a pretty,” Dirk said.

  “A pretty prison for pretty birds. The greatest treasure of the temple was kept below, though. A huge stone, perfectly round but for a single, missing piece. Unlike the rest of the temple, this stone was milk pale, but hidden rainbows danced along it just out of sight. It was cold so far down in the earth, but the stone was warm. Like a clay brick taken from near the fire, and placed at your feet to warm your tent.” Afra clutched herself, shuddering at the memory. “Lanissara caressed it, and made each of us come to lay our hands on it. It felt wrong. Like there was a sickness burning inside the rock, and it was trying to reach us. She told us not to be afraid. The Fisfitun was a great gift, she said. Something left for us in the long ago, before the ancestors of our ancestors were even born. Something we had lost, and which had been gone so long we had forgotten we had ever had it. It had been waiting for our return, and it rejoiced that we had come to know it once more.”

  “Where does Teller fit into this tale?” Dirk asked.

  “He came to us during the height of the summer,” Afra said. “He rode right into our lands, and when confronted told the men who found him that he had a great gift for Lanissara. They were under strict orders to turn away any who came into our lands, and to kill them if they persisted. They brought him to us anyway. He was led to the temple steps, and made to wait atop them for Lanissara. She had him brought forth, and we were all made to watch to see how she dealt with outsiders who defied her commands.”

  “She let him talk, I wager,” Dirk said.

  “He spoke before she could stop him,” Afra said. “He told her he had walked far, and ridden farther, to carry the stolen seed to her. He called it the key to Ya-ra's vault.”

  “What does that mean?” Dirk asked.

  “I do not know,” Afra said. “But it meant something to Lanissara. She stared at him as if struck. “When she again found her voice, she had only sweet words for him. She asked if he had brought the key with him. He reached beneath his shirt, and removed a small stone. It was perfectly round, but more than that, it shone with the same rainbow as the Fisfitun did.”

  “The missing piece?” Dirk asked. Afra nodded. Dirk sighed, and nodded back. “That was the chit he used to barter with her, then.”

  “It seemed she would have him thrown from the ledge anyway, but the more he spoke, the more she listened. She sat her throne, staring at the stone in his hand the whole while. When he finally fell silent, she smiled. It was a shining thing, that smile. She stepped down off her throne, drew him to her, and kissed him. She took him by the hand, and whisked him down into the temple like a girl on her wedding night. The two of them entered the lowest chamber, and did not leave that room for a fortnight.”

  “What did they do down there?” Dirk asked.

  “”Not what you might think. The walls in the lowest chamber were covered in script I knew not. Lanissara pored over it, night, day, and otherwise before Teller came to her. She took her meals in that place, whispering to herself as she traced the letters with her fingers. She even took to sleeping in the chamber. She murmured when she slept, and never rested well, but she refused to leave. Some days she raged, screaming at the stone. She threw platters, and shattered pitchers if anyone interrupted her. One of us was always there to attend her, should she need. She showed Teller the words, and he read them with her. Or tried to, at least.” Afra took a ragged breath, and swallowed hard. “I heard them. It was like other voices joined theirs, echoing from the walls. Whispers that stirred like dust left undisturbed for many and many, until awakened with a careless breath.”

  Dirk closed his eyes, squeezing them until stars burst in his head. Sleep hung heavy round his neck, whispering in his ear, and pleading with him to return to the blackness where he had spent the past day. He took a deep breath, and shook himself.

  “Did they solve the riddle?” Dirk asked.

  “I do not know,” Afra said. “But he stayed down there with her for some time. Then, just as summer began to draw toward its close, he disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Dirk asked. “Where did he go?”

  Afra nodded. “He was gone for three days. Those who had been on watch the night he slipped away were caned until they could neither walk nor stand, and Lanissara threatened worse punishments if he was not found and returned to her. The Hann Dak'ham scoured the stone halls, but there was no sign of him within the temple. When they were sure he was not hiding within, they spread out to run him to ground. It was the morn of the third day, when they were riding cross-country looking for his trail, that they found him. He had run too far, too fast, and he had twisted his ankle as he fled. It was whole, but he could do little more than limp on it. He had broken a branch to use as a crutch, but it made his trail plain enough a child could follow it. Even so, he nearly made his way back to the north road by the time they came upon him.”

  “Does he yet live?” Dirk asked. “Or was that a lie to keep me cozy in front of your leashes?”

  “I know not,” Afra said. She rubbed at her face, and sniffed. “When he was dragged back, Lanissara imprisoned him in one of the meditation cells. They are small, bare things with just enough room to sleep if one is of a mind. A hole was made in the door to pass him food, and a plate of coals to keep the chill out of his skin. Tharn is his minder. He was the one who dragged him back, and the only one who seems deaf to your blood's honeyed words.”

  Dirk nodded. Afra fell silent, rearranging her skirts before folding her hands in her lap. Dirk shifted his wounded arm, stretching it as much as he could in the bindings. A gust of wind rattled the shutters, and the coals grew brighter, hissing at the breeze like a disturbed serpent. Candlelight caressed the blade of Dirk's dagger, teasing along the bare length and pricking itself at the very tip.

  “I am grateful for your aid,” Dirk said after a time. “But if you would have something of me, speak it. Do not play the fox, I have not the strength to waste.”

  “I want you to kill her,” Afra said. “I wish to free my family. If you can do this, then I will lead you to her seat of power, and to where she is keeping your blood.”

  Dirk nodded. “I reckoned. Is there aught else I should know?”

  “There is something. Before we left, Lanissara called me to her. Daerun and Gerd were already there, waiting. She told me I was to ride here with them, and meet you. I was to say Teller had gone west, and that he had only been among us a brief time.” Afra turned her face toward Dirk, and held his eyes. “My parents are with the others are the foot of her black temple, and my small sister is kept inside with the other girls. I knew that if I did not do what she asked, or if I just ran, that she would pass the punishment onto them.”

  Dirk nodded. Afra licked her lips, and took a calming breath.

  “I asked her what I should do if you did not believe me,” Afra said. “She laughed. She said it did not matter if you believed me or not. If you refused to go, then Daerun and Gerd would deal with you. And if you were as dangerous as Owin claimed, then they were to awaken the Shanasaa, and send it forth once night had fallen to slay you as you slept.”

  “And then?” Dirk asked.

  Afra shrugged. “We were told to return by Reap night.”

  “What is that?” Dirk asked.

  “The end of the old year, and the start of the new,” Afra said. “The night that perfectly balances day, and evening.”

  “The equinox,” Dirk said.

  “If you call it so in your home,” Afra said. “Lanissara made it clear that she intends to honor the Reap. That means she will have to go to the Sharran Fa'ar, and make preparation for sacrifice. That place is a goodly journey from her black temple, and she will bring everyone with to bear witness to the rite.”

  “Everyone?” Dirk asked.

  Afra shrugged. “I do not know if she will bring your blood with her. If she does not, then there will never be a better time to steal him away. If she does, though, we can hide ourselves inside, and wait for t
he quiet hours once the others have returned.”

  Dirk took a deep breath, and turned the proposal over in his mind. He licked his lips, and nodded slowly.

  “How much time do we have?” Dirk asked.

  “We would need to leave soon,” she said. “Upon the morrow.”

  “Then we will go, and I will do this thing you ask” Dirk said. “Before we depart, I will need you to attend two tasks.”

  “Name them,” Afra said without hesitation. Dirk did, and she nodded. “They will be done.”

  “Good,” Dirk said. He settled his head, and closed his eyes. “Until the morn, then.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The morning was growing stale by the time Dirk finally roused himself from sleep. He grunted, rolling onto his left side, and pushing himself out from under the covers. Gooseflesh pricked his skin as he sat up into the room's chill. He rubbed his head, grabbed a bedpost, and levered himself to his feet. He winced, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. Every muscle ached, but they obeyed. Dirk dressed, taking his time and doing his best to ignore the sick throb at the base of his skull. He had to sit down once, when the world tried to slide out from under him, but when the fit passed he stamped into his boots, and made his way to the Sheltered City's common room.

  The place was shut up tight. No breeze stirred through the windows, and no sounds crept in through the barred door. The fire crackled, its light doing little to dispel the shadows that gathered in the corners and hung from the rafters. Blood stains still marred one of the chairs, and there were hints of more on the tiles near the hearth. Thicket lay on the back of Caddell's chair, and he meowed plaintively at Dirk. Dirk crossed to the little beast, and gently ran his left hand over the cat's side. Afra and Caddell sat close together at one of the tables, talking over the remains of their breakfast. Both of them looked up when Dirk stepped into the room, and they stared as he came toward them. He sat down carefully, as if he had almost forgotten how. Afra's face was a silent mask of worry. Caddell picked up a mug of tea, and sipped noisily.

  “You could be worse,” he said, sipping. “All things considered.”

  “Glad to see you are in fine humor,” Dirk said. “You have my thanks. Both of you.”

  Caddell gave Dirk one of his sloppy, lop-sided smiles. “To tell it true, I would have swung that stick whether you were there or not. But I am no less pleased that you are still among the living.”

  Dirk nodded, and turned his attention to Afra. “Did you do as I asked?”

  Afra nodded. “The animals are in the barn, along with the cloaks. There was no saving the tunics after spilling that much blood on them.”

  Dirk nodded. “That will have to do, then.”

  “I would have words, Dirk,” Caddell said. “Will you listen?”

  “I think I owe you that much,” Dirk said.

  Caddell nodded, more in acceptance than in agreement. “If you are going to seek Lanissara, please, do not take Afra with you.”

  “Caddell-” Afra started, her expression exasperated.

  “I can show you how to get to her black temple,” Caddell said. “I cannot ride with you, though I would were I able.”

  Caddell turned, and looked at Afra. He groped for her hand, and she gently wrapped her fingers around his. When Caddell spoke again, it was like he couldn't get enough breath. Nor could he raise his eyes to Dirk's face.

  “The only reason she was let out of that place was that Lanissara trusted her. It took her more than a year to step out from under the cloud I put over her when I played the hero.” Caddell licked his lips, and swallowed. His throat clicked, and he managed to stifle a cough. “She managed to escape unburnt. Why ask her to go back into the fire?”

  Dirk nodded. He waited a moment, making sure Caddell had nothing else he wished to say. Afra stroked the back of Caddell's hand, trying to comfort him. Dirk held her eyes for a moment, before he shifted his gaze to the innkeep.

  “Do you have so little faith in me?” Dirk asked. “Tell me true.”

  Caddell squeezed Afra's hand. He sniffed, and shook his head without looking up. “I trust you will do as you say. But I cannot take the risk.”

  “It is not your risk to take, Cad,” Afra said, her voice as gentle as her touch.

  “Afra,” Caddell began, but Dirk interrupted him.

  “Did you know they began patrolling their lands after you found them, Caddell?” Dirk asked. “Not just the borders, but the whole of the north country?”

  “I do,” Caddell said. “Afra told me as much.”

  “You may know the way, but you cannot know where the sentries are,” Dirk said. “And while I can wear a stolen cloak, and keep my face in shadow, they will know me for an outsider as soon as I part my lips. If Afra rides afore me, all they will see is her familiar face. They will hear her voice, and ride close to ask why only one man returns with her. They will not suspect her, and will not see me until it is too late.”

  “So you would put her life at risk?” Caddell asked.

  “No more than I do my own,” Dirk says. “She knows the trail. She knows the inside of the place. She knows where Teller is being held. She knows the faces of the kin she would rescue, and I do not. Even were she to tell me of them, they may not believe me when I say I am there to bring them to safety. They will believe Afra.”

  “He needs my help, Caddell,” Afra said, setting the innkeep's hand down on the tabletop. “Just as I need his.”

  Caddell got to his feet. His knee tried to buckle, and he caught himself on the edge of the table. The tendons in his neck creaked, and his jaw muscles flexed hard. He grabbed his cane, and shifted his weight onto the stout stick. He jabbed it into the tiles, grunting with each step.

  “See me before you leave,” Caddell said. “Each of you.”

  He shouldered open the door to his bedroom, and a moment later, slammed it closed. Afra closed her eyes, and rubbed her forehead. She looked older than she had the night before. And, somehow, even more tired. Afra shook her head slowly, and gave Dirk a wan smile.

  “When do we go?” she asked.

  “As soon as I put something in my belly,” Dirk said. “I fear we may have tarried too long already.”

  Afra nodded, and stood. “Then I will say my farewells.”

  Dirk returned the nod, and watched as Afra gently knocked on Caddell's door. She slipped inside, and the latch dropped behind her. The door had been closed no more than a few moments before Bea stepped into the common room. She was scowling, rubbing her hands with a rag.

  “The two of them have been arguing all morning,” Bea said. Dirk nodded, showing he had heard her. “I do not like this. You should not trust her.”

  “Should and must are rare in agreement,” Dirk said. “May I eat? It should prove to be a long few days.”

  Bea turned her back, and vanished into the kitchen. Pans clattered, and water splashed. Thicket yawned, stretched, and hopped onto Afra's chair to investigate the remains of her plate. Dirk smiled. The beast didn't even bother with Caddell's bowl, even though there was still a small puddle of porridge in the bottom of it. After several minutes passed, Bea brought Dirk a plate with three, thick cakes, some eggs, and a small stack of sausages. The cat had one foot on the table when Bea gave him a swat, and he jumped down with an indignant yowl.

  “Let me look at your arm,” Bea said.

  Dirk took his fork in his left hand, and put his right arm on the table. Bea pulled over a chair, and began untying the bindings as Dirk ate. She unwrapped steadily, rolling the cloth up as she went. Thick scabs had formed over the gashes below Dirk's elbow. Around his wrist was a fraying noose of fresh, white scar tissue. While the back of his hand, as well as his fingers, were still covered with scratches and cuts, none of them were the angry red of infected wounds. Many of the smaller ones were already fading away. Bea gently stroked Dirk's hurts, watching his face. He kept eating. She prodded his muscles, and squeezed his hand.

  “It does not pain me much,” he s
aid, flexing his hand. Several of the scabs cracked, or dusted off. A tear of blood dripped between his middle knuckles, and another slipped out near his thumb. “Since you did not ask.”

  “Nothing I say will make you wait, will it?” Bea asked, putting the roll of bandages on the table.

  “No,” Dirk said, rolling up one of the cakes and eating it slowly. His belly had grown used to being empty while he slept, and he had to remind it what food felt like.

  “Even if I tell you that riding out while you are still wounded and weak might lose you your life, in addition to getting your cousin killed?”

  “Staying here and waiting is no safer than riding north,” Dirk said. “If I wait here, I do nothing but waste my energy staring into shadows in case one of them hides a knife. Worse, the longer I wait, the surer Lanissara will be that her men are dead, and I yet live. If I go, I know the danger is real, but I also know I am riding closer to Teller.”

  Bea sighed, then drew a fresh roll of bandages from her apron. She wrapped Dirk's hand, then his wrist, and forearm. Her hands were gentle, and she was careful not to press too hard, or pull too tightly. She ran her hand over the wrap, satisfying herself it was properly bound, before tying the knot. She held Dirk's hand, absently running her fingertips over his knuckles. Dirk ate steadily, resting between bites. He made no move to pull his hand away.

  “Where did you get the scar on the inside of your wrist?” Bea asked, touching the bandage just above the old, jagged scars nestled among the newer, fresher wounds. “The twin cuts that look like a thunderbolt?”

  Dirk smiled, and popped the last sausage into his mouth. He chewed, and gave Bea's hand a small squeeze. “I will tell you that tale when I return, should you still wish to know.”

  Bea raised her face. Her expression was serious, though a flush was trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Return soon, then. I am not a woman who savors waiting.”

  Bea drew breath to say something else, but before her words could escape her lips the latch lifted on Caddell's door. Afra stepped out. At the sight of her Bea stood, brushed at her skirts, and began clearing the dishes from the table. She hurried away, retreating back into the kitchen without another word, or a backward glance. Dirk turned toward Afra, and raised an eyebrow.