Passages

by Passages (epub)

  Kya picked her way down into the ditch between the road and the field, burrowing her way under a hummock of weeds. She breathed carefully through her nose, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart.

  It had to be her kidnappers. They wouldn’t run the horses, because they had to keep an eye out for her.

  But then, as the clacking of hooves on cobbles came closer, she realized the sound was coming from the direction of the city, not from the docks.

  Better than the alternative, but she had no idea if it was someone she could trust. She’d stay put—despite the damp, cold ground seeping through her clothes and the dank odor of the ditch.

  A sound came clear with the hoofbeats. Bells, sweetly jingling.

  Kya caught her breath. That was the sound of Heralds on their Companions.

  What to do? Now that she knew her mother was behind her abduction, everything seemed suspicious. Had she contacted the Heralds as a backup plan?

  But, she argued with herself, there was no way the men who’d taken her could have let the Heralds know she’d escaped.

  Still, she argued back, she didn’t know if she could trust them.

  So she stayed in her muddy hiding place, waiting for them to ride by.

  They didn’t.

  The clop of hooves and the jingling of bells ceased when they were alongside her.

  “She’s close,” a woman’s voice said. Then, “Burrow? I’m Mieran, one of the Queen’s Heralds. We know you’re nearby. We mean you no harm—I swear upon my oath to the Queen.”

  A pause.

  “Please don’t make me come down and soil my Whites to find you, girl. I will if I must, but you’ll make an enemy of the laundry staff at the Collegium.”

  Kya suppressed a snort. Mieran wasn’t wrong. The cleaning staff at the manor had despaired of the messes Kya got into, but they also appreciated the devices she had invented to make their jobs easier, such as the device to affix to the top of buckets to squeeze the water out of mops.

  Fact was, she’d lost. They knew where she was—if not the exact hummock, close enough, and they’d find her within minutes.

  She could either suffer the ignominy of being dragged out, or . . .

  She shrugged backward out of her hidey-hole and stood, aware of her ridiculous state. “Fine, you’ve found me.”

  A woman swung down off an impossibly perfect white steed. “The Master Artificers, among others, want your safe return.”

  Kya gaped at her. The Master Artificers?

  Mieran was a fox-faced woman with a pointed chin, pale skin, and blue eyes so piercing, Kya could see them in the moon’s glow. Her long, straight black hair looped in braids around her head like a crown.

  “This is Frind,” Mieran continued, gesturing at her Companion. “She agrees to escort you back to Haven.”

  She held out a hand, and Kya, her mind and body numb with confusion, took it.

  She was used to riding horses. Tucked in front of Mieran, she remembered her father taking her on rides before she’d been old enough to go solo.

  At first, they rode in silence. Finally, Kya’s confusion got the better of her.

  “How did anyone know I was gone?”

  “The owners of the Golden Compass heard a scuffle outside and then realized you were gone,” Mieran said. “They surmised that you’d been taken and came to us for assistance. That was a smart thing, dropping coins to leave a trail.” She grinned. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it all back.”

  The joke was lost on Kya. Another question was foremost in her mind. She ran one hand through her fine hair, her other hand on the saddle’s pommel.

  “And . . . and the Master Artificers?”

  Mieran took a moment to respond. “Apparently, they want words with you.”

  Kya didn’t know how to respond. After the night she’d had, her brain felt like it was shutting down. Herald Mieran might be crisply official, but Kya still felt safe with her.

  She couldn’t quite bring herself to believe the Herald cared, but still.

  She couldn’t even begin to comprehend the involvement of the Master Artificers.

  * * *

  * * *

  Before they continued their journey, the Heralds briefly questioned Kya. She was able to give the name of the warehouse—which she’d taken a brief moment to read painted on the outside before she ran—to the Heralds. She described the men as best she could with the scant information she’d gleaned. Then, two Heralds peeled off to head to the warehouse district.

  Mieran took her back to the Golden Compass. Cosa, in an unexpected display of emotion, grabbed her into a hug, and Anders rested a hand on her back, saying, “You gave us quite the fright, girl. We’re glad you’re safe.”

  Stunned, Kya blinked back tears. She hadn’t thought they’d cared, really, beyond needing an efficient server and appreciating her diligence.

  “Now, there are some other people who wish to speak with you,” Mieran said.

  Kya knew the Heralds and Companions had some sort of silent speech, so she wasn’t surprised that word had gone ahead of them.

  Mieran led her through the main room of the Golden Compass to the back room.

  The Master Artificers’ room.

  The sacred sanctuary.

  She found herself trembling as Mieran opened the door and ushered her through.

  At first, she couldn’t look at who was in the room, so she turned her attentions to the space itself. Plans and drawings and notes papered the walls. In the center, a sturdy rectangular table with accompanying chairs, as well as a few side tables and chairs. All the same wood and design as the furniture in the main room. There was no pretense here.

  “Burrow, isn’t it?” a woman said gently. Her pure white hair, still thick, in two braids that poured down her shoulders. She put a comforting hand on the small of Kya’s back. “Come, sit down. I’m Master Qualla.”

  Kya looked around the table as she sat, committing the other four Masters to memory.

  A man with wild, untamed, pale red hair; in contrast, his matching beard was closely trimmed. A bald, thin-faced man who would have looked severe except his brown eyes were very kind. A woman with a heart-shaped face, dark curly hair, and curiously bright green eyes. A man with blond hair, receding hairline at the temples, sharp blue eyes that missed nothing.

  They were all looking at her.

  She wanted to flee. Nobody noticed her; nobody saw her. But they were all looking at her.

  But this was what she’d wanted, dreamed of, strived towards. Which is why she stayed firmly in her chair. The interminable etiquette lessons kept her from squirming.

  Their voices gentle, they first asked about her abduction, which confused her, but she told the truth.

  “It seems my mother wanted to humiliate me into going home.”

  They assured her that the men would be properly dealt with.

  More questions. She answered truthfully. She loathed the idea of being a figurehead. She wanted knowledge and math and engineering. She felt herself flush when she said that. But she knew, in this moment, her future hung in the balance.

  She was grateful when Cosa brought in a tray of drinks, followed by some of the usual Compass food. Her tongue was dry, and although dawn was just beginning to pinken the sky, she found herself ravenous.

  “We’ve been watching you for some time,” the ginger-haired man said, and she nearly dropped her toasted cheese bread.

  She wasn’t clear on the timeline of things: Anders and Cosa had commented on her. The students noticed she paused over some of their work. And despite what she’d assumed, the librarians at the Artificers Guild Library had paid attention to her.

  Her whole life she’d tried to be invisible, and she had failed.

  Not only failed, but failed in a way that the people she most wanted to be like, the
group she wished to be a part of, had taken extreme notice.

  Master Ularo, the red-headed man, handed her a sheaf of papers. Curious, she took them. To her astonishment, they were the ones she’d corrected when she found errors. She’d done that just to keep learning—she’d never though anyone would look at discarded work in the box.

  “These changes and new drawings, they’re your work?” Master Ularo asked. “And no one helped you?”

  They continued to quiz her until the sun was well over the horizon, and she was struggling not to droop with exhaustion. She’d been abducted, escaped, found, and now this. No amount of food or drink could sustain her much longer.

  Finally, Master Qualla spoke. “Burrow, you have impressed us with your tenacity and knowledge, despite your lack of formal training. Yes, there are gaps in your studies, but those can be easily dealt with. Unless the others disagree, I wish to take you on as my apprentice.”

  Kya felt as though she’d been shoved against the back of her chair by an unknown force, knocking the breath out of her. She listened dumbly as the other Master Artificers gave their consent.

  No. Agreed wholeheartedly.

  Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Master Qualla say, “Are you all right, Burrow?”

  She sat up straight, and reached a hand out to Master Qualla.

  “I would be honored, Master Qualla,” she said in a clear, strong voice. “But first I must tell you my real name. I’m Kya, and I thank you for seeing me.”

  The Dream Seeker

  Paige L. Christie

  Huddled behind the greeting table, waiting for Hostess Mero to return from the privy, Teig flinched every time the inn’s door swept open to admit guests and blasts of frigid air. Even a few months back, the older folks talked about the unusual amount of snowfall and how the river ice grew thicker than any time in memory. Then the weather turned warmer and hard rains came, and parts of the river broke free while others stayed frozen. The jammed-up ice forced the water wide from the riverbanks and pushed giant chunks far from the main channel, blocking the roads. Most of the valley sat flooded and chilled.

  In Sweet Springs, things had been tough already, but now parts of the town sat ankle deep in water. And what buildings stood just far enough up and away were full of people. Every person within two days’ ride had come here for shelter. People she had known all her life and people she had never met filled the inn, every spare room in town, and even the barn lofts.

  Everyone was hungry, and that made them grouchy. But the worst of it, in Teig’s mind, was that not a place remained for a girl to escape for some peace. Her head hurt from spending time with so many people packed so close together.

  The only thing that made any of it bearable was having a minstrel trapped here as well. She wasn’t a fancy Bard trained at the Collegium and full of more stories than the sky was full of stars, but she listened to Teig’s daydreams and sometimes turned them into simple songs. Her name was Gwenline, and she knew all the songs of Talia, Queen’s Own—especially “Travels of Talia,” the one that featured Sweet Springs’ role in Talia finding her way to her destiny.

  The door opened again, and in came a man bundled all in dark gray. Teig rose from her stool as he approached. His name was Hest, and she didn’t like him one bit. Every day he slept until midday, then went out to check on his horse. He only came back for dinner. Last winter he’d stopped here for two days. That time a girl named Pekki, a few years younger than Teig, had been with him, and it was Pekki that filled Teig’s mind with wariness.

  “My key?” he asked, in a strange accent she had yet to place.

  She turned, plucked the key from the cubbyhole for room eight, and faced him again. He held out his hand. Even though he wore gloves against the cold, every instinct in her screamed not to even brush the fabric. She dropped the key into his palm. Something of her uncertainty must have shown in her expression, because his eyes narrowed.

  She took a step back and bumped into Hostess Mero. “Oh!” She caught Mero’s arm to keep from stumbling, and she frowned as she met the older woman’s gaze.

  “Teig, girl, where’s your attention? Did you give this man what he needs?”

  “I—yes, but—” Teig looked to the man. He was already walking away. Relief flooded her and she squeezed Mero’s wrist. “He’s bad,” Teig whispered fiercely. She recalled the worn look of the girl who had traveled with Hest, and the stories she told about terrible dreams. “I remember from last time he visited. The girl said he—”

  “Oh, Teig, no. No more stories! Last night the merchant from Haven was a ‘spy’ and the wool dealer was a ‘weapons smuggler’! And which one did you decide was an assassin? That poor teacher with the too-big boots on? Enough. Thanks for keeping watch, but it’s time you got back to your chores.”

  “But—” Teig protested as she watched the man climb the stairs toward the sleeping rooms.

  “What’s anyone to do with you? All these tall stories and wary thoughts. Off with you now! Wilhem has a list of things he needs you doing.” The woman swept a lean arm toward the common room. “Go!”

  With a sigh, Teig headed in the direction Mero pointed. But her imagination was on fire now. Bad dreams. Hadn’t everyone in the inn and around town been talking about nightmares? When she was a Herald, everyone would have to listen to her! In the meantime, just the thought of the man in gray set her skin crawling.

  She tried to shake off the feeling as she crossed the busy common room, with its tightly packed tables and heavy wooden benches and the air heavy with the scent of spiced ale. The space, filled with people and laughter, usually warmed her belly with happiness. But these last days, it seemed gray and sad, no matter how many lamps she lit. The pluck of a string being tuned snapped her from dark thoughts. Teig looked toward the hearth where the minstrel sat close to the fire blazing in the old stone hearth. Just what a fearful day called for!

  Ready to make her daily request, Teig headed for Gwenline. Wilhem had warned her that asking for her favorite ballad again was going to earn her a hiding. Even though he’d never struck her since taking her in, the way he said it made her think he actually meant it. But what was a girl to do while she waited for her destiny to arrive—just carry wood and wash dishes? If listening to “Travels” was the only thing that made the endless gray days better, well, what was wrong with hearing it as often as Gwenline was willing to sing it?

  One day, this terrible winter confinement would be done, and Wilhem and everyone else would miss having someone to sing about greatness in Sweet Springs. Especially once Teig herself was Chosen by a Companion and became a Herald. And that was going to happen. Since the first time she’d heard “Travels of Talia,” Teig knew she was meant for mighty deeds. She’d planned it all her life, and she was almost thirteen now. Soon her Companion would gallop into town and—

  “Teig, mind yourself!”

  The shout startled her back into the moment, and she stopped just short of colliding with a knot of travelers huddled around a table watching a card game. Cheeks hot, she stammered an apology and glanced quickly in the direction of the shout. Wilhem stood in the kitchen doorway wiping his hands on a towel. He jerked his head sharply in summons. With a longing look toward the minstrel, Teig bit her lip and wove through the room to stand in front of him.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “It’s just the gray man and Gwenline and the Companion and—”

  “Your love of fanciful ideas isn’t going to clean the tables or fill the wood box. Anymore wild talk from you today, and I’ll have you mucking stalls as far from the bard’s tales as I can put you.”

  “I—”

  “I know.” Wilhem rubbed at his head as though nursing a deep ache. “This is hard on all of us, and you’re used to seeking your own imaginings. But we’ve all got to get through this until the ice breaks. It’s going to get harder before it gets easier.”

  Tei
g sighed and nodded. “Do you think a Companion could make it through?”

  Wilhem shook his head. “Not a flood and danger like this, young one. And I’ve told you before, being Chosen isn’t for you to decide. Enough with your daydreams. Bring me the balum herb from the pantry. Then the wood box needs filling. Get on with you.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll have a hot bowl of stew ready when you get done.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Coat buttoned tight and hat pulled low, Teig stomped out the back door, pulling an empty sled behind her. The snow, knee deep and ice crusted, pulled at her pant legs as she followed the well-beaten path toward the woodshed. Even though the cold air burned her throat, being out of the crowded inn held more relief than she cared to admit.

  She tugged open the shed door, groaning at the weight of it. Every day it seemed heavier. Her stomach growled as though angry at the energy she used.

  Frowning, she patted her belly with a gloved hand. The offer of an extra portion of stew was not a bad thing. She pressed her lips together. Not that she’d eat it. One thing she knew from the stories—to be Chosen, she had to be fair. Extra food should go to the children anyway. And she was practically grown up.

  Children. She paused, staring at the wood pile—now only half as tall as it had been just a week ago—her thoughts shifting to the man staying in room eight. He’d been here before, last winter. Maybe he had stopped in Sweet Springs many times, but she just never paid attention before? She only even remembered him from last time because of the girl he traveled with—a small child, thin and uncertain, probably about ten years old, with no smile in her eyes.

  Teig had spent two days trying to get the child to share her name. At last she whispered, “Pekki,” in a tiny voice. Glancing around as though afraid the very walls were listening, Pekki huddled in a corner of the common room far from the fire. When not in the room she shared with Hest, she always sat there, lonely and cold. Teig snuck Pekki extra broth whenever she could.

  And Pekki had told her of her terrible dreams—full of loss and falling and fear. If Teig had forgotten the details, it was only because she remembered thinking them too terrible to hold in her mind. But she remembered the grief and sorrow in the other girl’s voice, and that was enough.