Passages

by Passages (epub)

  Teig bit her lip again, then shook herself and started picking wood from the pile. Hest. Here again. And where was Pekki? Wherever she was, Teig hoped the girl’s dreams were better.

  She frowned again as she tossed the wood into the sled. Nightmares. Everyone in town, especially those in the inn, had them every night. Not surprising, given how bad everything was, but when had that started?

  Musing, she stepped back into the shed and tugged more wood from the stack. A log dropped from the pile and landed on her foot. Pain shot through her toes and she hopped back with a yelp, tears stinging her eyes. She burst into full tears, cursing her lack of attention. This always happened when she let her imagination get the better of her! Dreams were just dreams, and Pekki was lucky to be home and not on the road with her father this terrible winter. She sat down to take the weight off her aching foot.

  “That was quite a series of phrases you tossed out, young miss,” said a male voice from the doorway.

  Snuffling, Teig looked up at the figure silhouetted there. “I work in the inn.”

  “Oh, well, that does explain the creative swearing, but not so much the tears. Are you hurt?” The man stepped into the shed, and Teig recognized his worn blue uniform.

  Teig’s jaw fell open and she sniffed her tears back into control as she stared in awe. Old Belton, the retired Road Guard who lived a half morning’s walk west of town. The very Guard from “Travels” who had helped Talia on her way. Once or twice he’d said hello to her when he came to town for supplies, but never more than that. And she’d never spoken to him. After all, he had actually met Talia. Mero said that on the rare occasions the Queen’s Own traveled down to visit the Sensholding, she sometimes even stopped to greet old Belton. That hadn’t happened since Teig was old enough to remember but—!

  She stared as he chuckled. “I asked if you were hurt.”

  “What? No—well, just my foot.”

  He looked at her a moment, then reached down a hand. “Can you stand on it?”

  She stared, then grasped his fingers. “I think so.” She barely finished the sentence before he pulled her upright. She wobbled a moment, more from shock than pain, then steadied. “Yes.”

  With a nod, he released her and stepped back. “Now what’s got you so upset? The weather’s terrible, and firewood’s heavy, but I’m guessing that’s not all that’s wrong.”

  Teig blinked. What she was thinking was too terrible to say out loud. And even though Belton knew Talia some, he was a Guard, not a Herald. And if she was right about Hest, well, that was a Herald-level problem. Since she was going to be Chosen one day, she would find a way to deal with the stranger herself. Some way. She shook her head.

  “Hmmm. Well, then, I suppose I’ll leave you to your firewood.” He stepped out into the gray light and wind and snow. “You know where to find me.”

  How could she possibly know that? The town was full of people, and his home nowhere close. She watched him walk away. And why would she want to find him? She turned to load more wood.

  * * *

  * * *

  Teig sat tucked in a tight knot of blankets on her narrow bed and stared out the window. She shivered as she watched the night shift toward gray dawn. Worry crowded next to hunger in her belly. Outside, a few people moved along the packed-snow paths, going about early chores, blowing white breath into the air. Everyone looked tired, and moved stiffly, but something worse happened as they passed the inn—each one shrank in on themselves, ducking their heads and pulling their bright coats tighter around them, as though touched by fear.

  No one who wasn’t staying in the inn stopped in anymore, not even to hear Gwenline sing and tell stories. And the last four nights had seemed endless, each hungrier and more restless than the last, until Teig dreaded curling up for sleep more than even getting up before dawn. Even more than she dreaded cleaning up the drool from the unlucky refugees forced to sleep with their heads pillowed on the common room tables. Even more than she dreaded seeing Hest.

  The man’s presence pricked her mind and spirit like a rough-woven blanket. Hiding the flinch that lurked just under her skin whenever she saw him became more difficult with each encounter. His eyes followed her, and it seemed he not only recognized her discomfort, but that it pleased him.

  At last, she confessed her fear of the man to Wilhem. Who, while he publicly dismissed the worries as another of her fanciful notions, sighed and decided to humor her. He saw to it that Teig was no longer asked to carry the man’s morning tea to his table, or carry fresh basin rags to his door. Those small kindnesses did not bring the ease they might have, as when Mero took over those tasks, she grew leaner and more drawn each day.

  The inn, usually a place of comfort and cheer, grew drearier every day. Was it just the continued isolation of the hard winter and the floods? Or were the dreams wearing everyone down a sign of something more ominous, more dangerous? After Wilhem’s dismissal of her worries, Teig kept her wondering to herself.

  The one bright spot each day was that Gwenline now sang “Travels” every afternoon without Teig even requesting it. And that grace glimmered, a tiny spark of hope in endless gray days. But Gwenline wasn’t a Bard, with Gifts. She did what she could to lift the heaviness of each day, but the weight of fear remained, deeper with each waking, as though each night added new doubts and aches beyond the chill and limited food.

  With a sigh, Teig uncurled from the bed and got to her feet. Time to get dressed and get to doing what was needed. Why, oh why couldn’t she have been Chosen before all this happened? If she was a Herald, she would know what to do.

  She crept downstairs, trying not to wake anyone who might have managed to gain some rest in the night. Especially Hest. But the glow from under the door of room eight as she passed told her that he was awake. She slipped past and down to the common room.

  Downstairs, few people stirred, but Gwenline raised a hand in greeting from her place by the hearth. Teig slipped into the kitchen, where the stove already burned hot with water boiling in a pot. Teig filled a mug and added tea and a dollop of honey and wound her way across the room, careful not to trip on outstretched feet. Too many belonged to snoring patrons, and it wouldn’t do to startle them while she carried the hot beverage.

  “Thank you.” Gwenline accepted the offering into her nimble hands. True gratitude marked her smile. “Sit a moment. I want to ask you something.”

  Teig pulled a chair closer to the fire and sat. “Me?”

  Gwenline blew on her tea before sipping it, and nodded. “You’ve been telling me stories since the day I got here. Are they all ones you made up?”

  Heat filled Teig’s cheeks. Always, someone called her out for telling tale tales and being too whimsical. “Some I learned from travelers.” She couldn’t keep the defensive tone from her voice.

  “Oh, young friend, I don’t mean anything by asking. It’s just—” She shook her head. “Do you think me singing all these wild tales is doing more harm than good?”

  Teig blinked. She wasn’t really the person to be asking such things. Her imagination ran so wild she wasn’t sure whether to trust what she thought. “I don’t know.”

  Gwenline sighed. “I wish I had the gifts to be a Bard. I might be able to help more around here. Everyone is so sad.”

  At that, Teig sat up a little. “You think a Mind-Gift would help with this?” She thought back to Pekki. “Do you think . . . a Mind-Gift could cause this?”

  With a laugh, Gwenline waved a hand. “Why would a Mind-Gift be so wrongly used? And who would do such a thing?”

  “Well there’s that man, Hest—”

  “Hest? The jewelry merchant?” She shook her head. “He sits right at the front of the crowd every night and requests the most cheerful songs.”

  Why hadn’t Teig noticed that? Maybe because she’d been avoiding Hest anywhere he was in the inn, even if it meant missing Gwenl
ine’s evening songs. As much as she tried, she could not dream up a situation where she would find his company entertaining, much less a comfort. “I suppose.”

  Gwenline smiled. “Your imagination is as limitless as Mero thinks.”

  “I have to bring in more firewood,” Teig said, getting to her feet. If the minstrel didn’t believe what Teig was beginning to suspect, who would? She nodded as Gwenline repeated her thanks for the tea, and she went to put on her coat and gloves. The woodshed beckoned.

  The woodshed. Belton. Why had he stopped that day to speak to her? Her of all people? Maybe . . . ? He said she’d know where to find him, and suddenly she knew just where to look.

  * * *

  * * *

  The old Guard hut stood on what had once been the edge of town, before it had expanded. Chilled through, but somehow feeling better than she had in days, Teig knocked a gloved hand against the hut door.

  From inside came the sound of shuffling, then the door swung open on angry sounding hinges. “Well young miss,” Belton said with a grin. “I was wondering how long it would take you to find me.”

  “How’d you know I’d come looking?”

  “The town’s in trouble in a way sometimes only a child can figure out.”

  “You knew. At the woodshed.”

  “I was a Guard a long time. I’m not even supposed to be in the blue these days. But it’s an old habit. You know, I can tell something’s wrong, and I feel like it involves the inn. But there are so many people there, I can’t tell if the trouble is a what or a who.”

  “It’s a who named Hest!” Teig said, then bit her lip and dropped her gaze.

  “So, you do have something to tell me.” He stepped back. “Come in. It’s warmer than outside, and your story’s likely a long one.”

  Teig glanced back toward the inn, then at the old guard who she’d barely ever had the courage to nod a greeting to. She had to tell someone about her worries. She met Belton’s gaze, then nodded, and stepped through the doorway.

  * * *

  * * *

  Seated on a rickety stool in the mostly abandoned hut, Teig wound down her telling. “And last time he was here, a girl rode with him in his wagon. Her name was Pekki. I thought she was his daughter, but I’m not sure now.” She frowned. “She never said it. I just assumed. But she also said that all their travels were full of bad dreams. Hungry dreams. And now that man, Hest, is at the inn and the inn is full of sadness. I hate going to sleep.”

  She hugged herself a moment, then released the grasp on her arms. If she was going to convince him, she couldn’t look afraid. Even if she was. “I tried to tell Mero. And Wilhem. And even Gwenline, the minstrel. But they don’t believe me. It’s hard enough being trapped here and hungry. They think that’s what it is. But it’s not. Just not at all.”

  Belton looked at her, and she looked back. Then he spoke and there was no harshness in his voice, even though his words hit hard. “I’ve been hearing about you for a while, child. You’ve had your head in the clouds forever, and now the ground’s rushed up to meet you. No one’s listening, eh? That’s something you brought on yourself, but that’s neither here nor elsewhere. I believe you. Now it’s time to stop imagining things and act.”

  Teig nodded. “I did act,” she said. “I came and found you. You’ve met Talia. You must know things people don’t.”

  He burst out laughing. “Oh, I know Talia a little, it’s true. And a Mind-Gift like hers would be useful right now. But we don’t have her. All we have is you and me. And it’s been a long time since I was at the Collegium.

  “But I’ll tell you this—we have some knowledge already. This man is fine with adults but makes children scared. And bad dreams follow him. And hunger.”

  Teig shook her head. “We’re all hungry.”

  “I’m not. The rest of the town isn’t. We’re not low on food. Not in just a few weeks. Not even with a few hundred more people packed into town. But at the inn—you say everyone seems half-starved, except this Hest. What if he’s not hungry because he’s getting his fill of everyone else feeling sad and scared? Getting his fill every night, eating everyone’s dreams?”

  Eyes wide, Teig hung on his every word, each more unbelievable than the last. Even as he reflected her own darkest imaginings, she had trouble grasping that something so terrible could possibly be true. Was this what people felt like when she went on and one with her wild stories? With her tales of what she would do when she was Chosen? Chosen . . . if only . . . She stopped the thought.

  Wishing and wondering for something that wasn’t up to her, that wasn’t going to help the people in the inn. It wasn’t going to stop Hest. No Herald was coming, riding in on a magical Companion. And hoping for more—well there was no more. No more than just herself and old Belton from “Travels.” That was going to have to be enough. Maybe she didn’t need to be a Herald to make things better. Maybe she just needed to decide to do it.

  “I want everyone to sleep well tonight.” The determination in her voice surprised her.

  “How do we stop him?” Belton leaned toward her. “Tell me what you know.”

  She thought and thought, and she told him everything she could remember, both what she’d learned from Pekki and what she had seen these last few weeks. Then an idea formed. “Oh! I think I know how to stop him! But if Wilhem won’t agree—oh, it’ll be bad.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They waited until Hest left for his daily check on his horse. When he rounded the building and disappeared from sight, they headed for the inn.

  “Why does he laugh with the minstrel and ask her for happy stories?” Belton mused as they stomped through the snow toward the inn.

  “Maybe when people feel better, he can make them feel twice as bad by taking it away,” Teig said. “It doesn’t matter. All we have to do is make him sleep.”

  Belton pulled his old blue coat close. They’d considered him carrying his crossbow, just in case, but their plan required more stealth than aggression. “You’re very sure of this.”

  Teig nodded. Somehow, she was. “There’s always a light under his door. And Pekki said—she said he stayed up all night. I remember. Do you think he fed on her dreams? Do you think that’s why he had her with him? Do you think . . . she’s still alive?”

  “I think she was a traveling meal for him, yes.” His rough voice went heavy with anger. “As to whether she’s alive. Well, once we’ve got him locked up, we can make sure that’s something the Heralds ask him when we hand him over for judgment.”

  “Yes.” Teig nodded fiercely. Once the ice broke, justice would come with spring. “You go in the front.”

  He stopped and looked down at her. “If Wilhem listens, you won’t have to do anything. And it could make things worse if we’re wrong.”

  Teig looked into his lined face. He wasn’t so old after all. Or maybe she was just feeling older. “I think we’re right. And not just because I want us to be.” She nodded. “I know what to do.”

  “All right then,” he agreed, and he headed toward the inn’s main door.

  Teig went around the building and waited for several minutes before entering. She slipped inside in time to hear Wilhem loudly ordering Belton to leave, then complaining just as loudly to Mero about the foolish ideas of washed-up old guards.

  Teig’s heart sank. The direct approach had failed. Well—on to the plan she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to execute.

  She darted into the pantry and pulled down jars of dried herbs until she found the one she sought—the blend of lemleaf and hypercum root. As a seasoning mix, it was lovely and subtle, but it could also be used to induce sleep. Though Wilhem said enough to do that also caused a prickly rash around the ankles and three days of terrible bad breath. And that was no fun at all. But if this worked . . . well . . . they’d have the proof they needed to lock Hest away.


  Unease twisted her belly as she carried the mix into the kitchen, reading the notes on the paper glued to the jar. She eyed the rich stew bubbling slowly on the stove. If they tried to drug just Hest, he’d likely notice. But everyone eating the same thing . . . She choked a little at the thought. But if no one would listen, how else was she going to stop a man whose Mind-Gift allowed him to feed on people’s nightmares?

  Still, she hesitated. Then shook her head. No matter what, she couldn’t do it, not to people who had done nothing wrong.

  “Teig?” Mero’s voice came from the doorway. Wilhem stood just behind.

  Teig turned, completely caught, and just stared at them.

  For a moment, silence held; then Mero crossed the room and took the jar from Teig’s hands. She looked at it, then at the stew, then back to Teig. “You really believe this man Hest is doing these things? You and Belton both? Believe it enough to do this?”

  Teig met Mero’s eyes and nodded. “I know I tell a lot of stories, Mero.” But she never disobeyed. Ever caused real trouble. She hoped that would matter now. “But I promise.”

  Wilhem joined them and stood silent a long time. At last he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If you used enough of this mix to knock everyone out, the stew would stink so badly no one would eat it at all.”

  “But—”

  Mero interrupted her. “Hest asks for a Karsian Ale every night with his dinner. Nothing better in which to hide a dose of this. If you’re wrong, I’ll dump a barrel with him as witness and claim it was contaminated. But if we all sleep well tonight . . . well, then you and Belton can lock Hest up in the old guard hut until a Herald rides through.”

  Relief and embarrassment warred in Teig’s chest. “Thank you,” she said. How many times had she dismissed Mero and Wilhem, thought herself destined for better than they? And here they were the ones helping her to save everyone. And old Belton, who used to scare her—well, she never would have sorted it all out without him to talk to.