Shadowless: Book 1 of the Ilmaen Quartet

by Helen Bell

  Quarter of an hour later they had improvised a sling chair and were carrying Renia in it. It was tough going; she was slightly built but she was also tall. They had to change sides often to balance the strain, and interposed periods where Renia hopped along with their support. The settlements they had seen still felt a long way off.

  Chapter 8 – The Three Villages

  Late that afternoon, Jesral Ty'r Plethu reached the Low Plains crossroads, flung her basket down and scrambled up on to the great square marker stone, resting her bare feet gratefully on the coolness of its shady side. Then she examined her blisters and cuts.

  ‘Peli!’ she declared out loud. She should have cut across the lower downs; they were no worse to walk on in bare feet, probably better, and certainly quicker. But some corner of her mind had held her to the road in the hope of hailing a cart going her way.

  Her family had always been poor, but this was the first winter she had been completely without shoes. Between December and April she had been out as little as possible, and then it had only been short distances she could manage with her feet wrapped in rags. Today she had been all round the Three Villages with her wares, but if she had known what the roads were like she would not have bothered. She must have found every sharp stone and foot-twisting rock on the Low Plains today, and what money she had taken would not even cover the week's food, so shoes were out of the question.

  ‘Sod these roads!’ Life was not currently being kind to her. Walking such a distance had been no trial at all in years gone by; she recalled the time she had spent living in Ilmaen, walking barefoot beside her wagon many a time with the travelling show. She had been happy in Ilmaen; it was hard to remember why she had ever come back. Well, for a while she had been happy. Perhaps she should have stuck it out after all. Time had dimmed the memories, but surely she had been better off over there than she was here. At least there she had not had to live on the charity of blackguards, which to be frank was the best she could call her cousins.

  It had occurred to her that sitting down like this would only make her feet feel ten times worse when she set out again, but having sat down she intended to stay put for at least ten minutes. If she was lucky, a cart might pass that was going her way. With a pout on her lips she raised her gaze from her suffering feet and surveyed the roads with dark amber eyes. Her pout deepened. Nothing useful, damn it, just some travellers on foot coming out of the High Plains to the south. As she watched them she realized there was something strange about their movements, but could not make out what it might be. She felt for the knife at her belt in case they meant trouble: once sure of it she settled back on the milestone to let them get near enough for her to see them properly. She hooked wayward strands of her long copper-coloured hair behind her ears.

  The reason they looked strange was because the party of three consisted of two men helping a girl with a bandaged leg, which she could barely put down as she walked. She favoured it so much, the two men were almost carrying her every other step. One of them was very tall, the other was very good-looking. When they drew level with her, the handsome one called out.

  ‘By your leave, ma'am, we need help. My friend has hurt her leg. Is there a physician or an apothecary at the village ahead?’

  An accent there she did not recognize, but it definitely said ‘foreign’ to her. She shook her head. ‘No, nor at the other villages nearby. There's my mother… she knows herb-lore and some doctoring. She will need paying, though.’ She eyed their condition suspiciously: no packs, the tall blond man with no shirt under his jacket, and the handsome man's jacket knocked completely out of shape. They looked like beggars – but there again, they didn’t. They didn’t look downtrodden, merely fit to drop – above all the girl. Forgetting her own feet until she landed on them, Jesral jumped off the milestone.

  ‘She'd better sit down before she falls down.’ The two men helped the girl over to the stone, and she sat down gratefully. She noticed Jesral's basket, saw an apple in it and eyed it hungrily. Jesral took the hint and offered it to her. The girl took two huge bites, saw the looks on the faces of the other two, and passed it to the tall one. He did not want to take it from her, but she made him; he took his share and passed it on to the other man, who finished it off. The whole process took about twelve seconds.

  ‘Dear Lord! When did you last eat?’

  ‘Last night,’ the handsome one replied. ‘We were robbed early this morning, and then this lady hurt her leg this afternoon – caught it in a poacher's trap.’ Jesral winced, picturing what that would do.

  ‘We'd pay for food and aid,’ he continued, ‘but right now we have no money. However, Renia must have attention to her leg, and soon. Can this be done?’

  Well, thought Jesral, can it? Close to she could tell the quality of his trousers, even if they did look as though they had seen some wear and tear. Careful topstitching like that cost a lot in anyone’s money. Federinese style, she was sure. And she knew now what was wrong about his accent; he spoke mostly town grammar, but with some local dialect mixed in. As if he'd learnt it as the former and now tried to imitate the latter. In all probability then, a well-off, well-educated Federinese who was down on his luck.

  Being short, she was on eye level with his chin, and could see there was something round his neck, hidden under his clothes. That could mean he was lying through his teeth about their finances; but all three of them would have to be consummate liars for her not to read something, some signal between them, if deceit were planned.

  ‘We can’t give you something for nothing, friend,’ she warned him, ‘we’re too poor for that. You’d have to contribute somehow. Can you labour? We have some summer planting left to do.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Would five days apiece seem reasonable?’ His willingness to compromise faltered. She wasn’t surprised; it wasn’t remotely reasonable. He looked to his tall companion, who looked at the girl who sat miserably before them. There were enough resemblances for Jesral to see the two of them were brother and sister. The look the tall man threw back at the handsome one was a plea.

  The nod of agreement was curt and he was tight-lipped as he gave it; the handsome one was not happy at being forced into this. But he spoke to the injured girl and helped her up with great gentleness, he and his friend supporting her between them as before.

  ‘Ten minutes and we’re there,’ Jesral assured them all.

  oOo

  The place where she lived was not much more than a shanty town; her mother’s shack was almost palatial in this setting, with three separate rooms at the back that served as bedrooms. Unfortunately Jesral's mother was not in the best frame of mind this afternoon. The sight of her girl’s paltry takings was hardly enough to encourage charity in her. But she brusquely ordered the men to sit Renia down because, money or no money, that ankle had to be put to rights.

  Jesral was set to fetch this and that from around the house, the handsome one to pump water; the other man sat with his sister. Jesral’s mother undid the bandage firmly but gently, having to soak off the last layers to get to the wound. ‘Yeughh!’ remarked Jesral when she saw it. Renia’s ankle was a mess of dried blood and puckered wound edges. The girl stared at it as though it was not part of herself – until Jesral's mother manipulated her foot and pulled and poked at the edges of the wounds, making them bleed afresh.

  ‘This can be mended,’ she pronounced. ‘The tendon is partly cut, but will mend whole, and no bones are broken. But those wounds will not close on their own. They will have to be stitched.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Jesral was not possessed of a strong stomach. Her mother rounded on her.

  ‘Jesral, go away. You're worse than useless at times like this. Go and make dinner or something – and take one of these men with you. I don't want you all cluttering up the room while I work. I'll need one of you, though. You, what’s your name?’ She tapped the handsome one on the knee, since he'd put his foot on the bench near her. She tapped a second time, harder, to show she w
anted his grubby boots off her furniture, thank you.

  ‘Roker, Ma’am. Roker O’Connell.’

  ‘Sit there, Roker.’ To Jesral’s surprise, he did so; to his surprise as well, from the look on his face. She judged his mood and her mother’s and deemed it wise to leave quickly before anyone blamed her for anything. Cramming some vegetables and several scoops of barley into a cooking pot, she seized it in one hand and the tall man’s arm in the other, and left.

  This man, the one Roker called Vel (if those were their true names), had been more spoken to than speaking himself; so far Roker had done most of the talking. He had let little slip. It was not certain that they had anything to hide, but Jesral’s intuition was nagging quietly at her. Perhaps there was more to be gained from talking to Vel on his own.

  ‘We cook communally here,’ she told him conversationally. ‘It saves fuel, and means there’s one building we can all go to that’s warm.’ A Godsend, this last winter. ‘Same as they do in Federin, I think.’ She looked at him and he realized the last statement was a question. No doubting that he judged his answer cautiously, from the look she got back.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said haltingly.

  ‘Oh, you’re not Federinese then?’

  ‘No, Mhrydaineg.’

  ‘But Roker is from Federin?’ Again the turning of the thoughts in his mind was plain on his features.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He has the look of a gentleman,’ she observed.

  ‘Yes…’ Oh, my, she thought, now we’ve struck true. Look at him trying to steer that away from trouble.

  ‘He’s a soldier. A captain.’

  ‘I see.’ And what I see is a man who doesn’t want to let anything slip, beyond the story the three of you have already put together, she concluded.

  She judged it wise to let it drop now, so as not to push him too far. They had crossed the grassy area in the centre of the village, on to which her house opened, to mount the steps of the long low cookhouse on the far side. She pushed the door open and led Vel over to a table, acutely conscious that the building, pre-catastrophe brick and concrete, had been shoddily patched up. Even the furniture had seen better days – like most of the village.

  ‘This was the generator house once. Lots of people think they’re a myth, like machines that flew, but not me. The machinery’s long gone now but look, you can see where the cables went to the lights in the ceiling.’

  ‘Yeah, I see. There used to be a steam engine running the hammer in our village smithy, but everyone thought the man who ran it was crazy. When he died, no one could make it work. They tried, but it blew up the smithy and they had to build a new one. That was generations ago, of course.’

  He was looking around now, noticing himself watched by some of the others there, and their topic of conversation would be frowned on if they were overheard. Damn it, she had to make him fit in.

  ‘Two pints of water in here, please. The pump’s over there.’ He took the cookpots she thrust at him and did as he was bidden, which took him away from her neighbours. She smiled an acknowledgement at them, which they returned before going back to their cooking.

  Before long he was back beside her with the pot. He stood and watched her, but when she glanced up, it was clear his mind was somewhere else.

  ‘She’ll be fine. My mother’s good,’ Jesral reassured him. He nodded hastily, to make it clear he had no doubt of that.

  ‘I was wondering how long until she’s recovered enough to travel?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, you’d need to ask that of Mother.’ Men in a hurry, she added to her list of known facts.

  She was finished; the vegetables were crammed tightly into the cookpot, enough to simmer down with the liquid and some borrowed seasoning to make a nice thick broth in an hour or so. They joined the neighbours at the fireplace, making introductions and finding a hook above the fire for the pot. The risk remained of the others asking too many questions of him; this time she resolved it by sending him out for more firewood. Ideas were seeding themselves in her mind, some interesting possibilities…

  They were still setting seed while she gossiped, but she was distracted from them by a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find her cousin Alessi, looking very pleased with himself. He drew her away from the others.

  ‘Greetings, Jez. And how has your day been?’

  ‘Interesting.’ Oh, if he only knew the half of it… ‘And yours?’

  ‘Profitable!’ he announced. Not good for someone else, then – but live and let live. They had to eat, after all.

  ‘Profitable, and serendipitous. I have something I think you’ll be very pleased to see; consider it a gift from me.’ From behind his back, he produced a pair of boots.

  ‘Oh!’ Her heart leapt; decent boots too, well made and meant for a woman’s feet.

  ‘They might be a little big, but you can stuff the toes with rags,’ he said magnanimously. ‘Ah, we’ve had a great day, Jez. Three horses, all their tack, three nice full purses…’

  She was inspecting the boots, the wonderful boots, when her joy crashed around her. All of a sudden she could see only one set of feet that would fit in them. She clutched the boots to her chest and stared at Alessi as he enumerated their haul. It took some time before her expression penetrated his enthusiasm.

  ‘…the oilcloths will do to patch that leak at the back of the house and… what? Jez, what’s the matter?’

  ‘A girl with light brown hair. Two men, one tall, one good-looking.’

  ‘That was them. But how did you…’

  She dropped the boots and put her head in her hands.

  ‘Oh, God! They’re here, Alessi! They’re in our house!’

  ‘What!’ He went a colour she had never seen on anyone, ever before. ‘Oh, Uffern!’

  ‘What were you thinking of? Robbing people on their way to the Three Villages!’

  ‘They were in the forest, up on the High Plains. How were we to know where they were going?’

  She struggled to get her thoughts straight. There had to be a way out of this.

  ‘If the gang gets out of the village tonight, they may not see you. You’ll need to move the horses without being seen and…’ A horrible thought struck her, and her gaze dropped to the boots. ‘You’ve just walked across the square with those in your hand, haven’t you?’

  ‘Ah, but I put my head round the door at your mother’s and saw no one but her, so they can’t have seen them.’

  ‘Except the one outside here, picking up wood for the fire. You didn’t even notice him, did you?’ She sprinted for the door and pulled it open; he was not at the woodpile. There he was, his back to her, going into Mother’s house. She slammed the door shut.

  ‘Oh, Lord.... You have to find Talenn, Alessi. You have to give it all back.’

  ‘Tal’ll never agree to that,’ he said doubtfully.

  ‘Well, his only other options now are running or the assizes, unless he’s prepared to consider murder. I suggest you point that out to him.’

  He shrugged desperately. ‘I’ll find him. That’s all I can promise.’ He contemplated using the front door, decided the back was better, and slipped out through the storeroom.

  She ran back to the house, the incriminating boots under her arm, straightened up and went in, with never a clue as to what she might say to them. Her mother turned from tidying the table; no one else was to be seen.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘In your bedroom, checking on the girl. Puts up with the whole business of stitching her leg up, then she faints, poor soul. But she's set to mend well now. That tall chap looked out of sorts when he came in…‘

  ‘Mother, we have trouble.’

  ‘Oh. What kind?’

  ‘The Talenn and Alessi kind.’ She set the boots on the table. ‘Guess whose.’ It did not take her mother long.

  ‘Lord and His angels. My brother bred idiots! And the tall chap knows they’re here?’

  ‘And that they know us. Alessi think
s Talenn will baulk at giving the stuff back. What do we do, Mother?’

  ‘I have no idea. I can’t find the knife I left on the table, so I think it safe to say they intend to make a fight of it. It strikes me this Roker would be trouble even without a weapon.’

  ‘At least we can use these to show good faith.’ Jesral took up the boots again, not without a pang at the thought of giving them back.

  The opening of the bedroom door made them turn. Her mother had been right about the knife; it was in Roker’s hand. The two men shut the door behind them and stood there.

  Jesral moved first. She went up to Vel and handed him his sister’s boots. His look reproached her, questioned her, and she knew she should say something, but for once words wouldn’t come. The best she could manage was a silent dialogue of apology with her eyes; and his acknowledged it, even if they did not accept it.

  ‘And the rest?’

  No such look in Roker’s eyes. He asked the question of both her and her mother, who folded her arms and met his accusing stare.

  ‘You’ll get it. They’re my nephews; they’ll do as I tell them or regret it. I should probably apologize for them, but I’m not going to. This is not an easy place to make a living. They try to do their best by us – sad effort though it is. But I doubt they’ll come back here now.’

  ‘So where do we find them?’

  ‘Ioni’s place. Near the stables. Shall we go and resolve this?’

  ‘One thing, with respect, Ma’am. They may be your family but they are not honourable men. They didn’t scruple to threaten Renia’s life while robbing us. I would not leave her alone for that option to be tried again.’

  ‘Oh! I have an idea.’ Jesral turned to Roker. ‘Alessi didn’t see you or Renia when he called in earlier, did he?’

  No, nor we him, or you would be short of a cousin by now.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell him how badly she’s hurt?’ Jesral asked of her mother.

  ‘It didn’t come up,’ she replied.

  ‘Then this should work. Mother, can you stay with Renia like Roker asked? If any of the men should come in, tell them she’s not here any more.’