Winter's Crossing: A Golden Fates Novel

by Katie Macey

  For a moment Niamh was thrown. Road sweepers existed in the city too. They weren't educated, and that didn't match her impression of Aarin at all.

  "You can't tell me there's no work,” said Niamh, her pulse racing. “Where is the stock? People are desperate, so there is a need. What crisis has happened here?"

  She leaned forward, with one fist knuckles down on the nearest bench. Veayre added, “Or my father can send you whatever you need, he’ll repay any debt you incur.”

  Herup paused and squinted at them, then stepping forward he leaned his face in close to Niamh's. With her lips pressed together to inhale as little of his abhorrent breath as possible, Niamh braced herself for his reaction.

  "You want to know my crisis?" His voice had been low and grumpy before, but now it lifted higher and louder until his final word was a squeaky shout. "And you want to pay later? Get out. Corruption is rampant, bandits have blocked trade…and you, on your first day of hard luck, you accuse me?” His voice thundered, and gaunt passers-by began to mill and stare.

  "The road is blocked and the sea will freeze, but you want to blame me for your troubles?" said Herup. He dumped a crate on the ground where it crumpled into a pile of wooden fragments. "How dare you."

  Veayre tugged at Niamh’s arm, whispering that they should go. But Niamh knew what Veayre wanted to do. She wanted to go straight to the town leader. Niamh met Herup's glare with her own, though she trembled.

  “I’ve made you angry,” she said, “and I’m sorry for that, really. But is there something we could do? We really need your help.” Niamh knew she sounded scared, but she was, so there was nothing she could do about it.

  “You mean the wreck in the bay,” said Herup. “You two survived.”

  “Yes,” said Niamh. “We need a place to stay, and information so we can make plans. We’re a little, well, desperate.”

  Herup stroked his chin, looking from Niamh to Veayre and back. “But what can you do? The west road has been taken over. There’s a gang of youths…Lord Egleril won’t listen…” He glanced over his shoulder. “And the real reason no one will stand up to them,” he leaned in closer, dropping his voice, “it’s because they’re using force, and violence!”

  Veayre scoffed.

  Niamh blinked.

  “I know it’s shocking,” said Herup. “But you’ve entered Muspary at a bad time…”

  “Violence?” said Niamh. “Like with weapons, and people hurting each other?” The question burst from Niamh’s lips before she had a chance to check herself.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Veayre exclaimed.

  Herup shrugged and said, “Lord Egleril said the same. And yet, we go hungry while the road stays blocked.”

  Could it be true? People actually harming others to hoard supplies? Then what about the opal blade…could Herup be telling the truth? With her voice breaking a little, Niamh answered him by asking, “What if we could reopen the road?”

  “You?” Herup laughed despite his anger. “Sure, if you two can get MY wagon past those bandits, you can sleep here. Pah! I’ll even try to help you.”

  Niamh nodded at Veayre, who had turned white. But Veayre shook her head, saying, “Niamh, he said they’ve used violence! Maybe even weapons! We saw that blade…who knows what is going on in the wider world?”

  But Niamh couldn’t believe it. Gutheacia had been at peace for too long for hungry villagers to simply ruin it. Any doubt she felt was overrun by his offer to help them if they succeeded.

  “Please uphold your end of the bargain, Herup,” said Niamh.

  “What? No,” said Veayre, not moving from her spot.

  “Listen to your friend,” Herup said, looking directly at Niamh.

  “They’re only rumours,” said Niamh, as she grabbed Veayre’s hand.

  “But what can we do against weapons, Niamh?”

  “We’ll work that out when we get there.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The straggling crowd parted before her and Niamh’s desperation fanned her anger to a blaze. Bandits? Citizens of Gutheacia using violence – it was too ridiculous. It had to be a lie or a trick. All of ‘that’ had been eradicated a thousand years ago. Niamh followed the west road as it led away from the market, and began winding up a hill. Veayre followed behind, her disapproval obvious.

  Niamh considered Herup’s story. Aunty had discouraged her from learning too much history, but Niamh was sure she knew the basics. There were Gold and Silver Fates, ancient beings that set Gutheacia on a path of peace. Once their work was done, the Golden Fate returned to the sun, leaving the Silver Fates to guide the people. More recent history confused Niamh more, but no one would tell her what happened fifteen years ago, least of all Aunty.

  But something had happened. Why else would the Silver Fates vanish, and the High King be so hated by the people? It occurred to Niamh that understanding these events might be important, but she couldn’t do anything about that now. Could a thousand years of peace really be broken by starving villagers? It was too shocking to even consider. Herup must be wrong.

  The crowd thinned as they approached their perilous destination. Niamh surveyed the cobbled incline of the road, the exposed hillside that dipped towards the coast, and the sheer cliffs rising from the other. The location gave favour to the bandits, or whoever they were. Whatever the real story, Herup was right to be wary.

  Frustration and anger gave strength to her tired body. Gutheacia was a land of peace, no matter how far away from the Island Palace she was. It was just plain stupid to even pretend that had changed. Thievery was one thing, but violence? Niamh glared up at the rock face.

  Hooded figures, faces hidden in the shadows glared back at her.

  "I can see you," Niamh announced.

  Veayre hung back.

  “Don’t make them even angrier!” said Veayre through clenched teeth. “What are you doing?”

  Twisting to get more traction under her shoes, Niamh bent down, coiling her body for maximum output. One hand to the ground, feeling the gritting loose dust between her fingertips, she looked up at the cliff, determination in her gaze. The hooded creatures shuffled again, but she didn't give them any time to react.

  “Don’t laugh. But it’s something I practice from time to time,” said Niamh.

  She unleashed her coiled power and sprang upwards in one sweeping movement from crouched on the ground, through twice her height of freezing air - plait, cloak, and dress flying behind her, until she landed precisely on the cliff face, fingertips finding a narrow grip.

  Not waiting for Veayre, slack-jawed on the road below, Niamh sprung forward again, this time up and over the ledge, into their cavernous hideout.

  It had worked! Not quite flight, but jumping that high sent a ripple of excitement through Niamh’s body.

  The shallow cavern cut into the side of the mountain, and a quick glance showed them to be living in squalor. Niamh scrunched her nose. Was nobody well-fed in this place?

  One in the corner coughed. A quiet little sound, like a cat's sneeze. None of the hoods stood taller than Niamh’s waist. She searched the darkened shadows of their hoods more intently. The short supposed-bandit coughed again, then buckled at the knees and fell. Niamh blinked as another rushed to its side. Had she heard a whimper?

  Before her, a situation unfolded more ludicrous than she could have imagined. The town’s people were too afraid to use this road. Herup said that bandits held it, attacking anything and blocking the safe-road in and out of the village. As if long years of peace could be broken so easily.

  Niamh counted eight of them, including the one that had collapsed.

  "What's going on with that one?" she asked.

  The tallest one’s dusty cloak skimmed the rocky floor with slight movement.

  "We demand you leave, or perish!" it screeched, before doubling over in a coughing fit.

  Niamh frowned. Something wasn't right. Ignoring the collective intake of breath, she stepped forward and clutched the nearest hood. T
hrowing it back revealed just what she suspected. A frightened child.

  Calling down the cliff-face to Veayre who waited below Niamh said, "Come up! We need your help!"

  "My friend will help you,” said Niamh. “And so will I. But tell me, what is happening here? Why do you terrorize this road? People go hungry because of you,” said Niamh, demanding answers in the same way she would from her little sisters.

  The young face lifted, meeting Niamh’s eye, “People were hungry anyway, us included.”

  Veayre eventually lifted herself over the ledge, looking very unsure of her footing as she did so. Once she stood securely in the cut-out she regarded the group before her and with her hands on her hips exclaimed, "Children?"

  Looking at Niamh in disbelief, Veayre asked, "Who watches over these little ones?"

  "I do."

  The tallest one spoke bravely, chin thrust in the air.

  "You?"

  Veayre ridiculed the child's efforts in one syllable.

  The girl-child only lifted her chin higher. Her strength outshone her matted hair and grubby face.

  "It's more than what's been done for us!" she threw back, her bottom lip quivering. “Violence will return to Gutheacia anyways. We’re guilty of nothing. Townsfolk were ready to be scared.” The rabble of grubby children nodded their agreement.

  “What do you mean?” said Niamh.

  “I read the histories, well, before Lord Egleril locked the library. All I did was alter the story a bit,” she said, rubbing her eyes and smudging grey grime across her cheek.

  “By scaring the people with stories of attacks you’ve interfered with things you don’t understand,” said Veayre with a flushed face. Niamh wondered at Veayre’s words but had no time to consider them.

  "What happens now, Dominae?" a small voice ventured from the other side of the cavern.

  Niamh moved quickly to assess the small collapsed one. One by one the eight children lifted their hoods. Niamh sighed. The “bandits” were just a bunch of frightened children.

  "Tell me what's going on. All of it,” said Niamh, sitting cross-legged on the rocky floor.

  ✽✽✽

  Within the hour, Niamh had the children out of their hidey-hole and showing her where Herup’s wagon was hidden. Veayre’s face remained impassive and guarded, but Niamh noticed the care she took helping the youngest of the children into the back of the wagon.

  Its wooden wheels scraped on the sand-sprinkled cobbled road. It should have been replaced seasons ago. Niamh felt old next to these children. And the parallel between their stories and her own hadn’t escaped her. Her fate could have been the same, if not for Aunty’s goodwill. She and Veayre used all of their strength to guide the wagon’s rolling journey back down the road. With no beast to bear its pulled weight, they were grateful they only had to control its descent back into the village. Niamh heaved, and her hands blistered, but she also prepared herself to speak with Herup again. And what would they do with this bunch of children?

  "The wagon, the wagon is here!" exclaimed a frail woman, alerting those around her. The road levelled out. Pulling the wagon through a crowd was even more difficult with people pressing close, squeezing their shoulders, waving gratitude to the heavens.

  "Let us pass!" Veayre thundered.

  But the crowd pressed hard against her and Niamh glared in frustration. But the people prevented the wagon from rolling much further. The wagon was heavy! Coming to a complete stop, she lifted onto her toes, to see what blocked their way.

  Over the tops of shoulders and between heads, Niamh caught a glimpse of what prevented their progress. But it was only a man. He looked average on every count except, his clothing. He must be important, as he walked freely, unhindered by the crowds. And where every other skinny person in the village wore pale blues and greys, this man obnoxiously adorned himself in deep purples, shiny silvers, and a wide sash of golden yellow.

  “Dominae, who is that?” said Niamh, leaning close to the wagon so her voice wouldn’t be overheard.

  “He locked up the library,” said Dominae, before ducking behind a crate. “That’s Lord Egleril.”

  No one in the village could match the wealth he flaunted before the people. Niamh realised that he didn’t walk alone. Another walked with him, a boy. Niamh cocked her head to one side, no, a young man. Cropped hair of the purest white glowed against his deeply tanned skin. His arms shook as he struggled to carry a small chest. Niamh had never seen one made of crystal before, but the way even Veayre's eyes widened at seeing one here made her sure it was worth a great deal. The crystal gave any passerby a clear view of the chest’s contents. Niamh sucked in a sharp breath. There for all to see, lay the dagger and her bracelet. She'd recognize it anywhere. As one of a mysterious set of three, she had worn it from the beginning of her conscious memory. That old woman must have sold it to whoever that man was. Still unwilling to entertain any understanding in her mind towards the old woman, Niamh glowered. Yet for all her confidence that she was right and the old woman was wrong, she couldn’t see what to do about it. Her grip on the wagon faltered.

  The wagon crunched to the ground sending up a cloud of dust. Those close by coughed and spluttered and Veayre yelled at her for dropping her side. The crowd split, a gap opening before her. Niamh noticed how many faces stared at the chest’s contents. They looked as shocked as she had been at finding it on the beach. Weapons just weren’t seen in Gutheacia. The chest wobbled dangerously, and Niamh saw that the boy holding it looked utterly miserable. She glanced from the worried faces in the crowd, to the flabby Lord. His face flushed with fury and glistened with sweat. Worst of all, his anger was aimed right at her.

  Niamh had spent her whole life avoiding getting into trouble. Now, she felt grossly unprepared. She decided Muspary really must be the most lawless place in all of Gutheacia.

  "You think I don't know where my latest treasures came from? Ha!" he said, spitting saliva with every word. Even Veayre looked repulsed despite her practiced ways.

  "You've given one woman a month’s respite, but that’s it. It's too late you see." He didn't move but rather stood like a stodgy potato on a forgotten shelf. "I have accepted it as payment of a debt. Now it's mine."

  "It was ill taken,” said Niamh surprising herself, though her voice shook. While she had courage she added, “Will you report the blade to the High King?”

  Niamh lifted her chin, just like Dominae had earlier. The crowd quaked, and some rushed away immediately, at the mention of the blade. All other faces turned to the Lord, concerned and scared.

  “Bah! The High King’s power doesn’t reach this far,” said Lord Egleril, resting pudgy hands on his yellow sash. “I am the law here.”

  A young boy shouted something, but his mother shushed him soundly. Lord Egleril grimaced but ignored the crowd.

  "Come, Jomen. We must return."

  The Lord strode away. The young man, shot Niamh a sorry glance, but she was too frustrated to notice how his eyes fell when she ignored it.

  ✽✽✽

  Later, lowering the wagon gently this time, Niamh waited for Herup to wrestle open his storehouse. He had rounded up a collection of blankets and grain, and sent the small children from the west road to a small house further up the path. A kind-faced woman led them, and Dominae waved goodbye to Niamh and Veayre. Niamh wondered if she had been too quick to judge Muspary. She’d certainly judged Herup too harshly. He’s been the picture of softness while organising help for the children.

  When they were out of sight, Herup said, “You were right to doubt our story of violent bandits.”

  Niamh nodded. But as much as she appreciated Herup’s pseudo-apology, she had questions of her own.

  “We’re still in Gutheacia, right?”

  Herup nodded slowly and said, “Muspary is well within the border. But where are you from? Visitors aren’t frequent this time of year.”

  “I heard people call this place ‘Muspary.’” Veayre interjected trying out the
word on her tongue. Niamh glanced at her and hurried to answer Herup’s question, but Veayre beat her to it.

  “We’re from the city, by the Island Palace,” said Veayre.

  “Of course, of course, so the storm…” said Herup, carrying a bag of grain inside.

  “Yes,” said Niamh. She saw how uncomfortable Veayre was making Herup. “We were shipwrecked.” Niamh redirected their exchange, shaking her head at Veayre. Sure they’d struck a bargain, but he was the first person to show them any real kindness. She continued, “We aim for Oplijah. I have a deadline.” She knew she was being vague, but it was tricky to explain, and Aunty had discouraged her from explaining it anyway.

  “Opening the west road certainly helps,” said Herup, “but the longer you’re here, the more you’ll get to understand how much damage Lord Egleril has done.”

  “Well, as no ships can be taken, maybe we can continue on that way?” said Niamh.

  “To Oplijah? Young lady, that road leads to my brother’s workshop and storehouse. It’s critical for food transport, but no help to travellers like yourself. It’s a dead end.”

  Neither girl knew what to say to that, so they unloaded the wagon in silence.

  ✽✽✽

  Before long Herup’s benches and tables were restocked, so they moved onto sorting the produce. Other items were stored for later. One box in particular Herup asked Veayre to lift onto a high shelf using a small step-ladder. As the sun dipped below the watery horizon, Herup finally declared their work done. He handed them each a bronze coin and showed them up into the loft.

  "We're not all as corrupt as that there leader," he said as explanation for holding up his end of the bargain. "Stick with me and you'll have a safe place to lay your heads, and a little coin for provisions."

  Niamh smirked a little at Veayre. He acted like a benevolent king, but she was grateful. Thanking him for his kindness, the two girls climbed the ladder, carefully centring their weight on each rung to reduce its risk of cracking through.