Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

‘Can’t think why he likes you so much. Poor fellow. I see now why you were scared to come – afraid he’ll try and kiss you?’

  ‘If you feel so sorry for him, you could always court him yourself.’

  ‘Not my type.’

  Gonjik’s head disappeared. Moments later he skipped out of the door into Zastra’s path, forcing her to stop.

  ‘It’ll cost you a kiss to get past.’

  ‘Sorry, right out of kisses. You could always ask Dalbric. He seems in a generous mood today.’

  ‘I’d rather kiss a goat’s backside,’ Gonjik said.

  ‘Ouch!’ she said, looking at Dalbric in mock sympathy.

  Dalbric shrugged. ‘He clearly has peculiar tastes.’

  Gonjik refused to move, and so Zastra shoved him aside.

  ‘Layna, don’t be rude,’ admonished Etta. ‘Politeness costs nothing.’

  ‘I’ll very politely kick his backside if he tries anything,’ Zastra insisted.

  Gonjik was followed out of his house by his mother, Mexun, a pinched-faced woman who served as the village carpenter. Etta’s jaw tightened, but she greeted her politely.

  ‘Off to see Frecha, I suppose,’ the carpenter remarked, eyes narrowing. ‘Geort hasn’t made it back yet. I expect he’s found a younger woman to spend all that firedust money on.’

  ‘Geort wouldn’t do that,’ Etta protested. ‘I won’t listen to such ugly gossip. And before you ask, we don’t need any furniture, thank you very much.’

  ‘I was only saying hello,’ Mexun began, but Etta moved them briskly along before the carpenter could continue. When they reached the weaver’s house, the door was yanked open before they could knock by a plump girl of about Zastra’s age.

  ‘Dalbric,’ she exclaimed brightly, breaking into a dimpled smile and leaning flirtatiously against the doorpost. ‘How nice to see you. Oh, and here’s Etta and dear little Fin.’

  ‘Hi, Hanra,’ mumbled Dalbric, in the general direction of the floor. He surreptitiously licked his palms and pressed them down on his hair in an unsuccessful attempt to flatten it down.

  ‘Hello,’ Zastra said pointedly. Hanra flicked her eyes briefly towards her and then skipped back into the house, leaving them to follow. Dalbric stood fixed in the doorway, gazing in adoration at Hanra’s receding figure. Zastra planted two hands on his back and shoved him forwards. The dark hallway widened into a pleasant room with a large window. An older version of Hanra in miniature sat by a loom, eyes shining in pleasure. She did not get up, but opened her arms and wiggled her fingers in welcome.

  ‘Etta, Dalbric, how lovely. Oh, and here’s Layna and my darling little Fin. How he has grown! Come here, duckie, and sit on my knee. How is everyone?’

  ‘We are all quite well,’ Etta said quickly, before anyone else had chance to speak. ‘We brought the first batch of wool.’

  Frecha twisted the yarn between her thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Very soft. Should fetch a good price. I’m glad. Mexun has been pestering me for money, even though I keep telling her Geort won’t be back from the Helgarths until midsummer.’

  ‘Why so late?’

  ‘Shortage of firedust, so they’ve extended the mining season. I suppose he’ll get more money, but I could really do with some now.’

  ‘Us too,’ remarked Dalbric. ‘Our axe has so many chips and cracks, it’s a wonder it’s still in one piece.’

  ‘Looks like someone needs new trousers too, duckie.’

  Dalbric had been victim of a grown spurt over the winter and the lower part of his calves protruded below the hem of his trousers.

  ‘I don’t agree, Ma,’ Hanra interjected. ‘Dalbric has such strong calves. He should have them on display more often.’

  Dalbric blushed furiously.

  Zastra held up the trout.

  ‘We brought lunch.’

  ‘Oh, how kind!’ Frecha exclaimed. ‘Hanra – get the stove going, will you, duckie?’

  ‘I’ll chop some wood,’ said Dalbric, his face still in high colour. He picked up an axe that was resting against the wall.

  ‘I wish you were this keen at home,’ said Etta.

  ‘Be careful you don’t do anything to damage those lovely calves,’ Zastra added.

  ‘I don’t feel too well,’ said Hanra, affecting a cough, ‘Layna won’t mind cooking, will you?’

  Zastra minded very much. Not only because Hanra didn’t look at all ill, but she could hardly go and fetch Lindarn if she was stuck in the kitchen.

  ‘I was hoping to go for a walk round the village.’

  ‘But you’ve just walked all that way down the mountain,’ Hanra returned smugly. ‘Why would you want to go out again?’

  ‘No business of yours.’ Zastra snapped.

  ‘Full of secrets, ain’t you? You’ve never even told us where you are from. Anyone can see you ain’t no mountain girl.’

  ‘I told you, she’s my cousin’s girl,’ Etta interjected, with a stern look at Zastra.

  If you knew who I really was, you’d be a lot nicer, I’d bet, Zastra thought, glaring at Hanra. I can almost picture the look on your face. However, she bit back a retort and began to descale the fish.

  ‘Oh, how kind of you Layna,’ said Frecha. ‘My back has stiffened up today, and Hanra seems to have another of her little fevers, poor dear. I wonder what causes them?’

  ‘Proximity to anything like hard work,’ Zastra muttered.

  Hanra offered up a pathetic hiccup, as if to confirm her incapacity, whilst still finding the energy to give Zastra a look of sly triumph when no one else was looking. Zastra found a frying pan, and began to cook the fish. Meanwhile, Etta began to help Frecha thread the yarn upon the loom.

  ‘Kikan seemed hard at work when we passed,’ she remarked. ‘He didn’t even say hello.’

  Frecha stopped dead, the spool of yarn still in her hand.

  ‘Haven’t you heard, duckie? Raurak is missing. Old Haq’s donkey too.’

  Etta stared at her.

  ‘Missing? What do you mean?’

  ‘They had some bags of oats spare after the winter so Raurak took them down to Kirkholme to sell, along with their bamboo cloth. He and the donkey were due back last week, but there’s been no sign of them.’

  Kirkholme, the nearest trading post, lay several days journey away. Whenever the villagers had goods to trade, they paid Haq a small fee to hire his donkey and cart.

  ‘I bet Raurak has run off with another man,’ Hanra said with a giggle. ‘He’s always had roving eyes, that one. And Kikan is so much older than him.’

  ‘Even if that were true, Raurak would never take the donkey and not bring it back. He knows how important it is to all of us. Kikan says if he’s not back by tomorrow, he’ll go down to Kirkholme himself.’

  ‘He’ll kill Raurak if he finds him. I’d never run away from my husband.’ Hanra sidled up to Dalbric and put her arm through his. Dalbric’s face went bright red. Zastra reached between them and banged the hot pan down on the table.

  ‘Lunch is ready.’

  ‘Don’t want to eat the poor fishy,’ protested Fin.

  Zastra stared at him in disbelief. ‘You were the one that asked for fish for lunch. That’s why I caught it in the first place.’ Fin folded his arms.

  ‘He was happy and you killed him,’ he said.

  ‘Ain’t no such thing as a happy fish,’ scoffed Dalbric, but Fin still refused to touch his plate. Frecha found some bread and syrup for him to have instead.

  When they had eaten, Frecha stood up and began clear away the dishes, wincing with the pain. When Hanra made no offer of help, Zastra leapt up and took the plates from Frecha’s hands.

  ‘You rest, Frecha.’ She shot a pointed glance at Hanra, but it was wasted. The weaver’s daughter rested her head on Dalbric’s shoulder and sighed as if she didn’t even have the energy to sit up properly. Resisting the temptation to throw something at her, Zastra scrubbed the plates and pots so hard that they shone. When she was done, she was at last free
to go in search of Lindarn.

  ‘I’m just popping out to see Gonjik. To apologise for being so rude.’

  However, her lie was unnecessary as no one paid her the remotest attention. Etta and Frecha were working the loom, Hanra and Dalbric were deep in some secret discussion, and Findar…was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Where’s Fin?’

  Etta, roused by Zastra’s worried cry, shot to her feet.

  ‘I thought he was with Hanra.’

  ‘What?’ Hanra turned towards them. ‘No – not since we finished lunch. Ain’t he in the bedroom?’

  Zastra dashed into the bedroom. It was empty. She searched every other room in the house, but there was no sign of her brother.

  Chapter Five

  Zastra shot out into the street. A fog had descended and the outer edges of the village were shrouded in a pale grey curtain. Findar was nowhere to be seen. He’d disappeared, just like Raurak. A figure loomed out of the mist. Gonjik, smirking as usual.

  ‘Looking for something?’

  ‘My brother. Have you seen him?’

  Gonjik hopped from one foot to the other. ‘Maybe, maybe not. I might remember, if you were nice to me. Just one little kiss.’

  Zastra gathered a fistful of Gonjik’s shirt in her hand and pushed him backwards until he was pressed up against the trunk of a tree.

  ‘Tell me where he is. Right now.’

  Gonjik just grinned and spread his hands wide

  ‘Why resist this attraction, Layna? You can’t keep your hands off me.’

  Zastra dropped him in disgust and stormed off down the street, looking behind every fence and knocking on every door. No one had seen her brother. The fog thickened until she could see barely three paces in front of her.

  Gonjik skipped after her. ‘I’ll help you look, if you want.’

  ‘Just leave me alone,’ she growled. Panic fluttered inside her chest. She began to run, yelling her brother’s name. Then, out of the grey mist, a thin cry echoed her own. She ran towards the sound and found herself at the healer’s house. Fin was pounding on the door with both his little fists. Zastra gathered him up in her arms.

  ‘Fin, thank the stars. Where have you been?’

  ‘Fetching healer for Etta. Make her better.’

  ‘Oh, Fin, you’re a love, but don’t scare me like that.’ She hugged him close and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Her brother giggled and tried to wriggle out of her grip but Zastra held firm. She wasn’t going to let him escape again, not with the mountain fog thickening by the moment.

  ‘If you’re wanting Lindarn, he ain’t here.’ Gonjik emerged from the murkiness. ‘He’s gone to Steepcrest to help his son’s wife have her baby. Won’t be back for days.’

  ‘Fin? Layna?’ Zastra recognised Etta’s voice. She set Fin down, but kept a firm hold of his hand.

  ‘Come, Fin. We mustn’t tell anyone that we were looking for Lindarn. It’s our secret.’

  ‘Secret,’ echoed Fin with utmost seriousness. Etta and Dalbric emerged from the mist.

  ‘You found him. Thank the stars!’ Etta cried in relief and planted a kiss on the top of Fin’s head. Dalbric peered behind them.

  ‘Where’s Lindarn?’ he asked expectantly. Zastra shot him a look of exasperation.

  ‘Lindarn’s a secret.’ Fin’s exaggerated whisper was so loud that everyone in the village must have heard. Etta pinched her left earlobe between her thumb and forefinger, a sure sign she was seriously displeased. She waited a moment before speaking, and when she did, she was dangerously calm.

  ‘I see. Sneaking around behind my back, the lot of you. We’re going home. This instant. And when we get there, Layna can start cleaning the next batch of wool and Dalbric, you can dig a new waste pit. You should have plenty of energy after mooning at Hanra all day. It seems I’m not keeping you busy enough if you have time to hatch plots behind my back.’

  Zastra and Dalbric exchanged glances as Etta strode off up the mountain, coughing.

  ‘I don’t care how many chores we get, I’m going to find Lindarn,’ Zastra insisted. Dalbric nodded in silent agreement as they headed home.

  Chapter Six

  Kylen squinted through the branches of a tree at the familiar village. Something was wrong. Breeze sensed it too and nudged her nervously in the back with his nose. She scanned every house carefully. There was no sign of Golmeiran soldiers, but her intuition told her not to move. Something is different from the last time we were here.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ Hylaz broke her concentration. ‘I’m starving. The thought of Loran’s pancakes gets my taste buds itching. And we need to get the rest of these Golmeiran weapons hidden away.’

  His stomach emitted a loud rumble. Kylen frowned in annoyance.

  ‘I don’t know what’s worse. Your grumbling, or that of your belly. We’d best hope there aren’t any Golmeirans nearby. I was hoping to remain unnoticed.’

  ‘I don’t understand. If there were a hundred soldiers in this village, you’d have already sent us in to fight them.’

  ‘Because then we’d have known what we were facing.’ Kylen continued her scan of the village. Her eyes came to rest on a large house of clay bricks that sat opposite the watchtower.

  ‘See Loran’s house? There’s something odd about the door.’

  Hylaz took out a telescope and peered through it. ‘Looks as if it’s been boarded up.’

  Kylen snatched the telescope from him so that she could see for herself.

  ‘That’s odd. Why would Loran close up his house?’

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ offered Hylaz hopefully. His stomach rumbled again and Kylen relented. As she led her small group and their fellgryffs into the village, it became even more apparent that something was amiss. Sendorans were usually keen to welcome their own, and they had many friends in this village. But today no one came out to greet them. A woman emerged from her house carrying a large bucket, but the moment she saw them, she ducked back inside and slammed the door behind her. Others lowered their eyes as Kylen passed, with no word of welcome. When they reached Loran’s house, Kylen peered between the rough boards that had been nailed across the doorframe. There was no sign of movement, even when she banged her fist against the wood.

  ‘So much for pancakes,’ Hylaz remarked sorrowfully.

  Kylen strode to the neighbouring house and thumped on the door. No one answered. Resting her ear to the wood, she gestured for quiet. She closed her eyes, cutting off all other senses. She attuned herself to the swish of the wind playing through the highest branches of the trees. A raven squawked somewhere in the treetops and further down the village a door creaked. She acknowledged these sounds and searched for something more. There it was; soft, nasal, pulsating in time with her own breathing. She stepped back and pounded so hard that the door threatened to come free of its hinges.

  ‘I know you’re in there!’

  A small crack appeared between the door and the jamb.

  ‘Noonan, isn’t it?’ Kylen peered into the darkness. ‘There’s no need to hide from me. We are all friends here.’

  ‘As a rule, friends don’t break down doors,’ Hylaz remarked under his breath.

  ‘If there were pancakes in there, this door would be kindling by now,’ Kylen returned.

  The door inched open and a woman stuck her head outside, scanning the village nervously.

  ‘Golmeirans. They knew we’d been supplying you with food, Lady Kylen. I don’t know how, but they knew. Someone had to take the blame.’

  ‘So you gave up Loran?’ Kylen swelled with rage. She grabbed Noonan by her arm and dragged her bodily into the street. ‘Who gave him up?’

  Hylaz prised Kylen away from the woman.

  ‘These people are not our enemies, my lady.’

  Kylen shrugged him off and jabbed her finger towards Noonan.

  ‘They gave up Loran. That makes them traitors to Sendor.’

  Noonan returned her gaze levelly.

  ‘Loran gave him
self up. They were going to burn all our food, so Loran stood forward to take the blame. Then they burned the food anyway.’

  ‘What, all of it?’ Kylen exclaimed in dismay. ‘They left you nothing?’

  ‘We managed to keep some supplies hidden, but we must hope for a good harvest.’

  ‘And Loran?’

  ‘They took him away. He was a good man.’ There was bitter accusation in her voice, and it seemed that it was not only directed at the Golmeirans. Kylen strode towards the edge of the village, chewing her lower lip. She gathered her small band of fighters and issued a few, brief orders. Her comrades mounted their fellgryffs and scattered, reappearing just as the sun was setting, bearing the fruits of a day’s hunting. Kylen ordered the meat to be placed in front of Loran’s door.

  ‘We are not your enemy,’ she called out into the dusk. But she was answered only by the slamming of doors and closing of shutters. One by one the lights in the village were extinguished until they were left in darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  It was several days before Etta let Zastra or Dalbric out of her sight. She kept them working from before dawn until well after sunset, barely speaking to them except to deliver orders, or think of new chores. However, when the final batch of wool was all cleaned and spun, she had no choice but to allow the two of them to take it down to Frecha.

  ‘I won’t come with you,’ she said. ‘I need to start making the cheese. Make sure you come straight back. No dallying.’

  As they were preparing their backpacks, Findar ran up to Zastra.

  ‘Can I come? Want to show Frecha my knee.’ He pointed proudly at a small scab at the top of his shin. A she-goat had taken offence when he had tried to pet her new-born kid and kicked him.

  Zastra chewed her lip. She didn’t want Fin to come, but couldn’t explain why, not with Etta listening. Dalbric interjected bluntly.

  ‘You’ll slow us down, little man. We are late already and you’re getting too big to carry.’

  Findar’s face fell and his eyes moistened with tears, but his protest remained unspoken. As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Zastra gave her pack of wool to Dalbric. He added it to his already heavy load.