‘Ooh, that’s so like her! Joril, you really shouldn’t.’
Joril stopped. Not because she felt guilty, but because Lylian’s snorting was so loud she sounded like a tortured vizzal. It was so embarrassing. She shifted uncomfortably until Lylian recovered herself.
‘At least Bodel teaches you to read and write,’ her friend offered, once she had calmed down.
‘Only because she wants someone to copy out all her healing recipes.’
‘I wish I could learn stuff like that.’
‘You? I don’t think you’d be any good at it.’
As soon as the words left her mouth, Joril clamped her jaw shut. Another of Auntie Bodel’s favourite phrases leapt into her mind. Joril, you must stop speaking without thinking. Lylian’s lower lip began to wobble.
‘I only meant… Why should you even take the trouble to learn? Millers don’t need to read, do they?’ Joril said quickly. But Lylian began to wail and snot bubbled out of her nostrils.
‘Y-you always think you’re better than the rest of us. Y-You’re not the only one with dreams.’
Feeling a stab of guilt, Joril took out a hanky and gave it to Lylian. She couldn’t wait to leave this village and everyone in it. I may not be the only one with dreams, but I’m going to make sure mine come true.
Chapter Two
Zastra glared at the sky, heedless of the driving rain as she stood on the exposed wooden jetty. Through the gloom, she could just make out the outline of her ship, the Wind of Golmeira, bereft of masts and secured with double anchors fore and aft. Taking down the rigging had proved a wise move. They had been trapped in Port Krysfera all winter as storm after storm crashed into the bay of this, the largest of the string of islands named Uden’s Teeth. It wasn’t until the most recent Moonscrescent that a break in the weather had allowed Drazan to slip out in his little two masted Daydream. It was for his return that Zastra watched so impatiently. He was overdue and already whispers were spreading that he had been captured. She hoped it was not so. The Wind of Golmeira desperately needed the new sailcloth that Drazan had gone to fetch. If the Daydream failed to return, she was stuck here. Zastra sensed movement behind her and sighed. Could she never be left alone?
‘Lady Zastra, I—you really must—inside. Begging pardon for such a humble servant to suggest to your esteemed personage—you’ll catch your death. If anything should befall you—all these refugees fighting amongst themselves, with only you to stop them—The Sendorans always arguing—you must think of yourself, but you are so—I would all be most happy to assist—delighted, even—any time you wish to go out—I beg you will allow me.’
A rotund man carried a pole with a square of waxed cloth mounted on top. He lifted it above her head to shield her from the rain and attempted an extravagant bow. Unfortunately, in performing his bow, he sent water cascading down Zastra’s back. With a stifled squawk of horror at his blunder, he lifted the pole again and fell into a ridiculous half-curtsey to try and keep the canvas square above her head. Water dribbled over the side of the canvas and flattened his curly hair.
‘Dearest Lady Zastra, forgive—royalty is so gracious—oh, you are as wet as a fish. I should have come sooner, but I was—so many projects to make this place habitable, and I need to chivvy everyone to—not that it is an excuse, I am not worthy to be…’
He froze with both knees bent awkwardly, his short arms shaking with the weight of his burden. Zastra made for the shelter of the dry-stone hall. Pitwyn’s disturbing habit of appearing out of nowhere was vexing but he didn’t deserve to catch a fever for her sake. The heat from the fire in the hearth at the end of the hall hit her as they entered. Only then did she realise how cold she was. A warm towel was draped over her shoulders and another planted on her head.
‘More towels for Lady Zastra. Quick now.’
‘Thank you, Pitwyn, but I can dry myself.’
‘My lady.’ He backed away, bowing extravagantly. Not seeing where he was going, he bumped into Nerika, a pinched looking woman who captained the Obala, their other large warship.
‘You should have left her outside, Pitwyn. If she’s stupid enough to go out in this storm and catch her death, we’d have one less mouth to feed.’
Nerika had never forgiven Zastra for being a Grand Marl’s daughter, born to riches and privilege. Under Pitwyn’s supervision, Uden’s Teeth had provided an excellent harvest, but the fields had been planted before Zastra had brought hundreds of starving refugees from Murthen Island. She had been forced to impose rations, which had proved unpopular. It didn’t help that most of the refugees were Sendoran, whereas the rebels were almost all Golmeirans. Old hatreds had not been forgotten.
An athletic young Sendoran woman burst into the hall and dropped a dead girelle on the floor, spraying water in all directions. Pitwyn emitted a strangled squeak of distress.
‘Well done, Kylen,’ Nerika said acerbically. ‘Pitwyn’s had his crew scrubbing this floor all morning to make it fit for royalty. By which he means you and Zastra. You both repay their efforts so thoughtfully.’
Zastra became painfully aware of the puddle of dirty water gathering around her boots. Kylen returned Nerika’s glare.
‘All winter you’ve complained about my people taking your precious food. I bring you some and you’re still not happy.’
‘There’s no need to make such a show of it,’ Nerika remarked. ‘The animals on this island are so tame they practically invite you to shoot them.’
‘True, there’s not much sport to it. But I see you’ve chosen to stay nice and dry.’
Kylen tore off her leather coat and shook the water from it, eliciting another stifled whimper from Pitwyn.
‘Nerika does her share.’ Zastra attempted to keep the peace. ‘Only yesterday she caught a pair of bootstrap birds.’
‘I don’t need you to defend me,’ Nerika snapped. They were interrupted by an old man with a brown birthmark that covered most of his right cheek. He carried a tray filled with mugs of steaming chala. Zastra took one.
‘Thanks, Dobery,’ she said, grateful for the interruption as much as for the drink. Nerika made a point of taking a mug before Kylen. She refused to show any deference to the liege lord of Sendor.
‘Did glaring at the storm make you feel any better?’ enquired Dobery. Zastra sipped her hot drink and said nothing. Her old tutor was the only person who knew why she was so eager to leave. She wanted it to stay that way.
‘How’s my brother?’ Kylen asked eagerly. Dobery kept his expression neutral, but Zastra knew him well enough to sense his concern.
‘Thorlberd’s mindweavers did serious damage to Zadorax’s mind. It will take time to heal. And patience.’
Kylen slammed down her mug, her chala untouched.
‘All winter, you’ve been saying that and still he suffers. I will go to him.’
A blast of cold wind whistled around the room as she departed. The door slammed shut behind her.
‘Did you talk to Polina?’ Zastra asked in an undertone. ‘Did she agree to help?’
Dobery nodded.
‘She’s probably waiting for us right now.’
Zastra gulped down the rest of her chala. As they left, a bulky figure stepped out from the corner of the hall. His red skin and flattened nose identified him as a Kyrginite.
‘I’ll be fine, Ithgol,’ said Zastra. The flaxen-haired Kyrg seemed to think it his duty to protect her. It was more than a little ridiculous. The only thing Zastra needed protecting from on Uden’s Teeth were Nerika’s tongue lashings. Ithgol retreated obediently back into the shadows, drew out a scythal and began sharpening the points.
Dobery’s hut was close by, one of the many small cabins that stretched along the length of the bay. Polina had not yet arrived. Zastra looked longingly at the empty grate. Dobery was frugal with his fire. He was not strong enough to chop his own wood, yet he refused all offers of help and used only the driftwood he collected himself.
‘How is Zax really?’ Zastra r
ubbed her still damp arms to try and warm herself. Dobery eased into a chair. His face was grey and he took a moment to catch his breath.
‘There are things in his mind that I can’t fix. Maybe Polina will have more luck, but at present she’s so busy with those poor bluebloods. I worry she’s working too hard, especially since Drazan left.’
Last summer the rebels had discovered Murthen Island, a secret hideaway where Thorlberd’s mindweavers were experimenting on Sendorans, trying to break their natural resistance to the power. Kylen’s brother had been a prisoner there, along with a group of children known as bluebloods. Zastra and Kylen had led a successful rescue mission, but many of the children still craved the addictive cintara bark that had been forced on them in an attempt to enhance their latent mindweaving powers.
‘I wish I was a mindweaver. Then I could help you.’
The talent was rare; Dobery, Polina and Drazan were the only mindweavers amongst the rebels.
‘Wishing will never make it so, my dear. I thought you had accepted that.’
‘It’s only… I can’t be sure who I can trust. Apart from you.’
‘And you think being a mindweaver would help?’
‘It might have made my father realise his own brother was going to betray him,’ Zastra remarked bitterly. Dobery pulled a blanket around his hips.
‘Trust isn’t about reading minds. It’s much more profound.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Dobery gave a wry smile. ‘The act of sharing your deepest secrets creates a special bond. Emotions even more so. And the hardest step, but vital if you are to be a true leader, is to trust others to do things for you. Even if it means risking their lives.’
Zastra wasn’t comfortable with that idea. She had never forgotten the heart-breaking task of clearing away the bodies after their assault on Murthen Island. She wanted no more deaths on her conscience. She changed the subject.
‘Where is Polina? I need to practise dealing with more than one of you at once.’
Although Zastra had no mindweaving abilities, she could resist those with the power, a useful talent that was rare amongst Golmeirans. Unlike the Sendoran resistance, which was innate and effortless, Zastra’s was hard won, strengthened over years of practice and Zastra had insisted Dobery continue to give her daily lessons throughout the winter. She had too many secrets to protect.
‘I wish you would reconsider,’ said Dobery. ‘After what happened at Murthen Island, Thorlberd will be looking for you. Golmeira is a dangerous place, particularly for you.’
‘I need to know that Findar is safe. Dalbric and Etta too. They took us in when we had nowhere else to go.’ Findar was her younger brother. She hadn’t seen him since she had been taken up by a press gang and forced to serve aboard the Wind of Golmeira. The ship had been part of Thorlberd’s fleet until she and Ithgol had effected a mutiny and joined the rebels.
‘You could send someone else.’
‘There’s no one I can trust. Not with this.’
‘I see I’ve been wasting my breath. As a leader, you can’t do everything yourself. Others have different skills. If you want to find out a secret, you might need a mindweaver. Need a door breaking down? Then Ithgol’s your fellow. And if you want to go headlong into danger without thought of the consequence…’
‘Then I should ask Kylen,’ Zastra finished with a smile that Dobery returned.
‘I think you’ve been spending too much time with that Sendoran. You’ve become almost as reckless as she is.’
The door opened and closed quickly behind a young woman who paused at the threshold to squeeze water from her hair.
‘Polina, there you are, my dear.’ Dobery patted the seat of the chair next to him. ‘You look done in.’
Polina accepted his offer gratefully, with only a fleeting glance towards the empty fireplace.
‘I am a poor host. Let me light a fire.’
Dobery began to lever himself out of his chair but Zastra shooed him away. She spread kindling beneath a couple of logs and reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny piece of firering. She held it delicately between her forefinger and thumb and scraped the tip of her knife against it to generate sparks.
‘Ow!’ she cried as the blade nicked her finger.
‘I don’t know why you keep using that little scrap,’ Polina said. ‘It’s a wonder you don’t cut yourself every time.’
Zastra sucked on her finger to stop the bleeding and carefully returned the fragment of metal in her trouser pocket. She would never exchange it for a new one. When she had left Findar, she had given her brother a matching piece and told him whenever he held it and thought of her, she would be doing the same. It had been a tale to pacify a small boy, but even so, she would keep it until they were reunited.
‘Let’s get started,’ she said as the fire began to catch. She sat down on the rush matting that covered the floor and crossed her legs, summoning the image of a stone block as Dobery and Polina tried to dig into her mind. The trick was to fix on a featureless, uninteresting image. It was important the image carried no emotional connections. Any hint of a memory or feelings could provide a mindweaver with a conduit to all the thoughts she wanted to keep hidden.
‘Good,’ said Dobery. ‘You really are very good at this, my dear.’
Zastra forced herself not to flush with pleasure. Overconfidence was dangerous and she suspected Dobery’s unusual compliment was meant to distract her. Sure enough, a double probe clashed against her block of stone. It held firm.
‘Good,’ Dobery concluded. ‘Now, as you requested Zastra, we are going to try something different. Polina and I are going to link our powers. I’m afraid it may not be pleasant, my dear.’
Zastra braced herself and brought forth the image of a smooth wooden sphere. The two mindweavers linked hands and closed their eyes. Zastra’s head throbbed under their combined attack. It was as if she was being assailed by thugs wielding clubs, but she had insisted they not spare her. Slowly, she felt her consciousness slipping away. She fought to focus on the sphere, but the pain became too much and she sank into darkness.
She woke to find Polina and Dobery bending over her. She massaged her temples gingerly.
‘You were right. That was extremely unpleasant,’ she remarked. Instead of sympathy, a mental dart speared into her mind before she could raise her mental block. She was helpless as images were stolen from her. Uden’s Teeth, the channel through the Spur, Findar as a boy, running around their mountain cabin.
‘Stop!’ she cried, angry with herself for her failure. The probe was quickly withdrawn. Dobery laid a hand on her shoulder.
‘You must establish your block the moment you regain consciousness. Every morning, when you wake, that should be your first action. We cannot read an unconscious mind, but either side of sleep or fainting, the mind is vulnerable. You held off our joint attack, which is half the battle. It was only when you woke that I was able to get in.’
‘Just you?’ Zastra glanced at Polina warily. Dobery was the only person who knew all her secrets and she wanted it to stay that way.
‘On this occasion, it was just me. But another time you may not be so lucky. Perhaps we should take a break.’
‘No,’ Zastra insisted. ‘Let’s try again.’
By the time it was dark, her head felt as if it was three times its normal size. She was rescued by Kylen, who stuck her head round the door to inform them that the Daydream had returned.
Chapter Three
Word of the Daydream’s arrival spread quickly and the hall was packed with people eager for news. Drazan was accompanied by many people that Zastra didn’t recognise. The strangers were scouring the hall eagerly.
‘Jaryncha!’
A handsome woman of middle age jolted round in response to the cry and Zastra’s old Watchmaster, Mata, rushed forward to hug her, sobbing with joy. A gangly lad hovered uncertainly behind the woman’s shoulder until Mata reached out to pull him into the embrace.
>
‘Torvin, my boy, I’m so glad you are here. How tall you’ve grown!’
Other greetings rang out, as more families were reunited. In addition to procuring new sailcloth and other supplies, the Daydream had been tasked with fetching the families of the crewmembers of the Wind of Golmeira who had mutinied with Zastra. If they remained in Golmeira, they would be in danger of reprisals. Letters had been sent, instructing the relatives to gather at a small fishing village on the western tip of the long Golmeiran coastline, so that the Daydream could pick them up without straying too far into Golmeiran waters. Zastra couldn’t suppress a twinge of jealously. She wished Findar was there too, but the Border Mountains on the eastern edge of Golmeira lay too far away from the rendezvous point. The strangers began to mingle with the rebels.
‘Wait!’ she cried in alarm. ‘Dobery needs to check everyone first.’
Mata turned to her, frowning. ‘I can vouch for my family. Besides, Drazan already scanned everyone.’
‘We can’t afford to take chances. We need to be sure Thorlberd hasn’t sent a spy. It only needs one person to report back the location of Uden’s Teeth.’
‘If Drazan has already checked—’ Dobery began, but Zastra cut him off.
‘You have more experience. Drazan might have missed something.’
With a sigh, Dobery waved the reluctant newcomers into a line and began to scan each one. Zastra hurried over to Drazan.
‘Did you get the cloth?’ she asked.
‘I am well, Zastra. Thanks for your concern,’ Drazan returned dryly.
‘Did you get it, or not?’
Drazan nodded.
‘We traded with some Far Islanders. They were eager not have to sail into Port Trestra, because of—’
But Zastra didn’t wait for him to finish. She went in search of Mata, intending to ask how quickly she could get the sails sewn and bent on. But the Watchmaster was deep in conversation with her family and after hesitating for a moment, Zastra backed away. Mata had not seen Jaryncha and Torvin in years. The sails could wait until tomorrow.
Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set Page 48
