Unclean

by A. M. Manay

  “You filthy snitch,” the boy shrieked, throwing himself upon Olin in a fury of kicking and scratching. Keegan let Liroh beat Olin for a full minute before dragging him off.

  “Enough of that, boy,” Keegan ordered. “You’ll all be spilling your guts soon enough. Silas Hatch’ll chop your resolve all to bits. Why do you think we started calling him ‘the Hatchet’?”

  Carefully, Shiloh held a teacup to Boggan’s lips.

  “Thank you, my lady,” he whispered.

  “You are most welcome,” she replied with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not so bad, my lady,” the boy replied. “My head hurts, but it’s beginning to ease.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Master Jonn declared. “You gave us a right scare.”

  “What happened?” the child asked. “I don’t remember.”

  “Olin tried to attack Chief Keegan after he had yielded. He missed, and the curse struck you instead,” Jonn explained.

  “Thank you for saving my life,” Boggan told the healer.

  Jonn shook his head. “That was mostly Silas Hatch’s doing, I’m afraid.”

  The boy smiled. “That’s good. I heard he has a lot of sins to atone for, so that should help him some with the Gods. Did you know he’s Vineborn, like me? Dunno why he’s called Hatch, though. Is it ‘cause of his nickname? Or his many sins?”

  Jonn snorted a laugh, and Shiloh didn’t bother trying to hide her own amusement.

  “What’s all this about my sins?” came a voice from the doorway. “Will no one defend my honor?” A smiling Silas entered the room carrying a basket, which he presented to the boy. “Some gifts from your well-wishers, little brother. I’m pleased to see you are already awake.”

  Boggan eagerly pawed through the offerings, finding an array of sweets, toys, playing cards, some chalk, and a slate. “Thank you, my lord!”

  “It was not all my doing, but you are welcome. All of the mothers in Freehold are eager to spoil you after last night. You will be rolling in candies though Summer Solstice, I expect.”

  The boy laughed, and the sound did Shiloh’s heart good.

  “I’m afraid I need to steal my wife from you for a moment, Boggan,” Silas proclaimed with a gallant bow.

  “I’ll come check on you later, and your foster mother will be here just as soon as she gets the twins fed,” Shiloh assured the child. Boggan waved them out the door.

  Silas led her to a quiet corner out of earshot of the patients.

  “That is certainly a relief, to see him so well,” he told her.

  “Indeed,” she agreed. “What news? I awoke to find you gone and a dozen wards on the door,” she scolded.

  “Keegan and I had business with some scoundrels,” Silas explained.

  “I hope the screams didn’t wake the whole valley,” Shiloh replied, looking up at him from beneath her eyebrows.

  “I wouldn’t let that trouble you. Do you wish to know what we learned, or are you too scandalized by my cruelty?” Silas asked. She nodded, and he continued. “The boy who attacked you is the one who delivered the soup. He is eleven and Olin’s cousin. His mother made the soup and poisoned it. She has just been arrested. She is Olin’s mother’s sister.”

  “Gods above,” she breathed. “Eleven years old and a murderer?”

  “Aye. It is troubling. I didn’t hurt him, by the way.”

  “I know.” She managed a weak smile. “You didn’t hurt Daved, either.”

  “Daved never tried to kill you. It took some restraint not to respond in kind to this little miscreant. Anyway, most of Olin’s friends claim no foreknowledge of the poisoning, and I believe them. They may be exiled for a few years, or whipped. Olin will be executed, I am sure. I don’t know about the boy and his mother. No one likes to kill a woman or a child, but they murdered a baby and tried to kill more, so . . .”

  “The judges will have a heavy load to bear,” Shiloh concluded. “And the mirror?”

  “Contact occurs on the first quarter moon, two nights hence.”

  The trials began the very next day. Among the Free, there was no dragging things out, no extensive preparations to be made. The adults drew lots to choose a three-person panel. It wound up being composed of two middle-aged women and Barr.

  “That isn’t fair!” Olin cried. “He’s Keegan’s son!”

  “The luck of the draw,” one of the elders retorted. “That is our way. The Gods chose him.”

  Shiloh wondered if that was true, or if Keegan or Silas hadn’t had a hand in rigging the choice. She wouldn’t have put it past them. None of the gathering crowd seemed to mind. She supposed that the women could outvote Barr if he judged the accused too harshly.

  Silas testified as to the results of his and Keegan’s interrogation and recounted the attack on the night of Solstice. Penn testified about the effects of the soup. Half the crowd was in tears by the time she was finished, and one of the judges, besides. A few of Olin’s friends testified against him in the hopes the court would show mercy upon them.

  The defendants were all given a chance to make statements justifying their actions. Olin mostly railed against Keegan and Shiloh. The woman who poisoned the soup claimed that she had done so under duress, that Olin had forced her, and that she had no idea that a child might eat it. She begged for mercy for her son, whom she claimed had been influenced by Olin, a task made easier by her husband’s recent death. The boy himself stood silent, a sullen look upon his face.

  In the end, Olin was the only one condemned to death. Most of the men were sentenced to whipping. Liroh and his mother received branding and exile.

  Rather than the blade, the Free used a firing squad. Ten volunteers simultaneously fired fatal curses at the doomed man, so that none could know whose magic had actually caused his demise. To Shiloh’s surprise, one of them was Hana. Olin was dead five minutes after the judges had finished their deliberations.

  The branding was done by magic; the mark indicated the nature of the crime and the duration of the sentence, so that should the convict ever attempt to join another group of the Free, he would be found out the moment anyone saw his or her arm. Keegan, as chief, was the one to cast the brands. The smell of burning flesh turned Shiloh’s stomach. The lashes were administered by one of the elders. His gray hair, it seemed, was not an indication of a weak arm, if the cries of the convicts were to be believed.

  As they walked back toward the cliff, Silas explained, “The exiled have until tomorrow at dawn to leave the valley. They may take only what they can carry on their backs.”

  “Where will they go?” Shiloh asked.

  Silas shrugged. “It will be hard to make much distance. Many of the passes are full of snow until spring.”

  “Do you think they will survive the winter?”

  “I doubt it. But perhaps they should have considered that before they murdered a baby.”

  “Are you ready?” Silas asked Barr.

  The young man nodded. Silas had prepared him as much as he could, but Barr would likely have to improvise.

  Silas, Shiloh, Penn, and Keegan sat where they could not be seen, waiting in painful anticipation. At last, the mirror began to glow. Silas raised an eyebrow when Esta’s own voice rang out.

  “Where is Olin?” she demanded.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace, but he was gravely injured in a hunting accident. I am his loyal compatriot, Gir. He entrusted me with this mirror in order that I might obtain further instructions for our group.”

  Silas wished he could see her face, read her expression. He would have to rely on Barr’s skill at observation, which he knew was considerable.

  “That depends on who still breathes,” Esta replied. “What news of Loor?”

  “Your Grace, your father’s young daughter has died.”

  “How?” she inquired, voice flooded with relief.

  “An unfortunate encounter with some bad soup, Your Grace,” Barr replied.

  “She went quickly?”

  �
��That is what I have heard, Your Grace.”

  “And the others? The once Lord and Lady Northgate?”

  “I am afraid they are still among us, Your Grace,” Barr replied.

  “That is not acceptable,” she proclaimed.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace, but we must take care. Another failed attempt could be disastrous, especially since we must simultaneously handle Chief Keegan, given his loyalty to his daughter. If they discover that there is a threat, they will take precautions, Your Grace, and our cell will be discovered and eliminated.”

  “I don't care if you're eliminated!” she shrieked. “I paid you Godless heathens to handle two problems, and if the Hatches aren't dead by spring, our soldiers will wipe you and your precious Freehold from the face of the earth.”

  “I will pass that message along to Olin, Your Grace. Is there anything else I should tell him, assuming he survives his injuries?” Barr asked.

  “If he fails again, it will be for the last time.”

  The glow faded, and Barr closed the mirror with a snap. They all looked at one another, eyes wide. At last, Penn broke the silence.

  “How could she?” the dowager queen whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Shiloh answered. She shook her head.

  “Well done, Barr,” Silas proclaimed.

  “Thanks,” the young man replied. “I cannot believe it was the woman herself.”

  “She must not have a proper hatchet,” Keegan observed, eyes darting toward Silas.

  “She must not trust her husband,” Shiloh added.

  “How do you figure?” Barr asked.

  “If Westan knew of the plan to kill Loor, do you think he would have made his wife talk to you herself?” Silas answered. “Shiloh is right. She is on her own here. Out on a limb.”

  “But why? Why kill Loor without telling her husband?” Keegan asked.

  “Because Loor is Westan’s backup plan,” Shiloh answered slowly, as though still thinking through her idea.

  Silas nodded. “Exactly. Esta fails to produce a son. Westan can get rid of her, marry Loor. Make himself regent, wait until she is grown to consummate the marriage. By then he is entrenched, and there is no getting rid of him.”

  “Esta’s greatest fear: being discarded like her mother,” Shiloh breathed.

  “She knows of Freehold,” Keegan stated grimly.

  “Perhaps Olin has not told her where it is,” Silas suggested. “Perhaps he was holding onto that piece of information. After all, if he hoped to overthrow you, he would need a kingdom to rule. No use getting all of the Free killed.”

  “One hopes.” Keegan sighed.

  “There is something else,” Barr offered.

  “What?” Silas asked.

  “Her warning to Olin. Either it was an idle threat . . .”

  “Or she has another contact,” Silas finished.

  “Or Fenroh does. He and Esta are exceedingly close,” Shiloh pointed out.

  “One traitor is bad enough to contemplate, but two . . .” Keegan growled.

  Shiloh caught Silas’s eye and raised a brow.

  “What?” Keegan demanded. “Spit it out.”

  Silas took a deep breath. “How much do you trust Henrik?”

  “Enough. Why?” Keegan answered.

  “Fenroh never put him in the Pit. I sent Jonn to bring him medicine there, and he was nowhere to be found,” Shiloh stated.

  “And he was too healthy when Shiloh broke them out. Fenroh was going to have him whipped, starved. He was strong as an ox on the road, from the first,” Silas continued.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?” Keegan demanded hotly before answering his own question. “You didn’t trust me.”

  “How was I to know that you hadn’t cut a deal with Fenroh the way you did with Redwood?” Silas replied, voice even, unperturbed by Keegan’s ire.

  “I did not. I asked for a volunteer to scout out the Citadel, to ascertain if Shiloh was still alive. He got caught, or so I thought,” Keegan explained, glowering. “So, do we watch Henrik, or do we grab him?”

  “You can’t take the chance,” Penn said softly, voicing her opinion for the first time. “Not after what happened to Loor.”

  “Agreed,” Silas said. “Agreed. Take him.”

  “It feels like a lot of bad news tonight.” Shiloh sighed.

  “It's valuable, at least, to know the monarchs are not united,” Barr observed.

  “Indeed,” Silas agreed. “Indeed, it is.”

  A Toy

  The prisoners were being led back to the stockade after their day of labor. Silas loitered next to the barn and pulled Fenroh out of line, his breath making steam in the frosty air.

  “Quickly, now,” Silas urged him. “Get these boots on.” He then shoved a pair of wool socks into Fenroh’s pocket.

  Fenroh obeyed, shoving his filthy bare feet into the footwear.

  “Some ruffian’s just going to steal them, like the pair I came with,” Fenroh complained.

  “Not with the charms I put on them, they won’t,” Silas assured him with a grin. He pointed to the wire runes twisted into the buckle. “They have quite a kick.” Not to mention Edmun’s the one who had those stolen in the first place.

  “Thank you,” Fenroh managed.

  “You’re welcome. Now jump back into the line before someone sees,” Silas urged, giving him a shove.

  Silas watched Fenroh’s back until the man disappeared into the mass of prisoners. Hatred gnawed inside his chest.

  If anyone ever deserved frostbite, it’s that creature. I feel like I need a bath. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh before beginning the walk back up to the castle. Gods, I hope I never start actually feeling sorry for him.

  “No sign of Henrik?” Shiloh asked Silas.

  He shook his head. “He cleared out, maybe even before the trial. Must have been afraid Olin might out him, if Olin knew. They’ve got parties searching with dogs, so there is still a chance, but . . .”

  “If only we’d told Keegan sooner.” Shiloh sighed.

  “Yes, it seems I chose poorly,” Silas admitted. “Henrik left his woman behind. She’s lame. He must have feared she would slow him down. Keegan is talking to her. Perhaps she will have something useful to say.”

  “If not?”

  “If not, it will be my turn. I do not relish the idea of—”

  He was interrupted by a knock at the door. He opened it to find Barr grinning.

  “They found him!” the young man proclaimed. “They’re bringing him to the paddock on the far side of the meadow.”

  Shiloh stood. “Splendid. I’m off to Master Bentin’s in the bowels of this mountain,” she declared. “I want to be well away from him and whatever screaming is about to ensue.”

  “I do not think you are destined to be a wandmaker,” Bentin told Shiloh. They sat together in his winter workshop, a dungeon-like cavern deep in the bowels of the cliff that housed the winter village. Lanterns and tapestries brightened what might have otherwise been an oppressive space, and a fire crackled merrily in a central hearth with a circular chimney rising to the high ceiling.

  She looked up from her work, a hurt look in her eye. She was no longer accustomed to criticism, at least when it came to her magical ability.

  Bentin laughed at her expression. “You would be a perfectly serviceable wandmaker, Shiloh. Perhaps even brilliant, but certainly capable enough. But I suspect that there are other places where you could concentrate your efforts more . . . productively. You don’t belong in a dingy workshop the rest of your days.”

  She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice when she replied, “But I enjoy making things, master.”

  He smiled broadly. “I know. I simply think that your wands do not sufficiently express your creativity.”

  “Did you have something else in mind? I hate weaving. My painting is atrocious,” she confessed. “My needlework is too horrible even to mention. I can sketch a little.”

  He laughed again. “
I was not thinking of such mundane things. I heard an interesting story from your husband some time back. He said that you fashioned a flying horse out of steel the night you rescued him from captivity.”

  “I did. I needed to get there quickly, and the destroyed Citadel left behind piles of Master Elton’s magical steel,” she confirmed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I wasn’t exactly in my right mind that night.”

  “Oh, I think your mind was just fine. I have another book for you,” Bentin said. He hobbled over to a set of shelves and pulled down an ancient, leather-bound journal. “This belonged to Master Elton,” he informed her. “He had many interesting notions that he ran out of time to bring to fruition. I think a girl who comes up with the idea of a flying horse might have a bit in common with his particular flavor of genius. Perhaps this will spark your imagination.”

  “I thought they burned all his writings,” Shiloh replied, awestruck.

  “We wand-makers preserved what we could, passed the books down from master to apprentice. Just promise me to protect it.”

  “Of course, I will! I swear it. You know that we would never have made it out of the Citadel without Elton’s help. He left a message in a chapel in the tower, a message for someone like himself, a wielder of steel,” Shiloh told him.

  Bentin pressed the volume into her hand. “Then I’m sure he would be pleased for you to have this. You’ve mastered pulling a wand from hunks of mundane material. Let’s find out what else you can draw out of some particularly magical material.”

  “What do you mean? What magical material?”

  He laughed again. “Silas Hatch has an uncanny ability to plan a few steps ahead. Come.”

  Shiloh followed him into a large storeroom she’d never seen. Piled floor to ceiling sat twisted hunks of metal, the magic within them strong enough to make the hair stand up on Shiloh’s arms.

  “From the Citadel?” she asked, eyes wide. “How?”