by Den Patrick
‘Tief,’ said Kimi. ‘I’m having a bright idea.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kjellrunn
It was evening in the temple and the novices were slowly tidying away the bowls and washing the pots and pans after dinner. They had dined on a thin soup, and the dark bread had been cut into slivers in order for everyone to receive a piece.
‘Not a single person in the whole two weeks we’ve been here,’ said Sundra, shaking her head. She sat with one elbow resting on the table, a lightly clenched fist in front of her mouth. Kjellrunn wondered if she feared to say too much, or if the fist told of her frustration. ‘Not a single worshipper the whole time we’ve been here.’
‘It is still early days,’ said Mistress Kamalov in a soft tone that Kjellrunn found as surprising as it was tender. Mistress Kamalov ran her finger around the rim of her tea bowl and looked pensive. It was rare for the two women to speak directly to one another. They had, by some unspoken agreement, carved out their own fiefdoms in their new home. Mistress Kamalov looked to the day-to-day needs of the place. She was quartermaster of their meagre supplies, head cook, and stern mother to the children. Sundra’s domain began and ended at the temple proper, and Kjellrunn and Max answered to her and only her, for the moment at least.
‘It will be hard to survive like this without more money coming in,’ added Mistress Kamalov after a pause. Maxim, sensing the conversation was heading in a difficult direction, gathered the last of the bowls and took himself off to the kitchen. Kjellrunn remained by Sundra’s side, feeling protective of the small woman.
‘It would be helpful if everyone who could work did work.’ The renegade Vigilant eyed Maxim as he trotted away to the kitchen, then glanced at Kjellrunn.
‘I would rather my initiate concentrate on her studies,’ replied Sundra, looking down at the rough surface of the wooden table. ‘It would not do for the townsfolk to find a religious figure sweeping the steps like a scullion.’
‘With respect, it is not the steps of the temple I am concerned for,’ said Mistress Kamalov, careful to keep her tone soft. ‘The older children have found work in the town. And work means money.’
‘I understand,’ said Sundra, forcing a polite smile, ‘Let me think on this.’ She stood up and touched Kjellrunn tenderly on the shoulder. Kjellrunn couldn’t help but wonder if the gesture were also proprietary. ‘Come, I would speak with you.’
Kjellrunn followed the high priestess out of the crowded room, surprised when Sundra passed through the main circular hall, and out of the wide doorway, into the street.
‘You’re going into town right now? This evening?’
‘The bones whisper your name to me, Kjellrunn,’ said Sundra. ‘They speak of a troubled mind.’
‘Or Maxim did most likely,’ she replied under her breath.
The blind beggar had begun his evening pilgrimage to the beach and Kjellrunn’s mouth went dry as his white stick tap, tap, tapped along the street. Sundra caught the look and gestured that she follow.
‘Come now.’
Kjellrunn had not returned to the pale hand sculpture since the night she’d felt the vast presence in the sea. She’d taken care to avoid the beach altogether, not escorting the beggar to his sightless vigil, hoping her dereliction of duty had escaped Sundra’s attention. Evidently it had not.
‘Will you teach me how to read the bones?’ said Kjellrunn, keen to avoid a difficult conversation.
‘Of course,’ replied Sundra. ‘But first we must unravel a more pressing mystery.’
‘What mystery?’
‘Why you no longer escort our friend’ – Sundra gestured to the beggar, walking a few dozen feet ahead of them – ‘to the beach.’
‘I didn’t think you meant that I escort him every night,’ lied Kjellrunn.
‘Nor did you think to tell me that you had stopped,’ said Sundra with a disapproving stare. The buildings of Dos Khor thinned out and finally they were slip-sliding through the fine sand of the beach. The pale stone hand rose up into an angry red sky, while the sea had begun to shift from azure to cobalt with the promise of darkest green and midnight blue to come.
‘You have taken to wearing your black robes with ease,’ said Sundra. Kjellrunn took the old woman’s arm to help her across the dunes. ‘And yet we speak so rarely. You are still my initiate, are you not?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Then tell me what causes your brow to furrow like this. It is not right that we keep secrets from each other.’
Kjellrunn sighed with a feeling of deep unease. Hadn’t she kept her witchsign secret from Steiner all those years? Hadn’t her father concealed truths for an entire decade? Even Verner had tales left untold. Secrets were the way of the Vartiainen family.
‘I’ve only known you a few weeks,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘This is all very new to me.’
‘This much is true. I myself am finding the changes …’ Sundra stared out to sea, as if the word she searched for might wash in on the tide. ‘I am finding the changes difficult. I miss my brother and sister, and I’m sure you must miss you family also.’
Kjellrunn nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak without ushering in a wave of tears.
‘I can’t force you to speak to me.’ Sundra stopped and looked up at the pale stone sculpture. ‘All I can do is invite you to share something of yourself.’ Kjellrunn watched the beggar approach the shoreline and sit down to listen to the sea.
‘I scared myself,’ said Kjellrunn, the words tumbling out of her. ‘I closed my eyes and I lost track of time. When I opened them I was all alone, and I thought that something’ – she felt the breathless panic of that moment return – ‘something big, something unknown was out there.’ She nodded to the vast cobalt reaches and the rushing waves.
‘Can you describe it?’ said Sundra, and Kjellrunn felt a surge of relief that the priestess believed her.
‘I don’t know.’ Kjellrunn looked around, fearing a repeat of what she dreaded the most. ‘It’s huge. I don’t know how I know that. I didn’t see it, but I felt it.’
‘What else?’ said Sundra softly. ‘How does it make you feel?’
‘Scared. I’m scared of it. That’s why I haven’t returned since.’ The old priestess drew closer and stared up into Kjellrunn’s face, her gaze unwavering. There was a gentle curiosity in that look, rather than the imperious glare more common to Mistress Kamalov.
‘You are blessed with the gifts of earth and water, Kjellrunn. Earth is traditionally the domain of Frejna. We come from earth and we will return to earth. This is the way of things. Water is the domain of Frøya. Life cannot exist without water. Plants, people and all living things. You may well be an initiate of Frejna, but you have a foot in both worlds. This makes you intensely special, Kjellrunn.’
‘I don’t feel very special. I never seem to know what I’m doing. I struggle to make myself understood here.’
Sundra held up a hand for silence. ‘All of this comes with youth. I’m not sure it ever goes away.’ She looked out to sea, past the white sculpture and the sitting beggar. ‘Can you feel it now?’
Kjellrunn closed her eyes and took a deep and calming breath, letting herself be drawn into the sounds of the waves and the Shimmer Sea.
‘Nothing. I feel nothing.’ Kjellrunn opened her eyes. ‘Am I going mad?’
‘This is not madness. The bones whisper your name. They speak of a troubled mind and of something approaching Dos Khor, but what it is I cannot tell.’ The priestess began to trudge up the beach, back towards the town. Kjellrunn followed, glad to put distance between herself and the sea.
‘And this is another problem I could do without,’ said Sundra, making an almost imperceptible gesture to the street ahead. Trine had been watching them from the doorway of a deserted house. She ducked back and scurried up an alley between two of the houses.
‘Was she spying on us?’
‘On us? I do not think so,’ said Sundra. ‘More likely she was spying on you.’
‘I don’t understand. I thought she wanted to be Mistress Kamalov’s apprentice?’
‘Mistress Kamalov misses you, Kjellrunn,’ said Sundra. ‘I daresay she sees something of herself in you. You were perhaps her only apprentice, and now you have chosen a different path.’ Kjellrunn winced to hear what she could not admit to herself. ‘If I had to guess I would say Trine knows this and feels second best,’ continued Sundra. ‘It is no easy thing to feel second best. I myself feel near useless compared to your former master.’
‘That’s hardly fair,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘Mistress Kamalov is …’ but Sundra cut her off with a raised hand and stern look.
‘We’re more of an orphanage than a temple. And a poor orphanage at that.’ The old woman sighed. ‘This is not what I had hoped for.’
Mistress Kamalov was waiting for them on the temple steps when they returned from the beach. Trine lurked just inside the temple doors, half in shadow, black hair tumbling over her face but not concealing her sullen look.
‘Kjellrunn,’ said Sundra softly. ‘Stop clenching your fists. Breathe.’
‘Sorry. I just don’t trust her is all.’ Her mind was racing as she tried to imagine what the renegade Vigilant wanted.
‘Do not worry yourselves so,’ said Mistress Kamalov in a flat tone that did nothing to reassure Kjellrunn. ‘It is good news. There are people here asking for you. I asked Maxim to speak with them until you returned.’ Sundra forced a grateful smile and the priestess and initiate passed through the temple door. Kjellrunn took a moment to lock eyes with Trine. The girl sneered and stared back.
‘Why did you follow us?’
‘I was sent to find you,’ said Trine. ‘But it was clear you were on your way back when I reached you.’
Kjellrunn wasn’t sure she believed a word of it and headed into the temple. ‘It’s too bad we didn’t leave her in Virag,’ she muttered.
‘Concentrate,’ said Sundra. ‘First impressions count for a lot.’
The local people stood near the altar, a wide table made from white marble, covered in a vast diamond of black velvet that reached the floor. There were three of them, two women and a young man, all dark-skinned and wearing the flowing robes so popular in Dos Khor. The eldest of the women was stooped, with rounded shoulders and a weariness in her heavy-lidded eyes. Her dark curly hair was shot through with accents of iron grey and soft silver. Maxim bowed to Sundra with one hand over his heart. much to Kjellrunn’s surprise.
‘This woman lost her husband last night. She would like him to receive the blessing of Frejna before he is cremated.’
‘Cremated?’ whispered Kjellrunn. ‘What is that?’
‘The body is burned,’ replied Sundra quietly. ‘It is not unheard of.’
‘I was a bit surprised too,’ said Maxim. ‘So I asked why—’
‘Maxim!’ Sundra’s face hardened.
‘What? I was curious is all.’ The boy shrugged. ‘They explained that it’s the custom here. The desert jackals are very persistent and will dig up buried bodies.’
‘It is hardly proper to ask a grieving family to explain their burial rites,’ said Sundra. The bereaved man stepped forward and said something to Maxim. Kjellrunn couldn’t understand the words but the dismissive look on his face told her all she needed to know.
‘He asked if we can do this thing or not. He also wants to know why we’re standing around whispering like old fisherman’s wives.’
Kjellrunn’s eyes widened as she waited for Sundra’s stern retort, but the priestess merely turned and smiled at the man. She placed her hand over her heart and bowed at the waist.
‘Tell him I apologise,’ she said. ‘And tell him that we will be honoured to send his father’s soul to the afterlife with Frejna’s blessing.’ Maxim did as he was told and the younger woman stepped forward and took the man by the arm, chiding him with a whisper. Kjellrunn guessed they were brother and sister, though they were a few more years apart in age than Steiner and she.
‘Tell them we will come for the body shortly.’ Sundra bowed again to the older woman. ‘We will prepare the temple and perform the funeral tomorrow.’
Maxim translated Sundra’s words and guided the family towards the temple door, where Mistress Kamalov waited with a look of disapproval on her ancient features.
‘That could have gone better,’ said Kjellrunn.
‘Come,’ said Sundra. ‘We have much to do. I need to teach you the funeral rites of Frejna. And we are going to need help.’
The family reached the temple doors and the young woman paused briefly to look over her shoulder at the altar where Kjellrunn and Sundra conversed. Trine was still lurking by the doorway, watching everything with a sneer.
‘Are we really going to set this man on fire?’ said Kjellrunn. ‘Cremate him?’
Sundra nodded. ‘That is the way of things here.’
‘Well, if Trine is going to be watching our every move’ – Kjellrunn smiled wickedly – ‘we may as well put her to good use.’
‘Surely you don’t mean …?’
‘She studied at Academy Plamya. Who better?’
‘Mistress Kamalov may not be so keen,’ said Sundra. ‘And I’d rather not stir up that particular hornet’s nest.’
‘Perhaps it’s a way for Trine to stop feeling like second best?’
Sundra considered this for a moment. ‘Very well. I will ask Trine to cremate the body.’
Kjellrunn raced down the steps outside her bedroom, blinking away the morning’s sleep, roused from her bed by the sound of raised voices. The temple was thick with shadows, the tiled floor cool under her feet.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ bellowed Mistress Kamalov, who was still in her ankle-length nightshirt. The renegade Vigilant stood outside Sundra’s room, hair dishevelled, face flushed with fury. Trine waited in the temple, carefully eavesdropping on the argument, though Kjellrunn suspected the other novices could hear every word.
‘The arcane is not some conjurer’s trick to be pressed into service for mundane tasks!’ added Mistress Kamalov.
‘It was my idea,’ said Kjellrunn, blocking the doorway with her body. Mistress Kamalov took a startled step back and opened her mouth to speak but Kjellrunn cut her off.
‘The fire needs to be hot enough to burn the bones, and we don’t know how to do that with firewood alone. Trine is always the first to use her talents, so why not this?’
‘The arcane takes a toll on the user!’ Mistress Kamalov glared at Kjellrunn. ‘You know this better than most. Those who draw their power from the dragons suffer a corruption of the body. This is a religious ceremony. Burn the body yourselves.’
‘Frøya and Frejna only grant the powers of earth and water,’ said Sundra in a calm tone of voice.
‘You know this better than most,’ said Kjellrunn, throwing Mistress Kamalov’s words back in her teeth.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Trine with a defiant jut of her chin. ‘It won’t take long, it’s a parlour trick is all.’ The girl slunk off, past the shocked faces of the other novices who had snuck through the temple to witness the argument firsthand. ‘This is most irregular,’ muttered Mistress Kamalov.
‘We’re living in Shanisrond,’ replied Kjellrunn, ‘running an orphanage, delivering funeral rites in a language we don’t understand, and hoping the Empire doesn’t find us. We’re about as far away from regular as we’ll ever be.’
‘Perhaps you would prefer a life on Vladibogdan?’ said Mistress Kamalov, looking down her nose at her former apprentice.
‘Why would you think that? You obviously didn’t.’ Kjellrunn stepped inside the room and slammed the door. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears.
A ghost of a smile flickered across the high priestess’s face. ‘What was that expression you used yesterday? “That could have gone better”?’
‘Why does she have to be such a bitch?’
‘Now you sound like Trine,’ replied Sundra. ‘And I would ask you not to speak in such a way
in this temple.’ There was a knock on the door but Sundra held up a finger before Kjellrunn could answer.
‘I will attend to this. You have already come to my aid once today, even though I am quite able of holding my own.’ The high priestess opened the door to find Maxim standing outside.
‘Mistress Kamalov asked me to pass on a message.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ muttered Sundra over her shoulder to Kjellrunn. ‘Out with it then, before I die of old age.’
‘She thinks it would be wise to clear up the alcove that Kolas sleeps in. She said it was unseemly for a ragged collection of blankets to be in the temple during the funeral service.’
‘She has a point,’ conceded Sundra. ‘Take Kjellrunn and move the beggar’s belongings, such as they are, to a safe place. And wash those blankets!’
‘Why me?’ said Kjellrunn.
‘Because I have to punish you for slamming my door in Mistress Kamalov’s face.’ Sundra shook her head. ‘We have a funeral to prepare for and I could well do without a performance like this in my bed chamber.’
‘But I was defending you.’
‘Kjellrunn, for the love of Frøya, do as you’re told, stop shouting at your elders, and please, help me prepare for the funeral.’
Kjellrunn nodded and slipped out of the room, her cheeks burning red.
‘I thought it was pretty funny,’ said Maxim. ‘I don’t like Vigilants. At all.’
Kjellrunn smiled. ‘You’re not helping, Maxim.’
‘Probably not.’ The boy smiled, then looked around to check they were alone. ‘But wait until you see what I saw in the beggar’s alcove.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Silverdust
Silverdust was tired. The endless miles had taken their toll. From Vladibogdan to the shores of Nordvlast and abandoned Cinderfell, through the forest to Steinwick and on to the vast skies of Novaya Zemlya. Across the cheerless steppe and over the border to the swamps and stillness of Vend. It was not a tiredness of body Silverdust felt, for his flesh had long since passed on, but the daily change of scenery and the need to be wary of danger had sapped his energy. They had taken ship from a stinking, dour port in Vend Province and finally, Streig said the words that Silverdust had wanted to hear more than any others.
