The Alterator's Light

by Dan Brigman

  Taking a long draw from the pint before him, Einar sighed in relief as he raised the glass. “Your technique gets better with each passing season.”

  “I’d say so considering our source.”

  “You wouldn’t…” Einar trailed off in near astonishment. A grin showing Vos’s white and perfectly straight teeth doused any doubt.

  “What? Can’t a man make the best living possible with the means at hand?” Vos protested. “If you’d rather I spill out the rest of what you have, I’ll be more than obliged.” He reached for Einar’s glass, but not before Einar pulled it back in feigned surprise.

  “Not at all.” Pausing to take another sip, Einar continued. “You know I’m not opposed to becoming a more effective practitioner, yet I’d never given much thought to enhancing a drink.”

  Smiling in agreement, silence fell between the two as Vos went back to his ledger and Einar’s eyes focused on the grain of the wooden bar top. Pencil scratching and the occasional popping of the fire lulled the two men into a meditative mindfulness.

  Moments later Einar jumped slightly at Vos’s question: “Why are you stalling? Just tell me what’s the matter. I’ve some idea, considering who traveled by here a few days ago. She didn’t say much, but I figured I knew why.”

  “You mean to tell me you’ve seen Ellia and the children, and you waited until now to inform me?”

  Vos nodded, then replied, “That is true, Einar. Hold on a minute and sit down! I know you’re angry but hear me out.” Pausing, Vos set the pencil down gently on the ledger. Pointing toward the rooms, he continued, “When you and Saen entered here, you looked more exhausted than I’ve ever seen before. Not since the Trial, even. Or the war, for that matter. You needed to wait for this news; I surely didn’t want to wait. Even now, you need several days’ rest. I would have wondered how you got here so quickly from the Pass, but from the look of you, any wondering was gone.”

  “How were they?” Einar whispered low enough for Vos to move a hair closer.

  “They appeared fine to me. But whatever you’ve done or what she thinks you’ve done distressed your wife, Einar. I’ve never seen her so distraught. The children were exhausted, yet strangely energetic. Celex and Kylia were as curious as ever, and Eosy has simply become a precious little girl. What is she, five now?”

  “Yes. She’ll see her tenth spring this year.”

  “Ten? Wonderful! Despite the circumstances, I’d say the Originators have blessed you, old friend.”

  Shaking his head, Einar replied, “Perhaps at one time. Now, the Blight-taken have fixated their sight on me.” Letting the words take hold, Einar waited for a response. Straining, he heard a brief murmur from Vos’s lips, then the voice grew in strength.

  “Surely you jest. Surely—” Vos caught Einar’s level gaze and swallowed. “No. You’re not.”

  Without thinking, Vos placed the ledger under the bar and walked to the door. As he reached it, the door started to open inward just before Vos pushed to close it. “Come back in a bit.”

  A muffled, “But I’m hungry now,” was cut off by Vos blocking the door with a long thick board middle way down the door held in place by two wrought-iron braces.

  Vos paced back and sat next to Einar. “How do you know it was one of them?”

  “I met him face to face or rather in the shadows of my home. Xander Keltan is the name he gave me. I believed him and still do. He offered me something I had to refuse, which added to my decision for a quick departure.”

  Vos bit back a curse and then let it slip loudly. “Einar, you fool, what have you done! Does Valen Kendach know? Does Saen know?” Pausing, he scowled at Einar, “Of course she knows. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. Kendach would have slapped you in irons for the little you just told me.” Vos paused before glancing at his hands. “By the Originators, I’m thinking about it myself.”

  “Calm yourself, Vos. I’ve taken the proper precautions.”

  “Proper precautions! Bah, precautions against what? The Blight taking you and your family more quickly than they’re already planning?” Seeing Einar’s eyes grow wide, Vos grabbed for his shoulder. Pressing forward a breath later, he continued, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t have been more thoughtless.”

  “No matter.” Einar waved his hand and strode to the small stone fireplace, half facing the fire and half facing the bar. For a few minutes Vos watched the firelight play over his friend’s face. From his vantage point, the light accentuated Einar’s few gray hairs and protruding jaw. A sadness had fallen over the man that Vos had never thought possible. Not since his recovery after the Trial and the ensuing war.

  “Look, Einar,” Vos started in gentle tones. “Your family is fine. You’re the one with the larger problem. And dragging Saen in this mess forces me to question your judgment. And to think if any of the other Lord Mayors discovered this information, then Kendach himself would be suffering some questioning even he couldn’t talk himself out of.” Vos poured himself a pint of a dark brown ale and waited for a response.

  “Saen, as you’ll recall, is not a person who is easily stifled. She’s practically the children’s aunt.” Sighing heavily, Einar continued in a murmur, “I think she believes she could offer me protection or just friendship, perhaps.”

  “Self-pity will get you nowhere with me, Einar. Tell me, what protection do you need?

  “From himself, Vos.” The familiar voice broke their concentration.

  The men’s reaction nearly brought a smile to Saen’s lips. Instead, a shocked grimace caused the men to relax, albeit slightly. Einar’s somewhat familiar pose before the beginnings of a rune and Vos’s blindingly quick display of a dagger from seemingly nowhere forced Saen to realize the potential danger she had put herself into.

  “Peace, old friends.”

  Einar lowered his hand and Vos lowered a poised dagger. “You should be resting, Saen,” echoed both companions, and as if nothing untoward had occurred, all three smiled. Brief and surprising laughter brought a release the two travelers welcomed. Vos poured two more pints of the same brown ale and watched them move to the bar. Seeing their eyes meet, Vos paused, thinking, Nothing can come between those two. Nothing natural anyway.

  “We don’t have much time before the door,” Vos began, then nodded at the door, “is beaten down with hungry patrons. What’s your next step?”

  “Simple enough: catch up to Ellia and the children. Convince her to come home with me.”

  “Simple indeed,” Saen snorted. “We’ve nearly exhausted ourselves just getting here.” She pointed at the polished smooth bar top while sipping the ale. “We still don’t know exactly where she’s going, Einar”

  “Ahhh. Well, she intends to go south, at least that is what Eosy led me to believe when Ellia stepped outside for few minutes. Kylia mentioned something about not being able to wait to see her grandfather. I didn’t give it much thought, but that must mean she’s going to Tolsont. If memory serves, your father lives there, or did, anyway.” Vos noticed Einar nodding in affirmation.

  “And, to think I reckoned you were the fool. What could have pushed her south with three children in the shadow of the coming blizzard?”

  Saen answered, “After we find her that’s the first thing I’ll ask. Of course, I’ll ask after I shake her silly for being a total buffoon.” Growling, Saen slammed the half-full pint on the bar, shattering the pint’s bottom spraying shards of glass and ale across the bar. The look on Saen’s face brought the two men into near convulsions.

  Tossing a rag at her, Vos casually stated when she calmed enough, “All of my patrons clean up their own messes. The others will be in shortly, as you can hear.” Vos moved to and unbarred the door to the general relief of at least three men stamping their feet in the cold. Moving inside with barely a “thank you” muttered, Vos looked at his friends and shrugged, as if to say, “We’ll resume our talk later.”

  Unfortunately, later never came. Saen and Einar waited patiently at the bar despite weariness seepin
g in with each entering local. Fatigue induced by the traveling and the brief conversation’s impact concerned Vos enough that he eyed them each time he passed by. As one of the first men left for home, and with no relief apparent, Vos gently placed his hands on their alternate shoulders.

  “Go get some rest. I’m not going anywhere, and you too look like you’ll fall out of your seats at any moment.” Seeing them not moving, either out of sleepiness or stubbornness, he shooed them to the back door of the common room.

  “I’ll wake you when you absolutely need to get moving to avoid the brunt of the storm. As it is, you’ll not make it in the condition you’re in.” Vos waited for their nod of agreement, then turned his gaze back to the common room and its needs. Never once, though, did he let his attention sway long from the door’s entrance.

  Einar woke with a start. A tapping on his chest brought him from a deep slumber. His flitting dreams, which left no memories except pain and loss, caused him to lie still.

  “Get up!” Vos’s voice snapped Einar to the reality facing him. “She’s already up and waiting for you.” Sighing, he rose to a sitting position. “If anything, think of the children and Ellia,” Vos continued, gently pressing on Einar’s shoulder. Waving his hand in acknowledgment, Einar stood, grasping his lower back where a tinge of pain chewed.

  “I’ve not felt this tired since the children and Ellia simultaneously got the breaking pox. The most worrisome four days I’ve lived through. By the third day, I was certain Ellia would pass. To think, they lived through that mess and then had to deal with me for years onward.”

  “Stop that nonsense now.” Einar glanced up at Vos and saw a look a father gives when a child is playing the fool. “Get up and get ready,” Vos continued unabated. “You took vows of marriage years ago, and with that comes all the obligations of being a father and husband. You are oathbound as an Alterator and with that comes the weight of your ancestors’ obligations to remain true to your path. Never forget that, Einar.”

  Flushing, Einar dropped his gaze to avoid his friend’s eyes; Vos’s fierceness, intent as a reminder, served to re-forge Einar’s slipping will. “Thank you,” he muttered. Vos responded by nodding, stepping from the room, and softly closing the door.

  Einar stood, gathered his belongings, and met his friends in the Dance’s common room. Saen stood by the still-lit fireplace holding a bowl with one hand and dipping a spoon with the other. She turned and offered a brief smile. The barely upturned ends of her lips belied her tiredness. Vos had not wasted any time in the past few hours; he had prepared food and drink for the travelers, and the supplies waited on the bar. Einar knew it was better to store the items in his pack rather than verbally deny the assistance. Vos liked nothing less than wasting his time with the social niceties of someone initially denying his proffered help.

  “Fill your belly before you leave. I’ll not let you leave with an empty stomach. You’ve got a good twenty minutes or so before the horses will be ready anyway.”

  “We really need to get going. I don’t think there is time—” Einar trailed off as he glanced at Vos’s face.

  He grasped the bowl and spoon in Vos’s outstretched hands, then moved to the fireplace. The fire’s heat was less than Vos’s current temperament. Standing near Saen, the two ate without a glance or a word. Their dour stares into the flames emulated their thoughts of the journey ahead. The thoughts flitted unfocused and offered no solace.

  Einar looked down at his empty bowl as the inn’s door swung inward. He could not recall a single bite of the meal. The wind’s crispness shocked him back to the present; Vos’s stable boy strode to the bar and whispered into Vos’s ear. The boy, barely twelve years old by Einar’s guess, looked at the two travel-weary companions. A hesitating glance flashed across his face before Vos gently patted his shoulder. Vos returned a brief whisper, and the boy ran out the door without a backward glance.

  “Don’t mind Jusian. He’s a good lad, just shy around strangers, especially ones leaving at this hour. He’ll be waiting with your horses outside. Be sure to give him a sizable donation for his troubles.” Stepping from his stool and without hesitation, Vos strode across the room with the companions’ packs in either hand. “Here. You have no time to waste. Every minute will count now.”

  Vos set the packs down before collecting the bowls and spoons; he placed them on a nearby table and turned back to the two. Outstretching his hand, Vos grasped Einar’s hand. “I’ll see you soon. Stop by on your way back to the Pass.”

  Einar nodded with a smile of thanks while he grabbed the pack. He paced to the door and from the corner of his eye he noticed Vos’s hands on Saen’s shoulders. She had placed her hands on his wrists. The firelight played over their features, and he began to see them move closer, but not before he shifted his gaze to the door. Attempting to put the pack in place enflamed the previously unrealized soreness in his shoulders and Einar cried out from the suddenness of the pain. To Einar’s chagrin, he knew he had been heard.

  Vos’s voice carried, “Go to your friend, Saen. He’s obviously itching to get moving.”

  Waving without looking, Einar grasped the door’s handle and pulled in. Saen’s soft lantern light broke the darkness. Jusian stood holding the reins of two horses both of which stood complacently. Their placid breaths misted and then dissipated almost as quickly as they appeared. The wind, seemingly silent inside the inn, took on a fierce whistle as it flowed past the small village’s dwellings. Einar and Saen reached for the reins in Jusian’s extended hands. Jusian grabbed two lantern poles, at first unseen, and stared at the horses.

  “Get up there, and I’ll hand you the poles and lanterns.” The boy’s soft voice belied his apparent youth. The huskiness of his accent made him out to be at least fifteen.

  “We’ll be fine, son,” Einar replied, as he positioned himself on a large gray stallion. Saen said nothing while getting onto her equally sized black mount. “We don’t need the lanterns.”

  “Vos said you’d say that,” Jusian replied. In his best imitation of Vos, Jusian continued, “Don’t tire yourself out. You have a long journey ahead of you, and you can’t afford to be weak.” Seeing the smiles on their faces, Jusian wasted no time in handing them the poles. He quickly lit the lanterns and set them in the poles’ catch hook. “I’m not your son, old man, but be careful on your travels.” With that, Jusian ran to the inn’s door and was out of sight within two breaths.

  Raising his eyebrows and downplaying the edge of his lips, Einar merely shrugged at Saen. The lantern light flickered over her freckled face, offering Einar nothing of her mindset. Turning his horse back toward the road, Einar felt a renewed sense of urgency which had slipped away during his time in The Dance. Einar kneed his horse closer to Saen’s and grasped her hand in encouragement. Her quick grip of his palm and her prompting the horse to move helped Einar regain a sense that he was not alone. Before spurring his own horse to catch his friend, the thought of her safety weighed on his shoulders nearly as much as the ache still lingering there. They twitched as the black stallion kicked forward.

  Several hours passed while the two companions traveled south on the old trade road between Jasten and Durik’s Pass. Over time the road simply became known as the Tolsont Road to the locals of Sacclon. No other thoroughfare remained as consistently well-maintained and well-used. The stones of the road belied the relative backwater nature most people thought of when thinking of Sacclon. The area itself was old, but how old, exactly, neither companion knew. Older than some of the Originators was the best guess, yet Saen wondered, when hearing the stories, who had actually asked an Originator?

  The lanterns proved to be of excellent make; they remained bright for nearly the entire length of the stone roadway to the next sanctuary. The companions’ grips tightened upon the reins as the lantern’s light diminished, yet the constant clinking of the clip, clop of the horse’s metal shoes on the stone threatened to lull Saen to sleep. Einar’s quick and steady pace forced Saen to stay a
ware just to keep up each time her eyes grew heavy.

  Saen could see little more than the road and flitting flurries outside the twin bubbles of light, so Saen kept her eyes trained on Einar’s back. He had obviously not bothered to protect them with what he had done after leaving Durik’s Pass. He had muttered something about saving his strength, but she barely heard him over the wind snapping their cloaks around the mount’s backs. Bother, it’s cold. I wish he had told me. I would have at least asked for an additional layer. Saen pulled her stallion to a halt as Einar stopped short.

  “What is the matter?” she asked through chattering teeth.

  Einar slid from the saddle to the stones before yelling over his shoulder, “Nothing, except the horses need a few minutes rest while I refill the lanterns. We’ve still got thirty miles of traveling. As I figure it, we’ll see Jasten by mid-afternoon.”

  Steam rose from the horse’s bodies and tapered away as quickly as the mist forming on their snouts. We’ve pushed the horses too hard. We’ll never make it on them. Ellia, you damned fool! Saen jumped when something touched her leg.

  “Don’t worry Saen.” Einar paused until he knew he had her attention. “We’re ready to resume.”

  Saen realized his concerned look must have mirrored her own. Strangely, the cold didn’t seem to bother him. Einar continued, “We’ll change horses at the next sanctuary fifteen miles ahead. An elderly man, Asgrim, holds horses for travelers there. A quick switch and we’ll be on our way. Vos gave me a writ of passage, so there’ll be no explaining necessary.” Einar quickly remounted and spurred the mount forward.

  The lanterns pushed the darkness away while the crisp wind crept through every opening on Saen’s clothing. Holding the reins with one hand and her cloak with the other had had become a quick-formed habit, yet the continual repositioning of the lantern pole grew wearisome. From out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glint of an irregularly-shaped stone. The lantern’s light barely touched the stone, yet it stood out clearly from the plainness of the brown grasses and flat river stones of the road.