Dangerous Talents

by Frankie Robertson

Cele was about to ask Angrim about her Talent, but she forgot her question as they stepped out into a swirl of laughter, music, smells of cooking food, and a press of bodies.

  They stopped first at a food stall. Angrim dipped into a pouch hanging from her belt and drew out an irregularly shaped coin. It bought them two thick slices of fresh bread drizzled with honey. It smelled warm and rich. Cele’s mouth watered, despite the large snack she’d shared with Gudrun and the other women. The merchant weighed the coin and clipped off a bit, which he returned to Angrim.

  A slanting ray from the setting sun glinted on gold at Angrim’s wrist as she accepted her change from the vendor and handed Cele the larger slice. Then she pulled Cele with her to watch a puppet show.

  The puppets, painted in bright colors, enacted a fairytale-like story that seemed well known to the audience, judging from the shouts of encouragement and disapproval. Cele watched, licking honey from her fingers, and found the tale strangely familiar.

  A Talentless young man, despised for his condition, left his home to seek his fortune. Along the way, he faced three challenges, which by his cleverness he met and overcame with courage, humor, and generosity. In fact, he was being tested by the three Fates, the Norns. For his good deeds, the Norns rewarded him by granting him a Talent for Finding Gold, and in the end, a Jarl gave his daughter to the young man in marriage.

  Angrim pulled Cele away while the crowd was still stamping and shouting its approbation. A player thrust a long handled pan forward to receive more concrete expressions of their approval. As Cele glanced around, a tall man with a dark complexion looked quickly away. Then Angrim led her past a row of stalls, stopping at one to admire the fine cloth, at another to coo over delicately wrought jewelry.

  Cele licked the sweet stickiness from her fingers, hesitant to touch the beautiful pieces. Some items were delicate: necklaces of silver wire intricately knotted and studded with polished stones. Others were more substantial stylized animal figures cast in bronze. The piece Celia liked best was a brooch of dark polished wood inlaid with a design of silver and copper.

  They moved with the crowd as though swept by the current of a stream, swirling along from one eddy to the next in front of each successive booth. The aisle turned back on itself twice, like a river snaking through hill country. Lanterns were lit and hung from poles as the sunlight faded, casting a yellow glow over the crowd, creating multiple shadows on the faces of the vendors and their customers.

  The crowd was mixed. People Cele recognized from the feast of the previous night stood beside others not so well dressed, and laughed side-by-side with them at the performers. Sometimes a face stood out; a gap-toothed woman laughed loudly and drew Cele’s eye. Lantern light danced off the bald pate of an old man. Twice more she noticed the dark man standing not far away. There was nothing unusual about him, and Cele wasn’t sure why she noticed him at all. The third time he drew her gaze, she and Angrim were all the way across the courtyard from where they’d started.

  She turned to Angrim. “Who is that man?”

  “Who?” Angrim looked up eagerly. “Has a handsome face caught your eye?”

  “No, over there, I think—” But he’d disappeared into the crowd. Is he following us, or am I imagining things? Her concern seemed baseless, but she couldn’t quite dismiss it, and she searched the swirling mob for his face.

  Angrim’s shriek pulled Cele around sharply. “My bracelet! It’s gone!” Angrim clutched her wrist where the bracelet had been and looked wildly around her at the ground, obscured by shadows and passing feet. “I’ve got to find it!”

  The little blonde’s hysteria triggered Cele’s professional calm. “Take it easy. When did you last know you had it? Where were you?”

  Angrim looked frantic, her eyes widened by panic. “I’ve got to find it! Help me!” She gripped Cele’s hand painfully. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  The courtyard was huge, and they’d stopped at every booth. The bracelet could be anywhere. Hundreds of people milled in front of the stalls and the performers’ platforms, and any one of them could have picked it up or kicked it out of sight. “What does it look like?”

  Suddenly Cele remembered the flash of gold on Angrim’s wrist, glinting in the lowering sun. Just as suddenly she knew, knew, where to find the bracelet.

  It was like the peculiar certainty she’d felt when looking for water, or wishing for light in the tunnels, but much, much stronger. It drew her. She returned Angrim’s tight hand clasp and headed off through the crowd, towing the smaller woman behind her. Unmindful of the annoyed looks cast at her as she shouldered past, she followed the direction of her certainty into one booth, through the back of another and beyond. The sensation was urgent now, like a cord tied to her diaphragm. Her breath came in deep gasps. It was there. THERE!

  She stopped in front of a stall selling cloth and dove into the mounds of fabric, pushing aside stacked bolts and folded samples.

  “Here now! What are you doing? Be careful there!”

  Cele ignored the merchant’s exclamation and withdrew the bracelet, still hooked to an ivory lace. Cele stared at the heavy gold circle in her hand. Rampant stags with ruby eyes butted heads around the circumference. The demanding need evaporated. What just happened? How did I do that?

  “My bracelet!” Angrim snatched the bracelet to her breast. “However did you find it?” She freed her treasure from the fabric and put it back on her wrist. Then she looked at Cele more sharply. “How did you find it?”

  With the bracelet found, Cele’s single-minded focus no longer buffered the sights and smells and sounds of the marketplace. They flooded back, overwhelming her senses. It was hard to focus on any one thing when every sensation demanded her attention. Cele blinked, trying to reorient to her surroundings.

  “Who’s going to clean up this mess?” The vendor’s indignant demand felt like a bludgeon and Cele flinched.

  “Do you require assistance? Shall I fold your cloth for you?” A familiar deep voice spoke close over Cele’s head.

  *

  “My lord!” the merchant sputtered. “That’s not for you to do.”

  “Then we shall step aside and make room for your other customers,” Dahleven said, drawing Lady Celia’s arm through his own. He was pleased she didn’t pull away; he didn’t want to fight on two fronts.

  “But my lord, this—this woman has overset my wares,” the merchant protested.

  Dahleven enjoyed correcting the man more than he should have. “This lady is a guest of Kon Neven.”

  For an instant, the merchant looked taken aback, then Dahleven’s displeasure increased as a look of calculation replaced the outrage fading from the other man’s features. He continued to bluster. “I carry the finest weaving in the seven provinces, my lord, but if the cloth is torn I can sell it only as remnants and rags.”

  Dahleven picked up the length of ivory lace from the rumpled and tumbled piles of cloth and held it next to Lady Celia’s face. Her eyes looked a little glazed, but they focused on his own when he spoke to her. He was relieved to find no anger in them, though its absence surprised him. Why the change? “This goes well with your coloring, Lady Celia.”

  He fished a gold coin from the wallet at his waist and slapped it down hard on the counter in the only narrow space not covered with fabric. It was four times what the lace was worth. “This should cover it. Wrap it up.”

  Greed had already widened the merchant’s eyes when Dahleven speared him with a sharp slicing gaze. “I shall tell my father of your patience and understanding, sir. I’m sure he will see you compensated appropriately if you’ve suffered any loss.” Dahleven smiled, convinced by the man’s stiffening expression that his message had been understood. Neven would cover any real damage caused by Lady Celia, but he was even less patient with this kind of calculating greed than his son. Ambition and profit were one thing, avarice another. Dahleven guessed the merchant would pocket the outrageous overpayment and count himself ahead.

  Dahleven t
urned away while the vendor wrapped his purchase and tied the parcel with a ribbon instead of the usual string.

  “Lady Angrim.” Dahleven nodded politely to her. What is she doing with Lady Celia?

  “Lord Dahleven. I’m surprised you have time for such amusements as the market.” Angrim looked up at him through her thick lashes and gave him her best smile. “Will you join us?” She slipped her hand beneath his other arm, pressing against his side. A moment later, she had to relinquish her position as he reached for the wrapped lace and tucked it under that arm.

  He smiled back, impervious to her flirtation. They’d answered each other’s needs for a few months the previous year, but Dahleven’s ardor had chilled when he realized Angrim’s ambition was greater than her affection. “That was my intention from the first.” He patted Lady Celia’s hand where it lay on his arm. It was too cold, and he placed his warmer hand over it.

  Angrim’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she smiled sweetly. “However did you find us in this crowd?”

  “I saw you from the steps as Lady Celia towed you through the merchants’ stalls. What was so urgent?”

  The tuning of instruments carried across the courtyard.

  “Come! The dancing is about to begin,” Angrim said.

  A suspicion was bubbling to the surface of his mind. “I think food would be a better choice,” Dahleven said. “Which would you prefer, Lady Celia? Sausage or meat pies?”

  Lady Celia’s glazed eyes brightened. “Meat pies!”

  Five meat pies later, three of them eaten by Celia, Dahleven’s suspicion was stronger. She’s in Emergence; I’d wager my sword on it. He glanced at her; she was licking the last of the sauce from her fingers. The food had steadied her, and he was relieved to find the glassy look gone from her eyes. Dazed and hungry. No—ravenous. He remembered when his own Talent had finally Emerged. He’d been voracious for weeks.

  He looked at Angrim and caught her considering Lady Celia with a thoughtful expression. Then she smiled at him and urged them toward the dancing. No sooner had they approached the gathering dancers, than a tall, broad-shouldered man asked Angrim to dance. She hesitated, glancing at Dahleven, obviously hoping he’d insist on escorting her.

  He gave her a bland smile. “Enjoy the dance.”

  Angrim moved briskly away, hand in hand with her partner.

  He turned to Lady Celia and bent close so he wouldn’t have to shout and gestured to the two rows beginning to form. “Would you like to join them?”

  “No, thanks. I got lucky with Ragni last night, but most of your dances are too complicated for me.”

  He frowned at her familiar mention of Ragni, but Celia didn’t see, as her gaze had returned to the twining steps of the dancers.

  She watched as Angrim disappeared from view. The men and women wove through the patterns, keeping time with stamping and clapping, always light on their feet. Eventually, Angrim came into view again. Celia pulled him closer and spoke into his ear. Her question surprised him. “Are you and Angrim…together?”

  What in Freyr’s name has Angrim been telling Celia? He could guess. “No.”

  “But you were.”

  It was a statement, not a question, but he decided to answer it anyway. “Yes. Last year.”

  She nodded. “I thought it was something like that.”

  The music ended and a different set formed. Angrim didn’t return. Dahleven smiled to himself. She always knows when to cut her losses.

  Celia pulled him close again. She looked embarrassed and serious. “By the way, thanks for not rubbing it in.”

  Dahleven looked at her curiously and smiled. “You’re quite welcome. What are you talking about?”

  Celia’s mouth opened and closed. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he thought she was blushing. “Kaidlin will tell you.”

  Dahleven was about to ask what Kaidlin had to do with it, when he felt Celia’s fingers trembling through the fine weave of his sleeve. “Are you tired? Would you like to go in?”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “Yeah. All of a sudden I’m wiped out.”

  Fatigue, too. She was definitely in Emergence. The delight he felt at the thought surprised him. Of course I’m happy for her. But it went beyond the happiness one usually felt for another’s new Talent. Dahleven grimaced, chagrined to realize that what he felt was akin to relief. Why shouldn’t I be relieved? The world isn’t gentle to those without Talent. And since Celia was in Emergence, she was not beyond consideration, after all.

  Dahleven led her slowly through the thick crowd. A group of boys ran by, bumping Celia. She stumbled and fell against him. Dahleven steadied her with an arm around her waist.

  The boys didn’t stop. The first three had disappeared into the crowd but he recognized the last two. “Ljot! Solvin!” he barked. “Come back here!”

  The boys stopped and turned around as if their reins had been jerked. At ten and eleven, they were still young enough for their eyes to widen with alarm when they saw his scowl.

  “You nearly knocked Lady Celia off her feet. You owe her an apology.” He wouldn’t have his nephews growing up to be ruffians.

  “I wasn’t the one who hit her!” Ljot protested.

  “Nor me! It was Han,” Solvin added.

  “If you keep company with ill-mannered louts, you must expect to pay the consequences,” Dahleven admonished. “Apologize. Now.” For an instant, he thought Celia might protest, but she kept silent.

  “Please accept my apologies, Lady Celia, for myself and my friends. I hope you weren’t injured,” Ljot said, bowing.

  “I’m sorry, too, Lady Celia.” Solvin bowed.

  Dahleven suppressed a smile, keeping his face stern. Ljot had done well; Solvin’s apology was less polished, but heartfelt.

  “Thank you, Ljot, Solvin. You’re forgiven. No harm was done,” Celia said solemnly.

  “Are you supposed to be watching Ari?” Dahleven asked. Their five-year-old brother was a mischief-maker and needed constant supervision.

  “No, Uncle Dahben. He’s with Aunt Kaidlin,” Ljot said.

  “Very well, then. Off with you. And watch where you’re going.”

  The boys bowed again and escaped into the crowd like rabbits into a burrow.

  “They’re good boys,” Dahleven said.

  “I can see they are. They’re very polite.”

  “With a little reminder.”

  “Like most men.” Celia smiled but her voice was dull with fatigue.

  They climbed the stairs to the broad doorway slowly. Dahleven kept his arm around Celia, enjoying the way her hip rubbed against his with the sway of her stride.

  The long hallway was empty and relatively quiet. The door guards’ attention was on the courtyard and the crowd. Everyone not required for some task was out enjoying the cool summer night and the carefree atmosphere of the Althing market.

  “I don’t understand this. I don’t usually crash so early in the evening.” Lady Celia ran a hand over her forehead, then let her arm fall limp to her side.

  His last lingering doubts about her evaporated. Those doubts had grown weaker as he’d come to know her in the field; now it was clear she was no spy from the Outcasts. No one could fake Emergence, and he could not imagine a Nuvinland woman her age concealing her delight in finally developing Talent. Only someone just from Midgard would be so ignorant and unconcerned. “It’s Emergence. It affects everyone a little differently, and you’re going through it later than most.”

  “Emergence?” Lady Celia’s first step up the staircase was slow and labored as she half pulled herself up by the railing.

  Dahleven kept a hand on her back, guarding against a fall. “Your Talent is Emerging. It usually peaks over a two-week period. You’ll be hungry after you’ve exercised it, like you were tonight, and a little tired—until you get used to it. Then it will be like any other sense. It’ll be part of you. You’ll take it for granted.”

  “A little tired?” Lady Celia chuckled weakly. “
I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” Then she paused on the second step and half turned to look at him. “I don’t want to get used to it. I don’t need a Talent. I’m going home. I’m not staying here any longer than I have to.”

  Even a step below her, Dahleven was still taller. He gazed down at Lady Celia, disturbed by her vehement desire to leave. He shook his head and smiled. “Whether you will it or not, your Talent is Emerging. You should practice so you learn control, and your limits…What Talent have you developed?”

  “How should I know?” She turned and pulled herself up another step.

  “What were you doing when I found you?”

  Lady Celia rested on the third step. “Searching for Angrim’s bracelet.”

  “And you found it among the cloth? How did you know where to look?”

  The surprise on Lady Celia’s face was almost amusing. “I just knew. It pulled me. And the closer I got, the stronger I felt it. It was sort of like when we were short of water, only much stronger. I couldn’t help finding it.”

  A Finder, then.

  Lady Celia turned and started to pull herself up the next step.

  It will be dawn before she climbs these stairs—if she doesn’t fall and break her neck. Dahleven swept Celia up into his arms. She went rigid and tried to push away.

  “What are you doing? Put me down!”

  He had to lean against the stone balustrade to keep his balance while he shifted her weight to carry her comfortably. “Forgive my presumption, Lady Celia, but each of your steps was slower and more difficult than the last. Speak the truth; do you truly have the strength to climb three flights of stairs?”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it with a snap. When she sagged against his chest, he knew he’d won—this skirmish, anyway.

  He remembered how she forthrightly admitted her misjudgments in the field, and apologized for whatever it was that Kaidlin would tell him. Her own honest nature defeats her. He suppressed a grin and accepted her concession sober-faced.

  “You’re right, I’d never make it.” Her voice sounded limp, now that the outrage had drained from it. She waved a hand toward the stairs without much energy. “Home, James.”