Winterbirth

by Brian Ruckley

  On the morning of the fourth day since he had awoken, when Ess'yr brought him a bowl of watery broth, he sensed that something had changed. There was a lightness in her manner that had not been there before. He asked if In'hynyr had made some decision, but Ess'yr ignored the question.

  'My brother is back,' she said. 'He will see you.'

  The tall, lean hunter Ess'yr later ushered into Orisian's hut was more imposing than any Kyrinin Orisian had yet seen. In the mere act of entering, without a word being spoken, the space became his. His long silvery hair had an almost metallic sheen to it. His taut face was covered by an intricate swirl of dark blue lines tattooed into the skin. The smoke-coloured eyes remained impassive, but the corner of his mouth gave the faintest of twitches at the sight of the Huanin youth crouched on the sleeping mat.

  'My brother,' said Ess'yr. 'Varryn.'

  'I am Orisian,' he said, wishing his heart had not picked up its beat.

  The tall Kyrinin angled his head and narrowed his eyes. Orisian felt impaled.

  'Ulyin,'Varryn said, and swept out into the morning.

  Ess'yr gazed after him, scratching once at her cheek with a white fingernail. Orisian cleared his throat.

  'What does ulyin mean?' he asked.

  'A baby bird; no feathers. They fall from nests.' She looked at him. 'Bad hunting,' she said and went after her brother.

  He saw Varryn again that afternoon, when Ess'yr shepherded him out of the tent and over to a fire where a bowl of stew was waiting. As they sat side by side, eating in silence, her brother joined them.

  Orisian watched him out of the corner of his eye. Caution vied with curiosity for a while, as he took in the dense tattoos that scarred the Kyrinin's skin. Eventually he set his bowl down and turned to Varryn.

  'What...' Orisian hesitated for a moment. 'What do the marks mean? On your face?'

  Ess'yr spoke before her brother could reply. 'This is kin'thyn. Threefold. Very few have the third.'

  She murmured something to Varryn. Orisian was struck anew at how her voice danced when she spoke in her own language; as if a stream flowed in it. Varryn gave a nod of assent to whatever she had asked him.

  'I can tell you how he won the kin'thyn. He agrees. Do you wish it?' she said to Orisian.

  'Yes, I would like that.'

  'The first kin'thyn when he was thirteen summers.' There was something almost reverent in Ess'yr's tone.

  'He was in a spear a'an of Tyn'vyr, crossed into White Owl lands. They hunted the enemy for five days.

  He put an arrow in an old one from behind a tree. The second when he was fifteen. A spear a'an of the enemy came near. He opened one of them with a knife. Then many summers before the third. Kyrkyn called a spear a'an, and they went across the valley, went deep in enemy lands. They found a family by a stream, and sent them all to the willow. Varryn took the fire from their camp. They ran for the river, but the enemy was as wolfenkind behind. Many fell. Kyrkyn, and ten more. Five came out from the trees and back. Varryn carried the fire with him. Only for this is the third kin'thyn given. For the enemy's fire.'

  Throughout the telling, Varryn had regarded Orisian with a fixed, emotionless gaze. It made him want to turn away. Instead he asked, 'How do you cross the valley into Anlane so easily? Without us, my Blood, knowing you are there?'

  The question was directed at Ess'yr, for Orisian had assumed her brother would not understand, but Varryn rose to his feet, setting aside his bowl though it was still half-full of steaming stew.

  'Huanin do not know,' he said. He walked off, pausing after a few steps and half-turning. 'Eyes and ears are thick and heavy. Like your legs and feet.'

  Orisian watched the Kyrinin's back as he stalked away.

  'Varryn does not like Huanin too well,' said Ess'yr.

  'No,' Orisian agreed. 'You don't seem to feel the same way.'

  'I do not love your race. But Inurian speaks well of you. Of you.'

  Orisian forgot all about Varryn. Here was a momentary chink in the shield Ess'yr maintained against questions he longed to ask.

  'You know him? Inurian, I mean. He has been to visit your camps?'

  'I saw you, with the big man, and I knew you. I saw you before, three summers before, with Inurian in a boat. Close to the shore. You did not see me, but he knew I watched. He made a sign.'

  'We never landed on the Car Anagais,' Orisian said, thinking quickly, wondering how to make the most of Ess'yr's willingness to talk. 'I always wanted to come with him into the forest. I knew he was coming to your camps, and I wanted to go with him. He always put me off.'

  Ess'yr looked him in the eye. 'Why do you want to come to us? Huanin do not come to a vo'an.'

  'I know many of my people do not like the Kyrinin. They are afraid, I suppose, but it has never been like that for me. I just . . . I just wanted to see what your camps were like. To see how you lived. It's hard to explain, but for the last few years I have often wanted to ... to be somewhere else than my home.

  Somewhere different, new. And I wanted to see where Inurian comes from, and where he went on his journeys, I suppose.'

  'He is important for you.'

  'Yes. He has been very kind to me in the last few years.'

  Ess'yr brushed a hair from across her face. The gesture was so casual, so inconsequential, that for a luminous instant Orisian was held by it and freed of all the world beyond that sculpted hand and its languid movement. Ess'yr was quite still for the space of a few breaths. Then she stood up as if arriving at some conclusion.

  'Come. I will show you. Perhaps Inurian wishes it.'

  She led him out of the vo'an. As they walked in silence, she ahead and he behind, Orisian reflected that Rothe would have seen this as a chance to escape; to overpower Ess'yr and flee. It was not something Orisian considered for even a moment, though. He doubted he could best the Kyrinin woman even if he tried, and in any case Rothe remained alone in the camp. His shieldman would view it as a grave failing, Orisian knew, but he could not possibly leave Rothe behind. There was, as well, his sense that he owed Ess'yr a debt. He might have died had she not found him and brought him here.

  They came to a place where the ground levelled out. The earth was boggy and moss-covered and gave beneath Orisian's feet. Ahead stood a dense grove of willows. From somewhere amongst the trees came the sound of trickling water. Ess'yr drew him to a halt a short distance from the willows. A few small birds, startled by their approach, darted deeper into the thicket. Orisian opened his mouth to speak.

  Before he could do so he found her thin finger touching on his lips, as light as air.

  'Breathe lightly,' she said. 'Speak soft. This is not your place. You are watched.'

  Orisian waited for Ess'yr to explain.

  'This is a dyn hane. A place of the dead. The body goes into the earth. A willow staff is planted in the hands. If it buds, the spirit will go to Darlankyn. If it does not bud, they remain. Then they are kar'hane: the watchers.'

  Peering ahead, Orisian could see that amongst the dense-packed, curving trunks and branches of the willow trees were scattered a few thin, leafless poles that must be the unregenerated burial staffs of Kyrinin. The sight of them made him imagine ghostly eyes upon him. The countless branches of the living willows brushed sighingly together. Each tree, he realised, marked the grave of a Kyrinin, its roots entwined about their bones in the soft earth.

  'Sent to the willow,' Ess'yr said softly.

  A cold grave, thought Orisian to himself, in wet ground by a forest stream. He had long known that the Kyrinin buried their dead instead of burning them as his own people did. He could not remember ever hearing about the trees, though. It occurred to him that he might, when riding with his father or with Croesan's household on the hunt, have passed by such places as this. How many hundreds of Kyrinin might have lain in their dead slumber beside his horse's hoofs?

  'The kar'hane do no harm, if you have goodwill,' she said as they walked back towards the vo'an.

  'And those who are n
ot of goodwill?' asked Orisian.

  Instead of answering his question, Ess'yr said, 'Inurian likes the dyn hane. He names them places of peace. This is why I show you.'

  'Thank you,' Orisian said to Ess'yr.

  As they made their way into the centre of the vo'an, she directed his gaze toward the face sculpted out of branches. As always, it appeared sinister to him, as if a writhing mass of snakes had been suddenly frozen in place.

  'You ask what that is. It is...' Ess'yr paused, searching for a word or phrase that did not come easily to her lips, '... a catcher of the dead. It is anhyne. An image of the Anain.'

  In the moment she uttered the words he could see it, and wondered why he had not guessed it before.

  The Anain were unlike all the other Races; closer to the Gods, as some would have it. If they had a form at all, which many claimed they did not, it was that of wood, bough and leaf come to life. This, the unknowable thought of the green earth coursing through the forests and wild places of the world, was what the Kyrinin had sought to represent.

  Everything Orisian knew of the Anain was half-legend, gleaned from tale and rumour. There were no more than a handful of stories of humans who had encountered one of them and almost all had dark endings. One of those tales every Huanin or Kyrinin alike knew well: at the end of the War of the Tainted, when the Kings had cast down Tane and crushed the strength of the greatest Kyrinin clans, the Anain had roused themselves. They had raised a vast forest - the Deep Rove - where there had been none before, swallowing up Tane and all the lands about it. It set a wild, impenetrable barrier between the human armies and the Kyrinin fleeing away into the east. It, as much as the siege and breaking of Tane, had ended the bloodshed. And here, in the peaceful heart of the vo'an, was a representation of that awful power, watching over the playing children and the wandering goats.

  'What does it mean?' asked Orisian, finding himself speaking in hushed tones.

  Ess'yr frowned slightly. It was a strange sight upon her normally undisturbed features, as though some bird had passed for a moment across the sun and cast a flicker of shadow over her face.

  'If the body does not come to the dyn hane, the... spirit will not rest. The anyhne is the guard against this. It brings the Anain close. They guard against the restless dead.'

  The restless dead, Orisian thought. That was a fit name for them. He did not believe in ghosts - not the kind he understood Ess'yr to mean - but there were other ways for the dead to be restless.

  'I didn't know there were any Anain here,' he said.

  'They come before the eye in few places. What you call Deep Rove. Anlane where the enemy is. Din Sive. But the eye is not all. They fill the green world. You do not see them, but they are here.' She would say no more after that. It was enough to leave Orisian wrestling for hours with a sense, still more acute than what he had felt before, of being watched. No matter that Ess'yr said the Anain were a protection, he had no wish to lie beneath the gaze of such legends. That night he craved the stone walls of Kolglas, their solidity and unchanging presence, in a way he had not for years.

  Orisian was woken by hands that stripped the furs from over him, and urgent voices that tore at the slumber clogging his ears. His first instinct, still half-asleep, was to struggle and fight against the bodies that seemed to crowd in upon him. There were too many, and he abandoned any resistance. He was pulled and pushed out into the cold night. Blearily he looked around.

  A great crowd of Kyrinin was gathered before his tent: so great that he thought every man, woman and child of the vo'an must be assembled there. They stood in silence, their eyes fixed upon him. Those who had roused him melted into the crowd, leaving him standing alone, still a little unsteady. The forest was bathed in radiant moonlight, casting an ethereal glow over the colourless faces that confronted him. He looked up and saw a great white full moon hanging in the sky overhead.

  Rothe was pushed roughly forwards to join him. The shieldman looked more awake and alert than Orisian felt.

  'Stand close by me,' he growled as he stood upright and took Orisian's arm in a tight grip. 'Show no fear.'

  Orisian looked around the wall of motionless bodies that faced them. There was no sound save the rasping hoot of an owl some-where out in the woods. He had the powerful sense that he and Rothe did not belong here, that they had somehow strayed from the waking world and passed into another place.

  Something was happening, or about to happen.

  'Say nothing,' he whispered to Rothe, realising that his shieldman was more likely to make a mistake in this moment than he was himself.

  The crowd parted, opening a narrow pathway for an advancing figure. Bare feet showed beneath the hem of a straight hide dress. Strips of fur hung from the shoulders of what must be a Kyrinin woman, but the face that looked upon Orisian and Rothe was that of a great fox. As the head turned this way and that, he could see the bonds that held the mask in place. They lay over long strands of grey hair, marked with streaks of red, that shone in the moon-light. It was In'hynyr, Orisian realised. The recognition did nothing to soften the savage aspect of the mask when she turned back to stare at him. In her left hand she bore a tall staff to which were tied a dozen tiny animal skulls. The bones clicked against one another as she moved. There was an elongated instant of tension as the vo'an'tyr faced the two humans, then she swivelled round and spread her arms. She stood thus between them and the host of Kyrinin for a few seconds. Her voice, when she began to speak, was muffled beneath the fox mask but that only made it sound all the more eerie as it spilled out across the clearing. She spoke in the Kyrinin tongue: a tumble of words that sounded almost like an incantation.

  'Be ready for anything,' murmured Orisian.

  In'hynyr spoke on, and every eye was upon her. She shook her staff and the little skulls it bore chattered. Her voice rose and fell. Her breath steamed, rising up as if drawn to the lambent moon.

  The fox-face spun about with a cry and In'hynyr thrust an arm towards the two of them. Rothe flinched.

  Orisian did not stir. He had done what he could to save them when he spoke to the vo'an'tyr; he knew nothing could now change whatever was going to happen. In'hynyr fell silent and a whisper ran through the crowd. Heads were bowed here and there. First one by one and then in small groups, the gathering began to fray and disperse. The Kyrinin disappeared, sinking into the darkness. In'hynyr backed away, keeping her masked face towards Orisian and Rothe, for a few strides and then turned and walked off, alone. In the space of a few breaths, only Ess'yr remained of the throng. She stood regarding Orisian.

  Rothe's hand was lifted from his arm, and he heard the big man exhale deeply. Ess'yr came towards them.

  'What happened?' asked Orisian as she drew close.

  'The vo'an'tyr spoke,' Ess'yr said. 'You may leave. Tomorrow. One day more, and you will be sent to the willow. I will come for you in the morning.'

  At dawn there was a heavy fog laid across the camp. Orisian stretched outside his tent. He had slept little after the gathering had dispersed, tossing and turning for much of what was left of the night, his mind too crowded to allow any rest.

  Rothe strode up out of the fog. He grinned at Orisian as he drew near.

  'Freedom beckons, then.'

  Orisian returned the smile. 'So it seems.'

  'I never thought we would get out of this with our hides on our backs,' Rothe said, 'but here we are. This will be a good tale to tell.'

  Orisian looked around the vo'an. The shifting veils of fog muffled all sound and half-concealed the few figures moving about. The smell of smoke hung in the damp air. It was a muted end to the tale of their sojourn here.

  Ess'yr arrived. She held up a pair of scrawny, skinned carcasses. 'Break your fast,' she said.

  He and Rothe watched in silence as Ess'yr spitted the squirrels over a small fire. As they sat there waiting, Varryn appeared. He stood beside them, leaning upon a long spear. Rothe regarded the Kyrinin warrior with unconcealed hostility.

  'This
is Varryn, Ess'yr's brother,' Orisian said. Rothe grunted and turned his eyes back to the fire. Varryn showed no sign of even recognising their existence. Even when Ess'yr said something soft to him, Orisian detected no flicker of a response. Perhaps Ess'yr saw something he did not, for she seemed unperturbed.

  'Where do you go?' she asked Orisian.

  He glanced at Rothe, aware that he had not discussed the matter with him. 'To Anduran,' he said. 'The city in the valley.' His shieldman nodded.

  'It is close, isn't it?' Orisian asked Ess'yr.

  'Not far,' she said. 'We guide you to the forest edge. I and Varryn.'

  'No need,' said Rothe, glaring at Ess'yr.

  'It is best,' said Varryn. 'Our people are in the forest. They may think you the enemy. End with quills in you like a porcupine. We take you fast and safe.'

  Rothe looked as if he was struggling to restrain himself. 'I am sure we can find our way,' he said through lips clamped so tight that the words had to battle for their freedom.

  'My brother... plays,' said Ess'yr. 'But he is right. We will take you by ways that mean you cannot find this vo'an again. We will take you by ways that are safe. We will take you so that we know you have left Fox lands. For these reasons, the vo'an'tyr says we take you. That is how it will be.' And that was the end of any debate.

  A black expression settled over Rothe's face, and Orisian reflected that a journey with the shieldman and a proud Kyrinin warrior in the same party was not going to be an easy one.

  'We prepare,' Ess'yr said. 'When you finish, come to the edge of the vo'an. The east.'

  She and her brother left Orisian and Rothe to pick apart the squirrels. The shieldman muttered in dire tones about the fool-hardiness of trusting Kyrinin.

  'We've no choice,' murmured Orisian. 'I don't think they'd look kindly on refusal. It won't be for long, anyway. They're only trying to protect themselves; making sure we can't find our way back here too easily.'

  Orisian sucked at a bone. Unnoticed, children had gathered around them. He glanced up to find a dozen or more, come to take a last look at these strange visitors to their home. Rothe tossed the remnants of his meal on to the fire and rose to his feet. The children shuffled to one side to open a path for him.