Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1)

by Sethlen, Aron

  “He’s here,” Preta says, adrenaline shooting through her body and warming her.

  “You and me go,” Mara says, nodding at Preta. “Agna, you stay here and keep a lookout.”

  Preta taps Mara’s arm. “Hey, we should use aliases. I’ll call you Mira instead of Mara, that’s Agna’s daughter’s name.”

  “Good,” Mara says with sarcasm, “and I’ll call you Seery, now let’s go.”

  Preta frowns in frustration. She steps out of the alley and squints at the building across the small square. The temperature drops further, and the slushy rain transitions into a heavy, fluffy snow.

  Preta and Mara make their way through the wall of white and pass by the fountain with trickling water and drooping icicles forming and arcing with the flow of spray out of the musician’s horns.

  After crossing the street, they climb the stairs, and a guard steps out of a cubbyhole.

  The guard holds out his hand. “State your business.”

  “We need to talk to the magistrate,” Mara says.

  “I said state your business.”

  Mara’s face twists in anger. “The magistrate, we need to talk with him right away, and it’s none of your damned business what our business is, security boy.”

  The guard calmly unfolds a parchment with names on it. “If you want to enter and talk with Mr. Sotonus, it is my business, and you need an appointment. Do you have an appointment?”

  Preta steps forward and nudges Mara to the side. “Mira, I got this.” She turns to the guard. “Sir, it’s his wife Edna. She sent us to give Mr. Sotonus a message. We work for the Sotonues’, and we’ve come to town for her. She forgot to tell him something important, and we’re here to deliver the message.”

  The guard arches his brow and taps the parchment with his fingertip. “His wife, is it? I’ll tell him for you; give me the information.”

  Preta scowls. “Mr. Sotonus and his wife wouldn’t appreciate me telling you the message. This information is of a sensitive nature.”

  The guard puffs out his chest. “I’m privy to lots of sensitive information; I can tell him for you.”

  “No, Mrs. Edna said only we are supposed to tell him, and it’s urgent.”

  “Sorry, I can’t allow you to enter. I have strict orders. No name on paper, no entry.”

  Preta stomps her foot in a slushy explosion. “What’s your name? Zach, is it?”

  Zach’s head twitches. “Yes, how’d you know my name?”

  “Like I said, we work for the Sotonues’, we know lots of things.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, “I just can’t let you in.”

  “Fine.” Preta snatches Mara’s wrist and turns away from the door.

  “Seery, what are you doing?”

  Preta ignores her. “All right, Zach the entrance guard, we’re going back to Mrs. Edna’s right now, and I’ll tell her why we couldn’t see her husband. I’m sure you’ll be shoveling pig dung within days.” Preta takes a nervous breath and descends onto the first step.

  The guard reaches out and grabs Preta’s arm. “Wait! You don’t have to do that.”

  Preta grins and stops. She straightens her face and turns to Zach. “Don’t do what?”

  “Fine,” Zach says, “come on. And you better tell Edna it was Zach at the front door who helped you.”

  Preta squints at him in a threatening manner. “Next time you see us, you better just let us in without a word or trouble.”

  Zach nods once and looks at the street, staring at the falling snow for a second, and then concedes and flicks the back of his hand toward the door. “Go.”

  Preta removes her hood and strides through the entrance, and a hot wave of dry air hits her body.

  The room is large and immaculate, the walls stylized with colorful mosaics and landscapes. Stone pillars and sculptures line the entrance hall, and paintings hang amongst ceramic pots filled with plants. Huge gold chandeliers swing from above, illuminating the entire room. Fireplaces blaze as men stand next to them waving large handheld fans. Other men sit in padded seats with newspapers or are in deep conversation.

  Preta makes her way to the center of the room. Taking it all in, she does a pirouette. She eyes three large hallways ahead of her. One hallway is straight ahead and there is one to the far left and one to the far right. On either side of the center hallway, a marble spiral staircase leads up to the second floor.

  Reminiscent of Yaz, Mara smacks Preta on her back, knocking her forward. “Good job, Seery, impressive.”

  Preta grits her teeth. “Seery? Really?”

  “Why not? It’s catchy. I like it.”

  “Whatever. So where do we go now?”

  Mara glances to the top of the staircase. “Big men usually like to be up high.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we go up.”

  Preta climbs the stairs to the top and stops. With a gleam in her eye, she hangs her body over the balcony railing to appreciate the art below.

  “Seery, no stopping—focus—your brothers.”

  Preta sighs and catches up to Mara. “Why this hallway?”

  Mara points at a guard standing near the end of the corridor. “Big men like protection too.”

  Rufus steps out of his office. “Preta, is that you?”

  A DEAL IS STRUCK

  In a fatherly manner, Rufus sets his hand on Preta’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry to bother you, sir. But it’s my brother Deet; you remember Deet, right?”

  “Of course I remember your brother. The boy is spirited about his politics.”

  “Yes, that’s him, and there was a misunderstanding at the docks, and the guards grabbed my brother Yaz.”

  “Yes, yes, I can see that,” Rufus says, pinching his chin.

  “Well, Deet went to pay the bail, and the provisor arrested him. We think they’ll be sold to the Dregs.”

  Rufus’s eyes widen. “The Dregs!” His eyes shift to Preta’s hand. “And your hand, what in Vetlinue happened?”

  “It was a misunderstanding—long story.”

  Rufus continues pinching his chin as he takes it all in. “You said the provisor and jail by the docks? I’ll see what I can do when I’ve got time after lunch. Though right now I’ve got a meeting with an old friend. Meet me out front at noon, and we’ll go to the docks together and straighten this out.”

  Preta takes Rufus’s hand awkwardly and shakes it. “Thank you so much, Mr. Sotonus.”

  “Now, now, please call me Rufus. Mr. Sotonus was my father.”

  “Rufus, thank you again. We’ll be waiting for you out front.”

  “Stay warm, it’s a cold one today.” Rufus gives Preta a forced smile then leans into the guard and whispers in his ear.

  Mara grips Preta’s arm and squeezes it tight. “You put far too much faith in this stranger—and a politician stranger at that.”

  Preta’s smile disappears. “You’re a stranger and I have faith in you.”

  Mara frowns and releases Preta’s arm. “I hope you know what you’re doing with this politician.”

  Preta ignores Mara’s skepticism and heads down the corridor toward the stairs. She shrugs. “What choice do we have?”

  “I don’t know, I was just saying.”

  Leaning into the banister at the top of the stairs, Preta takes in the art and room below for one last time, etching it into her mind. “That’s right, we don’t know, though this is our best shot.”

  “I guess so,” Mara says, not convinced, “we’ll see.”

  Preta ignores her and strolls down the stairs, grazing her fingertips along the smooth marble railing. The closer she gets to the front door, the cooler the temperature drops. She slows for a second passing through the entrance as chilly air and swirling snowflakes immediately blasts her in the face. Preta steps out onto the stairs and covers the side of her cheek, blocking the harsh wind. She flips her cloak hood over and covers her head.

  Zach pe
eks out from his cubbyhole as he uses his hands as a visor over his eyes to block out the snow. “Did you take care of it?”

  Preta doesn’t stop, and she descends the stairs. “We did, and not a word to Mr. Sotonus.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good, ‘cause we’ll know.” Preta strains, concentrating to not slip on the ice covering the marble steps.

  At the base of the stairs, snow pelts her face, making her blink. Preta shuffles through the slushy snow and makes straight for the striped canopy in the alley.

  Agna emerges from underneath her cloak. “How’d it go?”

  Giddy, Preta snatches Agna’s hand. “He’ll help us and take us to the docks at noon and straighten everything out.”

  Agna exhales in a relieved sigh. “Finally, a piece of luck.”

  Mara’s face twists staring at their sentiments. “Let’s wait and see before we go gaga with the slap happy celebrations.”

  Preta rolls her eyes and hugs Agna.

  Agna guides Preta against the wall. She sits on a dry spot and throws her cloak over Preta’s shoulders.

  Mara gives Preta and Agna a scowl and turns away, facing the magistrate’s building.

  Preta reaches out to Mara. “Come out of the snow and rest next to us.”

  “I’ll rest later, and not here.”

  Preta, to cold to argue, shrugs and gives up.

  Agna opens and pulls the cloak over Preta’s body and they scrunch together in a tight ball.

  Within minutes, Preta falls asleep, dreaming of her brothers. Her dreams morph, and she’s carving great sculptures from giant black stone blocks with Lurrus and Lomasie and many others applauding her achievement. Preta is happy and waving as she unveils her creations in the magistrate’s building to great fanfare and cheers.

  Mara nudges Preta and Agna. “Wake up, ladies, it’s time. Get up and get the blood flowing.”

  Preta opens the cloak and quickly snaps it shut, reacting to a burst of frigid air.

  Mara shakes Preta again. “Seery, let’s go; it won’t get any better.”

  Preta groans and stands up. She crosses her arms and slides her hands into her armpits.

  Agna wraps the cloak tight around Preta.

  Preta stomps her boots and sways back and forth trying to get warm. The air is noticeably colder since she fell asleep, and her warm breath creates a frosty cloud in front of her face. Preta shuffles to Mara.

  Mara crouches underneath a small ledge, her snow-covered hood pulled tight over her head. “Get ready and keep your wits about you.”

  Preta peers across the street; bright-fluffy snowflakes fall. The wind is still, and the square is calm. The building is covered in a sheet of white. Only the occasional straggler passes by them, their heads held low as they trudge through the snow. She steps into the street. Her feet squish deep into the snow with a crunch.

  A carriage stops in front of the office.

  Rufus exits the magistrate’s building, and he pats Zach on the back.

  Mara yanks Preta back into the alley. “Wits, Seeros, wits. Wait a minute, let’s see who shows up.”

  “But we can barely see anything through the snow from here.”

  A minute later, Rufus carefully descends the slippery steps. At the carriage, he rests his hand on the wheel while he gazes into the heavy snow falling around him.

  Mara peers in every direction. “Let’s go.” She points at Agna’s chest. “You ready, old woman?”

  Agna, timid smile fixed on her face, squeezes Preta’s hand, which Preta returns.

  They exit the alley, entering the snowy street, and head straight for the carriage.

  Rufus sees them coming and waves. Holding out his hand, he smiles and rounds the carriage. “I expect you didn’t wait outside in this cold mess all morning. Boy, it’s really coming down now. I couldn’t even see you three until you were almost on me.”

  Beaming, Preta excessively shakes Rufus’s hand. “We’ve been through much worse of late.”

  Rufus chuckles. “I’m sure you have. Now, off to see about your brothers; hopefully we can straighten this misunderstanding out, and you’ll soon be on your way back home.”

  “Thank you again so much for your help,” Preta says. “We don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  Rufus gives Preta a wink and a pat on the back. “It’s my pleasure, just remember at election time, you know who to vote for.”

  The snowfall increases.

  Blinded by the white, Preta can only see a few feet in front of her face.

  Snow quickly piles up on Rufus’s shoulders, covering the upper half of his body and brown coat.

  Mara sets her hand on the carriage and squints toward the stairs.

  Preta glances to see what she’s looking at.

  A man’s outline, tall and lean and wearing a black overcoat and hood is shaking Zach’s hand.

  “I forgot,” Rufus says, “my old friend is staying by the docks too. His boat sails for Iinia tomorrow, and since we’re already headed to the docks—and with the snow and all—I offered him a ride to his inn.”

  Mara’s face contorts trying to make out the man at the top of the stairs.

  The man pats Zach on the shoulder and steps onto the first marble step.

  Preta’s eyes snap back to Mara then back up to the man.

  Rufus spins toward the square and laughs. “Ah—the weather sure is changing early this year. Nothing like a good snow, but it’s really coming down now. Sure doesn’t bode well for a light winter, oh well.” Rufus kicks his fine brown leather boots on the wheel, removing the snow from them.

  The man descends the stairs in slow motion. A straight black cane extends to the ground in his right hand. With care, he watches his feet hit each step.

  Mara slips a hand into her coat for her dagger as she inches toward Preta.

  Rufus places his hand on the carriage. “Preta, have you gotten to see any sites in Bielston yet? The library or the art museum or the new rail?”

  “Huh?” Preta says, not paying attention to Rufus, thoroughly entranced by the man descending the stairs.

  “Did you see any sites yet?”

  “Oh—no—sorry, we’ve been preoccupied.”

  “You’ve never been to Bielston you said, right? You should really take advantage of the opportunity while you’re here; so much to see.”

  Preta gives Rufus a forced smile. “Yes, I hope so too,” and then she shifts her eyes back to the man on the stairs.

  Rufus chuckles and gazes back up to the white sky. “When the frost tingles and the winds bite, the ghosts of Wintermore will rise from their plight. Tormenting the souls and giving them fright, they’ll spread their wings and shower their blight. Blocking out the sun before the amber death—”

  They’ll steal your flesh and take your breath.

  Rufus extends his hand toward the stairs. “And here he is.”

  With head lowered and obscured by his hood, the man stops. He taps his cane on the ground three times, striking stone.

  Preta glares and blinks as a snowflake strikes her eyelash. The poem of Wintermore, a poem of her youth that her grandmother used to tell her on the snowy nights along with the stories of ancient magic and fairy tales, is now firmly imprinted on her mind as the bitter wind takes her breath away.

  The man raises his chin and removes his black snow-covered hood.

  “Lomasie, my old friend.”

  HONOR AMONGST FRIENDS

  Preta jumps back, slipping on the slush.

  Mara catches Preta underneath her armpits.

  Agna gasps.

  “Careful there,” Rufus says to Preta, “it’s slippery out here today.” He turns to Lomasie. “These are the ladies I told you about. Seems their companions got themselves into a bind by the docks.”

  “Ladies,” Lomasie says in a calculated, deep drawl, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances,” and he gives them a half bow while still staring up at them with his black eyes. His back straightens, a
nd he taps his cane on the ground twice. “Maybe I can help.” The right side of his mouth curls into a devious grin while he squints his sinister right eye. Lomasie grips the cane shaft with one hand and rubs the silver owl knob handle with the other.

  Rufus pats Lomasie on the back. “True, true, you can certainly help, maybe even better than I.”

  Preta’s back presses against the carriage, and Mara nudges her along the rails to the other side. She glares at Lomasie, stuck between the urge to freeze, run, or lunge at him and gouge out his eyes.

  Lomasie gives a curt laugh. “I don’t know about that, you exaggerate, old friend.”

  “Modest as always; sure you can,” Rufus says.

  Preta can’t control herself any longer. “We don’t need help from the likes of him.”

  Rufus tilts his head toward Preta, confused. His mouth partially opens, unsure of what he just heard her say. He furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”

  Mara pokes Preta in the ribs. “Shut up.”

  Lomasie taps his cane on the ground twice. “Preta, is it? Pretty name.”

  “Don’t talk to me,” Preta says, “you evil—”

  Mara jabs Preta in the ribs again. “Stop it.”

  “There’s no need for that, young girl,” Rufus says. He eyes Agna and flicks his head toward Preta. “Does the girl have some sort of affliction?”

  “No worries,” Lomasie says, “some of these country folk can’t control themselves; many never learned proper manners. Anyway, to the jail by the docks. Shouldn’t we be on our way?”

  Preta leans forward as if ready to attack. “You’re the—”

  Mara yanks her back, digging her fingernails into Preta’s skin.

  “Ouch—”

  Mara turns Preta toward the carriage and shoves her into the back seat. “Get in, now, and keep your mouth shut.”

  Preta climbs into the carriage, escaping Mara’s grip. “I’m going to kill—”

  Mara pokes Preta in the ribs again.

  Preta scowls at Mara. “Don’t—”

  “I said shut up.”

  Rufus, embarrassed, watches Preta squirming in the carriage. “Right you are, Lomasie, right you are, so on to the jail.”