Maran did not remember sitting, but there she was sitting beside the goddess, holding onto her rough hand which was hot and cold and overwhelming, while she ate the ochre.
The Mother of Storms spoke with a gentleness and kindness that one would address a granddaughter. “I shall instruct you. A deal I made, but payment I have not yet received. Let us see what was said.”
The small fire took the shape of a dwarven woman who stepped out of the fire and stood before them, a gray cloud of ash and sparks. Maran recognized the face, for it was the Kurfurstin Mother. With a pop and a hiss, like wet wood in a fire, she shook and spoke. “I am Forsythe Saargi. I will make a deal.”
The Mother of Storms frowned, speaking to the image. “You are a foolish woman who asks for a foolish thing. The price paid shall be too dear. Walk away, child. Do not do this thing.”
Forsythe stood firm, “I will have this. My enemies have poisoned me. My husband already lies dead. My own body falters. I will not have this. How can I evade Endhaven? Tell this to me.”
The smoke held very still, as if moments had ceased existing. “Know these words and listen. I shall tell you two ways to evade Endhaven, but you should choose only one of them. Go to the Flintlanders. Their vodies know a way.”
“And the second? What is the second?”
“If a god owns your soul, a soul hound would be unable to take possession of that soul until the god releases it.”
“Are there not more secrets?”
“Of course there are more secrets. They do not matter. They cannot possibly save you. Now, you must choose.”
The Missus jabbed her iron cane into the ground. “Then our business is concluded.” She turned her back on the Ancient One.
As Forsythe reached the edge of the light, the Mother of Storms spoke once more, “I see what lies in your mind. Do not doubt me, Forsythe Saargi. Most believe that they can outsmart me and all are wrong. Yet, even with this warning, you will try. This deal is made, and it can not be unmade.”
The vision winked out in a cloud of ash and smoke.
The Mother of Storms spoke again, this time to Maran, “She has made a bad deal. It is now time for her final death. The soul hounds cannot collect her. If the soul hounds cannot return her, then another servant must be sent. Maran Zarander, bring me the immortal soul of Forsythe Saargi. Do this thing as I have commanded, and I shall reward you with more than you would ask for. Will you do as I command?”
Maran sat there, holding that hand, smelling the ash, unable to quite comprehend what had just passed before her eyes. Her elder commanded. A god commanded. She couldn't refuse. She felt herself about the say the worst possible thing that she could possibly say.
“I will do this.”
“Then this deal is made and nothing can unmake it. As for you, child, it is time to leave this place. Look up, and let your soul be lifted to the next world.” The old goddess pointed upward to a hole in the cave’s roof where light trickled in.
Maran looked up.
Working for the Kurfurstin Mother
Maran awoke with a start. Morning peered through the windows. Annalise moved about the kitchen in her bare feet and ragged dress.
“Good morning, ma’am. I finally have everything all squeaky. Stove’s all fired. Here’s your toast and tea.”
Maran blinked, doing her best to orient herself. The dream was still vivid. The Ancient One’s words burned her mind. What had she done? By all the gods of the Alliance, what had she done? She had treated with the one god she must never speak to or address; the one god that Grandmother only mentioned while making a sign against evil; the one god that Altyn warned her about.
How could she understand this? Maran wanted to understand this. The whole episode already felt like a dream and slowly slipped from her mind. She needed to understand this, but she also needed to prepare breakfast. Her professionalism asserting itself, Maran stood up and put her mind on breakfast, only to find that Annalise already had breakfast on and cooking. Maran let go her worries, sat back down, and thought while she ate her toast and tea.
How had she come to this? Was it an accident? No, the Ancient One is never an accident. But what did it mean? Maran had to stop thinking. The theology intimidated her. She doubted that she could ever resolve these conundrums which would tax the greatest scholars. She needed somebody smarter than her, and that person was Altyn. Unfortunately, she couldn't leave her job right now.
“Meister, are you still awake?” asked Annalise.
Maran sighed, then stood, loosening her muscles. “I had a dream,” Maran replied, “It felt very real.”
“I have those too, Meister,” said Annalise, “There was this man who wanted to hit me, and I didn’t want that. So he hit somebody else and then somebody else, until his eyes got all big and black and he started eating people. Then he turned into a skeleton and he didn’t have any pockets.”
Maran almost replied, but protectors wandered into the kitchen for breakfast, ending that conversation before it started. The protectors ate quietly and neatly in their immaculately stitched uniforms. Maran guess that Strikke did the work. Never before had Maran seen such precise sewing. The stitching simply didn't vary. However, the protectors didn't give Maran much time to look, having wolfed down their food and requesting seconds. When the morning bell tolled, they rose and changed with the night protectors.
The night protectors were younger and rowdier than the day protectors. They came in with their shorter beards and bigger swaggers, like cruel dogs prowling around a new person. They acted as if this kitchen were their territory.
“Do you think this new swill will be better than the last swill?” asked the first protector, obviously trying to provoke a reaction.
His companion replied, “I reckon it'll be worse. It’s not only swill, it’s mud.” They both laughed.
“That will be hard to clean up, I reckon,” said the first.
“I reckon we can clean them up,” said the second.
The pair continued on rudely, insult after insult, picking through their breakfast with disdain. “Hey cooks, can’t you idiots see we need more ale here?”
His companion said, “If they were competent, we wouldn’t need to ask for service.”
“Ham and eggs! Give us ham and eggs!”
Maran walked up to the kitchen table. “If this is good enough for the Missus, it’s good enough for you.”
Maran’s retort gave them the response that they so desired, but as they rose, the Lord Protector wandered in. They backed down immediately, as if nothing special were happening. “Thank you for breakfast, Meister.”
The Lord Protector sat down on the small bench beside the window, right next to a little table. He looked through his bushy eyebrows at them, noting them deeply. As Maran served him, he said to her, “A hint for you: Forsythe demands meat with every meal.”
Heeding the Lord Protector’s words, Maran cut some ham for the Missus’s breakfast, frying it up in butter and pepper.
The kitchen bell rang.
“The Missus is ready,” the Lord Protector spoke out loud. “She likes to have the cook serve her breakfast in her chamber. Everyone else eats in the kitchen. Her assistant should have come in and told you this. She won’t forget twice, I assure you.”
Maran assembled the tray, carrying it out into the room. She felt as if she were walking onto a stage.
The Kurfurstin Mother’s bad eye pierced Maran, then she looked with contempt upon her breakfast. “We shall see if you live up to your reputation, Meister Maran. Stand there.”
Maran stood silently as the Missus ate, slowly and meticulously, as if she had to force it down her throat. By her body language, Maran could guess that she felt unwell. There was a lethal dose of poison in her. The woman leaned over, resting her palm on her bad eye.
“This is disappointing. You are dismissed.”
In the kitchen, Lord Gamstadt interpreted for Maran. “She has one of her migraines. That she ate anything is surpri
sing. When it gets bad, she hates the overwhelming smell of bread and water. The episode will pass. If you are unharmed, then you did well.”
After breakfast, Lord Gamstadt didn't leave. To Maran’s annoyance, he spent most of his time sitting in the kitchen by the window. Maran did not detect any suspicion in him, so she concluded that he merely preferred sitting in the kitchen over the formality of sitting in the main room.
The Lord Protector amused himself by whittling items out of steel. He usually worked in silence, putting his feet solidly on the floor. Sometimes he whistled. Sometimes he hummed. Sometimes he smoked his pipe. Usually, though, he remained silent. When he did speak, he told Maran things that she needed to know about the present situation. “The visitors are Stonebrothers. They prefer tea. Dishes should contain no pork.”
When Gamstadt paused at his whittling, he called Maran over to view what he was making: a little iron dragon, curled and seemingly sleeping, eyes closed, but on closer observation it had one eye open.
“Squamous,” said Gamstadt. “That’s the word for scaly.”
After dinner, when Gamstadt finally left, Annalise came over to Maran. “Who exactly is he? Why is he here in the kitchen?”
“He’s a Lord Protector. He’s the highest ranking protector in the guild and the personal bodyguard for the Missus. He has the right to carry a weapon anywhere, even in the Slagsmal. A Lord Protector is also the chief guardian of a guild’s secrets. If he’s protecting guild secrets, her can condemn almost anybody to death, without trial.”
Annalise took the explanation suspiciously. “If he’s such a gold wearer, why is he here in the sweat box?”
“I don’t know and I’m not asking. Do you want to ask him?”
Annalise shook her head
“Neither do I. Now go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Are you staying up again, ma’am? You need to sleep.”
Maran didn't want to sleep. She was too afraid.
Lack of sleep brought aggravation. After too many nights awake, Maran felt edgier than normal. She caught herself in several moments when her temper flared. Simple things made her raise her voice. She prayed as she could, but the prayers didn't help. Her tension did nothing but rise.
One morning, when the night protectors sat down for breakfast, Maran snapped.
Stechen, the aggressive one, pushed at Annalise. “Bring me more eggs, you stupid drifter.”
Annalise replied patiently, “I don’t have any more, sirs. Could I get you something different?”
“Are you talking back to me? I said get some eggs, you stupid cow.”
“Sir, we have no more eggs.”
“I can see eggs right there!”
“I am very sorry, sir, but those are for the Missus.”
Stechen grabbed Annalise’s arm, fast as a wolf. The other one kicked Annalise behind the knees, toppling her. Both were on top of her immediately, punching and choking.
Dulled by lack of sleep, Maran had not been paying attention. It was only Annalise’s screaming that brought Maran around. The situation broke all her remaining patience.
“OUT OF MY KITCHEN!” Maran ordered as she bodily yanked Stechen off Annalise.
Stechen looked at her agog, with a “you can’t do that” look.
“I AM THE MEISTER HERE! GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!” Maran reordered, as firmly and loudly as possible, hurling Stechen to the door.
Stechen drew his knife. “I will cut out your tongue for this insolence.”
Maran dropped back, grabbing a pan. They stood there for a moment in a standoff.
Hearing the ruckus, one of the morning protectors looked in. He shoved himself between them then motioned “No.”
“Sit,” he ordered.
Maran knelt down, checking on Annalise. Her lip bleed a little, but she seemed otherwise fine.
The night protector rounded on Stechen, “When I say sit, moron, you sit!” The elder protector shoved Stechen into a seat.
Smirking, Stechen leaned back against the wall, looking straight at Maran. “Now you’ll learn, Loam.”
In due time, Lord Gamstadt arrived, looking rather perturbed. His entrance brought the protectors to their feet. He sat down in his usual seat, wasting no time on courtesies.
“Protector Stechen, explain yourself.”
Stechen stood with a swagger, pointing to Maran and Annalise. “The cooks here were acting abusively. The Loam there assaulted me. It is a guild violation to assault a wachposten.”
The Lord Protector took a deep breath, thinking carefully about what he said. “I urge you to reconsider that story.”
Stechen showed some confusion. He clearly expected a different response. “I was clearly threatened, sir. I have rights when threatened. She also laid hands on me. That is a chaining offense. She should get ten lashes.”
A deep certitude crossed the Lord Protector’s face. “You felt threatened by a cook? I trained you better than that.” The Lord Protector lit his pipe, pointing it at Maran. “She is a dwarf,” he said. “Do you wish to change your story?”
Stechen still looked befuddled. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“She is a meister cook.”
Stechen shook his head again.
“Did you obey the meister of this workshop?” the Lord Protector asked rather bluntly.
Stechen now looked terribly confused. “There are only two cooks here, Lord Protector, and one is a drifter and one other is a Loam.”
Gamstadt spoke slowly. “The Loam is Meister Maran, master of this kitchen as recognized by the Kurfurstin Mother, and this kitchen is her workshop. She is a dwarf, and that makes this a dwarven workshop. When she gave you a direct order in her workshop, did you obey that order?”
Only now did Stechen begin comprehending the depth of his trespass. Short of murder, a meister was always right in his own workshop. “I’m sorry, Lord Protector. I did not know. I will apologize.”
The Lord Protector shook his head. “I gave you ample room to apologize. We are past apologies.”
Stechen now changed his tactic, growing angry. “I’m a grand-nephew, sir. I appeal to the Kurfurstin Mother.”
“That would be stupid, Protector,” informed the Lord Protector. “She’ll bust you back to messenger boy. You are already too dangerous of a damned fool to keep on. You have only proven it. I’m sending you out to the Project. Let’s see what your uncle does with your shallow excuses. Prepare to move out. You are dismissed.”
Stechen glared at Maran with bitter glances, as if she cleverly lured him into this disaster, then pounded out of the room.
The Lord Protector looked at the second protector. “Wachposten, I raised you from the ranks and I expected better from you. Pick your allies more wisely from now on. Prepare to move out. Dismissed.”
The Lord Protector looked towards Maran. “Meister Maran, I apologize for their behavior. My men should always treat a meister with respect. I had expected that their shenanigans would stop when a dwarf took this position. I was wrong. I will speak to my remaining staff and remind them of the law.”
“Thank you, Lord Protector.”
The Lord Protector rose. “I will explain this to Forsythe. Don’t bother with this unless she brings it up.”
The Kurfurstin Mother said nothing about the row during breakfast. Nor did she have time. She ate quickly, ordering her attendants to the Slagsmal.
“I will be spending the day in the city. Pack lunches for everyone. I will be dining with the Gemcutters, so no need for supper. Your day will be free. Meister Strikke says that your dress is ready. Have her bring it up tonight.”
Dismissed, Maran went into the kitchen to give Annalise the news. She was excited about a day off. “I have no idea what to do. The last time I asked for a day off, they threatened to fire me. Now I can go outside for as long as I like!”
Annalise hummed and sang while she cleaned up after breakfast. “I get to lookies my mum and pa and everybody and then some
. I hope they’re squatting in the same rat hole. It’s been a few too longs.”
Maran opened her till. “Here’s your pay. I’m paying you by Union rules, so I tossed in a little extra for the all-nighters we pulled.”
Leaving Annalise to wash the dishes, Maran hurried home, eager to speak with Altyn. The dream was still in her head, and the eyes of the Ancient One still haunted her.
Maran found Altyn perched on the roof reading a book. As best as Maran could tell, she sat in the same place where the roof leaked. Maran crawled out to join her, enjoying the view over the city. In practice, there wasn’t much difference between a roof and a mountainside.
“Ma’am, I need to talk to you. I’m not sure what I did.”
“Those are never good words,” said Altyn.
“I was stuck in a dream. I went to Endhaven, but it wasn’t the shore, it was the Lake of Souls.”
Altyn's eyes swept in like a storm. “What were you doing there? What fool goes there? What did that Osei teach you?”
“He taught me how to go to Endhaven, but I forgot how to get back. Then the Ancient One talked to me. I made a promise.”
“That cannot be good. What was your promise?”
“I am to retrieve the soul of the Kurfurstin Mother and return it to the Ancient One. I don’t know anything about souls, so I came to you.”
Altyn sat there silently for a while. “What did you get for this deal?”
“Nothing. Something. She said that she would give me a reward.”
“As you already know, you have done a stunningly foolish thing. You never make an open-ended deal, and you most certainly never make an open-ended deal with the Ancient One. I am quite disappointed with you.”
“Can you help me?”
“How could I help you? This is out of my expertise. I can’t teach you a thing. Even if I knew how to do this, the processes are exacting and take years to perfect. I can’t put the Kurfurstin Mother into a giant jar and send her off by messenger. I can’t hover over her, waiting for her to die. I’m not going to murder her.”
Altyn closed her book, letting it rest on her lap. She thought for a moment.
Weeds Among Stone (Jura City Book 1) Page 13
