by Bruce Blake
"Mr. Ive," the barkeep said. He nodded at the weapons merchant but couldn't stop his gaze from flickering toward his unusual companions. "I dare say Mr. Fellick appears less intimidatin' than usual today."
Ive creased his face with a fake-looking smile—he rarely offered better—and chuckled an empty laugh. "Mr. Fellick is watching the wares, as always, while I see to feeding my niece and her friend. Can you supply four bowls of your infamous stew?"
"Aye, the missus has a fresh batch ready to go. Will you be wanting ales as well?"
"Tch, tch. When have you ever seen myself or my companion imbibe, Mr. Krin?"
"Never, and it be damn curious. Man's got to ask, though. They say sometimes people flip their leaves to a new side, whatever that means. Besides, how else am I going to make me some coin?" Krin cocked his head to call over his shoulder. "Four bowls, mother. And be sure they're hot."
He moved to the other end of the bar, busying himself again scrubbing a part of the wood unneeding of the attention to avoid making conversation with the weapons merchant. The man made his skin desire to shrivel up and peel off. Ive turned to the room, cleared his throat, and raised his arms. With his height, his fingers brushed the underside of the thick ceiling beams. Krin waited to see what he'd say, caught the older of the two girls watching his unnecessary cleaning. Her expression gave him pause.
"Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone else in attendance at Krin's Glorious Home of Food and Drink, please note: Fellick and Ive have arrived. We come to satisfy all your weaponly needs. Did you bury the hatchet and need a new one? Have you lost your edge? Sales and repairs of every type of weapon. Well, hand-held weapons; if you're having troubles with your trebuchet, you may have to look elsewhere for assistance."
A murmur of laughter swept through the room as everyone trained their gazes on the stick-like man. He paused, enjoying the attention, then lowered his arms and pointed toward the door.
"On the other side of the portal stands Mr. Fellick. Don't let his appearance or demeanor dissuade you; he is gentle as a newborn piglet... unless you short-change him. He will attend to your needs, great and small, so hurry yourselves outside for the wares of Fellick and Ive, the best weapons in the Windward Kingdom."
Chair legs scraped the wooden floor and a few people clapped their appreciation. Ive turned his back on them, pleased with the result of his oration as he canted himself against the bar once more. Barely enough time passed for his elbow to touch wood when Krin's wife approached with four steaming bowls of stew teetering on her arms. The barkeep hurried over to take them from her and pass them out lest they topple from their perch. The stew was so thick, the spoon handles stood at attention. When he put one in front of the older girl, she leaned forward and inhaled the aroma; he thought her stomach growled its approval and wondered how long since Ive's "niece" and her friend last ate.
"D'you want me to take Fellick's bowl out to him?" the barman asked.
"Mr. Fellick is busy taking money from your patrons. Leave it here. I'll bring it to him shortly."
Krin nodded, spun on his heel and started toward the far end of the bar before Ive called him back.
"Before you go."
The barkeep peered over his shoulder, and Ive gestured for him to come closer. He did so, and the thin man stood straight and leaned partway across the rough-hewn wood.
"Has Birk been in?"
The question caught him off-guard, but Krin did his best to conceal his surprise. Why did the weapons merchant want to know about that cretin? He screwed up his face as if struggling to recall, and his gaze fell on the two girls. The elder one glanced up at him without pausing in her acquisition of sustenance. It seemed to him her eyes widened at him, if only minutely, as though trying to tell him something, ask him something.
For help?
He pulled his gaze away, admonishing himself for letting the mention of Birk's name send his imagination running off to such strange places. Still, he sensed an odd familiarity about the girl.
Krin turned his attention back to the spindly merchant.
"Not for a while. Took a stranger under his wing, I heard. Also understand he's got a beef with Juddah, who lives near the water, but I know little about it."
Ive frowned, rubbed his chin. "A stranger? Tell me about this fellow."
Krin wondered how much he should say. He put a finger to his lips, as though the gesture helped to recall a happening too long ago to be fresh in his memory, but he didn't need the pause. One of his best qualities as an innkeeper and bartender was his ability to remember faces. As he opened his mouth to reply, he noted the girl leaning closer, listening in a way Ive wouldn't have noticed.
"An old salt, man of the sea. Never laid eyes on him before. They shared a meal and an ale, then Birk took him away to the doctor. Word is he killed a fella at the doc's—another stranger—then disappeared."
"Perhaps the reason for the disagreement with this Juddah fellow?"
Krin leaned back from the bar and wiped his hands on his apron, fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. "Don't know. Might be you'd want to ask him yourself."
"Might be." Ive spoke louder, added a pleased tone to his voice. "Where do I find our man Juddah?"
Krin tilted his head forward, toward sunset. "He's got a place right next to the shore. Careful if you go see him, though." His gaze flickered to the girls, then back. "He ain't the friendliest of sorts."
"Appreciate the advice, Krin, but you forget I travel with the redoubtable Mr. Fellick."
"Yes, you do."
A droplet of sweat slipped from the barkeep's hairline and rolled along his temple. He raised his arm and wiped it away on his wrist. It wasn't particularly hot, so he wondered what about Ive's words or visit squeezed a drop of nervousness from his brow; wasn't like he'd make him go to Juddah's place. The older girl noticed him do it, so he wiped his palms on his apron again and gave her a half smile. She didn't return the expression, and he understood his cleanliness didn't concern her; she also speculated about his nerves, perhaps had some of her own.
Ive stood, took two coins from a pocket in his coat, and threw them on the bar. They clanked against the wood, one of them landing flat, the other hitting on its edge and spinning in a wobbling circle before falling. He hadn't taken a single bite of his stew.
"For the delicious repast, and for your troubles." He scooped up the two full bowls. "I'll take Mr. Fellick his lunch and enjoy mine with them. We will bring the dishes in when we're done. Finish up, ladies."
"Keep 'em," Krin said with a wave of his hand. "Drop them back next time you're passing through."
Ive nodded. "Fair enough. Come on, girls."
The younger of them, who hadn't looked up from her meal for an instant during the exchange, picked her bowl off the bar and held it to her lips, scraped the last of the stew into her mouth. The older girl appeared to have lost her appetite. She lifted the spoon one more time, then dropped it back into the vessel and pushed it away.
Ive paced toward the door, and Krin took a quick step to his right, putting the two still-seated girls between himself and the weapons merchant. Unexpected concern swirled in his gut, nothing more than a feeling without a solid base.
"Enjoy the stew, did you?" he asked in a voice he realized to be too loud for the circumstances as soon as the words left his mouth. He leaned close, his belly touching the wooden serving surface, and spoke so quietly, he wasn't sure if they'd hear him at all. "Be wary of this one."
His head tilted toward Ive, then he straightened and moved a step back from the bar, bowls in hand. At the same instant, the weapons merchant stopped and faced them.
"Ladies?"
The smaller girl slid off her stool first. Her companion didn't follow right away, instead keeping her seat and staring into the barman's eyes. In that heartbeat of time, Krin's renowned recall for faces finally brought a memory back to mind, solidifying the familiarity he'd felt. He recognized her from many turns of the seasons past, during one of his trips to the Ho
rseshoe. She'd been younger then, a child; she and her brother, both.
Before Ive asked again, the first girl touched the arm of the second, prompting her to follow. She slid off the stool and forced a smile onto her face.
"Delicious, thank you. Our compliments to the cook."
She took one backward step away, her eyes holding Krin's gaze, and her lips moved, formed words making no sound.
Help us.
She turned and followed the others, leaving Krin grasping the dirty bowls, staring after them as the blood drained from his face and his cheeks went cold.
Ive opened the door, waving his charges through with a characteristically grand swing of his arm. The barkeep squinted against the sun streaming through the opening, but didn't move nor speak until it swung closed again. After the latch fell, he set the dishes aside, scooped up the coins left by the weapons merchant, and came out from behind the bar. He blinked to restore his vision, then scanned the tavern until he found the man he searched for sitting at a table by the fireplace. He strode across the room and helped himself to a seat beside him.
"People say you have the fastest horse in town, Gihl."
The fellow pursed his lips, peered at Krin through slitted lids. "Do they?"
"They do. Is it true?"
"I'd put her up against near any nag in the kingdom, I believe."
Krin nodded. "Then I need you to do a thing for me."
Gihl leaned back in his chair, propping it up on two legs. The action made the barkeep cringe—he'd seen too many of his chairs broken when someone overbalanced, but he said nothing. The horse owner wasn't a bad man, but bore the reputation of one who didn't take kindly to sharing his possessions.
"Why the sudden interest in my horse?"
"Because I need your help."
Krin threw Ive's coins on the table, then dug in his own pocket and pulled out five more. He set these beside the others and waited. Gihl lowered the front legs of his chair to the floor and leaned forward, eyes fixed on the money. The barkeep might have accused him of counting it if he thought Gihl guilty of being capable of doing so. After a time long enough to count them several times, the horse owner looked up.
"What is it you need?"
"For you to ride to Draekfarren as fast and as hard as your nag will carry you. Tell them we know where the princess is. Tell them they have to come if she is to live."
XI Teryk – Shooting Stars
A shooting star streaked across the sky, its ghostly trail of light cutting through Teryk's vision. Of the few fond memories of his father from his youth, one came on an unspoiled night such as this. The two of them stood atop Draekfarren's wall, their faces lifted toward the heavens.
"I see another," young Teryk cried. He'd seen the seasons turn but six times by then, if he recalled.
"And more." The king raised his hand and pointed.
Three more lights chased each other across the darkness, followed by a fourth, a fifth. The prince gasped aloud; he'd never experienced this type of display of nature. Its beauty left him short of breath, but part of him wondered if their being exposed to this might be a poor idea. The things his nanny told him about the stars made him frightened of being outside alone at night. With Erral at his side, he controlled the fear tonight, but worry gnawed at the lining of his belly, nonetheless.
"If you make a wish when you see one, your desire will become truth."
Surprised, Teryk tore his gaze from the light show to stare at the king. Why would the evil stars grant him a wish? His father didn't notice his disbelieving expression.
"Look, another. What will you ask for?"
His mind spun, leaving him nothing for which to wish. "Nanny says the lights in the sky are bad. Goddess put them there because they didn't follow her rules. They're..." He searched his young memory, trying to recall the name she'd given them, but it eluded him. Tiny Gods? No, but similar. "They're mean."
Now the king looked away from the firmament and Teryk wished he'd said nothing. A crease appeared on his father's forehead between his eyes, the way it always did when he became unhappy. The prince cowered in case he should raise his hand, though he didn't know why he should; he'd simply mentioned what Nanny told him.
"What else did she say?" The flat tone of his words formed a perfect reflection of his expression. The combination made Teryk forget any fear he might experience at the pinpricks of lights in the dark.
Small Gods, he remembered. She called them Small Gods.
"She said Goddess was unhappy with the Small Gods and banished them to the sky to keep them from hurting people anymore. That's all."
"Rubbish," the king snapped. "There's no Goddess or Small Gods. They are naught but stories to make scare children. Are you a frightened little child?"
Teryk shook his head—the answer he knew his father wanted. But he realized the words 'frightened little child' most accurately described him. He struggled to keep his knees from trembling, his teeth from chattering, thoughts of Nanny and Small Gods gone from his young mind.
"Priests teach you of gods, not your nanny."
The king pivoted from the parapet and strode toward the stairs leading into the castle, leaving his son behind. Despite his effort, a shudder ran through him, and he lifted his gaze to the sky. Two stars shot across the firmament, the light trails left in their wake ominous, threatening now he stood viewing them on his own. Nanny's stories flooded back to him; they foretold the return of the Small Gods one day. Had the time come?
Fright clogged Teryk's throat, sent tears to perch on his bottom lids; they blurred his vision and smeared the stars into ugly, scarier shapes. He wiped his face on his sleeve and sprinted after his father, desperate the man not leave him.
The next morning, when his nanny normally came for him in his chamber, it wasn't her, but Trenan, his father's master swordsman. After breaking his fast, his training began, and he never saw the kindly lady with the tall tales again.
Lying on the sandy beach of the land across the sea, Teryk tracked another star crossing night's black canvas.
Not such a pleasant memory, after all.
He heaved a sigh and swept the thoughts back into the recesses of his mind with the other times he failed to live up to his father's expectations. Sometimes he suspected he might need a second head to contain every time he disappointed the king. He closed his eyes, expecting the shooting star to run its course and disappear but, when he opened his lids again, it remained. He pursed his lips.
On the night with his father, the stars they'd seen crossing the sky lived but short lives, flashing to existence, streaking partway through the darkness, then disappearing. This one started out high over his head, a dot of light brightening and growing before it moved. It did so slowly at first, its momentum increasing, but its path didn't travel left to right as those on the seasons-passed evening standing beside the king. Instead, it appeared to plummet toward the earth.
Teryk pushed himself up on his elbows, the old fear brought on by his nanny's stories and reignited when he and Danya found the scroll creeping in to tighten his muscles. They'd have been nothing to him—a silly childhood memory lost with so many others of the same ilk—if not for the words his sister recited from the parchment written in a language she had no right to understand.
Should the Small Gods rise, man will fall.
A shiver rattled his spine as the star's arc continued, its brightness growing as it appeared to hurtle downward. It grew in size and Teryk climbed to his feet, entertaining the compulsion to track its trajectory. He did so until he saw it no longer. Did it slip past their world and out into the dark unknown beyond the sky? Or did it plummet into the ocean? Perhaps it struck the earth somewhere?
The Windward Kingdom?
He stared at the sky's reflection in the ocean's surface, the counterfeit stars trembling and shaking as waves disturbed their image; the moon's glow cut a swath across the sea, separating it into two broad, dark canvases. He continued staring, expecting to see the mirror
images of more light streaking through the sky, but he saw none. The ripples disrupting the picture of the stars broadened, transformed into shallow swells so the visual echo became akin to the snapping fabric of a waving banner.
Its appearance reminded Teryk of the dark streaks running through the otherwise white beach, and his gaze trailed away, came to rest on the dual hues of this alien shore. A sharp line differentiated them with nary a speck or grain out of place. Light-colored sand took on a glow in the moonlight while the black patches might have been places where the world disappeared. If he dared set his foot on one, he'd likely slip inside this foreign land, lost to the life he knew.
Rilum slept on the ground behind him, deep snores rumbling in his chest loud enough to disguise the hiss of waves rolling onto shore. His body rested on a stretch of white, as though in sleep the sailor also worried the blackness would engulf him. Teryk wished for the man's noise to stop so he could experience the night in its fullest. Perhaps the sound of the sea—unhindered by creaking boards or flapping sails—might well bring him peace.
When did I last feel peaceful?
The prince slouched back onto the sand to ponder the thought, selecting a breadth of white to avoid disappearing into the earth. How long since he'd left Draekfarren? The answer eluded him, the gap in his memory hiding it from him. He remembered the woman with the space between her teeth and the men who ambushed him, nothing else after but vague sounds and cloudy images until he found himself inside a crate on the Whalebone. How he got on the ship and what happened in between remained a mystery he'd likely never solve.
Another star overhead brightened and grew as though collecting energy for its journey. As before, it began above him and, like the preceding dot of luminescence, the brightening light drifted at first, picking up speed as it went. Its movement followed a similar path to its predecessor, falling from the sky rather than traveling across it. Teryk climbed back to his feet, held his breath as he watched its descent.
