by K S Nikakis
‘You can have your old room back, next to mine,’ said Enesha, as she hauled her along. ‘Gothral won’t care. He’s too busy working out how to run the sett.’
Viv still couldn’t say anything, and Enesha pushed the door open, and deposited her on the bed. ‘Wait there,’ she ordered, and disappeared to return a moment later with a lamp and a flask. She set the lamp down and unstopped the flask. ‘Take a swig of that,’ she said, and guided it to Viv’s mouth. The liquid burned all the way down and Viv coughed, but the world came back into focus. Enesha grinned. ‘Hareesh; does the trick every time.’
‘How did he die?’
‘He had water in his lungs, but he knew his days were running down before that. He summoned Gothral and gave him a list of the sett’s members and what they did, and a list of the traders, the regular ones and the ones who come occasionally. Gothral’s Tahsin’s choose-brother. He’s from Bracken-ril.’
‘I never thanked Tahsin properly,’ said Viv. ‘I thought he’d be here when I came back. I …’ She choked to a stop, and the bed dipped as Enesha plonked beside her.
‘You didn’t have to tell Tahsin much. He knew. Which reminds me.’ She disappeared again and returned with a small box. ‘He told me to give you this, if you ever came back.’ Viv stared at it uncomprehendingly. ‘It’s a puzzle box called Enda’s Aim. Tahsin used to carry it with him but I never saw him play it. He seemed happy enough without knowing whether Enda or Soaich had control of his fortunes. I thought I’d have to mind it forever.’
‘Why?’
Enesha shrugged. ‘I kind of thought you’d get a better offer than the Kama-ril.’
‘This was the first place that ever welcomed me.’
‘Oh, elddra are never welcomed,’ said Enesha, matter-of-factly, ‘but they have plenty of offers.’ Viv said nothing and Enesha picked up the flask. ‘Come back to the hall and eat, Viv. Gothral will have you working tomorrow. That’s one thing he’s got worked out.’
‘I want to see him,’ said Viv, staring down at the box. ‘I want to see Tahsin.’
‘He went to the pyre at Fire Zadic. That’s over three zadics ago. There won’t be much left to see.’
‘I want to see him!’ cried Viv, scrambling to her feet. ‘People die or disappear and everything’s left unsaid, or said badly, or misunderstood, or passed on as damning, damning lies! Then it’s all too late, and everything’s lost. For once in my life, Enesha, I want to say what has to be said!’
She dashed the tears from her eyes and Enesha stared. ‘I didn’t realise his death would be such a shock to you,’ she said slowly. ‘Or maybe the sett saw it coming. Eat first, Viv, then I’ll take you.’
They sat with Merhen and Fahan, but Viv didn’t recognise the rest of the table. Two men, she guessed were in their thirties, a third probably in his sixties, and three grey-haired women. Their names ended in en-Bracken-ril, so Viv assumed they were Gothral’s friends he’d brought with him. Merhen and Fahan were excited she’d come back, and Merhen even kissed her cheek.
‘Cazir and Jered are still at Esh-shallin’s festivities,’ Fahan told her. ‘They’ll be back soon to join our team.’
‘Gothral decides the teams,’ the older man said.
Viv was too relieved they weren’t at Esh-accom to care whether they rejoined the team or not. The last thing she wanted was the saga of her time there gossiped about. ‘Help me collect the gorash,’ said Enesha, heaving herself up. Viv followed her to the kitchen door and waited while Doran and Prenya loaded the trays. ‘Don’t say anything in front of the Bracken-ril people you don’t want Gothral to hear,’ she muttered. ‘There’s at least one of them in every team.’
‘Doesn’t he trust us?’ asked Viv, keeping her voice low. Tahsin’s sett had seemed like a sanctuary but maybe it was just another snake-pit.
‘He doesn’t know us,’ said Enesha, muscles bunching as she picked up a tray. ‘Bring the retsen and milk jugs,’ she instructed, as she headed back.
Enesha’s appetite hadn’t diminished, and nor had the twins’, but Fahan managed to keep up a constant stream of talk between mouthfuls. Gothral’s people sat at the far end of the table and spoke amongst themselves, but one of the younger men, Orthagh, watched her and Viv became uncomfortable. She could tell Enesha was irritated too.
‘So, you’ve been in Esh-accom, elddra,’ he said, as soon as Fahan drew breath.
‘Her name’s Viv,’ said Enesha tartly.
‘I was there for Fire Zadic,’ said Viv quickly, seeing the man rankle.
‘For what purpose?’
‘To visit my lein,’ said Viv. It was none of his bloody business, but she didn’t want a fight. ‘She’s the daughter of Ataghan en-Scinta-ril,’ she added politely.
‘Ataghan en-Scinta-ril’s known to us,’ the man said. ‘And we’ve heard of you as well.’ Viv sipped her milk but found it hard to swallow. There was nothing friendly about Orthagh.
Enesha swigged down her milk and rose. ‘Time to sort out that room of yours, Viv. Gothral likes an early start.’ She nodded to those at the table and strode away, and Viv hurried after her. ‘Never did like that man,’ said Enesha, as they stepped into the cool air outside.
‘What did he mean about knowing of Ataghan en-Scinta-ril?’ asked Viv, as she followed Enesha into the darkness.
‘Mad At’s known to a lot of people,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘Orthagh probably had a run in with him. Lots have and come off second best. Take note of where we’re going, Viv. You’ll have to find your own way back. I’ve got better things to do than hang around a pyre.’
Enesha led her on through a stand of trees and down to the Kama-ril. The water glinted in the dull wash of stars and Viv watched it as they walked along its bank. Insects chittered in the rushes, but it was too early for owls. They came to a crossing made of boulders, and Enesha slipped and put her foot in the water. ‘Stinking Soaich,’ she muttered, but continued across and up the bank to another stand of trees.
Their scent was familiar and Viv’s stomach tightened. ‘What are they?’ .
‘Sidari. Tahsin liked them. That’s why he asked his pyre be set here.’ Enesha shrugged. ‘The advantage of knowing you’re going to die. Don’t stay late, Viv. We breakfast at first light and leave at dawn.’
She thumped away and Viv picked her way forward. The darkness was thicker under the trees and she was wary of treading on bones. She came to a small clearing which she guessed was the pyre site, and the arrival of Cadestone confirmed it. Bones glimmered, and Viv settled on a mossy log, and pulled the puzzle box from her pocket.
The night was still and the trees’ spice heavy in the air. It was the last thing she’d smelled at Stelin Ridge, and the idea she’d died there returned. Maybe life was a series of deaths, barely noticed because of the swift start of another life. A life had ended with her mother’s disappearance, another when she’d fled Jimmy Wright. A third when she’d got into that car, intending to die, a fourth when Kald had taken her down the rift. A fifth when she’d imagined a life with Thris, and then with Sehereden, but death had intervened again. Then she’d come here, expecting things to be the same, but death had stolen that life too. And now she sat here, in a place of death, feeling nothing.
She gripped the puzzle box, knowing Tahsin’s fingers had gripped it too. He’d never said much but he knew. It was more than that. Tahsin’s kindness had clothed the sett, and she wondered whether it had dissipated, along with his funeral smoke. She didn’t know what Gothral was like, but she already disliked Orthagh.
The night chilled but Viv stayed where she was, the puzzle box in her hands. Enesha believed Tahsin’s spirit had gone, but gone where? To Thris’s Great Beyond? Only angels went there, or so the Host believed. Jimmy Wright believed you rotted in the ground like garbage, and in his case, she hoped he was right.
She grimaced as she imagined Syatha’s disapproval. ‘Okay, okay,’ she muttered. ‘Roses, not thorns.’
Chapter 20
Enesha was
right about the early starts and Viv found them wearisome now her need to sleep had returned. The days fell into a rhythm of early rises, harvesting, and eating with the work team in the hall each night. Jered and Cazir returned, and Viv was glad of their familiar faces, but they were assigned another team.
Sometimes at night, there was dancing, which even Enesha joined in, but Viv sat in the sidari trees with the puzzle box in her hands, and her eyes on the stars. She still searched for the right words to say, but was comforted by the solitude, the trees’ scent, and the cries of owls.
The days grew chill and they harvested closer to the sett, which shortened the trek. Enesha’s team included Pitren and Norsen from the Bracken-ril, but Orthagh had disappeared. The Bracken-ril men kept to themselves and only harvested the lower branches, which suited Viv. She liked being high with Methren, who’d overcome his fear of heights, and now climbed higher than Fahan.
He didn’t speak much and nor did she, but he liked birds and named them for her. Redwings, greywings, shrills, reets, rakes, and when they harvested late, arling and sengling owls.
‘The senglings have a longer call,’ explained Methren, as they made their way back one blustery evening. They walked at the tail of the group and Viv hugged herself in a vain attempt to keep warm. ‘You won’t see them as often as arlings, especially tonight,’ said Methren. ‘They don’t like the wind.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Enesha, dropping back. ‘Vorash’s early. We won’t harvest for the next few days, which is a relief,’ she muttered, ‘given the company.’
It rained by the time they reached the sett and Viv was keen to change her wet clothes, but she needed the latrines. ‘I’m going to the washrooms,’ she called after Enesha, who walked with Fahan in front. Enesha grunted, which was her usual response, and Viv peeled off down the passageway. The shutters banged in the wind and some of the lamps had blown out. She hurried along and was almost to the washrooms when Orthagh stepped from the shadows.
She jerked to a stop as a knife flashed, but he sliced his own palm, and held the wound up to her face. Viv stared at it in confusion, then gasped, as the edges started to seal.
‘Anfarena sends greetings, Violet Iris Vacia,’ he said, with a cold smile, and stalked off.
* * *
The rain beat against the shutters and Ataghan pushed them wide, needing the cold wetness against his skin. There’d be frost at the Scinta-ril, and new snow on Astraal’s peak. It would reach down into the vals but it didn’t matter; his expanded band and their kin were already snug in his sett. Only Jethren, Sandagh, and Inaghan kept him and Fariye company, and Drasen en-Verra-ril. But Drasen wasn’t here with Ataghan at the compound, he was with Ithreya, and she was in childbirth.
Drasen would hope to be named choose-father, as would other men of Amethen’s sett, and he was a worthy candidate. He’d fought to reclaim Fariye and to rid the Vales of the Waradi filth, but he didn’t stay with Ithreya only to strengthen his claim; he stayed as a friend.
It was more than Ataghan could claim, given their last exchange. He had no chance of her naming him choose-father, despite the leinship, but if she chose Drasen, and Drasen joined his sett as Ataghan hoped, the child would grow-up under Ataghan’s care. It was the most he could hope for, and in the meantime, he waited. Ithreya was young but there was always risk, and he’d traded for Esh-accom’s best birthing-women to attend her. He just hoped they weren’t needed.
The compound was quiet, and he knocked on Fariye’s door and went in. She’d slept in his bed since Sehereden’s death, curled against him for comfort, and having her safely in his arms gifted him sleep too. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her feather collection laid out around her, and he perched on its edge. Fariye’s first collection had been destroyed with his sett, but she’d amassed another one. Sehereden had interrupted their travel whenever he’d seen a feather she lacked, and Ataghan had made his irritation clear.
‘Which is your favourite?’ he asked, having to clear his throat.
‘The one Viv gave me,’ said Fariye, carefully picking up a glossy bronze feather. ‘It smells of her too. Smell it, da.’
Ataghan brought the feather to his nose, careful to exhale. ‘Yes, it does,’ he said, and handed it back.
‘She found it at the Kama-ril, but Sehereden didn’t know which bird it belonged to, and he knew all the birds. Do you know, da?’
‘There are lots of birds hidden away in the cloudwise vals,’ he said, wandering to the window. The rain continued to pound and he glanced back. Fariye still held the feather, but her face was so sad, his guts knotted. ‘As soon as Vorash eases, we’ll go back to the Scinta-ril, Fari. And if the snow allows, we’ll hunt for parien feathers. I know places where they might still be found. Would you like that?’
Fariye’s dark eyes came to his. ‘But I won’t be here when Viv comes back, and she won’t know where to find for me.’
‘I’ve explained why I don’t think she’s coming back,’ he said gently.
‘She will! She always comes back! She promised!’ Tears rolled down her cheeks and Ataghan lifted her into his arms. ‘Ser … Ser’s dead …,’ she said, between gulps of air, ‘but my lein … might still come back. I … want her, da. I want … my lein back. I want Viv.’
Ataghan paced until she’d calmed, then carried her to the hall. Tormis drank urrut-sa at the table and Mereya portioned retsen flour on the bench.
‘Want to make some tocki with me, Fari?’ she asked cheerfully. Fariye sniffed and nodded and he set her down. ‘Go wash your hands then,’ ordered Mereya, and Fariye trotted out.
‘Some urrut-sa, Syld?’ said Tormis, filling a mug. Ataghan took it and settled opposite. ‘An early Vorash means a chill Horse Zadic,’ said Tormis sagely.
‘And wet traders,’ said Mereya. ‘There’s always a few who are keen for those last trades, even when their wiser friends have departed. Axian’s a miserable place with no shelter and no custom.’
Fariye came back and Mereya tied a cloth around her waist and pulled a chair to the bench so she could reach.
Ataghan drained his mug and rose. ‘I’m going out,’ he said.
Fariye swiveled, scattering flour on the floor. ‘When will you be back, da?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Before dark, Fari. I promise.’
He kissed her on cheek and Tormis hastened after him as he headed for the store. ‘I’ll help you with a cape, Syld,’ he said. Ataghan needed no help to toss a cape over his jacket, but it was Tormis’s way to show he cared and he nodded his thanks.
Ataghan had the streets to himself, not surprising given the rain beat without pause. It dashed the last of Cadestone’s blossoms to the cobbles and he stared at their broken petals as he walked. Movement was more bearable than stillness, but nothing was bearable anymore, even drawing breath. There was no Fara in the stables, and no lein by his side. There was no quiet presence who, in Ataghan’s darkest moments, had held him close. He should have sent his men back and followed Sehereden into death, and now he was caught. Fariye needed him, but he needed something Fariye couldn’t provide.
He jammed his hands into his pockets and felt the feather he’d found on the feed-store floor. It came from the same stinking place as Fariye’s and he closed his fist over it and felt it break. Then he pulled it out, and held it cupped in his palm, until the rain washed it to the cobbles. And then, without knowing why, he brought his fingers to his nose.
There was a jag, and an exquisite sense of peace, then he was back in the rain, the ruined feather at his feet. It glinted against the rain-slicked cobbles, and he bent and thrust it back into his pocket, and somehow kept on walking.
It was close to dark when he returned and Drasen was taking his meal with Tormis in the hall. The warm smell of fresh-baked retsen filled the air, and Ataghan tossed his sodden cape in the corner and took a seat.
‘Good news, Syld,’ said Drasen with a smile. ‘Ithreya’s birthed a girl-child.’
Ataghan filled his mug with sem
na and emptied in a single gulp.
‘A Vorash child is blessed by Enda,’ said Tormis, refilling Ataghan’s mug.
‘Why?’ asked Drasen curiously.
‘Vorash is a time between,’ said Ataghan, his gaze on the cooking-fire. ‘Neither one zadic nor the next. A time full of possibility.’
Tormis nodded, ladling gorash into a bowl. ‘A child born then can be anything it wants.’
‘I hadn’t heard of that before,’ said Drasen, using retsen to mop up his gorash.
‘Different sayings in different setts,’ said Ataghan briefly, as Tormis set the bowl of gorash in front of him. ‘Thank you, Tormis. You won’t be needed again tonight.’
Tormis bade them a good night, and Ataghan ate in silence even after the sound of the closing door told him Tormis had reached his rooms.
‘It was a difficult birth,’ said Drasen quietly. ‘Ithreya needed aid in the end, but she’s well enough now, as is the child.’
‘She’s named the choose-father?’
‘No.’ Ataghan looked at him sharply. ‘She wants to see you, Syld, but not for a few days. She asks for time to recover and settle with the baby.’
‘Do you know her intentions,’ asked Ataghan, every nerve on edge.
‘She’s kept to her rooms since your lein’s death and the birth-women feared her grief would imperil the birth. Perhaps it did. She loved your lein but …’
‘Has no love for me,’ finished Ataghan, and pushed his gorash aside. ‘We didn’t part on the best of terms. But whatever Ithreya’s intentions, Drasen, I offer you a place in my sett.’
‘A place I gladly accept, Syld, and I thank you for it. If Ithreya returns to Amethen’s sett, I’ll see her settled there first, so it could be as late as Cascade before I join you.’
