Witchsign

by Den Patrick

  ‘Your stew will be over shortly.’ And then she was gone again.

  ‘You look like you’ve all the world on your shoulders,’ said Verner.

  ‘Just worried about Kjellrunn is all. There’ll be an Invigilation any day now. I know she doesn’t have any of the arcane about her, but the way she talks about goddesses and portents … It makes people uneasy.’ Steiner stared into his tankard. ‘It makes me uneasy.’

  ‘Be nice if they could let us alone for just one year,’ said Verner, voice close to a growl. ‘It’s not as if Nordvlast is part of the Empire, is it?’

  ‘And when has that stopped them?’

  The Synod scoured every town and village on the continent of Vinterkveld, and even the neighbouring Scorched Republics were not spared: Svingettevei, Vannerånd, Drakefjord and Nordvlast all acquiesced, yet all resented surrendering their children to the belligerent Empire.

  ‘Why do we let them come here?’ said Steiner. ‘Why do we let them take our children year after year? Couldn’t we stand up to them? I’ve asked Marek but he refuses to speak of it. I’m a man now, don’t I deserve a few straight answers?’

  ‘Straight answers, is it?’ said Verner. ‘The Scorched Republics may not be part of the Empire, but this is the price they pay so the Empire remains on their side of the border. None of the Scorched Republics would last longer than a month or two if the Empire invaded.’

  They sipped their pints and stared at the dancing flames of the hearth, each imagining the terror of war and sack of every town and farmstead. Steiner’s thoughts found their way back to Kjellrunn.

  ‘She’s so … strange, with her driftwood charms and crow feathers. I think she looks like a witch, and I’m her own kin.’

  ‘Her own kin might want to keep his voice down when using the word “witch”.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Steiner glanced about the room but the many fishermen and townsfolk were intent on their own conversations.

  ‘It will turn out fine,’ said Verner, and Steiner wanted to believe him.

  ‘We’ve not had witchsign here for two decades,’ said Steiner, but even as he said the words he thought of Kjellrunn, the tousle-haired girl with a faraway look in her eye. He thought of how subdued she’d been watching the red ship in the bay. The dire feeling she’d fail the Synod’s inspection plucked at him like icy fingers. The Vigilant would sniff around her, declare her corrupted by the power of dragons, and they’d never see her again.

  ‘It’s the same every year,’ said Verner. ‘Cinderfell is the last stop on the Synod’s route to Vladibogdan’.

  ‘Vladibogdan?’ Steiner frowned. ‘Where is Vladibogdan?’

  ‘Ah, Frejna.’ Verner squeezed his eyes shut, then released a sigh. ‘Keep it to yourself. I know you will.’ He leaned in closer and looked over his shoulder to check none of the fishermen were listening.

  ‘The island of Vladibogdan lies twenty miles off the coast of Nordvlast, to the north-west.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it.’ Steiner leaned closer, his voice a whisper.

  ‘Of course you haven’t. It’s the largest of the Nordscale islands and the Solmindre Empire’s dirty secret. It’s where they take children with witchsign for cleansing.’ Verner’s face creased with torment and Steiner thought he saw the glimmer of tears at the corners of his uncle’s eyes.

  Steiner didn’t need to ask what cleansing entailed. Witchsign wasn’t tolerated in Vinterkveld, and those with witchsign were expunged, though none truly knew how. Some said fire, some said beheading.

  ‘How is it you know of this mystery island then?’ whispered Steiner.

  ‘I’m a fisherman.’ Verner didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Sometimes we go out to sea further than we intend.’

  ‘Twenty miles out?’

  Verner forced a grin. ‘Perhaps I used to raid Imperial vessels. Perhaps I used to be a pirate?’ He downed the last of his beer and stood up, fetching his coat.

  ‘And they take the children to Vladibogdan?’ asked Steiner, keen to know more, but Verner held a finger up to his lips. ‘I have business elsewhere.’

  ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘Aye, no rest for the wicked and all that. Keep your sister safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ The blond man crossed the room, exchanging handshakes and slapping shoulders in farewell as he left.

  ‘You look as if you lost an axe and found a knife,’ said Kristofine.

  ‘I’m not sure I even found the knife to be honest.’

  Kristofine set down two bowls of stew and a plate of bread, then to Steiner’s surprise sat down and began to eat.’

  ‘I don’t have long,’ she said, ‘but I’m famished and you looked like you needed a dining companion.’

  Steiner laughed. ‘Dining companion? You make me sound like a merchant.’

  ‘You’re a blacksmith, aren’t you?’

  Steiner smiled and began to eat. ‘What’s got into Verner tonight? He’s not himself.’

  ‘Worried for Kjellrunn, I expect,’ replied Kristofine. ‘They’re close, aren’t they?’

  ‘She’s always pressing him for stories of Frøya and Frejna, mysterious crows and the old wars. Children’s tales really. You wouldn’t guess she’s sixteen summers.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ agreed Kristofine. ‘You keep a close eye on her while that ship is in the bay, won’t you?’

  Steiner nodded, struck by the seriousness of Kristofine’s tone.

  ‘Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about your sister.’

  ‘What did you come here to talk about then?’ replied Steiner, feeling out of his depth and not knowing in which direction to swim.

  ‘You don’t speak to many girls, do you?’ said Kristofine.

  ‘I don’t speak to many people. Mainly just hammer metal on an anvil.’

  ‘Maybe another mead will loosen your tongue.’

  Steiner watched the woman cross the tavern as excitement and confusion vied for the upper hand. It had been a curious day; it looked to be a curious night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kjellrunn

  The compact made between the Solmindre Empire and the Scorched Republics allows a member of the Synod to enter all dwellings across Vinterkveld in order to carry out an Invigilation. Taking children from their parents is no small matter but the children are dangerous. The threat of open rebellion weighs heavily during times such as these and a Vigilant should take as many soldiers as they can gather. You must meet resistance with intimidation, and match violence with brutality.

  – From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.

  Kjellrunn hated the kitchen. The ceiling was too low, the chimney never seemed to spirit away the smoke as best it could, and the table at the centre was too large. She had spent a lifetime shuffling and side-stepping around the vast slab of timber. Such a large table and rarely anything good to eat, a bitter irony. She belonged in the forest and lived only for the summer months when she could wander through the trees for hours, alone and at peace.

  Steiner served a dollop of porridge into a bowl from a wooden spoon. He hummed quietly as he circled the table, serving more porridge into his bowl, then sat down and began to eat, barely noticing her. Marek was already in the smithy, tinkering with some half-finished project.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ said Kjellrunn, her porridge untouched. ‘You never smile.’

  Steiner looked up, spoon halfway to his mouth, eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘And you’re humming. You hate music.’

  ‘I don’t hate music, I just can’t sing. You have the greater share of that talent, always singing folk songs and laments and Frøya knows what else.’

  ‘You hate music,’ said Kjellrunn once more, hearing how petty she sounded. Steiner shrugged and continued his repast.

  They sat in silence for a moment and Kjellrunn began to eat.

  ’No singing today, Kjell,’ said Steiner. ‘There’s Imperial soldiers in town, perhaps a Vigilant too. You know
how they feel about the old gods—’

  ‘Goddesses.’

  ‘Fine, goddesses.’ Steiner rolled his eyes. ‘Just keep your songs for the forest, eh? And pull a comb through that briar patch you call hair. You look like a vagrant.’

  Kjellrunn showed him the back of her hand, raising four fingers to him, one each for water, fire, earth and wind. In older times it had meant good luck, but these days it insinuated something else entirely.

  ‘And don’t let anyone catch you flipping the four powers in the street. The soldiers will hack your fingers off to teach you a lesson.’

  Kjellrunn stood up, feeling as restless as the ocean, her pique like jagged snarls of lightning.

  ‘Why are you so happy today, with all these soldiers here and a Vigilant too? What cause have you to be happy when you’ve a witch for a sister?’

  Steiner dropped his spoon and his eyes went very wide. The fragile autumn light leeched the colour from his face.

  ‘Kjell …’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was so low she could barely hear herself over the crackling fire in the hearth. ‘I didn’t mean it. Of course I’m not a witch.’

  Steiner rubbed his forehead a moment, picked up his spoon and then put it down again, his appetite fled.

  ‘I was in a good mood because Kristofine and I started talking last night and, well, it was nice. I don’t know if she likes me or what I’m supposed to do, but it was …’ He floundered for the word, then shrugged. ‘Well, it was nice. And there’s precious little of that in Cinderfell.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all Kjellrunn could manage in the cavernous silence that followed. The kitchen suddenly felt very large.

  ‘Father needs me,’ said Steiner, not meeting her eyes as he stood. A moment later he was gone.

  The dishes didn’t take long but sweeping the kitchen was always a chore on account of the huge table. Kjellrunn put off leaving the cottage for as long as she could but the shops would only stay open for so long. She entered the smithy with downcast eyes. She disliked the smithy more than the kitchen, all darkness and fire; the smell of ashes and sweat.

  ‘I need money for food,’ was all she said as Marek looked up from his work. Steiner was filing off a sickle blade, pausing only to spare her a brief glance. She imagined she saw annoyance in the set of his brow. He turned away and continued his work.

  ‘Business has been slow and I’ve not got the coin for meat,’ said Marek. ‘Unless it’s cheap.’

  Kjellrunn nodded and noted just how few coins he’d given her.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, and Kjellrunn felt his shame in the single word. Not enough money to feed his children right, that was hard to take for a man like Marek.

  ‘I’d best go with her,’ said Steiner quietly. ‘What with the Empire and all.’

  Marek opened his mouth to object but said nothing and nodded before turning back to his work.

  They had no sooner slipped through a gap in the double doors to the smithy when Kjellrunn spoke first.

  ‘I’m sorry about this morning. You do smile, of course you do. I’m just not myself today is all.’

  Steiner put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close, pressing his face into her tangled hair to kiss her on the crown.

  ‘Of course you’re yourself today. Who else would you be?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘You’re difficult and sullen and uncombed and lovely and my sister. That’s the only Kjell I’m ever going to know, I reckon.’

  Kjellrunn smiled before she could stop herself. ‘You say I’m “difficult and sullen” when I apologize to you?’

  ‘What would you prefer?’ said Steiner, his arm now performing more of a headlock than a hug.

  ‘I’d prefer you to get off me, you great oaf. I may need to comb my hair but you need to wash.’

  Brother and sister picked their way along the cobbled streets, past the winding rows of squat cottages and the few townsfolk brave enough to set foot outside.

  ‘Quiet today,’ said Steiner. ‘People are staying out of sight what with the soldiers here.’

  ‘Maybe you should go into town alone,’ replied Kjellrunn, mouth dry and a terrible feeling like seasickness rising in her gut.

  ‘We can’t let them push us around, Kjell. This is Nordvlast, the power of the north! Not very powerful if we can’t even buy food in our own town.’

  ‘It’s not the soldiers I’m scared of, it’s the Vigilants.’

  ‘If you’ve not got the witchsign you’ve nothing to fear,’ replied Steiner, but Kjellrunn had heard it a hundred times before. It was one of those mindless platitudes so popular with the dull and uninteresting people of Cinderfell.

  Steiner slowed down and Kjellrunn felt his gaze on her, a glance from the side of his eye.

  ‘What you said this morning—’

  ‘I was angry. Of course I’m not a witch. I’m not scared of the Vigilants because I’m a witch, I’m scared of them because they’re decrepit old men. Men like that usually only have a couple of uses for a girl my age.’

  Steiner winced. She knew only too well he thought of her much as he’d done when she was ten or eleven. Her body hadn’t begun to make the changes most sixteen-year-old girls took for granted; she felt frozen somehow, trapped in her girlhood.

  ‘Why don’t you go on in to Håkon’s and see if you can buy us some lamb neck or beef shin?’ Steiner shrugged. ‘I don’t know, something cheap.’ He pushed a few coins into her hand and pressed a finger to his lips so she wouldn’t tell Marek.

  The shop was a single room, lined on three sides with dark wooden tables. Small panes of cloudy, uneven glass sat in a wooden lattice at the front, allowing dreary light to wash over the meat. Two lanterns at the rear of the store held back the gloom.

  Kjellrunn told the butcher what she was after and endured the sour look she received. Håkon was a slab of a man, bald and compensating with a beard long enough to house hibernating animals. His eyes were small, overshadowed by a heavy brow that gave him a permanent frown.

  Håkon named his price and Kjellrunn stopped a moment and regarded the selection of coins in her hand. The words were out of her mouth before she’d even thought to answer.

  ‘I’ve bought beef shin from you before and it never cost so much.’

  Håkon shrugged and wiped a greasy hand down the front of his apron, then folded his arms.

  ‘Could you not the lower the price just a small amount?’

  ‘Yours isn’t the only family that needs to eat,’ said the butcher.

  ‘What’s keeping you so long, Kjell?’ Steiner had slipped into the butcher’s; despite his size he was quiet on his feet and often caught Kjellrunn unawares.

  ‘I …’ Kjellrunn glanced from Steiner to the butcher and down to the coins in her hand.

  ‘Some issue with the price, is there?’ said Steiner, a note of warning in his voice.

  ‘This your wife, is it?’ said Håkon.

  ‘She, not it,’ said Steiner, ‘and she is my sister.’

  Håkon pulled on a grin as greasy as the apron he wore and held up his hands. ‘Why didn’t you say, little one?’

  Kjellrunn looked at Steiner and sighed. ‘You know exactly who I am,’ she said. ‘And you always find a way to make things difficult.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Steiner, his eyes fixed on the butcher, sharp and hard as flints.

  ‘I’m just gaming with the girl is all,’ said Håkon. ‘You know these young ones, they can’t take a joke.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll have some jokes next time you come to the smithy to buy new knives,’ said Kjellrunn. She took the bundle from the counter and slammed down a few coins, before taking her leave of the dingy shop.

  ‘I meant no harm,’ said Håkon.

  ‘I’m sure,’ replied Steiner in a tone that said anything but.

  The butcher’s expression hardened and his eyes settled on Kjellrunn, now waiting in the street outside.

  ‘You watch yourself, Steiner.
’ Håkon leaned across the counter, his voice rough and low. ‘She’s not right, always sneaking off to the woods and gathering herbs and mushrooms and crow feathers. Sister or no, she’s not right.’

  Kjellrunn heard all of this and stood in street, rigid with fear. Her eyes darted to the townsfolk nearby to see if they’d heard the outburst, but none met her eye, scurrying away, keen to avoid any trouble. Steiner emerged a few seconds later, red-faced, jaw clenched in fury and hands closed into fists.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Kjellrunn in small voice.

  ‘You did nothing wrong, Kjell,’ replied Steiner, though she had the awful feeling he didn’t really mean it.

  ‘He’s always the same, always making things awkward.’

  Steiner gave a curt nod but didn’t speak. They marched down the street and Kjellrunn struggled to keep up, almost slipping in the grey slush that coated the cobbles.

  ‘There’s Kristofine,’ she said, pointing ahead to where the tavern-keeper’s daughter stood outside the baker’s, chatting with another woman.

  Steiner looked up and his eyes widened. ‘Who is that?’

  The woman Kristofine was talking to was unlike anyone Kjellrunn had seen before, and the wry smile she wore was evidence she knew it. All of Cinderfell were acquainted with the occasional sailor from Shanisrond, but there was something truly different about the stranger, not simply the tone of her skin. She was lighter than the dark-skinned sailors of Dos Fesh, and the cast of her eyes marked her as a descendant of Dos Kara; the hair that hung to her waist was raven black. Kjellrunn found it impossible to guess her age. She wore a deerskin jerkin with matching knee-length boots and her shirt sleeves were rolled back to the elbow, revealing wrists encircled by copper hoops, bright with verdigris, bangles of shining jet and polished ivory. A sabre hung from one hip and the scars on her forearms proved it wasn’t for show.

  ‘Hoy there,’ said Steiner, a touch of uncertainty in his tone.

  Kristofine grinned and the woman beside her rolled her eyes.

  ‘I don’t bite. I was just asking your friend here if there’s a room I can take for the night.’

  ‘Ignore my brother,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘Unusual women make him nervous.’ Kristofine and the stranger burst out laughing and Kjellrunn found herself laughing along with them. Steiner scratched the back of his head.