Witchsign

by Den Patrick

  ‘I don’t want to be here either,’ replied Steiner. ‘But it’s not like I have a choice.’

  ‘Out,’ said Enkhtuya, jutting her head towards the balcony where Steiner had entered. ‘Get out. Tell Felgenhauer to set you to work in the kitchens. It’s probably all you’re good for.’

  ‘My father was a blacksmith.’ Steiner took a step forward, raising his chin. ‘I’m a blacksmith.’ He was aware that Enkhtuya was the same height as him, and almost as broad. ‘You don’t get to send me to the kitchens. Who in Hel do you think you are?’

  The first blow collided with his chest, sending the air out of him in a heartbeat. Steiner stumbled back a few steps but didn’t fall. He tried to suck down air into his lungs without success. The fact that he remained standing only seemed to annoy her more.

  ‘Stop this!’ said Tief, but Enkhtuya unleashed another fist and Steiner staggered back a step, turning the blow aside on a forearm; it missed his chin, but only just.

  Enkhtuya said something in a tongue he didn’t recognize, though Steiner knew from the tone and volume the word had no place in polite conversation.

  ‘Will you knock it off?’ he said.

  This time she swung with the other arm, an outflung back-hander. The heavy blacksmith’s glove caught Steiner in the face and his vision exploded into white light before going dark. The panic that he couldn’t see was matched only by the profound confusion he remained standing. He blinked furiously and his sight swam into focus just as Enkhtuya closed on him once more. She swung again, catching him on the shoulder as he twisted away.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he growled, but she jabbed a fist at him, catching him in the mouth. Steiner ran his tongue over numb lips and tasted blood, then pressed fingers to his nose. Hard to see in this light but no question his fingers were wet. He’d not taken a beating like this in a long time, not since a few boys at school had outnumbered him.

  ‘So it’s blood then?’

  ‘Get out of my forge, Northman.’

  Steiner’s anger lit within him, a roaring furnace flame. He hadn’t asked to be brought here; hadn’t asked to be a slave in the forge; and now this sour-faced woman from Yamal was determined to beat him unconscious.

  He bent his knees and delivered an uppercut, not to the face but the sternum. The air went out of her and Steiner circled to the side, then kicked her legs out from under her. Silence overtook the ruddy scene.

  Enkhtuya stared up at him, hatred etched onto her face, the red light of the forge making her look like some creature of legend.

  ‘Will you stop hitting me now?’ said Steiner, looming over her with clenched fists.

  Enkhtuya glowered at him and scrabbled away on hands, feet and arse, then got to her feet when she was out of range of his fists.

  ‘If you won’t leave the forge at least get out of my sight.’

  ‘Not like I have much of a choice, is it?’ said Steiner. He wiped his bleeding nose along his arm and clutched his ribs. It was a long walk to the outer reaches of the forge, struggling to ignore the pain. He slumped to his knees in the deep shadow beneath a series of crates. His bed was old sackcloth, gritty with coal. Tief crouched nearby, concern writ plainly on his face.

  ‘She really doesn’t like Northmen.’

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Steiner. ‘She made that painfully obvious.’ He could already feel his lip swelling as the blood in his nose started to dry.

  ‘I’m surprised she didn’t put you down.’ Tief stared at him. ‘She’s faster than you, stronger too if I guess right.’

  ‘I’m surprised she didn’t put me down too. We don’t usually fight women in Cinderfell.’ Steiner took a ragged breath. ‘Are they all like that in Yamal? All tall and strong as oxen and pissed off?’

  Tief shrugged. ‘They’re pissed off, no question about that. And they make no distinction between the Empire and the Scorched Republics.’

  Steiner turned on his side and closed his eyes. ‘Well, one thing’s for sure.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Tief.

  ‘I’ll never tell anyone they hit like a girl again.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Steiner

  The Spriggani do not have an organised religion as we understand it, nor do they have temples or churches. One can commune with Frøya whenever one is in the presence of nature, particularly lakes, rivers or sea. Frejna is both feared and respected, being the goddess of winter, wisdom and death.

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

  Steiner woke in dull increments. First there was sound, hammers beating steel. He refused to open his eyes, wishing himself back to a sleep that would not return. Next came sensation, aching ribs hard to ignore. A profusion of bruises awaited him should he find somewhere to wash. His nose was thick and crisp with dried blood and he rubbed at his nostrils with a knuckle, eyes still closed. Still the sound of hammers assailed him, ringing from anvils close by. He wanted to believe he was back in Cinderfell, back at his father’s smithy, though he struggled to think what he would say to Marek and Verner. He wondered how Kjellrunn would fare without him.

  Steiner opened his eyes to the scarlet twilight of the forge, the oppressive weight of Vladibogdan above him, with all the dangers and mysteries of the Solmindre Empire.

  ‘I was beginning to think you’d never wake up,’ said Tief. He was sitting on a crate, playing cards by himself.

  ‘I take it the cinderwraiths don’t play cards?’

  ‘What have they got left to bet?’ said Tief bitterly. ‘The Empire took everything from them, including their lives.’

  Steiner sat up and discovered someone had laid empty coal sacks over his body in the approximation of a blanket. Two or three rolled sacks had been pressed under his head as a pillow. He was coated in coal dust but had slept well all the same.

  ‘Who did all this?’

  Tief gestured to the cinderwraiths. ‘They did.’

  Steiner looked down at the sacks feeling gratitude, but it was quickly swallowed by dread as he remembered the previous day’s events.

  ‘You said they were slaves,’ said Steiner, nodding at a cinderwraith as it drifted to a nearby furnace carrying a set of chisels. He shivered despite the heat. Though the phantasms had shown him kindness they were no less unsettling, reminders that death was close at hand.

  ‘Slaves,’ repeated Tief. He gathered the cards and shuffled them. ‘The Empire never turned away cheap labour, even after death.’

  ‘Why this?’ Steiner held up his sackcloth blanket.

  ‘They seem to have taken a shine to you.’ Tief shrugged. ‘Probably because you’re about the same age as they were when they died.’

  ‘The same age?’ Steiner looked at the cinderwraith.

  ‘Give or take a few years. Most of them would have been younger than you when they passed on.’ Tief frowned and slid off the crate, then offered a hand. Steiner took it and got to his feet, wincing as his body complained bitterly.

  ‘This is monstrous,’ he breathed, staring around the forge with new eyes.

  ‘Each of these lost souls is a young boy or girl,’ said Tief. ‘Brought to Vladibogdan.’

  ‘Brought here to become a Vigilant, like me,’ whispered Steiner.

  Tief nodded. ‘Each cinderwraith is some poor fool who failed at the academy and paid the highest price.’

  Steiner glanced from one shade to another, wondering who they might have been in life, too shocked to speak.

  ‘To die on Vladibogdan is the cruellest of fates.’ Tief gestured to the many cinderwraiths working in teams at anvils, pairs of cinderwraiths hauling crates of weapons. ‘This is the Ashen Torment, an eternal punishment.’ Tief pulled out his pipe and beat the bowl against the back of his palm.

  ‘Where do they come from?’ Steiner asked after a moment.

  ‘I told you. Anyone who dies on the island becomes a cinderwraith.’

  ‘But what causes it?’

  Tief tugged at his b
ottom lip, then shrugged. ‘They say Bittervinge set down the enchantment, though I’m not clear how it works. Only a dragon could do something so cruel.’

  For a while they stared at the cinderwraiths, lost in their thoughts, until a Spriggani emerged from the gloom with bread and cheese wrapped in coarse brown paper. A steaming jug of black tea followed and Steiner wolfed the food down.

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled between bites, but the Spriggani simply frowned and slipped away into the darkness. Tief said nothing as Steiner ate, only loaded his pipe with evil-smelling weed, waiting for the boy to finish his repast.

  ‘Have you seen Enkhtuya?’

  Tief shook his head. ‘Kimi’s not talking to anyone today.’

  ‘Kimi?’ Steiner forced a smile.

  Tief looked at Steiner and shook his head and sighed. ‘Kimi is her first name, halfhead. Kimi Enkhtuya of the Red Hand Tribe, currently the ruling tribe of Yamal.’

  ‘She’s like a princess?’ asked Steiner.

  ‘She’s not like a princess, she is a princess. And you picked a fight with her.’

  ‘She picked a fight with me,’ protested Steiner.

  ‘Eh, maybe she did,’ conceded Tief, breathing a plume of smoke from his nose. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘Frøya’s tits.’ Steiner pressed a finger to his nose and winced. His bottom lip was crusted with dried blood.

  ‘Frøya is the name of my goddess, you damn fool.’ Tief dispensed a light cuff to the head. ‘Just because you cowards in the Scorched Republics have given up the old ways doesn’t mean you can take her name in vain.’

  ‘Not everyone in Nordvlast has turned their backs on the old ways,’ replied Steiner, thinking of Kjellrunn. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’

  ‘Kimi is third in line to her father’s throne,’ said Tief as he toked on the pipe.

  ‘Who keeps a member of the Yamal royal family on a distant island making weapons all day?’

  ‘The sort of people who know a father will do anything to keep his daughter safe.’

  Steiner thought back to his father, of Marek’s admission that he’d always suspected Kjellrunn of bearing witchsign, the lengths he’d gone to in order to spare her the Invigilation.

  ‘Why doesn’t Kimi’s father raise an army to rescue her?’

  ‘This isn’t some children’s tale.’ Tief frowned. ‘Yamal is on the opposite side of the Empire. The Vigilants will execute Kimi the moment the Yamal move against Solmindre. That’s why she hates Northmen so much.’

  ‘I didn’t capture her. I don’t care for the Empire any more than she does.’

  ‘I know that, and you know that but …’ Tief shrugged. ‘I need to get to work.’ He tucked his pipe away. ‘If I were you I’d think of a way to get on her good side. This cavern is only so large and it’s not big enough for another bout between you two.’

  ‘I know,’ replied Steiner. ‘At least my ribs know. I think she cracked one.’

  Tief squinted at the young man and shook his head. ‘Frøya only knows how you remained standing during the fight.’

  ‘Where did this come from?’ He held up the jug of black tea. Tief frowned and cast a look at the ceiling.

  ‘The academy, of course. They send down food each day, as long as we behave ourselves.’

  ‘Can you show me?’

  ‘I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’

  ‘Not as much as I’m regretting what happened yesterday with Kimi.’

  Tief shook his head. ‘We’ll see about that.’

  An idea was forming in Steiner’s mind. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.

  ‘Come on,’ said Steiner. ‘Just a little further.’ Tief lingered at the mouth of the tunnel and scowled.

  ‘This was your grand idea? Getting us killed?’

  ‘We’re not dead yet,’ replied Steiner, his irritation with Tief was almost as bad as the anxiety he felt.

  ‘Not yet. Hardly reassuring,’ replied the Spriggani.

  The climb had been arduous and much too long. Steiner’s heart sank as he gazed upward between the narrow strip of sky above Academy Square. He’d hoped for a hint of blue, even a ray of light, knowing it was ridiculous. The firmament remained an unrelenting black; Steiner couldn’t be sure if it was stars that were twinkling or flecks of coal dust in the poisonous air.

  ‘Where are the kitchens? You must know,’ pressed Steiner.

  ‘Of course I know, halfhead. Follow me.’

  Steiner set down his torch in a sconce inside the tunnel mouth where it flickered in the breeze but remained alight.

  ‘Keep an eye out for the guards,’ whispered Steiner.

  ‘I’m already keeping an eye out. How about you stop stating the bloody obvious.’

  Around the edge of Academy Square they went, avoiding the inferno at the centre, the roiling flames that continued to flicker around the stone dragon. It was a small relief as they passed behind it, as Steiner expected the creature to turn an accusing gaze upon them at any moment. The statue remained still, only the shadows writhed, dancing upon the academy buildings that towered over them. Far above them, Steiner could see window ledges and shutters picked out in faint golden light.

  ‘I hope no one’s awake,’ whispered Steiner.

  ‘There’s always someone awake,’ replied Tief. ‘And they’re always armed.’

  Steiner glanced around Academy Square, eyeing windows set between alcoves. Not alcoves, he realized, but buttresses to support the great weight of stone pressing down. Each building was many storeys tall with neat rows of windows bearing curving arches, glass grimy from the ever-present soot and dust. The buildings were far removed from the crude wood and stone cottages of Cinderfell.

  Tief tugged at his elbow. ‘Come on, we can discuss architecture later.’

  Gruff voices sounded in the darkness ahead. Steiner and Tief slunk to the nearest buttress and clung to the cold stone. Footsteps now, coming closer, the light jingle of armoured men. They were muttering in their mother tongue, one sounding bored, the other sour. Steiner didn’t need to understand Solska to know they were discontent with their duty. Torchlight slid over the cobbles, etched the soldiers in wavering light, a nimbus in the deep darkness. Steiner slid to his haunches in the shadow of the academy building and Tief did likewise. The soldiers were all but standing over them and Steiner hoped to whatever gods still listened that he wouldn’t be dragged before Felgenhauer or, worse, Shirinov.

  Tief made a gesture and the din of rock on cobbles sounded from the far side of Academy Square. The soldiers both turned to the source of the sound, took a moment to confer with each other, then departed. ‘You have witchsign!’ Steiner whispered when the armoured men had crossed the square.

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Tief. ‘Any Spriggani worth a damn has a few tricks up his sleeve.’ He hurried onward and Steiner scurried after him. They were almost through the double doors of an academy building when someone called out from high above.

  ‘You there! Identify yourself!’

  Tief grabbed Steiner by the neck and forced him through the doorway without looking back. Angry voices in harsh Solska called out in the night and Steiner’s heart pounded fearfully.

  ‘Where are they?’ called someone in Nordspråk.

  ‘Two boys. One tall, one short,’ said another.

  ‘Now we’re for it, halfhead,’ said Tief. He pressed himself to the wall and took silent steps in the darkness. Steiner followed into the vestibule. Light glinted from a narrow rickety door leading to an equally rickety wooden staircase. Steiner struggled downward and his foot slipped from the bottom step. For a second he was sure he would fall, but he slammed into a rack of saucepans and ladles, all chiming in the dark like demented bells.

  ‘Why not just hang a sign up saying “We’re here, arseholes!”’ whispered Tief, a furious look on his face. Steiner looked around and realized there was nowhere else to go.

  Heavy footfalls followed. Torchlight illuminated the top of the s
taircase and two soldiers clattered down each step, armour banging from the walls. Tief shifted a sack of potatoes and pulled up a trapdoor.

  ‘What the Hel are you doing?’ asked Steiner.

  ‘Hiding, you damn fool boy,’ replied Tief, then disappeared into the hole.

  Steiner was about to follow when a heavy hand slammed down on his shoulder, spinning him about.

  ‘And what have we here?’ said a soldier, his black helm pressed close to Steiner’s face. The soldier was so close Steiner could see the red star on the soldier’s helmet was dented and the paint had flaked off.

  ‘Creeping around after lights out?’ said the soldier. ‘Thought you’d get yourself extra portions?’

  Steiner opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

  ‘He’s come to take over,’ said a tired voice from the far end of the cellar.

  Maxim stood up from his place of concealment, surrounded by buckets of potatoes bobbing in water, all pale and peeled. His hands were wrinkled and red and a short stubby knife hung from his hand. The boy’s face was a riot of purple bruises.

  ‘Right,’ blurted Steiner. ‘Take over. That’s right.’

  ‘And you’re late,’ said Maxim with a frown. He was so convincing even Steiner believed him for a second. Maxim kicked the trapdoor closed and folded his arms, then scowled at Steiner.

  ‘You’re late,’ repeated the soldier, who gave Steiner a shove for good measure. ‘And in future, don’t sneak around without a torch. We might have killed you for spying.’

  The soldiers clattered back up the stairs muttering to each other in Solska. Steiner wondered if the wood would collapse under the combined weight of their armour.

  ‘Thanks,’ he whispered to Maxim when they gone. ‘I didn’t expect to see you up and about.’

  ‘They let me spend the day in the hospital,’ said the smaller boy. ‘Said I had to perform “light duties” for the rest of the week.’ Maxim took an uneasy breath. ‘Shirinov would have broken me if you hadn’t stepped in.’