Witchsign

by Den Patrick

  ‘You’re going to try and rescue him?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Kjellrunn realized how ridiculous it sounded and frowned, then held up her chin a little higher. ‘Yes, yes I am. I’m going to rescue my brother from the Empire, even it fucking kills me. And it probably will.’

  Kristofine burst out laughing. ‘Where did you learn such language?’

  ‘You forget, Verner is my uncle.’

  The two of them sat beside the fire, smiles on their faces, laughter fading to warm chuckles.

  ‘Are you really going to rescue him?’ said Kristofine after a pause.

  ‘Yes, I really am. And I might need some help.’

  Kristofine nodded and Kjellrunn saw it written in her eyes, as bright as polished steel. The woman before her had nothing to lose and a glimmer of something better if Steiner were freed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Steiner

  Students from Academy Zemlya are often preferable to their fiery cousins in Academy Plamya; theirs is a more steadfast temperament. Students with the power of earth are rarely lost, even on the longest of marches. Zemlya is known for its strength or arms, for a warrior with a skin of stone is terrifying indeed. The very greatest graduates learn to slow living flesh with a gaze, petrifying their enemies with nothing more than a look.

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

  The dull grunt of timber on stone woke Steiner as the cell door opened. He was still folded in on himself, forehead resting on his knees. Joints protested as he tried to stand, arse numb from a night on the floor, face a dull throb of pain. Weak sunlight filtered in through the barred window behind him, illuminating Matriarch-Commissar Felgenhauer as she stepped into the cramped room.

  ‘I can’t decide if you’re wildly unlucky or intolerably stupid,’ she said, one fist pressed into the palm of the other hand.

  Steiner gave a slow nod. ‘Why settle for one when I can be both?’

  That might have earned him a round of laughter back in the tavern at Cinderfell, but Felgenhauer showed no sign of amusement.

  ‘You look surprised to see me,’ she said.

  ‘I was expecting Shirinov.’

  ‘I imagine you were,’ replied Felgenhauer, crossing to the barred window and gazing out.

  ‘Shirinov sent Matthias and Aurelian to bring me up here.’ Steiner screwed up his face and winced in pain. ‘And then soldiers arrived to …’ He struggled to find the word. ‘Escort me from the furnaces?’

  The Matriarch-Commissar paused, then pressed her fingers to her forehead, a curiously human gesture at odds with the angular, androgynous mask. ‘You thought Shirinov had sent the soldiers.’ Not a question, she was merely putting pieces together. ‘That’s why your friends put up such resistance. They were trying to protect you.’ Steiner hoped she understood, even if she couldn’t approve. ‘What the Hel happened to your face?’ she asked.

  ‘One of your soldiers. Don’t ask me which one. They all look the same to me.’

  ‘Five of them are in the infirmary as of this morning.’

  ‘Wounded?’ Steiner swallowed.

  ‘One seriously,’ intoned Felgenhauer. ‘The other is dead.’

  Steiner didn’t speak for a moment. The consequences of what had happened were swirling all about him like a terrible storm.

  ‘Is Kimi still alive?’

  ‘For the moment.’ Felgenhauer sighed. ‘I’ve been up all night refusing requests from soldiers who want to execute her. It’s a good thing she’s a political prisoner. I ran out of excuses hours ago.’

  ‘And Romola?’

  ‘In the cell next to this one. You would not believe the lengths I went to ensuring Shirinov didn’t come calling in the night.’

  Steiner tried not think about Shirinov questioning Romola, tried not to think about the many sharp objects he’d use to retrieve the answers he wanted.

  ‘Will the dead soldier become a cinderwraith?’ asked Steiner.

  Felgenhauer stiffened. ‘Yes. I suppose he will, much like Matthias Zhirov I imagine. You killed him, didn’t you?’

  ‘I …’ Steiner swallowed but couldn’t bring himself to answer.

  ‘You were defending yourself,’ said Felgenhauer. ‘And Shirinov should never have sent him.’ She let the full import of her words linger on the cold air of the cell a moment, then snatched a glance along the corridor. ‘Don’t mention this conversation to anyone else. Anyone.’

  Steiner nodded and turned to the barred window behind him. The dragon still glowered at Academy Square, the fire still roiled across the surface, just as it did on Kimi’s amulet.

  ‘Will I be executed?’ said Steiner.

  ‘It would make my life easier,’ admitted Felgenhauer. ‘And Shirinov would be delighted, but I have a better use for you.’

  ‘Can I go back to the forges, with Tief and Kimi?’

  ‘No. You’ll work directly for me, answer directly to me, wait on me day and night.’ She had stepped closer, impressive in her cream and crimson robes, the eyes beneath the mask calm despite the chaos. ‘Come now, there is much to do and I won’t have time to explain much of it.’

  While Matriarch-Commissar Felgenhauer had made Steiner’s future incarceration sound ominous, the reality was somewhat different. His room was located not far from hers on the sixth floor of Academy Voda. The bed was softer than anything he had slept on, while the windows were framed with curtains of dark, heavy fabric that kept the warmth in. The clatter and din of beaten metal had been replaced by the wind, howling around the island’s jagged peaks. There was a stout dresser containing a change of clothes, which had the benefit of being warm and not liberally spattered with his blood. The clothes were not spattered with anyone’s blood and Steiner was grateful for that too.

  There was a thick sheepskin on the flagstones, just a few feet away from the hearth, where logs crackled to fend off the chilly climate. It was, Steiner decided, the finest place he had ever lived and yet a restlessness remained.

  Felgenhauer did not spare him time to brood, setting him to work on a number of tasks that couldn’t be more different to his work in the furnaces below. He boiled up water for the Matriarch-Commissar’s baths; changed her bedding; brought her meals from the kitchen; swept and mopped the flagstones in her office, waiting room and the corridor beyond. He polished her boots and ferried her garments to the laundry in black canvas sacks. These many tasks revealed a truth Steiner could not have guessed at.

  ‘You dine alone every night?’ The question slipped free as he stacked the plates onto a tray, preparing to return to the kitchens. Felgenhauer was sitting at her desk, a huge pile of parchment and scrolls to one side, an inkwell and selection of quills on the other.

  ‘Every night. Every morning. And at noon,’ she replied. ‘A Vigilant does not reveal their face to anyone else.’

  ‘That sounds like a lonely business,’ replied Steiner before giving thought to what he was saying or to whom he said it. A yearning for the rough kitchen table of home rose within him, and for meals shared with his father and Kjellrunn, of nights in the tavern with Verner.

  ‘Are you just going to stand there for the rest of the night?’ said Felgenhauer with a note of annoyance.

  ‘You don’t even show your face to other Vigilants?’ he said, recovering from the pang of homesick reverie.

  ‘Especially not the other Vigilants, and not to soldiers. That’s how problems start.’

  ‘What problems?’ pressed Steiner.

  ‘Never mind. Take these things away. I have correspondence I must attend to. Go to your room afterwards and read the book I left on the dresser for you.’

  ‘I, uh, I can’t read …’ said Steiner, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment in his cheeks. ‘The words, they … uh.’

  It was at this point adults would make a disparaging remark about his brains, or insist he was lazy or idle. Not just adults but a fair number of children too, especially the clever ones. He’d heard a
ll the variants of his supposed shortcomings.

  ‘Is that so?’ said the Matriarch-Commissar.

  ‘The words. They, I don’t know … they’re hard to focus on.’

  ‘That is unfortunate,’ said Felgenhauer. ‘I used to know someone who had the same problem.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, she was a notable Hierarch for a time.’ Felgenhauer rose from her desk and took a deep breath. ‘I’ll have to teach you by word of mouth.’

  ‘Teach me what?’ said Steiner.

  ‘How to speak Solska, of course. You won’t be much use if you only speak Nordspråk. Come back to me when your chores are done.’

  Steiner took the plates down the many stairs of Academy Voda. He hoped to meet Maxim each time he ventured to the kitchens, wanting to find the boy knee deep in buckets of potatoes, or hefting bags of flour or firewood. None of the novices would make eye contact with Steiner and his greetings were met with stony silence. None answered his questions regarding Maxim, and all were equally reticent when asking after Romola. The only words he heard were whispers.

  Matthias.

  Zhirov.

  Murderer.

  Shirinov.

  Steiner ventured back to the Matriarch-Commissar’s office and found it empty. He trudged the stairs to the floor above and the soldiers acknowledged him with curt nods. Steiner approached Felgenhauer’s chamber but a soldier held out a hand, more gently than Steiner might have expected.

  ‘Not tonight, boy. She’s speaking with Marozvolk, said she didn’t want to be disturbed. Best to leave her until dawn.’

  Steiner nodded and slunk along the corridor, casting a glance over his shoulder. Strange times when the novices despised him and the soldiers offered free advice. He hurried on, passing his chamber door and heading to the stairs beyond, taking them ever upward, to the flat roof of Academy Voda.

  The view down into the square was breathtaking; from eight floors up it resembled a deep crater, or a terrible abyss. The square itself was arranged around a natural depression in the rock. Hours of toil had exploited the stone and chipped away until a parade ground had been hewn out of the centre of the island. The four academies stood watch like vast sentries at the south side of the square. From this angle the dragon seemed to loom over the gatehouse on the opposite side. Arcane fire lit the scene, picking out windows, buttresses, and doorframes in golden light.

  It took twenty years to build such a thing.

  Steiner flinched at the words and panicked as he realized Silverdust must be close by. He turned slowly and saw the Vigilant gliding towards him, the familiar blank silver mask reflecting Steiner’s clean scrubbed face and all the anxiety it held.

  I will not tell anyone you have come here.

  ‘Thanks,’ mumbled Steiner. He took a moment to see past the specks of silver light that danced around the Vigilant in a nimbus. Silverdust’s cream robes reached all the way to the ground, and the red leather surcoat was almost as long.

  In truth, this is one of my favourite places on the island. Silverdust approached the edge of the roof, and reached out to the parapet to steady himself. From up here the many trifles and concerns seem to belong to other people, smaller people.

  ‘And is Shirinov one of those smaller people?’ Steiner swallowed, surprised at his own bold question.

  There are many prisoners on this island, and not all of them are cinderwraiths or novices.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The Emperor is capable of a broad spectrum of cruelty. He is not always the twisting knife or the torturer’s whip, he knows the power of exile, of assigning people duties far from their families.

  ‘Shirinov doesn’t want to be here,’ said Steiner, making sense of the phantom words that appeared in his mind. ‘And Corpsecandle, uh, I mean Khigir?’

  Khigir was broken the moment his sister departed their unhappy Troika. In truth he has always been broken, only complete when at his sister’s side.

  ‘You’re talking about Sharpbreath, I don’t know her real name.’

  Silverdust’s blank mask nodded slowly.

  You have learned much.

  For a time they stared down into Academy Square and watched the soldiers patrol in lazy circles. Steiner’s eyes fell on the gatehouse and searched behind it for Temnet Cove. The Watcher’s Wait remained at anchor, so close and yet denied to him.

  This is why Khigir and Shirinov hate you so. Silverdust had drawn close, within arm’s reach, and Steiner felt the heat from the aura of light all around him.

  ‘What?’

  Your sister, you seek to protect her. Just as Khigir once sought to protect his own. And Shirinov too, though his motives were very different.

  ‘You can read my mind?’

  I have been doing this a long time.

  ‘So you know …’

  I know about Kjellrunn and the Invigilation, about the brooch, about your sacrifice. I know you are from the Vartiainen line. I know all of these things.

  Steiner’s guts shrank and for a second he contemplated shoving the Vigilant over the parapet, shoving him down the eight storeys to the hard cobbles below. Silverdust raised one gloved finger and waved it from side to side, forbidding such a thing.

  There is no need for such extreme measures; your secret, your sister’s secret, is safe with me.

  Steiner all but sighed with relief and stepped back from the parapet, looking away. ‘But you’re a Vigilant, Vigilants scour the land for witchsign, it’s your duty. Why spare my sister?’

  There are many prisoners on this island, and not all of them novices.

  ‘You said that before,’ grunted Steiner, his patience waning with each cryptic response. ‘Can I trust you to keep this secret? You can’t tell a soul, not Felgenhauer, not Marozvolk.’

  A trade, then?

  ‘What trade? I have nothing to give you.’ Steiner immediately thought of his boots, his mother’s boots, and how loath he was to give them up.

  A secret for a secret of course, what else is there? Material items mean nothing to me.

  ‘You already know my secret.’ Steiner frowned at the Vigilant. ‘You stole it from my mind. Theft isn’t trade.’

  For a moment Silverdust looked as if he might lace his gloved fingers in contemplation, but one hand reached for the other and began to tug the glove free. Steiner’s eyes widened with the revelation. What he saw was not flesh, or even living stone. The hand was an insubstantial wisp of dark smoke.

  ‘You’re a cinderwraith.’

  And now I have traded a secret for a secret.

  ‘But you don’t work in the furnaces? How?’

  I have an unnaturally high resistance to such bidding. I forge my own path each day, rather than the Emperor’s weapons.

  Steiner could only stare in shocked silence as the Vigilant forced the glove back onto the ghostly hand.

  So you see, some but not all prisoners on Vladibogdan are novices. I am here because I am bound to the Ashen Torment. Felgenhauer is here for misdeeds known only to her and the Emperor.

  ‘And Shirinov?’

  The sound of jingling armour seized Silverdust’s attention before he could answer. A pair of soldiers clanked onto the roof.

  ‘Is all well, Vigilant?’

  The boy couldn’t sleep, we were enjoying the view. Nothing more.

  The soldiers snapped out salutes and returned downstairs, back into Academy Voda.

  ‘Why did you tell me your secret?’ whispered Steiner as they took one last look at Academy Square and the dragon statue at the centre.

  Because like all prisoners I wish to escape. I have a feeling you may feature in that escape, Steiner. I am counting on it.

  They headed back inside the academy and the Vigilant walked Steiner to his chamber. Silverdust nodded his head once and said nothing more, gliding on his way, to whichever part of the island he haunted through the long hours of the night.

  Steiner pushed through the door into his room and set to stirring up the ember
s, holding out his hands to the warmth. His thoughts spun as he considered all that he’d learned. Vladibogdan was not just a secret island, but an island of secrets, mired in them, awash with them, on fire with them.

  It was a long time before Steiner could settle down to sleep, the memory of Silverdust’s insubstantial hand emerging from his glove playing over and over in his mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Steiner

  It is not for the sake of wordplay that the students of Academy Plamya are called hotheads. They are quick to find their fiery tempers and the heat of competition runs high between them. All too often they burn brightly but briefly.

  A well-versed graduate of Academy Plamya can create flame with a click of their fingers, breathe fire like the dragons of old, send forth clouds of choking smoke, and heat metal with their fingertips. The most terrible to behold are those who become living flames, infernos given human form.

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

  There were many things Steiner did not like about Solska. It was a guttural and coarse language to Steiner’s ears, even when expressing joy. The language featured an abundance of ‘V’s and ‘Z’s and sounded as if the speaker were constantly trying to swallow their own words. And much worse than the speaking was the spelling of the words. Steiner hated every letter of the strange alphabet and squinted until his head ached from concentrating.

  ‘Now spell the word “Vozdukha”,’ said Felgenhauer, sounding out the syllables behind her mask. She paced his room while he sat near the fire, comfortable on the sheepskin. She was always Felgenhauer in this place, never the Matriarch-Commissar. The mask stayed firmly in place yet there was a softening of tone, a lessening of command.

  ‘This is making me feel sick,’ replied Steiner, and took a deep breath, struggling to focus on the paper and not wanting to get anything wrong.

  ‘Just a little longer,’ replied Felgenhauer. ‘You’re doing well. Try and hold the quill how I showed you.’