Witchsign

by Den Patrick

  ‘Whisper my name?’ said Steiner with a smile.

  ‘And now you must live up to their promise,’ replied Sundra, her usual stern demeanour firmly in place.

  ‘But how?’ asked Steiner.

  ‘Only you can know that,’ replied Sundra. ‘The goddess played her part, as did I, and Kimi and Taiga. What happens now is up to you.’

  Steiner slept for a good long time and woke from dreams of forests and open blue skies. He paused to wash, marvelling at the tracery of scars that crossed his skin. He spied his reflection in the water and found himself near-unrecognizable. His hair was no more than stubble and his face bore a motley of bruises.

  Fresh clothes had been laid out for him, hardly new but clean at least. He slipped on his boots and took up his sledgehammer.

  No sooner had he grasped the stout wooden handle than a small stone rolled into the room and abruptly changed course, rolling in a tight circle, once, twice, three times.

  ‘What in Hel?

  And then the stone rolled back the way it had come. Steiner followed, frowning in disbelief. What strangeness was this? What minor miracle of the arcane? And why?

  The stone sphere rolled between the furnaces, weaving and rolling ever onward. Steiner trailed after it, struggling to keep up as he dodged around cinderwraiths and stacks of crates.

  ‘Ah, you’re up then,’ said Tief, who was sitting on the edge of the dais, fixing his pipe for a smoke.

  ‘Yes, I …’ Steiner squinted into the darkness. ‘I have to go and …’

  He marched on, almost running now. Tief grumbled something but Steiner paid no mind to it, following the rolling stone all the way along the wide corridor and down to the dragons.

  ‘So it was you who sent the stone?’

  Sundra stood beside the silvery dragon, one hand against the beast’s chest, her eyes closed in deep concentration. They made quite the pair, Sundra all in black and adorned with bones, while the dragon appeared to be brighter and larger than before.

  ‘Are you healing her wounds the same way you healed mine?’ asked Steiner.

  ‘As best I can,’ said Sundra, dropping her hand.

  Steiner knelt down and picked up the stone that had led him. It was black, he realized, and perfectly smooth.

  ‘Obsidian,’ said Sundra, holding out her hand. ‘It was my mother’s, before the Empire came and killed her.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Steiner. ‘My own mother left when I was very young.’

  Sundra nodded and a moment of silent understanding passed between them.

  ‘Why did you send your stone for me? Why not send Tief or Taiga?’

  ‘Because what I have to say is for your ears alone.’

  Sundra began a slow walk around the dank cavern, taking in the other dragons, sometimes running a hand over their limbs where a chain or manacle had chafed them. Steiner could feel only horror, not the horror he expected in the presence of dragons, but at the hideous cruelty the creatures were subjected to.

  ‘And what is it that you want to say?’ he asked almost reverently.

  ‘Tief gave up looking for a way out a long time ago. He gave up looking for himself, and he gave up looking for all of us.’ Sundra caught Steiner’s eye and he struggled not to shiver despite the room’s heat. There was an awful chill to the stern look on her face. ‘Taiga is as dutiful as she is beautiful. It wouldn’t occur to her to leave me to escape by herself, just as it wouldn’t occur to her to look for a way in the first place.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ said Steiner as the priestess stopped beside another dragon. She smoothed down its ragged wings and crooned something in a language Steiner hadn’t heard before.

  ‘I am telling you because I see you. I see how Kimi looks at you. I see how protective you are of the boy Maxim, and your loyalty to Felgenhauer, though goddess knows she doesn’t deserve it.’

  ‘But that’s not a bad thing.’ He hadn’t noticed Kimi looking at him in any particular way, but he didn’t mention it.

  ‘It is a bad thing, Steiner. It is the worst thing.’ Sundra grabbed him by the shoulders and scowled. ‘All of this, all of Vladibogdan, is becoming normal to you. The academies are normal, the arcane is becoming normal—’

  ‘The arcane will never be normal to me!’

  ‘And yet I summoned you here with an obsidian marble.’ Sundra rolled the smooth stone between thumb and forefinger. ‘And not once did you think it was something best avoided. You followed willingly.’

  ‘Well, I mean, sure. But I never said it was normal.’

  ‘Even this.’ Sundra gestured to the captive dragons, chained against their pillars, sinuous necks held fast, mighty jaws pointed towards the ceiling. ‘Even this is becoming normal to you.’

  ‘Never,’ whispered Steiner, eyeing the horror all about him.

  ‘You have to be the one to escape, Steiner. No one else will do this thing. You must get back to the mainland and take your sister far to the south, away from Shirinov, away from Vladibogdan, away from us.’

  ‘But you’re my friends. I can’t leave you. Look, we’ll find a way to get onto Romola’s ship and—’

  Sundra placed her cold fingers on his lips and silenced him with a shake of her head. ‘Loyalty is a fine, fine thing, and comes at a steep, steep cost. The bones whisper your name, they whisper you’ll do something never seen before, they whisper to me in the dead of night when I am asleep. They speak to me dreams and they speak to me upon waking.’

  ‘And what if they’re wrong?’

  Sundra gave a bleak smile. ‘Then we are all of us dead, and to no good end. Your sister too in time, and your father and uncle.’

  ‘I suppose the bones told you that too, did they?’ said Steiner, flushed with anger.

  Sundra nodded and pursed her lips. ‘Hold on to that anger, it will see you through hard times, but don’t let it consume you.’

  Steiner headed back to the furnaces with a heavy heart, gripping onto the sledgehammer handle, feeling the weight of the weapon as if it were the very dilemma Sundra had just put upon his shoulders.

  Maxim appeared out of the gloom and Kimi stepped down from the dais to greet him. She caught sight of Steiner and flashed him a broad smile.

  ‘Look who I found sneaking about.’ She ruffled Maxim’s hair and he ducked away, looking affronted.

  ‘I thought you’d gone back to the surface with Felgenhauer?’ said Steiner.

  ‘I did,’ said Maxim, ‘but she sent me down here to tell you that Romola cast off today.’ Steiner felt as if the ground beneath his feet shifted slightly.

  ‘No.’

  The boy nodded, a look of regret like sickness on his face. ‘And another ship was seen on the horizon. An Imperial ship.’

  ‘Coming here?’

  Maxim nodded again. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Kimi took Steiner’s hand in her own. ‘They’ll be no stopping Shirinov from leaving now.’

  ‘Felgenhauer will stop him,’ said Steiner, though he didn’t believe it.

  Kimi shook her head. ‘You’d better hope she does, or that sister of yours will fetch up on Vladibogdan in no time at all.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Kjellrunn

  A soldier of the Solmindre Empire is more than just a blunt tool to bully the population into obedience. Soldiers see much and hear much of what is best left unknown by the peasantry. When a soldier joins the Imperial army he swears an oath of loyalty that lasts a lifetime. Should that loyalty diminish then the Empire ensures the corresponding soldier also diminishes. This is why one rarely sees retired soldiers.

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

  ‘This is exactly what we need.’ Mistress Kamalov stalked from window to hearth and back again. Kjellrunn had pressed herself up against the wall to give the woman, and her pacing, some much needed room.

  ‘Your father gets drunk, flies into a rage at the tavern owner, then is chased home by Okhrana—’

/>   ‘We don’t know for sure that the horsemen are Okhrana,’ said Kjellrunn, aware of how unconvincing she sounded.

  ‘Did you think they would announce themselves? Always someone is spying, Kjellrunn,’ Mistress Kamalov lectured with a wagging finger. ‘Always the Empire is watching.’ The old woman turned to the window once more and squinted through the dirty glass. ‘Sometimes you can reason with a spy and sometimes …’ Mistress Kamalov fixed her headscarf, threw open the door, and marched out into the clearing. ‘You can come inside,’ she shouted. ‘I know you are here.’

  Silence. Only the wind provided a reply, gusting through the trees like the voice of a frail old man moaning at the terrible cold.

  Kjellrunn approached the door and gazed at each snow-laden tree and the many logs and branches littering the ground. She held her breath and waited for the horsemen to swagger from their hiding places. Would they bring cold steel or only dangerous words? Would they kill Mistress Kamalov or take Kjellrunn to Vladibogdan before she was ready?

  ‘I have fire and I have tea from Yamal,’ said Mistress Kamalov, adopting a friendlier tone. ‘You may as well show yourself or you will have neither.’

  No response expect for the distant call of crows.

  ‘You must be very cold.’

  A rustling in a nearby bush disclosed Kristofine, who pulled herself free of the branches and shook the snow off her shoulders with a scowl. Her feet became tangled in the scrub and she stumbled a moment before collecting herself, a look of chagrin on her face.

  ‘You followed me?’ said Kjellrunn.

  ‘You wouldn’t tell me who your mysterious friend is,’ said Kristofine. ‘And there’s nothing for me to do in Cinderfell any more.’

  ‘Nothing to do?’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘Not a problem, I have many chores for you and Kjellrunn could use the help.’ Kjellrunn blinked. Mistress Kamalov had become the tall and imperious woman she had witnessed at the butcher’s shop. Kristofine eyed the older woman warily from the corner of her eye and said nothing. ‘Now, do you want tea or not?’

  ‘And who might you be?’ said Kristofine. ‘With your fancy tea from Yamal.’

  Kjellrunn winced, waiting for the rebuke, but Mistress Kamalov grinned and clapped her hands.

  ‘Pretty and spirited! Too spirited for a miserable town like this. Come!’ Mistress Kamalov gestured. ‘And close the door, I have no wish for any more unexpected visitors today.’

  ‘This is Kristofine,’ said Kjellrunn once they were inside the chalet. ‘She and Steiner were courting. Briefly.’

  ‘Very briefly,’ added Kristofine, tucking her hair behind one ear as a slow blush crossed her face.

  ‘And now you come to the old woman in the woods to get your boy back from the Empire.’

  Kristofine looked at Kjellrunn, keen not to say the wrong thing. Kjellrunn didn’t doubt that Mistress Kamalov still believed Steiner was dead, but she’d rather the old woman kept such thoughts to herself. Kjellrunn shook her head, warning Kristofine off the subject.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure Kjellrunn was safe,’ lied Kristofine.

  Mistress Kamalov scowled and took Kristofine’s head in her hands, angling her jaw this way and then that. ‘You lie badly.’ The old woman ran her fingertips over Kristofine’s scalp and pulled on her earlobes gently. ‘Open your mouth.’ Kristofine paused and dared an anxious glance at Kjellrunn. ‘I won’t hurt you, foolish girl. Open your mouth!’

  Kristofine did as she was told and Mistress Kamalov inspected her teeth and then took a step back, before giving a satisfied nod and a grunt.

  ‘You do not have witchsign.’

  ‘What?’ Kristofine wrapped her arms around herself, a look of affront on her face. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘You do not have witchsign,’ repeated Mistress Kamalov. ‘But this is why you have nothing to do, yes? The fine folk of Cinderfell think you have the taint, all because you tumbled with Steiner.’

  Kristofine looked at Kjellrunn, annoyed and surprised.

  ‘I didn’t tell her,’ protested Kjellrunn. ‘She just knows things. You may as well get used to it if you’re going to come sneaking after me each day.’

  ‘Steiner doesn’t have witchsign either,’ continued Mistress Kamalov. ‘But I can’t give any guarantees for your babies.’

  ‘Babies?’ Kristofine was suddenly deathly pale. Her hands went to her stomach and Kjellrunn blinked in surprise. Mistress Kamalov frowned a moment, then let out a howl of laughter that made Kjellrunn jump. She took a few moments to compose herself.

  ‘It was a joke. You are not pregnant, foolish girl. At least I don’t think you are pregnant.’ Mistress Kamalov shrugged. ‘Are you pregnant?’

  Kristofine gave the old woman a hard look and ignored the question. ‘If Steiner doesn’t have witchsign then why was he taken?’

  ‘That I can’t tell you,’ said Mistress Kamalov, lifting the black iron kettle from the hearth. Kjellrunn noticed how the old woman didn’t make eye contact, not daring even to look at Kjellrunn while witchsign was being discussed.

  ‘But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would the Empire take Steiner?’ Kristofine looked from Mistress Kamalov to Kjellrunn and back again. The old woman set out the tea mugs but did not look up.

  ‘It wasn’t Steiner they should have taken,’ said Kjellrunn after an awkward pause. She wanted to say more but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘It was you,’ breathed Kristofine. ‘They were supposed to have taken you.’

  ‘And that’s why I have to go to the island. This is all my fault.’

  ‘And you’re helping her?’ said Kristofine to the old woman.

  ‘I am teaching her to use her powers, safely. What she does with them after that is up to her.’

  Mistress Kamalov poured the tea. ‘Very tired,’ she murmured, sitting at the table. A look of sadness had etched itself upon her face, each line a minor grief, each wrinkle a regret. ‘Many years I have seen what happens to people when witchsign comes. Friendships fray, lovers are torn apart.’ She gestured at Kristofine. ‘And families become strangers.’

  Kjellrunn struggled to hold back the tears as Kristofine looked at her with disbelief and worry.

  ‘Hush now,’ said Mistress Kamalov.

  ‘You’re the reason the Okhrana visit my father’s tavern, week after week.’

  ‘I never wanted any of this,’ said Kjellrunn, sadness replaced by a keen defiance.

  ‘What will happen if they catch you?’ asked Kristofine.

  ‘It looks like we’re about to find out,’ said Mistress Kamalov. She rose from her seat and crossed to the window. ‘They’ve just ridden into the clearing.’ No one spoke for a moment, the steady thump-thump of hooves on earth the only sound. ‘Just like we practised,’ was all Mistress Kamalov said, taking off her headscarf and pulling the scrappy locks of her hair all about her face. A length of bandage appeared from a pocket and was tied over her eyes.

  ‘Practice? What practice? What about me?’ said Kristofine.

  ‘Hop into the bed out the back,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘And be quick about it.’

  The door rattled on its hinges, and Kjellrunn, far from being rattled herself, was deeply afraid. She took a moment to compose herself, then flung the door open and stared up into the face of the horseman, who had clearly kicked the door to summon her.

  ‘I’m not deaf,’ she blurted, hearing an echo of Steiner in the words. She took comfort from it, even as the mounted man swung down from the black mare. She didn’t care for the way he looked her over from head to toe, nor the black suede britches and jacket. He was big across the chest and in the thigh, sturdy riding boots sheathing his legs past the knee. There was no trace of a weapon, but Kjellrunn had the feeling he didn’t need one. Certainly his eyes were dangerous enough, hard and watchful. His beard was dark and trimmed down, while his hair hung in dark curls about his face.

  A long line of syllables rolled off his tongue, earning a savage grin from his companion. Kjellrunn gue
ssed the language for Solska and struggled to stand her ground. How easy it would be to shrink back and slam the door; easy but short-sighted.

  ‘Hoy there,’ said the horseman. ‘I meant no intrusion.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’d like to wipe your boot mark off my door then,’ said Kjellrunn. The smirk on the rider’s face was insult enough without his words.

  ‘My friend and I are looking for someone. An old acquaintance, one we fear has become lost in your beautiful country.’ That smirk again, and the way he twisted the last two words, letting Kjellrunn know he’d rather be anywhere in Vinterkveld than Nordvlast.

  ‘You’re a long way from home to track down a mere acquaintance.’ Kjellrunn crossed her arms, as if this were enough to bar the horseman’s entrance into the chalet. ‘He must be very dear to you.’

  ‘I never said my acquaintance was a he.’

  Another quiet comment in Solska, this time from the second rider. He was a blond man with bloodshot eyes that stared out of a pale face. The second rider took the reins of both horses and tied them to the bough of a nearby tree.

  ‘Perhaps we could speak inside?’ said the dark-haired horseman. ‘No good comes from an open door on a winter’s day.’

  Kjellrunn edged back into the room, not turning her back, not taking her eyes from them for a heartbeat.

  Mistress Kamalov sat on a chair, head cocked on one side. One hand pawed at her cheek, while the other lay in her lap, twisted and useless. A song drifted from her lips, soft and dreamlike. The old woman rocked back and forth, keeping time with the song.

  ‘What’s wrong with her eyes?’ said the dark-haired horseman, indicating the bandage. His smile slipped and he stopped at the door.

  ‘She lost her sight,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘Sometimes she wanders. We couldn’t afford the paint for a white stick, so a bandage will have to do.’

  The second rider slipped into the room, bloodshot eyes moving from one corner to another, taking in every detail, every stick of furniture and the mugs of hot tea. Kjellrunn guessed the horsemen were the same age, younger than her father by a good ten years.