by Jae Waller
“I already looked through them. There weren’t any pictures.”
“Reading the words helps.”
My cheeks felt as hot as the crackling log. “I don’t know how to read.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why not say so before?”
I bunched my sleeve in front of my face to muffle my voice. “I didn’t want you to think I was stupid.”
Tiernan closed the book. “There is a difference between stupidity and lack of education. One can be remedied.”
From then on, he spent the evenings teaching me. We started with Coast Trader letters since it was the only language we shared. It took some time to wrap my mind around the idea that each letter corresponded to a sound, not a meaning like Aikoto symbols. I spent my spare time tracing letters in the snow until I saw them when I shut my eyes.
One evening, I asked how to write my name. Tiernan tapped the quill against his hand as he thought, then dipped it in the inkwell and wrote several strokes on a scrap of paper. “That is an approximation of the sounds.”
“Huh.” I studied his precise strokes, the ink shining in the candlelight.
He added another set of letters under the first row. “Sverbian is harder to spell. That says ‘Marijka Riekkanehl.’”
I matched the letters to their sounds, making silent motions with my mouth. “But I thought that was a ‘j’ sound.” I pointed at the first word. “Like ‘jouyen.’”
“It is always pronounced as ‘y’ in Sverbian. Coast Trader writing was adapted from Ferish. It does not work well with other languages.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” I pushed the paper back at him. “Do your name.”
Tiernan patiently added a third line. I thought the strokes of his name had a sort of quiet dignity. Mine seemed haphazard and aimless in comparison.
“Sverbian second names come from your parents, right? The goatherds in Vunfjel didn’t use them much.”
He nodded. “Riekkanehl means ‘daughter of Riekkan.’ Heilind means ‘son of Heile.’”
“That’s more exciting than Rin.” I rested my chin in my hands. “My mother was Sohiko and my father Mikiod. What would that make my name?”
“Sohikoehl. I think you will find Rin easier to write.”
“It’d be easier to teach Anwea to write.” I let my forehead fall onto the paper. Sleeping poorly had caught up to me. “I’m never going to understand this.”
He gathered up the spare paper. “It has been a week. Most people take years to learn.”
“I don’t want to wait years.”
“Theological treatises are not a good starting point. You need to practise the basics first. A carpenter must know his tools before he can build a house.”
Most of Tiernan’s books were in Sverbian. The Trader ones were full of words I didn’t understand even when he read them aloud. Staring at the pages felt like glimpsing another world, both seeming to hold something important just out of reach.
I sat up. “Where would I find something easier to read?”
“Crieknaast. Maybe. Even the newspaper there is in Sverbian.”
I realized he was smiling. “What?”
Tiernan tapped his forehead. “You have ink there.”
I rubbed my forehead and saw a black smear on my palm. “Please, let’s go. The paths are clearing up.”
“Honestly, I am not sure I can eat fish all winter anyway.” He put the stopper on the inkwell and began packing things into a writing case. “To bed with you then. We have a long trip ahead.”
8.
CRIEKNAAST
I woke to water dripping on my face. No matter how hard I tried to seal the cabin, I always missed some spot. Clumps of melting snow slid off evergreens around the clearing, so I left my fur mantle and just wore my cloak. Tiernan carried his sword, Hafelús, for the first time I’d ever seen, which made me uneasier than I cared to admit.
He’d pointed out Tømmbrind Creek’s headwaters on a map. It flowed southwest from the mountains to the ocean, parallel to the Holmgar canyon. Crieknaast was on its banks, but instead of following the water, we took a narrow road through the woods. I was glad to avoid the valley of stumps Nili and I had encountered.
It was a painfully slow journey. Anwea was just as likely to nibble the underbrush as she was to follow Gwmniwyr. I wasn’t used to giving instructions to another living thing. My limbs ached when we stopped for lunch, but I held back my complaints. Eventually the slush gave way to mud. After being so isolated, it was a shock to see other riders.
“How often do you make this trip?” I asked Tiernan.
“Every few months, whenever Maika comes to sell her herbal tinctures. The inn has the closest you will find to a real Sverbian pub in this province.”
“You always say ‘this province.’ Like that should mean something to me.”
“My cabin and Maika’s house are in the north of Eremur. Crieknaast is in the northeast. Eremur has its own government, but is officially a territory of Sverba.”
“Says who?”
“Sverba.” He smiled wryly. “No viirelei nation living within Eremur recognizes it as a province.”
“How far does it cover?”
“Everything west of the Turquoise Mountains, from the Holmgar south to the Hårengar.”
“The . . . heron river?” I chewed my lip. “That’s all the way into Kae and Yula territory. Most of the southern half of the Aikoto Confederacy.”
The sun was setting by the time we drew near. One minute we were surrounded by forest, the next we rode through fields of winter rye, the steep hills scattered with log cabins and herds of shaggy white goats. Mountains loomed on the eastern horizon, their jagged peaks lit by orange sunlight. Our shadows stretched out in front of us.
Crieknaast’s main street ran alongside the water. Dirt roads split into a web of houses, frost-blackened gardens, and muddy lots stacked with logs. The town smelled like wood and horses and fresh bread — but it was quiet. There were no playing children or scrounging dogs like in Vunfjel. I thought maybe it was just the season until I saw Tiernan’s expression.
A boy helped us stable the horses at the inn. Tiernan had explained how the place worked, including that it had communal rooms separated by sex. As we left the stable, he told me the inn was called the Tømmbrind Arms.
“As in . . .” I held up my arms.
“As in a coat of arms.” He nodded at the design etched on the pub’s glass windows.
A rush of noise poured out as he opened the door. Loud voices, clattering dishes, scraping chairs. The pub was a low room with a stone fireplace, long tables, and smoky air glowing with candlelight. Tiernan spoke to a man behind a counter. Sverbian reminded me of rattling stones, harsh and musical at once.
I pulled a handful of coins from my purse and paid two iron five-pann. I didn’t need to save them for betting with Nili anymore. The innkeeper brought steaming bowls of stew and mugs of tea. As we took our seats, two men hastily looked away. I thought they were staring at me until I heard a mutter of “Heilind.”
“Do people know you here?” I whispered.
“A few.” Tiernan leaned over to a stocky blonde woman. “What happened?”
She started to reply, then looked at me and switched into thickly accented Coast Trader. “The lumber camp up in the mountains. Massacred a few nights ago.”
Tiernan closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight. “Who was behind it?”
“That be the mystery, innit? Came like bats in the night. No one left alive to talk. One of ’em councillors from the capital is in the town hall now, sorting it with Mayor Vorhagind.”
“The Council is here?” Tiernan put his mug down so hard tea sloshed over the edge.
“What’s the Council?” I asked.
“They run the provincial government from the capital city, Caladheå,” he said. “Th
e mayor knows better than to call on them.”
“What else can he do?” said one of the men watching us earlier. “Fifty of our men are in the military. The least Caladheå can do is send them back when we need them.”
“Not much good our boys can do,” the woman said. “People say it’s Suriel come back. You know, that angry ghost up in ’em mountains.”
I drew a sharp breath. “There’s a spirit up there?”
“Ask him.” The other man pointed at Tiernan. “That be your specialty, right, mage?”
“I have no dealings with spirits.” Tiernan made a point of turning his back on the men. “We will leave straight after going to the market tomorrow, Kateiko. We should be safe in town, but it is best not to linger.”
I barely slept that night amid the murmurs and shuffling of itheran women. The thought of a furious spirit lurking outside town swirled around my head until I felt dizzy. Maybe the aeldu had been trying to communicate for months and couldn’t until the barrier thinned in winter.
•
We were leaving the Tømmbrind Arms after breakfast when the innkeeper waved us over. I couldn’t understand the conversation, but Tiernan’s face went from wary to annoyed to resigned before he strode outside.
“What’s going on?” I asked, hurrying after him.
“The mayor asked me to come to the town hall.”
I stopped in the middle of the street, leaning to balance out the heavy pelts in my shoulder bag. “How does the mayor know who you are?”
“I worked for him as a mercenary.” He turned and walked backward. “Are you coming?”
The town hall was wedged between the main street and the creek, surrounded by dead flowers and slushy puddles. I followed Tiernan up creaking timber steps and under a huge set of elk antlers mounted above the doors. A woman ushered us into a sparse room where three men hunched over a table strewn with papers.
Their low, harsh discussion cut off. The man in the centre straightened, showing a burly chest and a bristly yellow beard. “Thank you for coming, Heilind. I trust you heard the news. We are short on time. Councillor Montès is here from the capital and is now consulting with his aides.”
“Should she be here?” one of the other men said with a nod at me.
The bearded man waved a hand. “’Tis fine. Here be how things stand. Took us three days to reach the lumber camp after that blizzard. Found twenty men, throats slit as they slept. The ones who woke were cut down by swords. All tracks lost to the melting snow. Montès thinks a lumberman went mad, but one man cannot do all that.”
I shuddered. I wouldn’t sleep well tonight.
“I know what you are thinking, Vorhagind,” Tiernan said. “But Suriel has lain low for more than two years.”
“This be not the first time since the Dúnravn massacre.” Mayor Vorhagind pulled a map from the papers and drew two marks. “A mine collapsed this summer. Thirty men crushed to death. Bad accident, we thought. But slit throats be no accident.”
Tiernan leaned over the map. “Någvakt bøkkhem,” he swore.
I peered over his shoulder. A red cross glistened on either side of the creek at the foot of the mountains. I didn’t know how aeldu could kill anyone, let alone in summer when the barrier was thickest.
Tiernan tapped the crosses on the map. “You have men stationed here, yes? Pull them out, now. Your best hope is to abandon Dúnravn Pass.”
Vorhagind shook his head. “There lies our issue. Councillor Montès is pressuring us not to close the tannery that lies up that way. ’Tis good for trade in Caladheå. And truth, my townsfolk need the money. By the time we rebuild somewhere else, the fur trapping season will be over.”
Tiernan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you want from the Caladheå Council?”
“Military support. Our militia here has too few men.” Vorhagind spread his hands. “Traders from the Iyo nation told us Suriel was active again. They were right two years ago.”
“Spirits don’t carry swords,” said the other aide.
“An army helmed by a spirit does,” Tiernan said.
“Mayor Vorhagind, what did the Iyo call Suriel?” I shrank back when everyone looked at me. “Did they say it was an aeldu?”
“Something like that, missy. Saidu, I think it were.”
A chill went up my neck. Saidu weren’t limited by season like aeldu were — they made the seasons. They’d been dormant for centuries, but maybe the Storm Year caused one to finally wake.
Vorhagind put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “We need evidence Suriel is behind this. Caladheå will not send help otherwise.”
Tiernan stepped back. “No evidence will convince the Council this was done by a magical being.”
“We are not mages, Heilind. Montès may believe it from you.”
“I have nothing to offer you,” Tiernan said. “I am sorry, Vorhagind. You knew how the Council would react.”
Vorhagind gave a heavy sigh. “I knew. But I had to try. Right, then—”
He was interrupted by a knock. An aide opened the door. Three men pushed past, all with black hair, all shorter than everyone else in the room. A faint spicy scent followed them in. They fit everything I’d heard about Ferish.
The one in front held his loose black robe away from the muddy floor. He had a receding hairline and a pinched face as if he’d been drinking cranberry wine. When he said something to Vorhagind, it took me a moment to realize he was speaking Trader.
“Let us move to the main hall, Councillor Montès,” Vorhagind said, but the robed man’s attention had strayed to Tiernan.
“Ah, you found a mage,” Montès said. “What a relief it must be for the cumulative years of education in Crieknaast to double overnight.”
Tiernan put a hand on my shoulder. “Time to go,” he said in a low voice.
Montès’s gaze slid to me. “Keeping company with the natives, Heilind? How nice to see you enjoying the countryside, dirt and all.”
Everyone flinched. I was a moment behind, held up by his accent, but a hot flush of anger swept over me when it clicked.
Tiernan’s hand tightened. “Don’t,” he said into my ear.
I glared at Montès and shoved past the men. I didn’t stop until I reached the dead flower beds outside the hall. Cold wind gusted down the street, whistling through the drainpipes.
“I am sorry you had to hear that,” Tiernan said behind me.
“It’s not him I care about.” I took a deep breath. “First the mayor asks for your help, then a councillor calls you by name. Is there something you need to tell me?”
He gazed at the towering white mountains. “I have dealt with the Council before. I will not again. That is all that matters.”
•
The market was almost enough to distract me. I felt like I was in a huge twisting rabbit burrow, weaving down narrow aisles and popping outside through gaps in the wall. Warm light streamed over high wooden barriers between clusters of tables. Chickens squawked, goats knocked their horns against shuddering pens, crested blue jays scavenged crumbs from the dirt. I kept stopping to look at glassy-eyed fish or metal buckles or cloudy jars of preserves.
It wasn’t until I was surrounded by so many people that it hit me how out of place I was. The women all wore their hair pinned up under knit bonnets. Under their cloaks, I glimpsed white dresses and coloured bodices. In Vunfjel, it was common for girls to wear leggings and braids while herding goats. I kept my hood up over my unbound hair and tugged my cloak low around my ankles.
I kept losing track of Tiernan. His cloak and boots looked just like anyone else’s, if more worn. As I watched him buy saddle and bridle oil, I was struck by the beauty of the scene — Tiernan talking with a merchant, sunlight spilling through wide doors, water blowing off the roof outside. Then he glanced up and met my gaze. I whirled away and knocked ove
r a girl carrying a basket of lye soap.
In one stall, I found a few crates of books, spines creased and pages rumpled. Every one I flipped open had the angular symbols I’d come to recognize as Sverbian writing. “Do you have any books in Coast Trader?” I asked an elderly woman sorting pots of ink.
“Sorry, dear,” she said with a smile. “Not much call for that ’round these parts.”
My disappointment faded when I came across a clutch of wire racks hung with sheets of pale leather. A boy about my age perched on a stool, stitching a goat-skin glove.
“That’s good,” I said. “Better than I could do.”
“Yeah?” He grinned. “Just killing time. Need any leather?”
“Actually, I’m selling pelts. Do you deal in fur?”
“Depends. Where do you trap?”
“Down the creek. I have permission to hunt on an itheran’s land.” I pointed at Tiernan a few shops down. “Ask him if you want.”
“Nah, that be good enough for me.” He swept his tools aside and patted the table.
I pulled a bundle of marsh rat pelts from my shoulder bag and spread them out. “They’re already tanned. I just don’t have time to track down a furrier.”
The boy examined the fur and flipped them over to check the underside. “Not bad, but furriers are wary of pelts we don’t tan ourselves. I can offer forty pann apiece.”
“They’re worth a half-sovereign each. You won’t find any nicks or damage.”
The boy’s lips quirked up. “Forty-five pann and you tell me the name of the person who tanned these.”
“Good enough for me.” I grinned. “I’m Kateiko. You?”
“Ingard. Nice to meet you.” He counted coins from a canvas purse. “Bit of advice, the new tannery by the mountains pays better. They ship straight to Caladheå and the old countries. Fur be worth a lordling’s ransom there.”
“Isn’t it bad business to tell me that?”
“Doesn’t matter to me.” Ingard rested his elbows on the table. “My little brother works at that tannery. I don’t care who sells where as long our wages get paid.”
