by Jae Waller
I wrinkled my nose. “I couldn’t work in a tannery all the time. Smells awful.”
“That’s why they built it so far away. I throw my brother straight in the bath when he gets home.” He turned as a little girl dashed up, yellow braid flying. “Vanek, Thyja?”
“Ingard, Ingard, cijmmag!” She seized his hand and dragged him into the aisle.
Everyone was heading outside, even the merchants. Tiernan appeared as we stepped into howling wind. The streams of people merged, flowing down the street to the town hall where Montès and Vorhagind stood on the steps. One of Montès’s aides seemed to be translating his speech into Trader.
“After much deliberation, the mayor and I concluded there is no need to dispatch the military to Crieknaast,” the aide said, pausing to hear the next line. “We believe the attack on the lumber camp was an isolated incident. We will be investigat—”
“What about the mine?” someone yelled.
The aide kept speaking as though nothing had happened, but a gust drowned out some of his words. “The new tannery near Dúnravn Pass will remain active until further notice—”
The crowd erupted into shouts. I stood on my toes and peered over everyone. Mayor Vorhagind shook his head and sliced his arm through the air. I realized with a shock he was telling them he disagreed, even though it meant publicly opposing the Council.
Councillor Montès rounded on him. The aide stepped aside as the two men began to argue, Vorhagind punctuating his words with sharp, sweeping gestures.
A clamour broke out near the steps. Voices mixed with the wind until my ears were filled with a dull roar. Montès backed away and stumbled on his robe. Vorhagind spread his arms to hold back the crush of people, just as my hood blew off and hair swirled in front of my eyes.
I clamped a hand over my hair in time to see Montès retreat inside. Vorhagind held up a hand to the crowd, ushered the aides in and disappeared after them. The doors slammed shut. A man leapt onto the steps and began addressing the townspeople.
“Kateiko, we need to leave,” Tiernan called.
Before I could reach him, Ingard scooped up the little girl. He patted her braid and spoke into her ear. I could only make out one word. Kinaru.
“What did you say to her?” I asked.
“The story about Suriel’s birds that eat kids. Only thing that makes her behave.”
“Kinaru don’t — oh. Fuck.” My body went cold as if I’d jumped into a glacial lake. I whirled to Tiernan. “I know what Suriel is.”
Tiernan’s dark brows knit together. He hadn’t heard me.
I had a moment of agony. I’d need to get closer, but his hair gusted around his face. If he were Rin he’d hold his hair aside — but of course itherans had no idea about our taboos. I seized his elbow and dragged him across the street into an alley.
“The Iyo called Suriel a saidu,” I said once we were sheltered by timber walls. “We call them spirits, but it’s not the right word. Saidu aren’t dead like aeldu. They’re not really alive either.”
I broke off. How could I explain something all Rin understood from childhood, growing up with stories about saidu? I could barely explain in my own language, let alone a muddled trade language.
I started over. “Saidu are elemental spirits that control the forces of nature. Weather, seasons, all that. There’d be dozens in Iyun Bel, living in the forest and rivers and mountains. My elders say we don’t see them because they’re sleeping, but the Iyo must think a tel-saidu has woken. An air spirit. Maybe the blizzard was a warning.”
The same look crossed Tiernan’s face as when we were in the town hall. “This wind—”
I grabbed his hand. “The tannery. We have to get them out—”
“We cannot risk getting involved, Kateiko.”
“They’ll die if we don’t! You’re a soldier. Aren’t you supposed to protect people?”
He pulled out of my grip, anger flashing across his face. “They will not listen to us.”
I spun away and scanned the street. “Ingard!” I shouted, spotting him with the girl on his shoulder. I pushed through the throng of people and shook his arm. He gave me a confused look before following me.
“Someone has to go to the tannery and make them leave,” I told him back in the alley. “I think Suriel is real, and here now, planning another attack. Is there anyone who can—”
“How do you know?” Ingard interrupted.
“The wind. It’s a sign. Suriel—” I faltered when I saw his expression.
“They can’t just up and leave. They’ll lose their jobs.”
“Better than their lives.”
“Our jobs be our lives.” Ingard glanced at the little girl. “Our father was in the mine that collapsed. That’s why our brother works at the tannery. We can’t afford for it to close.”
I felt a sudden ache in my chest. I knew the bitterness in his voice too well.
“Did the mine collapse right after that windstorm this summer?” Tiernan asked.
“Yeah, but it were just an accident. A rockslide came down the mountain.”
Tiernan gave him a hard look. “Would you stake lives on that?”
The girl wriggled in Ingard’s arms. “Ingard, you hafta get Dåmar. The tall lady said so.”
Ingard bit his lip. “It’s not that easy. Only people who don’t believe in Suriel took that job. I could get all the way there and half of ’em would refuse to leave.”
I turned to Tiernan desperately. “Vorhagind can make them leave, can’t he?”
“Yes. But he cannot speak to them while he is busy with Montès.” Tiernan paused. “The workers might accept an official writ, but you will have trouble getting one right now.”
“Can’t you write one and say it’s from Vorhagind?”
“Getting arrested for forgery is not high on my list of priorities, Kateiko.”
“If you can get a writ, I’ll take it,” Ingard said. “I know the way. I just need to find someone to look after Thylanniga and the shop.”
Under his skepticism I saw fierce determination. He could leave now and rescue his brother, but he was willing to risk the wait so we could save everyone.
“Meet me here when you’re ready,” I said.
The wind almost knocked me over when I stepped into the street. The shouts had become a chant that crept along my bones. I weaved through the crowd only to find barrel-chested men blocking the steps to the town hall. I tried to squeeze past, but it was like pushing aside ancient rioden. They barely glanced at me. I ducked under the railing instead.
My hopes fell immediately. A man stood under the elk antlers, arms crossed, a wooden truncheon in one hand.
“I need to speak to the mayor,” I called.
“No one goes in or out,” he said. “Not until the councillor changes his mind and calls the military.”
“You can’t keep everyone locked up in there!”
He glanced at the door. “Looks like I can.”
“Aeldu save us. I don’t have time for this.” I vaulted over the railing and landed in a puddle, splashing everyone nearby. I shoved past them and strode to the back of the hall. The gardens there were empty. Everyone had converged at the front like scavengers on carrion.
A thin strip of dirt separated the wall from the creek, not enough to stand on comfortably. I tossed my cloak on the ground and stepped into icy water to my thighs. Choppy waves splashed against me as I waded toward the nearest window.
“This is not what people mean by backdoor diplomacy,” Tiernan called from the bank.
“Just make sure no one comes.” I stepped onto the dirt ledge, gripping the windowsill for balance, and dug my fingernails under the frame. It stuck fast.
“Kateiko, you have no idea what you are getting into.”
“I’m not — letting them — die.” I winced as my nai
l tore. I jumped back into the creek and tried the next window, and the next.
Finally, one slid up with a groan and shower of paint chips. I swung a dripping leg over the sill and tumbled through the narrow opening. My knee knocked into something. The room was full of dusty stacked crates. I pressed my ear to the door but couldn’t hear anything over banging shutters and the churning creek. I crept down a dim corridor and cracked open the far door.
The woman from that morning stood behind a desk, clutching a stack of papers, staring out the window. She tossed the papers onto the desk when I entered. “You can’t be in here,” she hissed. “How did you even—”
“I need to speak to the mayor. It’s urgent.”
“You can’t. He’s with the councillor.” She glanced back at the window, looking out at the crowded street and unnatural wind. “I could take him a message,” she said finally.
I gritted my teeth. “Tell him — tell him the viirelei girl with Tiernan Heilind says Suriel is an air spirit. The wind means he’s going to attack again. Vorhagind has to sign a writ to close the tannery. We’ll take it there. He just has to write it.”
The woman gave me a piercing look. “Wait in there. Keep quiet.”
I retreated into the corridor and slumped against the wall to wait. Exhaustion dragged my body down. I hadn’t slept properly since leaving Aeti Ginu more than two months ago, kept awake by whispers on the wind. This explained why.
The chanting faded, replaced by a single male voice. I wondered what was happening out there. If I was doing the right thing. Ingard’s brother and all the others would be out of work. I’d never depended on a wage, but things worked differently in Crieknaast.
I heard faint yelling. The chanting from the townspeople grew louder. I was sitting on the floor with my feet against the wall when the door opened.
“Here.” The woman held out a folded paper sealed with red wax. “Vorhagind says to tell the workers he’ll find ’em new jobs.”
I scrambled up. “Thank you so much.”
“I can’t help you get out. That be the militia captain guarding the door.”
“It’s okay.” I remembered to bow my head before hurrying down the corridor. I slid out the window into the creek and wrenched the frame shut, clutching the paper to my chest.
My cloak was still on the bank. Tiernan wasn’t. As I wondered if he would’ve left town without me, a drop struck my face. And another. The sky had clouded over while I was inside. I glanced down and saw wet dots speckling the paper.
“Nei. Shit. Taku taku taku!” I pulled the water out before the ink ran, but I couldn’t keep that up forever — not once I handed it off to Ingard. “Kaid! What do I do?”
A memory flashed into my head. Tiernan’s workshop, after he told me off for forgetting a water orb. I explained how a fragment of thought kept it in place even when my conscious mind forgot. He asked if I could keep water out as well as in, but I never gave it much thought after proving I could. It was simpler to waterproof things with resin or fish oil rather than splinter my mind all over the rainforest.
That wasn’t an option now. I wove a barrier around the paper, making sure every bit was sealed. Raindrops slid off like it was made of glass. I grabbed my cloak and ran.
Ingard was in the alley, holding the reins of a scruffy horse. “Did you get it?”
I held the writ out with both hands so the wind didn’t snatch it. “It’s waterproof. Don’t ask how.”
He tucked it into his breast pocket. “Where’s your friend?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
Ingard was mounting his horse when a rider appeared at the end of the alley. Panic flared through me, wrapped up in a memory of glinting swords, charging horses, mud and water. I squinted into the grey sheets of rain.
Tiernan and Gwmniwyr.
“I thought you gave up on us,” I called.
“I cannot let a young boy ride into danger alone,” he said.
I broke into a smile, a broad, genuine one untainted by sarcasm or bitterness. Riding with them was out of the question. I’d only slow them down. It was in their hands now.
•
I couldn’t stay in town. I felt too anxious, too out of place. I couldn’t understand anything the militia captain said, but it didn’t seem like the crowd was leaving any time soon. I asked a woman how far it was to the tannery and she said two hours’ ride in good weather. So I went into the woods. I tried not to think about how it’d be snowing near the mountains. I tried not to worry as even in the foothills, raindrops turned to stinging snow and still the wind didn’t let up.
I went back to town when I guessed four hours had passed. The crowd around the town hall had thinned, but most people were still there, sitting in the mud with hoods and shawls over their heads. Even if Tiernan hadn’t warned me about calling water in front of people, there was no way I could protect them all.
Five hours passed. I followed the main street to the east edge of town and climbed a log pile to get a better view. Six hours. Night fell. Finally, firelight came down the hill.
I ran to meet them, maybe twenty people loaded onto horse-drawn sleighs. Tiernan rode at the front with a torch, wet hair plastered to his face, blood on his knuckles. He steered Gwmniwyr off to the side and dismounted. The silver gelding was as calm as always.
“Everyone is here,” he reassured me. “A tree fell on the road. Startled a horse into breaking a sleigh. We had to redistribute everyone, travel slower.”
Ingard rode up with a boy of about fifteen seated behind him. They slid off and waved the sleighs on as the four of us walked together, shielding our eyes from the snow.
“Ingard told us what you did,” Dåmar said to me. “Is Suriel a real spirit?”
“Yes,” Tiernan said when I hesitated.
“Kinaru don’t exist though, no matter what your sister thinks,” I said.
I fell back with Ingard as Dåmar and Tiernan went ahead with the horses. “I brought you something.” I handed him a heavy burlap sack.
He gave me a confused look. “What is it?”
“Two rabbits and a cloud weasel. You can sell the furs even if you don’t need food. Just be careful if anyone asks where they came from. I’m not . . . sure I’m allowed to hunt here.”
Ingard looked at me, his mouth half-open. I had a sudden wrenching fear he’d turn me in. He probably had to report poachers all the time. I was such an idiot—
He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Kateiko.”
A warm blush spread over my face. I hoped neither Tiernan nor Dåmar had glanced back.
9.
MOTHS OF ALL KINDS
Tiernan refused to stay in Crieknaast. Not even to spend the night before travelling.
“I thought you were only worried about Suriel attacking the pass,” I said.
“Crieknaast is on the verge of a political catastrophe,” he said. “We have done all we can. You have to trust me now, Kateiko.”
If I had trouble riding in daylight, it was twice as hard in the dark, thrice in a snowstorm — at least until I let Anwea navigate. We stopped at a gristmill outside town to load the saddlebags with flour and rye groats before moving on. Once we were in the woods, Tiernan summoned a fire orb to light the way.
The weather eased about halfway back. My ears rang after so many hours of wind. I was sliding off the saddle with weariness when a flock of squalling birds hurtled past, skimming the ball of fire and vanishing into darkness. Anwea snorted and skittered back, jerking at the reins.
“Wala, wala,” I soothed. “Dayomi.”
Tiernan reined in Gwmniwyr. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, she just . . .” I strained my ears over the fading shrieks. “What’s that sound?” A faint rumbling came from the southwest.
The fire winked out. “Get off the road.”
&n
bsp; I dug my heels into Anwea’s side. She shied into the underbrush, branches snagging my cloak.
A company of riders approached, two abreast between tangled walls of trees and bushes. As my eyes adjusted, I saw rearing elk sigils emblazoned on their breastplates. My breath caught in my throat.
The man in front raised a hand. They slowed to a halt. “Where are you headed?”
“Due west, near Tømmbrind Creek,” Tiernan said. “Are you riding to Crieknaast?”
“Yes.” He looked at Anwea. “Have you met trouble on the road?”
“She was just spooked by birds. Hush, Anwea.” I hoped to the aeldu none of the soldiers recognized her or me, but as I turned her away to hide the white patch on her forehead, my eyes strayed toward the captain’s.
He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded and raised his hand again. I counted twenty horses as they passed, churning up mud and snow.
“A messenger must have left hours before us to reach the capital to ask for troops so quickly,” Tiernan said after the storm of hooves faded.
“I only saw one of Montès’s aides outside the town hall. Maybe the other turned on Montès and called the military himself?”
“Maybe. But that is not nearly enough men to challenge Suriel.” He sounded uncertain. I was surprised how much that unsettled me.
•
I woke to see Tiernan moving about the kitchen. I lay still and watched him through half-closed eyes. I’d trudged into the cabin well into the night and gone to sleep on the floor. It wasn’t until he went outside that I realized he’d draped my fir branch blanket over me.
Tiernan didn’t return. I lit the fire and stared at the spines of his books over a breakfast of hot tea and cold fish. Eventually I went to the workshop and found him shuffling through papers.
He glanced up. “I should go see Maika. Would you like to come?”
My legs screamed for me to refuse. “Sure.”
Twigs and needles littered Marijka’s yard. A hemlock near the greenhouse leaned at an angle, trunk splintered, whole branches torn off. The trees along the creek were a jagged wall of icicles. Fog clung to the valley like a nesting bird.
