Flight

by Jae Waller

  “Doesn’t matter.” I stood my ground, even though his arms looked twice as big around as mine. “Just tell him to give back what he stole.”

  “Go ahead. Call the Elkhounds. See who they believe.” The big one grabbed a fistful of my cloak. I cringed, waiting for the blow—

  —and a sword slid in front of his throat.

  “See if they get here before you bleed out,” Tiernan said.

  The boy released me like he’d been burned. The first one spat on the cobblestone, dropped the tin, and pushed through the crowd, his friends close behind.

  Tiernan sheathed Hafelús. “Cijmmag. Taena.” He seized my elbow and dragged me away.

  I tried to pull out of his grip. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “I know.”

  “Then why do we have to leave?”

  “Gods’ sakes. What is your plan if they return with the city guard? I thought this was one place you could not get in trouble—”

  “Ow. Tiernan, you’re hurting me.”

  He let go instantly, but he didn’t slow his pace. The crowd thinned as we wound through the streets. I heard the faint toll of the sancte bell.

  “I’m stopping here,” I said when we came to a park. I tromped through the snow without waiting for an answer and climbed a slope to a stone gazebo.

  The coast sprawled out to either side, rising to white hills in the distance. Docks jutted into the water like the teeth of a comb. Ships rocked in the bay, their masts tilting back and forth. I watched a galleon set sail and shrink to a speck on the horizon before I heard footsteps.

  Tiernan drew forward and stood in the wide gap between pillars. “I am sorry, Kateiko.”

  I rubbed my elbow. “What would you’ve done if those boys fought back?”

  “Knocked them down.”

  “Like that wouldn’t draw the guards’ attention.”

  Tiernan shifted his feet. “Even I lose my temper from time to time.”

  “On my behalf? That’s sweet.” I wrapped my hand around a pillar and swung back and forth. “What will I do when I don’t have a big scary ex-mercenary to rescue me?”

  “Develop a better sense of self-preservation, I hope.”

  “Ai, that reminds me.” I pulled the wolf makiri from my pocket. “As thanks.”

  Tiernan held it up. The mica sparkled in the sun. “What is it?”

  “A makiri. You put it on the mantelpiece, and it protects your home from cruel spirits. I don’t believe in them, but . . . you have no ornaments.”

  “It will look nice above the fire. Thank you, Kateiko.” He tucked it into an inner pocket of his cloak.

  Orange light glittered on the waves. A chill breeze came off the ocean. I drew my mantle tight and pulled off my gloves to breathe on my fingers.

  “Give me your hands.” Tiernan removed his gloves and wrapped his hands around mine. Warmth spread up my arms and through my body like running sap.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Magic.”

  I laughed and looked into his grey eyes. “You’re not the wrong hands for magic. Not at all.”

  12.

  YANBEN

  Tiernan placed the makiri on the mantel when we returned to his cabin. It watched over us in the evenings as we sat side by side with my book. I followed along the page and listened to Tiernan’s voice fill the kitchen, the words laced with his accent. My mind drifted away to worlds where animals talked and warriors beheaded giant serpents.

  Three days after we returned from Caladheå, a soldier rode into the clearing.

  He carried a spear and wore the blue Colonnium guard uniform. His horse stopped in front of the cabin, white clouds emerging from its nostrils. Clumps of snow stuck to the feathery hair around its feet.

  “Tiernan Heilind,” the soldier called.

  I ducked behind the stable and peered around the corner. There was no answer. I didn’t know if Tiernan was even home. Maybe he’d gone to the creek—

  —then he strode outside and yanked the cabin door shut. “What is it?”

  “The Caladheå Council summons you to testify regarding Suriel.”

  “I made it clear I will not go.”

  The soldier dismounted and took an envelope from his breast pocket. “Here is the writ.”

  Tiernan unfolded the contents. “Signed by all twenty councillors except Parr. So they do not even listen to him.” He held up the paper. “Is there any legal ground for this?”

  “The Council holds the right to summon witnesses. Refusals to testify must be made in person in the Colonnium.”

  “I have done exactly that.” Tiernan tore the paper into quarters and dropped it onto the snow. “What more do they need, a signature in blood?”

  The soldier stepped toward the porch. “My instructions are to bring you back.”

  “I will not be intimidated by the Council. I am no longer theirs to command.”

  “Don’t make me do this, Heilind.” The soldier pointed his spear at Tiernan’s chest.

  An orange glow radiated from Tiernan until he blazed like the sun. The spear erupted into flames. A wave of heat rolled across the clearing, melting the snow down to the dead grass.

  “The next person may find my aim less accurate,” Tiernan said. “Now get off my land.”

  The soldier flung the spear away and swung onto his horse. I flattened myself against the stable wall until the hoofbeats faded, and then I bolted.

  •

  I banged on Marijka’s door. I heard faint footsteps, then it swung open. “Can I stay here awhile?”

  Her smile turned to confusion. “Of course. Come in.”

  The kitchen smelled like evergreen needles, cool and sharp. “What are you making?”

  “Anaesthetic. Painkiller,” she added, seeing my blank look. “A man came from Crieknaast after the uprising and bought my entire supply. I hope he was able to get back into town.”

  I shuddered. “Can I help?”

  “Here.” Marijka slid a stone mortar of dried leaves across the table. “You can grind more needlemint.”

  The scent burst out even stronger as I pulverized them with a pestle, giving me the urge to sneeze. “Is this what made my legs numb?”

  “Yes. It’s native to Sverba, so naturally it grows best in the snow.” She took a glass bottle from a shelf and measured clear liquid into a jar. “Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but did something happen?”

  “A soldier came looking for Tiernan. The Council is summoning him.”

  Marijka set the bottle down and looked at the ceiling. “Gods help us. That must’ve been a conversation.”

  I rubbed my boot against my other heel. “Was . . . Tiernan in the military?”

  “Not as an enlisted soldier. But yes, most of his contracts came from Caladheå.”

  A cold weight settled in my stomach. “How could he fight on their side?”

  “He asks himself that every day.” She tapped the mortar. “‘Grind’ is a few steps down from ‘obliterate.’”

  “Sorry.” I eased off the pressure. “But doesn’t it bother you?”

  “It’s not as simple as taking sides. Life brings us together with people we never expected to stand beside. Sometimes we have to distance ourselves from those who once stood by us.” Marijka stopped rummaging through a drawer. “I think you know that, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Here in your house, or in Iyun Bel?”

  She shrugged.

  We spent the rest of the afternoon grinding leaves and mixing them into jars of vodka. Marijka explained that the alcohol preserved the herbs. The brånnvin Rin bartered from Sverbians was vodka flavoured with fennel, but she said with a smile that probably shouldn’t be used as medicine.

  Marijka settled by the fire with some sewing after dinner. I wandered around th
e kitchen looking at her ornaments. A wooden rack on the wall held a row of ceramic plates painted with snowy landscapes. Marijka said they were pictures of Nyhemur where she grew up.

  I bent over to look at a figurine of a horse with its mane streaming in the wind. Firelight glinted on the polished wood. “What do these symbols carved in the base say?”

  Marijka glanced up. “Tiernan’s name in Sverbian writing. He made it several years ago.”

  “Huh. I thought he only carved practical things.”

  “Practical.” She clamped the needle between her lips while untangling the thread. “That’s a good word for him these days.”

  My eyes traced over the horse’s powerful legs, flared nostrils, alert ears. I could almost hear the thud of hooves on frozen soil, smell sweat on its hide, feel the strain of muscles under its skin. I never would’ve guessed Tiernan could make something so beautiful.

  •

  The cabin was dark when I returned. Light filtered through the sooty workshop windows. I crept across the clearing, squishing through the muck, and nudged open the door. I collided with a wall of heat.

  Tiernan sat on the workshop’s dirt floor, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The brazier burned with a dull glow. Amber-coloured tallow candles dripped onto the tables. His jerkin was tossed over a stool, and his damp tunic clung to his skin.

  I unclasped my fur mantle and edged forward. “Tiernan?”

  He looked up at me as if I were oceans away. “Kateiko. You left.”

  “I was by the stable earlier. When that soldier came. Why didn’t you tell me you fought for Caladheå?”

  Tiernan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I did not want you to be afraid of me.”

  “I’m not. Too many other things to fear in the world, remember?” I took off my gloves, knelt, and wiped a streak of ash from his face. He stiffened.

  “You have to understand,” he began. “No. You do not have to, but I hope you will. I came to this land with no connections, no money, nothing but my sword and magic. I could barely speak the trade language. The military was reliable work.”

  “Why did you leave it?”

  The brazier flickered. “It is not a story I would trouble you with.”

  “Please. I want to know.” I shifted into a cross-legged position, ignoring the mud on my boots, and took his hands. His skin burned against mine.

  Tiernan looked down at the dirt. “I met a man when I arrived in Eremur. Jorumgard Tømasind. We took several contracts together. He was . . . the kind of swordsman you wanted at your back in a fight. The kind of friend you wanted by your side at your wedding.

  “Jorum and I took a contract from the Council two years ago. A company of soldiers was investigating anomalies in the Turquoise Mountains. Dead cragsmen, odd weather. Iyo traders in Crieknaast warned us not to enter Dúnravn Pass. We went anyway.

  “The wind picked up as we rode into the mountains. It raged through the peaks until an avalanche blocked the pass — in midsummer. The captain refused to turn back. We were stuck for days while scouts searched for another route. Jorum was ready to give up, but I insisted we see it through.

  “Riders came out of nowhere and attacked in the night. They slaughtered half our men before we realized what was happening.” Tiernan’s voice slipped. “Jorum was with me, but I lost him in the fray. I escaped to Crieknaast with two men. A few more showed up days later, starving and frostbitten. Jorum never came.”

  “Did you go back to look for him?”

  “More than once. I finally found his body preserved by the snow. He had been cut down by a blade. I carried him back to Crieknaast for a proper funeral.”

  I felt a pang deep in my chest. No wonder he’d been bothered by the story of Imarein Rin climbing a mountain in a blizzard. I held his hands tight, not caring about the scorching heat. “I’m sorry for snapping at you in Crieknaast. About protecting people.”

  He shook his head. “You could not have known.”

  “What did the Council do?”

  “Refused to acknowledge the truth. They blamed the attack on rogue cragsmen, but those were trained soldiers. I saw the sigil on their shields. A black bird with spread wings, its head turned aside. Falwen confirmed it was linked to the spirit the Iyo traders warned of. A few politicians believed it was a planned attack, Vorhagind and Quintere among them, but it was not enough. That is when I left the military.”

  I tried to piece everything together. It felt like holding a handful of iron links with no way to forge them into a chain. Saidu were territorial, I knew that much. They claimed a home and scuffled over borders. Legend says that back when they were awake, the worst weather — earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, coastal floods — was the result of those scuffles.

  But saidu never cared about humans in their territories. Suriel had allowed Imarein to live on his mountain, the heart of his land. Either he was less tolerant of itherans or something had changed since Imarein’s time. Now Suriel was willing to kill people to keep them out of Dúnravn Pass. Storms didn’t work, so he sent human soldiers. Speaking our language without speaking.

  That part made sense. In theory, he could’ve filled the pass with a permanent storm, but even the strongest saidu had limits, especially when affecting elements other than their own — in this case, a tel-saidu using wind to move snow. Suriel would’ve needed time to recover before making another storm. It was more efficient to send soldiers. Unusual, but then, he’d always been unusually involved with humans.

  “Why would anyone fight for Suriel?” I wondered aloud. “Mounted soldiers must be itherans. Your people never revered tel-saidu like mine did.”

  “Money, ambition, bloodlust. The same reasons anyone becomes a mercenary. Suriel must have a human captain who commands in his name and manages the practical aspects of war.”

  “Who, though? Imarein would be over a hundred now. And in the stories, Suriel only spoke to people he deemed worthy. I have no idea how an itheran would earn his trust, unless — ai, never mind. If I don’t know something about saidu, you definitely won’t.”

  Colour rose in Tiernan’s cheeks.

  Realization hit me like floodwater. “You knew. In Crieknaast. You knew what Suriel was before I told you.”

  “I knew. Just not about Imarein.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Mayor Vorhagind?”

  “I did. Two years ago, as soon as I made it back from Dúnravn. He accepted a spirit might be responsible for the massacre but was skeptical about the avalanche. Crieknaast has always suffered severe windstorms.”

  “He believed me.”

  “Vorhagind trusts viirelei. More than he trusts mages, apparently.”

  My eyes narrowed. “So you knew he might listen to me, but you still didn’t want me to go back into the town hall?”

  Heat pulsed off Tiernan. “Montès would have dragged you to Bøkkhem and back if he found out you interfered. You have no idea what he has done to viirelei. I hope to the gods you never find out.”

  I opened my mouth, then stopped. I could hardly lecture Tiernan for protecting me after he lost Jorumgard. And he’d helped rescue the tannery workers after a little nudging. “Maybe it’s good the Council summoned you. It’s another chance to convince them.”

  “To do what? Suriel went quiet until Crieknaast expanded into the mountains. Sending a military detachment will just provoke him further.”

  “But no one out there is safe. Vorhagind’s the only one who knows what the wind means, and Rhonos said Suriel’s soldiers aren’t just near Crieknaast.”

  “I will not suffer another inquiry. I had to publicly relive every violent moment of a massacre only to be told that my closest friend, a renowned swordsman, was killed by a hermit with a hatchet. Once was enough.”

  The workshop felt like the inside of a steam vent. My shirt stuck to my skin. The brazier had grown brighter and brighte
r until it blazed like a bonfire, illuminating the wood grain of the walls and the high soot-stained ceiling.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s your decision.”

  For the first time that night Tiernan’s eyes focused on me. “I told you I do not know what to believe about the dead.” He took a shuddering breath. “People believe what gives them comfort. Nothing gives me comfort, so I believe nothing.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. I wanted nothing more than to stroke his tangled hair, to touch his spirit and say I understood — but I couldn’t bring myself to move. So we stayed there with our hands together until the candles sputtered out and the brazier dimmed. When we finally rose, I hid the blisters on my palms.

  •

  The next day, Marijka spent over an hour in the workshop with Tiernan. I heard voices but couldn’t make out the words. When she came outside looking frustrated, I asked what was wrong, but she just shook her head and said, “I fix bodies, not minds.”

  Sometimes Tiernan was in the workshop when I woke and was still there when I went to bed. I struggled to read in there, distracted by his questions — about Aeldu-yan, my visions of that parallel world, the voices I heard in the wind, and other things that didn’t seem related. How I learned water-calling, if any Sverbians I met up north used magic, if we farmed or dug wells on Aeti Ginu.

  “Tiernan,” I said gently when he asked about attuning. “Remember saying it’s rude to ask what kind of itheran someone is?”

  He apologized and returned to burning perfectly-measured pine rods. His silence unnerved me. He went to the door every time a noise came from the woods, then seemed to forget what he’d been doing. That night, I found him standing in the clearing as if listening to the wind.

  His questions turned to experiments. I’d fill an engraved basin with water while he timed me or measured its temperature. Sometimes I did it while standing on a rune. The glowing symbol sent tingles over my skin, like the crackle in the air during a lightning storm, and water leapt to my call as if it were anxious to please me. I liked the feeling, but was always exhausted after, and had to stop so I had energy left to check my trapline.