by Jae Waller
Exuberant music flowed over the square. A riotous dance began of people linking elbows and spinning in and out of the lines. Marjika laughed and clapped along. For a moment, I saw part of her that was young and wild and glowed like the stars, and the world didn’t seem quite so big.
Someone grabbed my hand. A boy with golden hair and a face full of laughter pulled me into the dance. I thought for a second it was Ingard — then our elbows linked and I was twirling, flung toward the line where someone else swung me around and back out. My hood slipped off and my brown braid whipped through the air as I spun like a leaf in a gale.
I collided with a wall of onlookers at the end. The golden-haired boy stumbled toward me and kissed my hand. I didn’t know if I blushed or if I was just sweltering from exertion.
There was no way to get back to Marijka without getting crushed. I escaped to the edge of the square to catch my breath. Elkhounds marked by grey leather armour stood with shields and spears along the shop walls. I climbed on a windowsill and clung to a drainpipe while I looked over everyone’s heads. A row of Colonnium guards in blue was spaced across the steps of Nen Divinus. Iannah’s severe bun shone in the firelight.
I followed the scent of roasting meat into the packed laneways. I bought strips of venison and a glass bottle of amber liquid that the shopkeeper assured me didn’t have alcohol. Then I took a deep breath and headed for the sancte. “Am I allowed to stand here?” I asked as I drew up alongside Iannah.
She shrugged. “Don’t see why not.”
I offered her a strip of meat. “Hungry?”
She arched an eyebrow and accepted it.
“So you just stand here all night?”
“Until something goes wrong.”
I passed the bottle back and forth with Iannah. She said it was called cordial. It tasted like sour apples. Light poured out of coloured windows behind us, spilling rainbows on the stone. The faint drone of chanting inside mingled with the soaring music.
We had a good view of the platform. The women tapped their feet, fiddles cradled against their shoulders. The drummers’ mallets bounded through the air. The Iyo man couldn’t stay still, stamping his feet in a dance that carried him around the stage. His dark hair was spiked up like a shark fin that bobbed with the music. He laughed as the red-headed itheran swatted his hair with a mallet.
After I cooled off, I went into the crowd, dodging people swinging half-full bottles. By the time the dance ended there was still no sign of Marijka. The musicians left, and three figures in black robes climbed onstage, followed by Colonnium guards.
An old man with more wrinkles than face stood at the edge of the platform and raised his hands. His voice was surprisingly strong. “Good evening, blessed new year, Ciårva Skaarnaht. I am Councillor Brasius Obolèto. On behalf of the Caladheå Council, thank you for coming. . .”
I tuned out his speech and squinted at the men behind him. Montès and Parr. Good thing Tiernan didn’t come. I stood on my toes, searching for Marijka, but snapped back to attention when a ripple went throughout the crowd.
“—with great distress I report Rutnaast has fallen to a grievous attack. Had the mayor called for aid sooner, the military may have been able to prevent—”
“Crieknaast called for help and got a massacre!” someone shouted.
“The events in Crieknaast were a terrible tragedy,” Obolèto said. “Nobody regrets the losses more than us. The inquiry regarding Suriel will be expanded to include Rutnaast—”
“How many will die while we wait?” another person called.
“Ikken naeja!” a man shouted. Voices repeated the words until they echoed across the square. A boy next to me with the first scruff of facial hair raised his fist as he shouted along.
“We will do everything possible to protect the citizens of Eremur—” Obolèto struggled to speak over the chant, but the noise only grew. People pressed in around the stage. I could barely breathe, let alone move.
A woman got on someone’s shoulders and addressed the crowd. “It’s been a month since Crieknaast! Our brothers and sisters lay dead and still the Council demands evidence! We need action, not empty words!”
Obolèto stepped back a second before a bottle shattered at his feet. The guards moved in.
“Ikken naeja! Ikken naeja!” The woman pumped her fist into the air.
A man leapt onto the platform, raised an iron cudgel, and charged at Obolèto. Parr twisted the man’s arm behind his back and brought him to the ground before the guards could react.
A trumpet shrilled. The doors of Nen Divinus swung open. Light spilled out, silhouetting figures in deep blue robes as they flooded into the portico. A man rushed up the steps wielding a knife. Iannah’s spear cracked against his ribs.
I lost track of her after that. All I could see was swinging spears, red elk on silver shields, tangled arms and legs. Screams pierced the night, high and guttural like dying animals. Someone stumbled into me. I fell, soaking my skirt with slush, and put my hand into a pool of blood on the cobblestone. I scrambled up and tumbled down a laneway with the crush of bodies.
Sobbing met my ears. I spun and saw a child under a table. I crouched down. “Where’s your family?”
“I don’t know,” she gasped.
I scooped her up, avoiding her dark curls. “Wala, wala. It’s okay.” I pressed her shaking body against mine and kept moving. The trumpet sounded again.
“Akesida! Hud ulan!” Someone grabbed my sleeve.
Segowa. The Iyo embroiderer. I stumbled into her stall. A young woman sat on a crate, holding a wailing baby wrapped in otter furs. A lamp flickered on a shelf, the air thick with the smell of fish oil.
I set the girl down. “You’ll be safe here, okay?”
“Tema,” the young woman addressed her mother. “You have to find Aire before he gets into trouble.”
Segowa pointed at me. “Akesida. Are you looking for anyone?”
I nodded. She beckoned, climbed on a table in front of her shop, and swung up onto the roof. I scrambled up and followed the long row of stalls back toward the sancte. Parr stood alone on the platform, directing soldiers into a wall of shields.
The square was chaos. People bottlenecked in the streets leading out. A man wrested a spear from a Colonnium guard and swung it at his head. The guard ducked and took him out with a kick to the knees. Glass shattered somewhere. A lantern flickered out.
The bell tolled from the tower of Nen Divinus. Midnight. The new year.
Light exploded on the horizon. I ducked as a crash of sound rolled over the city. Brilliant red sparks filled the sky. Another burst followed, rumbling like thunder.
I spotted Marijka at the end of the laneway, her white bonnet glowing under the fireworks. “Maika!” I yelled. “Maika!” She turned and pushed toward me. I dropped to my stomach and pulled her up onto the roof.
Segowa scanned the crowd. During a flash of light, her mouth formed a silent curse. She leapt off the roof. Moments later, she returned with a man slumped over one shoulder. Marijka and I grabbed his cold, slippery hands. He groaned as we hauled him onto the roof and back down the laneway.
“Airedain—” The young woman rose as we staggered into the stall. The curly-haired girl was still there, wrapped in an embroidered cloak two times her size.
Segowa pulled shut the heavy folding door. Marijka and I laid the man down. Only in the light did I notice his dishevelled crest of hair. The Iyo drummer. He was younger than I’d thought, tall and skinny like a sapling.
“It ain’t so bad,” he said with a weak smile. His face was pale. A long rip marred his black leather jerkin, glistening red in the lamplight.
Segowa sliced open his jerkin and tunic with a bone knife. I turned the little girl aside so she didn’t see the gash between his ribs or the blood that ran onto the cobblestone.
“Let me treat him. I’m a med
ic,” Marijka said.
The Iyo women turned to me.
I nodded. “She’s helped me.”
Marijka knelt next to Airedain and examined the wound. “I could stitch it, but it might get infected. Do you trust me to try something else?”
His dry chuckle turned into a cough. He spat blood. “If you can fix me.”
“Kateiko, I need water,” Marijka said. “As hot as you can make it.”
Segowa handed me a bowl that I filled with steaming water. Marijka cut the red cord off her wrist, scrubbed her hands, and rinsed the gash.
“Hold him down,” she told Segowa and me. “This will hurt.”
We gripped Airedain’s arms. He sucked in a rattling breath as Marijka pressed her hands onto the wound. I leaned down with all my weight as he convulsed. A stream of cursing spilled from his mouth, a tangled mix of Aikoto and Sverbian.
“Keep as still as you can.” Marijka’s voice was flat.
Airedain clenched his teeth, the muscles in his neck taut. I twined my fingers into his. Segowa whispered into his ear. His pulse skittered like a sparrow.
I didn’t realize it was over until Marijka leaned back. The bleeding had stopped. The torn flesh was fused together, leaving a jagged red line across his ribs.
“Yan taku,” I muttered. “You never told me you could do that.”
“It’s better for the rest to heal naturally. Be careful not to reopen it.” Marijka bandaged the wound with clean linen from Segowa.
Airedain pulled himself up and leaned against a crate. Damp hair stuck to his forehead. His breathing was ragged. “Never thought I’d be healed by itheran magic. Thanks.”
“If you weren’t such an idiot—” the young woman began.
“Enough, Lituwa,” Segowa said.
Lituwa scowled and unlaced her shirt to feed her squalling baby.
“Aeldu bless your blood,” Segowa said to Marijka. She put a hand on Airedain’s shoulder and kissed his hair. “My son. Thank the aeldu.”
I wasn’t surprised the three were related. They all had high cheekbones, thin lips, and dark brown hair, though Airedain’s clothes looked Sverbian and the women wore traditional shirts and leggings, their hair neatly braided. Lituwa must’ve been the one who carved the wolf makiri I gave to Tiernan.
Curious, I read Airedain’s tattoos. The one in the centre of his chest was partially covered by bandages, but I recognized the drummer symbol, a circle with four points like sunbeams. He had a pattern of arrowhead leaves around the dolphin crest on his arm. No marks for marriage or children.
I glanced at his face and realized he’d caught me looking. He grinned.
We huddled in the stall as shouts and explosions ruptured the air. Light flickered through cracks in the walls. Segowa handed out fur-lined cloaks to use as blankets and took up a post by the door, clutching a glinting dagger.
I pulled the curly-haired girl into my lap, trying to get comfortable with the wall pressing into my spine. Her sobs had quietened, but she kept casting scared looks at Airedain. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Mida,” she said in a tiny voice.
“Do you like snowflakes, Mida?” I held out her hand and traced a pattern on her mitten. A snowflake as big as her palm appeared, shimmering in the lamplight. Her mouth formed a circle. I looked up to see Lituwa’s eyes fixed on me.
“Rin, right?” she said. “Falwen said one finally turned up.”
No point lying. “Yeah. I came south to visit my cousin Dunehein. Just never made it to Toel Ginu.”
“The shrine carver’s husband?” Airedain said. “I always forget he used to be Rin.”
“You know him?” I asked too quickly.
“Me? Nei, not really. We moved to Caladheå the summer he joined the Iyo. Liwa here moved back to Toel after a couple years though.”
Lituwa nodded. “I saw Dunehein and his wife a few days ago. They’re in good health.”
My shoulders eased. “They’re not here, are they?”
“Nei. Most Iyo don’t care about Skaarnaht. I just came to see my little brother perform.” Lituwa jerked her chin at Airedain.
He touched his ribs and winced. “Too bad I won’t be playing again for a while.”
“You were very good,” Marijka said. “The Skaarnaht dance is one of my favourites.”
“It’s nothing compared to the spring equinox.” Airedain winked at me. “Music, dancing, alcohol, and a thousand people packed into the Toel shrine. You should come, Rin-girl. I’ll be healed by then.”
“Maybe.” I felt too warm all of a sudden.
The fireworks eventually stopped. The noise faded into a dull rumble. Lituwa’s baby fell asleep in her lap and Mida nodded off in mine.
Not long after the bell tolled one, a woman’s voice echoed down the lane. “Mida! Mida, where are you, darling?”
Segowa heaved open the door. She stepped outside, raised a hand, and called out. I stood up, balancing Mida’s limp form on my shoulder.
A Ferish woman with wild eyes and a rumpled bonnet shoved past Segowa. She clapped a hand to her heart. “You — what are you doing with my little girl?” She pulled Mida out of my arms, throwing the embroidered cloak on the ground.
“The lady saved me, Mama,” Mida said sleepily.
“Poor thing. You don’t know what you’re saying.” She kissed Mida’s dark curls. “Ugh, you even smell like them—”
The woman cut herself off. Her eyes travelled from me, past Lituwa and Airedain, to Segowa behind her. Her gaze settled on Marijka, who just raised her eyebrows.
“You should keep a better eye on your daughter,” I said.
She glared at me and strode out of the stall.
14.
INQUIRY
When I woke up in the Blackened Oak, dawn was just breaking. I stumbled downstairs to the pub, groggier than aeldu rising. People nursed injuries and talked quietly. I looked at the ceiling, trying not to stare.
“What was everyone chanting last night?” I poked at my rye porridge. Even honey and huckleberry compote couldn’t make it appealing.
“It’s Sverbian for ‘not enough.’” Marijka sighed. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I knew things were so bad.”
“Actually . . . I’m going to stay for a few days.”
“Is that wise?”
“I want to know what’s going on. The Iyo are caught up in all this, too.”
Marijka tapped her clay mug. “What should I tell Tiernan?”
“Tell him I’m staying. It’s not your responsibility to explain my decisions.”
She smiled wryly. “If you’re not back in a week, I’m sending him to search for you. Then he’s your problem.”
I waited until we were alone in the stable before asking the question nagging at my mind. “Maika . . . why didn’t you heal me like you did Airedain?”
“I did. Your tibia was shattered.”
As I stared at her, something clicked. “Tiernan said without you, I wouldn’t be walking.”
She nodded as she adjusted Gwmniwyr’s bridle. “I’m no expert, but I do what I can.”
I flung my arms around her. There weren’t words enough to thank her.
After Marijka left, I wandered down empty streets toward the ocean. Fog coated the city. Every shop window was dark, shutters closed tight. I followed the peal of the sancte bell into the square. It was like a beach strewn with driftwood after a storm. Broken glass crunched under my boots. A few stalls had caved in, tattered garlands hanging from the wreckage. Red cords littered the ground like drops of blood in the slush. Grey-armoured Elkhounds stood guard at each laneway.
Several stalls were blocked by tables propped on end. A hunched man swept clay shards into a pile. The skritch, skritch of his straw broom filled the square. I peered into Segowa’s shop through the half-open folding door and
saw Airedain sitting on a crate, blanketed with an ash-grey caribou hide.
“Morning,” I said in Aikoto. His Trader was better than mine, but I missed speaking in my own language.
His face cracked into a grin. “Am I glad to see you. Liwa took her kid back to Toel Ginu and I’m bored stiff.” His Iyo accent was nice, a little softer than Rin.
I edged past a stack of crates in the entrance. A dark stain marred the cobblestone where he lay the night before. “How’re you doing?”
He was pale except for the purple half-moons under his eyes. “Better now I got some tulanta in me. I’m grateful to your friend, but I sure wish she carried painkillers.”
“You wouldn’t be able to move if you took her painkillers.” I perched on a crate. “Did you sleep here?”
“Sleep? Nei. Have I been pissing into a bucket? Yeah. At least if looters come, I got something to throw at ’em.”
“Ew.” I glanced at a ceramic pail under a table and shuffled my feet away. “Are you and Segowa staying in Caladheå?”
“My tema will. Liwa wants me to go back to Toel.” He ran a hand over his hair. Pieces of the crest stuck out in every direction. “They carried eight bodies out of here. I got lucky.”
“My aunt would say the aeldu were looking out for you.”
“Or Aeldu-yan didn’t want me.” Airedain stretched. His grin turned into a grimace. “Maybe I’ll go back for a while. Depends on this inquiry.”
“What do you think they’ll do?”
“I’ll tell ya what they shouldn’t do. Challenge Suriel again. Fucking pigeons ignored our warnings once already by going to Dúnravn. The bludgeheads’ memories are shorter than burnt lamp wicks.”
I drew back. “My friend was at Dúnravn. They thought they were doing the right thing.”
“Then your friend’s a bludgehead too, ain’t he? You must know the saying about saidu. ‘The wind dies a thousand deaths.’ The Iyo have stayed out of that pass for centuries.”
“Wait. The earliest I’ve heard of Suriel waking was ninety years ago, when he spoke to Imarein Rin.”
