A Sorcerer’s Treason

by Sarah Zettel

  “And that woman?” The banks with their somber trees blurred, as if she saw them through a curtain of tears. Bridget blinked and wiped at her eyes, but the world around her did not clear. “I’ve seen her before. Who was that woman?”

  Valin shook his head. “Each person sees what is around them differently. I saw no woman.”

  Although Bridget felt no shift in the spectral wind, the sail swung around and the boat heeled hard over. The sail went slack for a moment, then seemed to catch a fresh breeze and bellied full. Valin’s head went up as if he suddenly caught some new scent.

  “There,” he murmured, staring straight ahead and gripping the tiller. “There.”

  Bridget tried to follow his gaze, but she saw nothing except a blur of gold, grey and brown, with black above and blue below. The silence strained, but beyond it, she could now hear voices whispering. They called to her, trying to tell her things, important things that she needed to hear. She wanted to get closer so she could hear them better, but through it all, her mind’s eye showed her the sad woman in black who would be hurt if Bridget disembarked from the boat. Bridget did not wish to cause that woman any more pain, and so she kept her seat.

  The voices grew more insistent, and Bridget fought to keep from covering her ears. She concentrated on keeping herself rigid and her eyes straight ahead. She knew how to ignore voices. She had ignored them all her life. All she had to do was not listen. They could tell her nothing she did not know. They were gossips. Liars. They knew nothing.

  Then, the blurred colors parted like a torn curtain and fell away on either side. The prow slapped hard against an honest wave. Bridget lurched and grasped the gunwale to keep from being pitched into the bottom of the boat. Spray drenched her shoulder, and she almost laughed out loud over the sudden roar of the wind, the roll of the waves, and the creak of the ropes. They had made it. Wherever they were, this place was real and comprehensible.

  She righted herself and saw a sky bulging with clouds making a lid for a rough grey sea. Wind smelling of salt, snow and ice smacked her cheeks and made her shiver.

  Ahead, she made out cliffs of stark grey stone dotted here and there with crystalline ice and patches of driven snow. Black trees stretched to the sky as if they sought to catch the low clouds on their crooked branches. It did not look welcoming, but it did look real and Bridget’s heart lifted to see it.

  “Isavalta!” Valin shouted to be heard over wave and wind.

  It happened. I am in another world. Equal parts of excitement and fear squeezed her chest.

  “What are these?” called Bridget, pointing toward the cliffs.

  “The Teeth of Yvanka.” Valin laughed when he saw Bridget’s expression at that fierce name. “Do not worry, Bridget, they have not bitten anyone in years. A warm welcome waits beyond them.”

  Those were the last words Valin spoke for some time. Now back in a living world, he was busy with tiller, boom, line and sail. Bridget offered to help, but Valin waved at her to keep her place. Bridget, upon consideration, realized it was probably for the best. She knew boats well, but she knew nothing of these waters. The shore that curved around to starboard had a rocky look, and who knew what shoals lay beneath the waves?

  A new world. A whole new world. A world with magic, empresses and palaces. Bridget covered her mouth to stifle a girlish giggle. What would Everett Lederle think of his daughter if he knew she was to be presented to royalty?

  But as even as she thought of her father, Bridget abruptly remembered the woman in black, and the dark-gold man who stood beside her, with the fiery bird in the golden cage at his feet. What did that vision mean? Was it that a true vision, another like the one she had seen in Momma’s mirror? Bridget bit her lip and tasted salt. She would have to ask Valin later.

  Gradually, the coastline gentled. The cliffs turned into snowy hills and the rocky shore spread out wide and low. Dark silhouettes rose from the snow, and Bridget realized they were heading for a town.

  She turned to Valin, pointing toward the shadowy buildings, but before she could speak her question, he called, “Biradost!”

  Biradost slowly resolved itself into a cluster of steeply sloping roofs and bulbous spires, all with thick caps of snow. Long jetties ran out into the bay, but Bridget saw no other boats. Obviously, not many people chose to trust the conditions for sailing in this frigid winter.

  Nonetheless, their sail had been spotted. Several burly figures clomped down the jetty waving hands as if to say, “Over here!” Valin waved back and turned their course toward the jetty where the men waited.

  While Valin worked the tiller and brought in the sail, Bridget found the mooring ropes. When they had sailed close enough to the three figures she tossed the ropes to their ready hands. They were all big bears of men, with shaggy golden brown beards flecked with ice. They dressed alike in thick coats and brightly knitted caps. They pulled the boat snug and close to the jetty. One extended a shovel-like hand to Bridget, and she accepted his help, climbing out of the rocking sloop and onto the pier.

  Valin climbed out on his own and said something to one of them that Bridget did not understand. The man answered in a similarly incomprehensible stream, all sharp consonants sprinkled with a few round vowels. That one hopped down into the hold and wrested out Bridget’s box, handing it to the shorter of his companions. All three of them were enough alike that Bridget wondered if they might be brothers.

  The shortest of the Bear Brothers received the box and balanced it on his shoulder, bowing and gesturing for Bridget and Valin to proceed him.

  God above, it is cold. Bridget wrapped her shawl more tightly around her head. A boisterous, merciless wind blew across the bay, snatching at her skirts and worming its way through her woolen stockings. It bit into the skin of her face, and to Bridget’s embarrassment, her teeth began to chatter. To make things worse, at that same moment, her stomach let out a mighty growl and she became aware of a raging thirst.

  “You’re cold, Bridget?” said Valin, solicitously, coming to stand on the windward side of her. “And hungry too, I’ll wager. That is a frequent concern of making this crossing. Come, we are not going far, and there is an escort waiting for us.”

  The single pathway of the jetty soon turned into a whole series of docks and walkways. Obviously, when the season was good, Biradost saw much traffic from ships of all sizes. Its docks appeared even more extensive than Bayfield’s.

  Beyond the docks and the fieldstone storm wall, Biradost was a wooden town. Its thick-beamed houses sported clapboard sides, and doors painted as fancifully as Valin had painted the sides of his boat. They crowded together along streets that seemed, at the moment, to be a combination of snow and frozen mud. The people who passed by were mere bundles of wool and patterned scarves, with a lucky few in furs and leather boots. Bridget, whose feet had begun to tingle painfully despite her workboots and thick socks, found herself envying them.

  Next to the gatehouses flanking the opening in the storm wall, a troop of mounted soldiers waited beside a horse-drawn sleigh. Valin raised his hand and hailed their leader in the local tongue.

  “Our guard, sent from the dowager empress,” he said, leading her forward.

  A guard? Bridget’s throat tightened. Yes, she told herself. Don’t forget. This is not a peaceful world.

  The lead soldier dismounted and bowed in front of them, placing his hand over his heart. He was a hardened, square man, with skin browned by the sun and by harsh weather. His hair was golden-brown, like that of the Bear Brothers from the harbor, rather than black like Valin’s. Where Valin’s cheeks and chin were high and sharp, this man’s face was square and solid. A puckered white scar running down the right side of his face said that he had once come close to losing an ear. Rather than a coat, like Kalami, he wore a cloak of royal blue that covered a silver breastplate and a leather jerkin and hose sewn with steel scales. A helmet hung from his horse’s saddle, Bridget saw, and the sword at his side hung in a leather scabbard as stained and worn as
the boots on his feet.

  Bridget’s gaze wandered to the other eight men, all of whom were similarly dressed. They all wore their helmets. The visors covered their faces, leaving only their eyes visible. Four of them had deeply curved bows slung on their backs, and the other four rested the butts of long-handled, spear-tipped axes against their stirrups. One of them also carried a splendid pennant displaying a golden bird on a field of blue. Despite that, Bridget could see that nothing here was simply for show. These were serious soldiers, ready to deal with serious trouble. She did not know whether to be reassured or unnerved.

  The leader straightened up. He spoke in a voice that was as rough and competent as his face. Valin smiled, clapping the man on the shoulder as an old friend, and replied.

  Valin turned back to Bridget and said in English, “Mistress Bridget, this is Chadek Chastasyn Khabravin — Captain Chadek, you would call him — of Her Grand Majesty the Dowager Empress’s household guard.”

  Bridget, uncertain of what to do, bobbed a curtsy to the man, who responded with another crisp bow.

  Valin smiled, and Bridget hoped it was with satisfaction rather than amusement. “Her Grand Majesty sends you her personal greetings and bids us come to her as quickly as we may. Unfortunately,” he added with a sigh, “this means that I will not have the time to weave for you a spell of understanding until after we reach the palace. I must ask you to rely on me as your translator.”

  The notion made Bridget frown, although she could not quite have said the reason for her unease. “We will have time on this journey, you cannot work it as we travel?”

  “Time yes, but not peace,” answered Valin. “Even here, I must concentrate to work my will, and I must have the proper materials. Forgive me. I should have completed this before we left Sand Island, but working magic there was so difficult, and I was anxious to be away.”

  Bridget made herself smile. “Well, we shall manage as best we can, just as we have been doing.”

  Valin gave her a half-bow in acknowledgment. “Then, let us be on our way.” He led Bridget to the sleigh, which was painted bright blue and trimmed with gilded curlicues. Another soldier sat on the driver’s box, holding reins decked out with blue ribbons.

  At an order from Captain Chadek, Shortest Bear from the harbor set Bridget’s box onto a rack at the rear of the sleigh and lashed it down. Valin helped Bridget into the sleigh beside a pile of thick furs. Bridget settled onto the padded seat and resisted the urge to burrow into the rugs Valin heaped onto her lap. Under the rugs lay a fur hood and cape for her head and shoulders, and a rabbit-skin muff for her freezing hands. Even better, under those waited a basket that contained fat wedges of soft white cheese, two loaves of black bread and a crock filled with what smelled like apple cider.

  Bathed in warmth, Bridget felt herself smile. She would be traveling in imperial style indeed.

  Valin helped himself to one of the loaves and half the cheese and climbed up beside the driver, saying something to the party at large. The captain barked another order, and the soldiers formed up. Captain Chadek took the lead with three others, a single soldier stationed himself on each side of the sleigh, and the last three fell behind.

  Captain Chadek said a word and the soldiers urged their horses forward. The sleigh driver cracked the whip over the heads of his team, and the sleigh lurched forward into the snow-covered street.

  Flanked by the soldiers and the sleigh’s high, curving sides, Bridget could see only snatches of Biradost. Nonetheless, as she ate the food provided, she craned her neck eagerly for whatever glimpses she could catch — a set of carved shutters on a second-story opening so a woman could shake out a dusty rug, a huge but empty bird’s nest on a peaked roof next to the chimney, the glint of gilding on a distant spire. Noise filled the air. Bridget was surrounded by a jumble made up of the thudding of hooves, the roll and murmur of voices, the creak of wood, the distant ring of metal against metal, a dog’s bark, a man’s shout. Now that her nose was no longer stopped by cold and salt spray, she smelled cooking, wood smoke, garbage and manure.

  Only a few people stopped to look at them. Evidently, Bridget’s party was not grand enough, or unusual enough, to incite comments, other than what were obviously complaints about having to get out of the way in the narrow streets. The faces Bridget saw were weather-roughened and strong, with eyes of amber or bright blue. Most of them seemed to have blond or brown hair, but here and there she saw a lock of red hair sticking out from under cap or hood.

  All at once, the sleigh lurched to a halt. Bridget heard a donkey bray and men shouting up ahead, and a sound like a muffled smack. Valin stood up on the box. Whatever he saw, he gave a roar, jumped to the street and ran past soldiers. Bridget leapt to her own feet, shedding rugs and straining to see between the heads and shoulders of the men on horseback.

  She saw a cart piled with snow-dusted garbage. It listed to the right, because one of its wooden wheels had stuck in a frozen rut. A man sprawled facedown in the snow, with his hands covering his head. His leather cap lay nearby. One of the soldiers stood over him, rigidly, as if at attention. In front of him, Valin stood with one arm raised. His hand held a riding crop and he seemed frozen in the act of bringing it down against the soldier’s face.

  Suddenly, Bridget felt herself to be six years old. She stood in the dirt yard of the cooperage in Bayfield. A Negro man in patched clothing huddled on the ground. A spindly white man wearing heavy farm boots drew back his foot to let loose another kick. In front of him stood Everett Lederle, Bridget’s father, his chapped, red hands clenched until the knuckles glowed white. Poppa was strong from carrying heavy oil cans up the iron stairs to the light, and from the fury in his face, Bridget knew he was ready to use all that strength against the skinny man with the big, dusty boots. The skinny man saw it too, and he lowered his foot, spat and walked away.

  In front of her now, Captain Chadek dismounted and stepped between the two men. He said something to Valin, and Valin lowered his arm, but he did not release his grip on the riding crop. Chadek turned and said something much harsher to the soldier, who scowled, but bowed and pointed at two of the other soldiers in the troop, and then pointed to the cart. The soldiers both dismounted and all three of them put their shoulders to the cart wheel, calling out what was probably the local equivalent of “One, two, three, heave!”

  While the soldiers freed the cart, Valin gestured to the man in the snow, who scrambled to his feet, clutching his cap. His hair was coal black, and he had a long, straight nose like Valin’s. He stood with shoulders hunched, head ducked, and eyes wide, like a man who was used to hard knocks, and expected the next one to come at any moment.

  The captain spoke, and then Valin, and the man’s head bobbed nervously. Fortunately, he was spared any further conversation, because at that moment the cart rolled free of the rut and the soldiers stood back, their heavy breath making clouds of steam that even Bridget could see.

  Bridget interpreted Captain Chadek’s next string of commands as “What are you standing around for? Get back on your horses!” The soldiers certainly acted as if that was what he said, hurrying to swing themselves back into their saddles. Valin said something final to the carter, who gave a hunched bow, and then scrambled to take his donkey’s halter and urge the animal and cart out of the soldiers’ way.

  When Valin climbed back up on the sleigh box, he was breathing as hard as if he had been the one who freed the cart. Bridget, as she sat back down, couldn’t help noticing that he still carried the riding crop. He laid it across his knees, and Bridget watched his shoulders shifting under his coat as if he were struggling to relax them as the sleigh started forward again.

  “Valin?”

  Valin turned to look at her with one black eye.

  “You are not from this country, are you? I seem to recall you saying something of the sort.”

  She saw half of Valin’s mouth smile. “Ah, Bridget, you are observant.” The mockery in his tone was too gentle for Bridget to brid
le at.

  “Where is your home?”

  Sadness shone in Valin’s eye, and for a moment Bridget thought he might answer that he had none. “I was born on the island of Tuukos, which is to the north of here.”

  “And your people, and …” Bridget looked down at her muffled hands for a moment, searching for words. “The other Isavaltans, do not, perhaps, get along?”

  The smile grew sharper. “Tuukos did not to join the empire voluntarily, that is true. But, it was all many years ago. My grandfather’s father did not even see that battle.”

  Before Bridget could say another word, Valin turned away. Bridget decided it was best to let the subject lie, for now, anyway.

  Eventually, the streets ended at a high wooden wall. Bridget and her escort passed under an iron portcullis out to onto snow-covered fields. The noise and variety of the town was replaced by an undisturbed landscape of snow gently undulating toward the black line of a distant forest. Bridget, satisfied for now by the bread and cheese, warmed by her furs and tired from her long, unspeakably strange day, drifted off into sleep.

  Lack of motion and rising voices lifted Bridget from her slumber. She blinked, tried to rub her eyes, got a face full of rabbit-skin muff, disentangled her hands and wiped her eyes clear of sleep and cold-induced tears.

  The sleigh had halted in a copse of dark green pines that rattled and whispered in the wind as if telling each other secrets. The captain and several of the guard clustered together, conferring. Valin stood beside them. The remaining men faced outward, scanning the sides of the road, and the way from which they had come. Whatever was going on, their grim, impatient faces told Bridget they did not like it. Neither, it seemed, did their horses, which pawed the ground and whickered to each other.

  Bridget twisted in her seat, but all she saw was her escort, the frozen road and the dark trees with their whispering needles and their shrouds of snow.

  Seeing her awake, Valin returned to the side of the sleigh.