by Stina Leicht
Stop it.
I shouldn’t have come here. Karpanen was right. All I’ve ever wanted was for Father to look at me the way he does Suvi. Just once. A smothering pain in his chest drove back the numbness. Flames painted shadows as Armas lit the pyre. Nels rubbed burning eyes and then stopped. He bent closer to the captain, comparing angles, studying Captain Karpanen’s dead face for answers, only to find more questions. Careful steps spurred him into tugging the shroud over Karpanen’s head before anyone could guess why he had paused. I wish I had known. If I had, I’d have treated you better. In his heart, Nels knew it was a lie, and there was no point in lying to the dead. He struggled for a token worthy of Karpanen’s sacrifice.
I promise to be the man you hoped I would be.
Nels finished off the last stitches with blurry eyes. Waiting until the seam was done, Armas then took hold of the bottom of the shroud while Nels staggered under the weight of Karpanen’s torso. He tripped and nearly fell into the grave. On hands and knees at the edge of the pit, Nels fought for control of his emotions. Armas offered to help him up, but Nels shook his head. Too embarrassed to look him in the face, Nels grabbed the shovel instead and dumped dirt back into the grave with fierce determination. With that, he buried more than Captain Karpanen.
He buried his future.
When he returned home, there would be no more races down the stairs to the grand ballroom with Suvi as they fled frustrated tutors. There would be no more indulgent smiles created on his mother’s face with tales of childish rebellion. When he reached the palace at Jalokivi, he would pack the few things he’d be allowed and move into the birchwood-constructed barracks with others of his kind. Forever separate. Like Captain Karpanen.
At last he, Nels, had proved his worth.
FOUR
Late the next morning, Nels finished knotting his long, wet hair into a pigtail, folded it into a more manageable length, and bound it with one of Karpanen’s black ribbons. It wasn’t easy. His fingers were swollen, and he wasn’t used to doing it himself. Having slept in the stall with Loimuta, he didn’t have access to a mirror, and his hands were painful and clumsy. At least the headache had retreated somewhat. The contents of the bucket were no longer fit to use. So, he set the bucket near the stall gate for emptying. It was then that it occurred to him that there was probably a protocol for this kind of thing, and he may have just contaminated the barn. He slumped. I should’ve asked Armas if there was a more appropriate place to bathe. Sighing, he shrugged on Captain Karpanen’s spare coat over his own blue trousers and brown boots. It would have to suffice. Nels glanced up in time to catch Loimuta’s incredulous stare.
“Is something wrong?” He knew it was ludicrous to ask, but there were times when he was convinced the gelding understood him. Looking down at the hang of the captain’s coat, he answered his own question. “Too big. I know. And I don’t hold a rank. But I’ve no black. And there’s no way to remove the braid without making a mess of the sleeves.”
Loimuta returned to his breakfast with what Nels was certain was a derisive snort.
He picked up Karpanen’s black sash and found he had to double-wrap it around his waist to prevent it from dragging on the ground. All the Hännenens tended to be tall, but like his magical talent, he hadn’t come into his height yet. When he was done, he was glad he didn’t have a mirror. He could see enough of himself to feel ridiculous. What am I thinking? I won’t pass for a courier or a Royal Guardsman. Not even from a distance.
A polite knock on the stall door startled him.
“Coming.” Nels opened the stall gate and shut it behind him. He kept his eyes on the barn’s hay-littered floor, reluctant to meet the freeholder’s eyes. Armas had enough manners not to laugh, but Nels wasn’t as sure of anyone else. However, judging by the polished black boots, the one waiting wasn’t a freeholder.
An unfamiliar Royal Guardsman bowed, sweeping his broad-brimmed hat in the air between them with a flourish. Nels stared at the top of the man’s brown head for two heartbeats before remembering to close his mouth.
“Sergeant Hurme at your service, Your Grace. Half the regiment is scouring the countryside. Your uncle will be most relieved. He—” As he straightened, Sergeant Hurme seemed to take in Nels’s clothing at last. His expression drained of color. “Your Grace, did—” He swallowed. “Did you lose your baggage?”
Nels’s face burned. So it begins. “No.”
Sergeant Hurme’s gaze drifted to the saber dangling from Nels’s hip.
Nels cleared his throat. “Acrasian bandits murdered Captain Karpanen and the others.”
Sergeant Hurme gawked. “You killed—”
“I—” Nels cut off the sergeant, unwilling to openly commit to the word “kill.” He suppressed a shudder. What’s it like to kill someone? Well, now he knew, didn’t he? He fought yet another urge to be sick. “It was one bandit. But one is all it takes, isn’t it?”
“Surely a few freeholders aren’t worth—”
“Everyone in the hamlet would’ve”—died—“suffered, if I hadn’t. Including me.” Nels forced the words between clenched teeth. The pain behind his eyes intensified for a moment. He massaged his temples.
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?”
“I’m—I’m not feeling well.”
Sergeant Hurme paused. “Ah, I see.” However, his expression demonstrated he didn’t. “Perhaps you should eat now, Your Grace. Your uncle will be here soon.”
It was as if Loimuta had kicked Nels in the guts. The idea of facing Uncle Sakari while dressed as a baggy clown killed Nels’s already-weak appetite. The broader implications came to him in a flash. You have no protector. And you can’t defend yourself, not yet. It would be easy. The captaincy is open. All it would take is one power-hungry Royal Guardsman. Uncle Sakari could blame the Acrasians. No one would say a word. Uncle is too powerful. Nothing stands between him and his ambitions now.
Nothing but Suvi. A clammy chill settled into Nels’s empty stomach. “How many of you are here?”
“Five, Your Grace. The freeholders sent a message to Rehn. We were sent ahead to—”
“When will Uncle Sakari arrive?”
“In a few hours at the most, Your Grace.”
“Then we leave in a quarter hour. Inform the others.”
“But it will be dark soon.”
The pain lurking in Nels’s brain reasserted itself, squeezing into a hot ball of agony. He squinted against the pain. Suddenly furious, he strode up to Hurme—not stopping until he’d scuffed the toes of the Sergeant’s boots with the tips of his own. “Are you questioning my command?” If he resists, I’ve no magic to influence him, Nels thought, holding the man’s gaze. This is it. Either he does as I say, or I die.
“No, Your Grace.” Sergeant Hurme gulped and looked away.
“Get someone in here to load the baggage and saddle my horse. Now.” Nels glanced at the water in the bucket at his feet. “And have someone empty that at the base of a birch tree.”
Sergeant Hurme blinked. “Yes, Your Grace.” He then scurried out of the barn, nearly falling through the barn doors.
Nels looked on with a measure of surprise until he remembered the violence with which Suvi’s magical abilities had first manifested six months ago. Depending upon the specific talent and its strength, the onset of uncontrolled magic could either pass unnoticed or result in something horrific. He’d been in an adjoining classroom with the involuntary Acrasian tutor when Suvi’s screams had brought the servants running. He had arrived in time to see a serving girl collapse to the floor in a writhing heap, blood running from her eyes, nose, and mouth. He’d rushed to Suvi to see if she was injured, but their nurse had shooed him out of the room before he could speak or touch his sister. Suvi had complained of headaches before the accident.
Headaches. Shit. The thought was followed with an image of Marjatta.
How long have you been able to scry? He swallowed. Great Mother, please don’t let that be my power. Please
. If that was the case, he might as well have no magic at all. He’d be no better than a common peasant. Nonetheless, if his magic truly was manifesting, then he was a danger to everyone around him.
It is your duty to protect them, Captain Karpanen’s words whispered in Nels’s mind.
I must leave here. Now.
FIVE
Traveling as fast as the horses could stand while avoiding the main roads, Nels and his new escort reached the outskirts of Gardemeister in one day instead of two. Having ridden through the night, they stopped for a short rest at the side of the road around dawn. The journey hadn’t done anything good for Nels’s headache. He felt terrible. His stomach was still upset—he’d gotten sick twice, and his legs hurt so badly, he could barely walk. At least he was still alive. Ahead, the Angel’s Thumb stretched tall next to Grandmother Mountain. Beyond that and just a week’s ride away was the forest, a few rivers and then Herraskariano. After that, a journey around the shores of Lake Hedvig would lead to the city of Järvi Satama and finally the capital, Jalokivi. He might make it if he could lose himself in the woods. Uncle hasn’t caught me, not yet. I’ve been lucky. His smile died as he turned to the south and spotted the rising column of road dust.
Shit. We’re not going to reach Gardemeister, he thought.
If he was going to live, he needed an ally or at least a witness—preferably one who his uncle couldn’t manipulate, intimidate, or kill. The horses were nearly spent. He was running out of options. The fact he was exhausted and sick didn’t help. He rubbed sore fingers against his temples once more. Yet again, it did nothing against the pain. He needed a healer, but none among the guard traveling with him had healing talents.
Nels caught Sergeant Hurme’s worried expression. As a Royal Guardsman, the sergeant had to be a veteran of more than one family dispute. Nels thought again of Suvi and the serving girl. Family quarrels aren’t the only danger when living among royals.
Not me. I’ve more self-control than Suvi. Always did. Mother said so.
The sergeant doesn’t know that.
On the other hand, are you willing to bet anyone else’s life on it?
He looked again at the column of dust. Aren’t I already? Self-doubt swirled in a quick blast of frustration and anger. Why did my powers have to assert themselves now? Haven’t I enough trouble?
What if the headache is just a headache?
“I’m sorry I dragged all of you into this,” Nels said with a sigh.
Hurme blinked and then his expression softened.
He didn’t expect me to consider them, Nels thought. Before yesterday, I wouldn’t have.
Hurme said, “I see His Grace is getting very close.”
It’s over, Nels thought with a nod. There’s no point in pushing on. I’ll only kill the horses and endanger everyone even more than I already have. Still, he wasn’t ready to admit defeat. “Maybe it isn’t him. Maybe it’s a mail coach. Maybe—”
Hume looked as though he was going to agree to the lie, stopped himself, and looked away.
Nels’s shoulders dropped and the tension in his back loosened a bit. “We’ll wait here until they meet us. I’ll do everything I can for you. I’ll tell Uncle I forced you to come with me.”
Hurme raised an incredulous eyebrow as if to point out the unlikelihood of such a thing. Then he spoke to the woods at the side of the road. “Are you familiar with Saara Korpela, Your Grace?”
“Of course. She’s my father’s seer and advisor,” Nels said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Then you probably know the Silmaillia also has an estate less than a mile from here.”
“Oh.” Nels actually didn’t. He thought she lived in the town. Hope took root in despair. “How soon can we leave?”
“Couldn’t risk it for another half hour, I’m afraid.”
Nels slumped. “Shit.”
“You can go on foot. Take Corporal Eriksson with you. His family has a farm a few miles from here. He’ll know the way. We’ll follow as soon as we can. If your uncle gets here before we can continue, we’ll buy you what time we can.”
Nels took a deep breath to calm himself. He was trembling and hoped Sergeant Hurme wouldn’t notice. So many have died already. “I can’t. That would mean leaving you to Uncle. Without me here to take responsibility, he might—”
“We understood the risks before we left Onni, even if you didn’t.” Sergeant Hurme shrugged. “This way, there’s a chance something positive will come of it. Whatever happens to us.” He turned and shouted orders at Corporal Eriksson.
All at once, the weight of his own actions hit Nels. I shouldn’t have left home. I wish I’d consulted Captain Karpanen. I wish— But wishes and intentions wouldn’t change anything. People are dying because of me. “Thank you.” It wasn’t enough, but it was all he could think of to say.
“Live and remember us,” Sergeant Hurme said, and began to turn away.
“I will remember.” Nels put out a hand to Hurme. He’d read about the farewell custom in a stolen book belonging to a dead man.
Hurme glanced down, and for a moment, Nels wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing. He could feel blood heat his cheeks.
Then Hurme took his hand. “It isn’t proper. You’ve not been initiated. But I appreciate the gesture.”
Cheeks still burning, Nels left Loimuta with Sergeant Hurme and followed Corporal Eriksson into the early-morning forest at a run. Panic kept exhaustion and pain at a distance. Nels focused on moving as fast as he could. At this point, the mountain’s incline wasn’t extreme, and the underbrush wasn’t so thick as to slow them down. They’d run for quite a while before he had to stop. He bent over, grabbing his knees.
“How much farther?” he managed to ask between gasps. It was annoying to note that the corporal wasn’t even winded.
“Not much, Your Grace. The estate is just over that ridge. If we follow that stream, there will be an easy crossing a few hundred feet from here.” Corporal Eriksson looked over his shoulder toward where they’d come from.
“Do you suppose Uncle Sakari has reached them yet?”
Corporal Eriksson shook his head. “We’d have heard something, I’m thinking.”
“All right. I’m ready. Let’s go.”
They continued upward, reaching the crossing in short order. Nels staggered behind Eriksson and made a great deal of noise in the process. Nels no longer cared. His vision narrowed down to the forest floor a few feet ahead. His mouth was dry, he felt dizzy, and the ache in his brain made him want to retch. Still, he pushed onward. It wasn’t until he’d thumped face-first into Eriksson’s back that he understood the corporal had halted.
Peering beyond Eriksson, Nels spied a girl who might have been a couple of years younger than himself. He wouldn’t have called her pretty. She was too odd and angular-looking for that. Her skirts were patched greens, purples, blues, and browns. Thick blond curls cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She was all at once graceful and awkward, reminding him of a wild and uncertain colt. At the same time, there was a fierce power behind her eyes that made him uneasy. He watched her irises change from a normal black to a dark green the color of emeralds and back.
“I knew you’d be here,” she said with a smile as if she often ran into royal visitors in the woods. “Come on. This way.” She whirled, skirts flaring out around her. The fabric caught on a bramble bush, but she didn’t give it much thought beyond a short tug. By the ragged state of her skirts, it was clear this was a common practice. He also noticed she was wearing heavy boots instead of slippers. The boots didn’t seem to hinder her gracefulness.
Nels scrambled to keep up. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ilta. You’re Nels, and he’s Petri. There isn’t much time. Gran isn’t back yet. And we’ve got to get you inside the house before your uncle gets here.”
“How do you know about Uncle Sakari?” Nels asked.
She turned and gave him an impatient look. “Gran is the Silmaillia
. And I’m her apprentice, Ilta. Didn’t you know?”
“You had a vision about me?” Nels asked, feeling his face heat up yet again. This little girl has more magical power than I do.
“We’re wasting time,” she said. “Can’t this wait until we’re inside?”
“I guess so.”
Ilta whirled again and left. Nels followed as best he could, with Corporal Eriksson assuming the rear. The woods thinned out until Nels found himself in a patch of tall corn. It was part of a vast, well-ordered garden. Corn grew in regimented patches on the outermost edges of the clearing, forming a border. Herbs and roses bloomed in flower beds closer to the house. The house itself rivaled the royal palace in everything but size. It was easy to spot the king’s favorite architect’s influence in the details on the design of the porch and eaves. The regal three-story structure sported a fashionable tower on the eastern corner, and rows of expensive glass windows reflected the morning sun. A steady breeze bid an eerie welcome with the hundreds of dangling chimes anchored in nearby tree branches. Ilta hadn’t paused. He ran to catch up until they came upon a neat circle of person-sized granite stones arranged between the garden and the house. Growing herbs saturated the morning air. He caught the sharp, clean smell of mint. His hands were numb with cold in spite of the captain’s floppy coat sleeves. Ilta signaled for them to stop.
That was when he heard the horses.
Ilta motioned for them to get down. “Too late,” she whispered. “He’s here.”
Uncle Sakari’s guardsmen rode through the garden without regard to the plants. Their horses were lathered from the long, hard ride. His uncle rode into the dooryard on a tall roan. He was wearing a thick brown leather coat, and his high cheekbones and thick brows were framed by a lush fur collar and matching hat. The resemblance between Nels’s uncle and Nels’s father ended with the curly hair and straight nose. Where Nels’s father was stocky and gruff, Nels’s uncle was lean and personable. However, Nels had learned early in life to see underneath the friendly exterior. At the moment, Uncle Sakari’s face was far from friendly. It was obvious he’d cruelly forced his mount to continue on beyond her physical capacity to run. The roan mare staggered in her suicidal attempts to please. Her coat was matted with lather.
