by B. V. Larson
“We’ll be glad to help, Uncle Tylag,” said Jak with all the good grace he could muster.
“Don’t be worrying, boys. We’ll work those corn muffins and that midnight wine into muscle instead of fat,” chuckled Aunt Suzenna. Jak and Brand glanced at her sharply, and saw she was smiling. Their Uncle Tylag, too, wore a cagey grin. It was clear that their midnight festivities had not gone unnoticed.
Corbin seemed to hunker down a bit, attempting to avoid attention. It was impossible for him to truly reduce his great bulk, and the only effect was a lowering of the head and a hunching of the shoulders. He perked up when the serving bowl came close, however. Brand and Jak were working on the next one, loaded with a hash of green potatoes, radishes and spiced mutton. It was a specialty of Aunt Suzenna’s. Just the aroma made Brand feel better compensated for the day to come.
* * *
Hours later they pulled the last load across the rippling waters from the northern shore of the river to the southern tip of Stone Island where Tylag’s ferry landed. Brand had discovered where Corbin’s muscles had been earned. His own arms burned by now, equaled only by the burning of his hands inside the thick leather gloves that his uncle had given him. Each time he grabbed hold of the thick rope and hauled in unison with his cousins, his biceps seemed to groan aloud. This groaning, however, if it was audible, was entirely drowned out by the frightened bleating of the sheep that were roped in a cluster at the center of the ferry. The river gurgled and splashed over the timbers of the ferry, which was primarily a large platform of logs lashed together and supported with crossbeams. Gray with long exposure, the wood of the ferry was seamed and cracked and prone to giving splinters. Brand glanced back at Jak, who looked as winded as Brand felt. Jak’s blond hair was matted with sweat and stuck to his forehead in dark rat-tails.
As the day wore on it grew increasingly cold, unseasonably cold. The wind blew from the west and there was the hint of snow in it. They were approaching the cliffs of Stone Island when Brand saw the shadow man again. Atop the whale-backed ridges of the cliff stood a dark figure on a horse, his cloak a rippling black shadow.. Brand’s breath was ragged. His hoarse shout of alarm was carried away by the river winds. What the others did notice was that the line had slackened. Jak tapped his shoulder, shouting something that Brand never heard. Brand simply stared until the shadow man turned his horse and slid into the shadow of the pine trees that topped the cliffs.
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” demanded Tylag. His uncle’s voice came close and strong in his ear, and Brand made a croaking sound in reply. Tylag had once been the chief of the Riverton Constabulary, and his old training showed in times like this.
“He’s gaping like a gigged bog-yelper,” said Corbin’s older brother Sam. He had massive arms, the biggest in the family. He walked with a dragging foot, and everyone knew he worked his arms all the harder to make up for it.
“Here now, off with you!” ordered Tylag, waving away his sons. “Back to your stations before we swamp the ferry with all you lot standing at one corner.”
Brand shook himself, suddenly aware that he was sitting on the cold wet logs of the ferry, his right hand still clutching the thick rope. He noticed that his face was wet too, as river water had lapped up and splashed him. His eyes focused on his uncle, and then upon Jak and Corbin, all of whom looked worried.
“Did you see him?” Brand asked.
“Who?” demanded Tylag. He helped Brand to his feet. “See who?”
Brand looked to Jak, who looked even more concerned than before. Jak turned to look at the western shore of the river, into the Deepwood. “No, no, that way,” said Brand, gesturing up at the cliffs. “Up there.”
“He was on Stone Island?” demanded Jak.
“The shadow horseman?” asked Corbin.
Tylag was looking from one to another of the boys in confusion. “What’s going on here?” he demanded gruffly. “I’m not accustomed to ignorance when aboard my own ferry!”
Brand, who was feeling better, stood up unaided and quickly explained. This time, however, he added in his feelings of numbness and cold dread. When he had finished, Corbin told the story of the great owl at the window the night before.
Tylag was left rubbing his heavy growth of beard, which was even thicker and redder than Corbin’s was. Corbin’s brother Sam scoffed and told them they were all scared of their own shadows, literally, but Tylag halted him with a raised hand. “No, no, this might fit,” said Tylag slowly. He looked older somehow, more worried and daunted than Brand had ever seen him. Brand felt responsible and suddenly wished he had kept the whole thing to himself. His Uncle Tylag had never looked weak. Even when Brand’s father, Tylag’s brother, had died, he had looked stronger than he did now.
“Your Aunt Suzenna saw one of the Wee Folk just a few nights ago,” said Tylag.
“One of the Wee Folk?” gasped Brand, feeling a rush of wonder and fear all at once.
“Yes, Mama-cat chased him off. He was after her kittens in the barn,” Tylag grunted and half-smiled. “She always was a good ratter. She came home with a scrap of his coattails in her claws.”
“But what has that got to do with the shadow horseman?”
Tylag didn’t answer for a moment, clearly he was thinking hard. “We must get news of these events to the Riverton council,” he muttered at last.
They pressed him for answers on the rest of the journey, but he only shook his head at them, deep in thought. “It’s been a strange autumn,” was all he would say. Tylag had been the head of the Rabing clan since Brand’s father had died, as he had been the second oldest child of Gram Rabing’s family. Old Gram had passed the clan leadership to her children on her seventieth birthday, and now that she was nearly ninety she rarely did more than offer a word or two of sage advice. As the head of the Rabing clan, Tylag was a key member of the Riverton Council.
Brand pulled the ropes along with the rest of them, his strength had returned if not his peace of mind. He could not imagine what was going on, but felt it to be something terrible. Could the Pact with the Faerie have been broken? Wasn’t the great Offering that the folk of the Haven had spent so long gathering this hard season enough?
It took only a short while to get the ferry to the stony shores of the eastern point where a cart and oxen awaited. The men loaded the cart quickly, with many wary glances cast up at the ridge. Brand himself felt cold dread and guilt for having put so many years onto his uncle’s face.
Tylag seemed to understand his mood. He stumped over and threw an arm around Brand. He squeezed with this one arm, giving him a crude hug. “You’re getting so tall boy, I can hardly look you in the eye!” he said, some of his normal bravado returning. Brand noted that he was indeed several inches taller than his uncle was, although not nearly as wide. “I want you and your brother to come with me to meet the clan leaders. You too, Corbin,” he said over his shoulder.
The boys nodded and a few hours later—after a fine lunch where Aunt Suzenna surpassed herself once again—they all headed back to Riverton. Corbin and Jak rode behind Tator with the load of melons and berrywine casks while Brand rode on Tylag’s ox-cart. Ahead of them, the oxen lowed. All around them, the sheep that Corbin’s brothers were herding to the common bleated and rang the bells at their necks. Brand glanced back at Froghollow wistfully many times. He had the feeling that he was leaving something behind forever.
Chapter Four
Telyn
On the way, Tylag grilled Brand about the details of his encounters. Before they had left, he had inspected the damage done by the owl to his windowsill as well. He had waved away Jak and Brand’s apologies for the damage as irrelevant. Brand answered all the questions as best he could. It seemed clear after a time that Tylag was searching for something, some kind of hint, perhaps.
“Was this man wearing clothes, would you say?” he asked, looking at Brand with a peculiar intensity.
“Yes, a cloak at least. Although it seemed to be of some kind of odd, flo
wing material. Not woolen, I’m sure of it.”
Tylag nodded. “What about headgear? Did he bear a hat or some type of helm?”
Brand shook his head.
“Would you say that the man on the cliffs just now was the same, or a different one?”
“Most likely the same,” reported Brand. Could there be many of these shadow men? The thought was alarming. He turned on the driver’s board and eyed the forests around them. Suddenly, they seemed far less friendly. “Do you know this man?”
“I should say not!” shouted Tylag with sudden intensity. He was loud enough to attract the attention of Jak and Corbin, who turned to look at them. Seeing Brand’s uncomprehending stare, Tylag waved away his concern with his large hands. “It matters nothing, boy. What is important is that I get you to see Myrrdin straight away.”
“Myrrdin!” gasped Brand. “The Clanless One?”
Tylag nodded firmly. “The same.”
Brand fell silent for a time. It seemed that all his worst fears were being realized. Myrrdin was a traveling man from distant lands who aided with the Harvest Moon ceremonies each year. It was clear he was no peddler, and no one knew where his home was, or even if he had one. Some wagging tongues had gone so far as to label him a wizard, although most of the clearer heads scoffed at this idea. Wizards were myths—the talk of legends like the stories about the Dragon’s Eyes, the colored Jewels of power. The Faerie, however—they were very real.
If this involved Myrrdin, then it certainly involved the Faerie as well. The thought of it made Brand go cold inside. All he could think of was the old stories that his mother had told him as a child. The terrible wonders of the Faerie were without number.
They traveled the rest of the way without talking much. The usual festive mood that buoyed up the last few days before the Harvest Moon feast was absent. Even Tator seemed dispirited, his tail and ears drooping.
They clopped and swayed their way into Riverton, greeted by passersby on the road. As they entered the town, Corbin’s brothers led aside the sheep to the stockyards. There were many complements on the generosity of the offerings they were bringing. Brand and Jak swelled with pride. They were running Rabing Isle on their own, but they weren’t slackers. Their father had brought no more or less to the Harvest Moon in years past.
They wound up the hill to where the nicer houses and the largest buildings were. In the center of town, where the guildhouses and the shops huddled close to the road, there was even a section of cobblestones. Tator perked up here, as if he were proud to pull his cart through the best street in town.
It was here that they stopped before the gates of the manor house of the Drake clan. The Drakes were the wealthiest and most influential clan on Stone Island. It was at their ancestral home that the clan leaders held council. Although it wasn’t as spacious as the common room of the Spotted Hog Inn, where the town meetings were generally held, it afforded much more privacy.
“I’ll go on in and announce us,” said Tylag, climbing down with a grunt. The driver’s board straightened in relief. Brand watched as Tylag walked through the ancient iron gates and up the path to the manor. The gates were never locked; in fact, it had been so many years since they had been shut that the hinges had frozen with rust.
Brand felt a slight rocking of the wagon. He looked around and was surprised to see Telyn sitting beside him, just biting into an apple. She grinned at his expression.
“My, but you’re getting tall,” she said.
“Telyn!” he breathed, unable to get out more.
“You should look behind you more often,” she commented. Brand made a wry face, but it was half-hearted. She was so pretty, even with her rather stringy-looking, reddish-blonde hair and her stained, green leathers smelling of the tannery vats. The delicacy of her face and piercing gray-blue eyes came through all that. He felt his heart leap just at the sight of her. He watched a drop of apple juice run down her hand for a moment before he was able to reply.
“You’re always sneaking up on me!” he said finally.
“I like to be unpredictable,” she responded with a flip of her head. She smiled at him again, and it was like sunlight breaking through a gray cloud. She took another bite of her apple and then frowned, tossing it over the wall of Drake manor.
“What are you doing?”
“It was a cull,” she said with a shrug. She stretched luxuriously, pushing her fists into the air over her head. “Just as most of those melons you’ve dragged all the way in from the island are probably culls.”
Brand’s brow furrowed. “We wouldn’t do that!”
“Well, I would.”
“Hello, Scraper,” said Corbin from the ground. He had left his cart and now stood with Jak. Both of them grinned up at Brand. Brand blushed, feeling the blood tingle all the way down to his knees.
“Hello, Corbin—Jak,” Telyn answered, fluttering her hand at them. She produced another apple and a small sharp knife from her green leathers. Slicing the fruit with quick efficient strokes, she began munching on the wedges. “Do you fancy an apple?” she asked Brand, who was staring at her. She winked at him, and he blushed all over again.
Corbin and Jak withdrew to the manor gate to have a look into the courtyard. They kept a discreet eye on Brand and his visitor while they talked.
“I wish they wouldn’t call you that,” he said.
“What? Scraper? That’s what everyone calls me,” she said, unconcerned.
He looked troubled. “But it isn’t a very pretty name.”
She smiled. “Look, I scrape the fur off hides at my father’s vats. Most of the Fob clan works in the tanneries. The name doesn’t bother me. Besides, my work has taught me to be handy with a knife.”
“Okay. Where did you get all the apples?” Brand asked, attempting to shift the conversation. He never seemed to know exactly what to say to Telyn. Somehow these days his thoughts were muddled and never came out right when she was around. It had been different when they had been children.
“Where do you think? From clan Thunderfoot’s offering. They have the best orchards in the Haven, after all.”
Brand was scandalized. “You took them from the offering?” he demanded in disbelief.
Telyn only shrugged her pretty shoulders again. “Better that I enjoy them than some dancing Faerie that would as soon spoil my milk or lead astray a lamb as look at me.”
Brand doubted that the Faerie would be so aloof to her, but he didn’t say as much. Instead, he changed the subject again. “I saw a candle burning in your window last night. At least, I think I did.”
Telyn slid her eyes around without moving her head and transfixed him with a penetrating gaze. Brand was immediately speechless. She swallowed her bite of apple, and then straightened purposefully, taking Brand’s hand in her own. “Are you the one then?” she asked.
Brand gaped at her. He wanted to tell her that yes, he was the one, no matter that he wasn’t yet full grown, no matter that his beard was barely enough to bother shaving each morning, but all he could do was stare.
“Are you the one?” she repeated in a hushed voice. “I’ve had one of those feelings Brand, you know, like when we were kids.”
Brand nodded, remembering. “You mean like when you knew Gram Rabing had fallen off the ladder and found her? And when you told me not to let my parents go on the river, that day...” he swallowed, unable to continue.
“Yes,” she hissed, leaning even closer. She was in easy kissing range now, and it made it difficult for Brand to think clearly. “Yes, just like that—only different, too. I’ve felt that someone is coming. Maybe several people. I’ve felt that they need help in getting here. That’s why I’ve been burning a candle in my window each night. I don’t know who, but I know they must get here soon.”
“Before the Harvest Moon,” whispered Brand.
She nodded very seriously.
Brand thought about the Harvest Moon and everything it meant to the River Folk. He tried to look calm, but he r
eally wanted to shudder. He controlled himself with difficulty, managing a small nod. He didn’t want to look like a scared little boy in front of Telyn.
* * *
“I’ve been seeing and feeling odd things as well,” he said. Then he told her about the shadow man and the owl, managing to hold her hand in his and lean close to her fair face the entire time. He only edited the truth slightly, not mentioning that he had slipped to the deck of the ferry in numb fear.
Telyn’s eyes unfocused and flittered from spot to spot while he spoke. She nodded to herself frequently. Brand knew she was thinking rapidly, her quick mind coming up with a scheme. He could recall her looking like that before he had gotten into the most daring of his childhood adventures. The River only knew what she would come up with.
“All right,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I know now what we must do. I’ll catch up with you later.” With that, she darted forward and kissed him on the cheek. Their eyes locked for a moment.
“Brand! Corbin! Jak!” came Tylag’s voice, booming over the manor wall. He heard the crunch of boots on gravel. “Come to me. We have a problem.”
Brand turned to look back at the gates. He swallowed, facing the prospect of entering Drake manor for the first time since he was a small boy at his father’s knee. He turned back to say farewell to Telyn, but discovered that she was gone. He looked up and down the street and thought he caught a glimpse of her slipping around a corner, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Come on, Brand,” said Jak. He followed Corbin into the courtyard. With a last glance over his shoulder, Brand scrambled down and passed between the rusty gates after them.
Tylag’s brow was a storm of furrows and he rubbed at his scowling face with his fist. “Myrrdin is not here. He has yet to arrive.”
