The SoulNecklace Stories

by R. L. Stedman

  “In a manner of speaking. In a manner of speaking.” She looked around. “It’s a pretty enough village, Towyn. Reminds me o’ when I was young.” She sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Shove over there, young man.”

  Will shuffled along the bench seat and Ma Evans sat next to him. N’tombe kept watch at the door. Jed’s voice rumbled in the background. He was conferring with the host about the meal and the tariff.

  Ma Evans’ face was threaded with veins. She reminded Will of the Saucierre Chef at the Castle, who was rumored to be fond of the bottle.

  “Your sons are missing?” asked Will

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “And you think we know of them?”

  Again, she nodded. Suddenly, like a man drops a cloak, she seemed to let fall her aggression and became naught but a woman, tired and old and afraid for her kin. Will felt a rise of compassion, then remembered her armed men, how they’d attacked so viciously, with such little cause.

  “Why did you assail us?” said Will. “We meant you no harm.”

  “Do you, lad? Mean no harm?”

  “Ma Evans,” said Will. “On my life. We mean no ill.”

  The old woman’s eyes lightened and she smiled slightly. “Strong words.”

  Will told her how yesterday – was it really only yesterday? So much had happened since then – her sons had galloped through this village, carrying a bundle. How a strange ship, moored in the bay around the headland had carried her sons away, along with his … friend.

  Will swallowed. What should he call Dana? She wasn’t his wife or his sweetheart; a Princess couldn’t be sweetheart to a bakery apprentice. “Friend” would have to do, although it seemed a mighty lightweight word for his feelings for her.

  “What did this ship looked like?” Ma asked.

  “Three masts,” Jed came to the door. “Square sails. Very unusual. They were folded – pleated. Hoisted from a winch on deck, and drawn up from the base to mast-tip.” He winked at Will. “Did I get that right?”

  “Small ship,” observed TeSin, behind him.

  “Compared to the others,” agreed Jed. “Reasonable size for a vessel hereabouts.”

  “Well?” said Will. “Have you seen anything the like of that?”

  “Aye. There was something,” Ma frowned. “A few years ago, at winter. But my boys weren’t on it.”

  “The ship? It been here before?” TeSin sounded surprised.

  “Aye,” said Ma Evans shortly. “So, what of these, then?” From a pocket of her skirt she took four silver rings, handed them to Will. They were made to be worn on a man’s hand. All four showed signs of wear. Ma Evans set them out across her palm, stroking them as a miser rubs his coins. Each ring seemed to be made out of a single wire, looped and knotted about on itself so the ends of the wire could not be seen. Will sighed – oh, yes, he had seen such rings before. On the fingers of the dead Evans brothers.

  “You know aught of these?” Her angry voice seemed to echo around the village.

  The fishermen’s heads shot up. “That’s Ma Evans!” They stopped stowing their nets.

  Will shook his head “Ma Evans, we did not kill them.”

  “Ha! You admit they are dead?”

  Will spoke rapidly of the bodies they’d found in the field. She didn’t look at him as he spoke. Instead, she watched the fisher folk step out of their boats and move up the hill toward them.

  “I’m sorry,” he added, when he finished.

  “You all right, Ma?” asked the head fisherman.

  “Tell me boys,” said Ma, “Did my sons ride through here yesterday?”

  Will was reminded, for a moment, of a queen holding court. A somewhat battered queen maybe, but still a ruler for all that.

  The fisherman turned his cap in his hands, his eyes nervous. “Aye, Ma. Went away on a ship, so they did.” He gestured behind him, out to sea.

  The old woman looked at Will. “So tell me, Peter Fisher. This young man says to me that he found my sons dead in a meadow near Abervale. They’d been like to have been dead for a day or more, he says. Yet how they can be dead, and galloping through Towyn at the same time?”

  The fisherman swallowed and shuffled his feet.

  “Because,” said N’tombe, “the men who killed your sons also stole their faces.”

  TeSin hissed. “Black magic! They very evil.”

  “Yes,” N’tombe said. “They are.”

  “I want them,” spoke Ma suddenly and deliberately. “I want them. No one steals from me and mine. They must pay, do you hear? They must pay.”

  * * *

  So for the second time in two days Will found himself in a bar with the fishermen. Tonight, the fishermen appeared plenty merry – free drinks were better than a chancy day at sea. Yesterday, when the Evanses had galloped through the village with Dana as their captive, the fisherfolk had seemed unnerved by the brother’s presence. But now that the Evanses were safely deceased and Ma Evans was standing a wake for her boys, the fishermen declared that the world was a poorer place from their leaving of it. Crowding around the bar, they called orders to the innkeeper and sometimes burst into song.

  Will sat on a wooden bench in the corner of the taproom and sipped his ale. He felt guilty for his comfort; the rough voices, the companionship. But Jed made the most of the free beer. Ma Evans sat beside him in the far corner of the room and drank ale like the men, matching Jed pint for pint. She drank with an air of desperation, as though there was an answer at the bottom of her tankard.

  TeSin, though, sipped at his drink slowly and cautiously; the taste, he explained, was “strange”. N’tombe had disappeared. Hopefully, she was searching for Dana, for the trace of her passing on the trackless sea. But probably she was taking a bath, or eating, or generally celebrating being free of the trail, and forgetting totally her lost charge.

  Leaving TeSin to his sipping, Will put his tankard down and returned to his room.

  * * *

  He slept badly, troubled by dreams. Once, he thought he saw Dana, silhouetted against the light. She turned toward him, smiling, then dissolved, disappearing into brightness. He stretched toward her but she slipped through his fingers. Gone. She had gone.

  He woke in the middle of the night. His mattress sagged and it was hard to sleep on such softness when he’d been months on the ground. Nearby, on a makeshift mattress of straw, TeSin snored gently. When he moved, the straw rustled like a hundred mice had taken residence in it. And Jed’s bed was empty.

  Where had the man gone? Surely he couldn’t be still in the bar? But all was quiet below; the fishermen must have finally made their way back to their homes. Will got out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping TeSin. He needed to use the latrine.

  Outside in the stableyard all was quiet. The moon was low and to the east, the sky glowed pearly white. The sun would be a-rising soon. The horses stamped at their straw and a cat blinked at him with lazy eyes.

  For a moment, Will felt he was back with Aunt Agnes. Every stableyard was the same. Even the smells: horse dung, the sharp smell of the privy, the scent of fowls. There would be a pigsty around the corner, if he was any judge.

  He stepped from the privy and bent to wash his hands at the water trough. Stopped. Was that a voice, speaking low? A woman’s voice, soft laughter? Stepping quietly, Will crept to the stable door and peeped in. A man reclined naked on the straw with a woman, equally naked, beside him. They were talking in soft voices. Lovers, newly-made. It might have been a sweet scene, had the man been more handsome, the woman younger. Her long white hair brushed the man’s chest and he smiled, reaching up to touch her face.

  Will meant to tiptoe away and leave them to their loving but the man sat up, and the dull moonlight fell on his face. Will gasped. Jed! The woman turned, startled. It was Ma Evans!

  Will stood there, mouth agape, and stared at Jed and the woman. These folk were old! Past the age of loving in a stable! Past the age of loving at all, when one th
ought about it. He felt struck with surprise, unable to move.

  “What you staring at, son?” said Ma. “Ain’t you ever seen a woman naked before?”

  Will swallowed and thought briefly of Dana, floating on the lake. The water sluicing from her skin as she walked toward him. Pushing on a knee, Ma Evans stood. She looked nothing like Dana. There were bags and sags and wrinkles. Will shut his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Jed laughed and threw a handful of straw at Ma Evans. “You’re too much woman for him,” he said lazily. “Come back to bed.”

  “Call this a bed?” Her voice was warm, affectionate. She sounded as though she was speaking to a pet.

  “Nearest thing we have,” Jed patted the straw beside him. “Come on, lass. Lay you down.” He looked at Will. “You’ve seen enough, boy?”

  Quickly, Will stepped backwards. How could the woman do this thing, with her sons so newly dead? “Aye,” he said, shakily. “More than enough.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Shift in the World

  I stood on the quay. Beside me the wreck of the boat flamed, sending sparks lifting into the darkness. What would I do now? And where should I go? As if in answer, a horse snorted and behind me a man coughed nervously. I’d forgotten the coach. The driver, small and dark and compact – he looked like something you could fold into a trunk – stared at me with anxious eyes, as if wondering if he would be the next thing to burn.

  Tiredness hit suddenly and it was hard to lift my head. I felt like laughing or crying, or both. I wanted to creep into some dark, quiet place, curl up and go to sleep like a beggar. The analogy was strong, for standing on this empty quayside and wearing only rags, I was without family, friends, money or clothes. I was poor indeed.

  In the flickering light from the still-burning ship, the coach appeared monstrously tall. The coachman motioned to the coach door, as if inviting me to step inside. The beads screamed at me: No! But I was so tired – I needed somewhere safe to sleep.

  The coachman smiled through teeth black and broken teeth and unfolded the steps. Tugging the carriage door open, he bowed once, like a good courtier. I nodded as regally as I could and climbed aboard. The man closed the door softly and the coach shook as he clambered back to his perch.

  The coach swayed as the horses stepped forwards. Outside, the sun was coming up, the sea gleaming green and gold. Smoke drifted from the ship’s remains, merging with the dawn. I was going somewhere, but where?

  I stroked the soft leather, inhaled its musty smell with satisfaction and tried not to pay attention to the warning squeeze about my wrist. After all those weeks in the ship’s hold, I felt cradled in luxury. What did it matter where I was traveling? Surely, now I was free of the ship, all would be well. Besides, if I could destroy magicians and a ship full of sailors, surely I could handle anything?

  The coach had the same smell as Daddy’s study, with its old leather chair, battered leather-topped desk and leather-bound books. I rested my head on the seat and thought of home.

  My eyes closed.

  Seated at his desk, Daddy stared out of the window at the sky, then sighed and bent his head to the open ledger. Long lines of spidery writing recorded the income from the estates, the number of crops sold, the cost of the seed and hoes and plows. Practical, but dull. Daddy’s finger drifted along the margin of the copperplate, creeping its way down the page.

  Once, he turned as if startled and looked directly at me. But his eyes did not meet mine – instead, he shook his head and turned back to his figures. He couldn’t see me.

  “Papa,” I reached for his shoulder, but he ignored me and kept on reading. His lips moved as he scanned, as though he was tallying the numbers aloud.

  The latch creaked, dropped, and the door opened. Owein, my brother.

  “News?” said Daddy.

  Owein shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve sent messengers to the Crossing. But the Ferryman refuses to take them.”

  “Refuses?”

  “Says he can’t, or he won’t. Some such nonsense, anyway.”

  “He’s never been a man for nonsense. Most practical person in the Kingdom, I’ve always thought.”

  Owein smiled briefly. “It’s not as though his job gives him the chance to be anything else.”

  “Exactly. Tell me, what precisely does he say?”

  “He says he can’t take them to the Crossing, for the Crossing is nowhere to be found. And when my men ask him what he means by that, he smiles and says to tell the Prince to come back another time.”

  “In those words?”

  “He says ‘to come back when the world has changed.’”

  “The world has changed,” repeated Daddy. “I wonder.”

  “You wonder what?”

  Daddy smiled, a flash of his old self peeping from his worried eyes. “Many things. How many stars in the sky, how deep to plant the seeds in spring, how many men to till the fields?”

  “Ah, I know the answer to the last.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Not enough,” said Owein, in satisfaction. “It never is. You always complain.” He slumped into a chair. “Well, at least the Ferryman’s not worried about the army. He says there’s been no sign since the Princess crossed over.”

  “Since she crossed over?” said Daddy softly. “Something else has changed since too. The mountains.”

  “The mountains?”

  “Look. See for yourself.” Daddy waved at the window.

  Owein stepped to the desk and peered out the window. At the forest below, green and waving in the wind, and the sea beyond, a line of blue on the far horizon. “What mountains?”

  “You should be able see mountains. Far in the distance.”

  “There must be a sea haze. You know when the weather is fair you can’t see so far.”

  Daddy rubbed his eyes. “Maybe. Perhaps, after it rains, I will see the mountains again. But I’ve not seen them since …”

  “Since when?”

  “Since the night she left.”

  Owein swallowed. “That night?” he spoke quietly, as if to himself. “That night, I had the strangest dream.”

  Daddy smiled. “Let me guess. You dreamed of a wave swallowing the land?”

  Owein looked at him. “How did you know?”

  “I had it too.” Daddy looked out the window. “I saw a flash of light, as though the sky had split itself in two. Then I heard it.”

  “What?”

  “A great roaring. I stood on this mount, but there was no more Castle, no more people; just rock and grass. The wind blew into my face and stung my eyes. And I saw …”

  “What?”

  “A wall of water, growing ever taller.” He lifted his hand. “I held up my hand, as if I could stop it, but I felt so insignificant against the power of this monstrous thing. Slowly, slowly, yet faster than I could fathom, it rushed on. Then the wave struck the land and I felt the shock of the impact. But it did not stop at the cliff. No. It traveled inland, faster and faster.”

  “Until all the land was swallowed up,” whispered Owein. When he looked at Daddy his brown eyes seemed almost black.

  “Yes. Until all the land was swallowed. And I alone stood on a rocky boulder by a surging sea. And then even the boulder was swept away.”

  “And you awoke.”

  Daddy rubbed his eyes. “Did I? Sometimes, I think I’m still asleep.”

  “Was this a true dream? You told me I might have them one day.”

  “Maybe. Possibly. But this didn’t feel like the sort of dream that the Guardian sends. This felt stronger. Older. Harder. Yet, I was not the only one to dream this particular dream.”

  Owein nodded.

  “I wasn’t speaking of you,” said Daddy. “Alden dreamed it, also.”

  “Alden?”

  “He told me of it the next morning. Perhaps every one of the blood had the same dream.” Daddy smiled then, a smile that didn’t quite reac
h his eyes. “It might be a way of finding out who else in this land shares our blood. I’ve often thought my father sired children I knew naught of.”

  Owein grunted. “Probably Alden, too. He’s fond enough of women, God knows.”

  “You,” said Daddy, “should think better of your brother. He’s not at all like your Grandfather. If he had fathered a child, he would claim it.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Of course. You should be kinder in your thoughts toward him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” said my father, “he’s the only brother you have.”

  “So where is he now, this precious brother of mine?” said Owein, his voice bitter. “I’ll tell you. Down in the wine cellars. The wine cellars! Here’s you and I noticing a shift in the world. And what of that enemy, that we were so afraid of, and now seems to have vanished? And naturally, we question. We wonder. We are concerned. But Alden? Ah, why should he care, when he has a maid to warm his bed and wine to warm his stomach?”

  Daddy stared into the corner where I stood, a silent watcher. “The wine cellars?”

  “Yes,” said Owein bitterly. “He’s been down there for hours. He’ll be roaring drunk by now. Doubtless Mother will make some plan to conceal it, so he doesn’t lose any precious royal dignity.”

  My father waved a hand at him, be silent. He sat still for a moment, as if lost in thought. Owein frowned.

  “The cellars,” said my father again. He stood up, went to the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To join your brother,” said Daddy.

  “Oh yes. Go on! Now there’s a solution. The whole world gone mad, no messages in or out, the landscape’s changed and what must you do?”

  My father’s voice floated up the stairwell. “Are you coming?”

  Owein snorted, picked up the pen stand and threw it hard, against the floor. It shattered, smattering ink about the room.

  “So don’t listen to me. Follow precious Alden instead.” He stalked from the room, calling as he descended the stairs. “Wait for me. I’m coming too. Let’s all get drunk.”