by B. V. Larson
Corbin laughed and slapped the reins lightly on Tator's back, as the horse had begun to slow, having sensed their distraction. Brand felt his cheeks flush and grimaced at the melons.
“Scraper, isn't that what they call her?” asked Jak.
Brand frowned at him. “Her name's Telyn.”
Jak nodded, saying nothing more. Corbin began humming a little tavern song about the lord who loved the pig farmer's daughter. Brand sighed, and they both grinned at him.
“I think she's a fine girl, Brand,” said Jak quietly.
Corbin cleared his throat; a mannerism that Brand knew was his mild form of apology. Nothing more was said of it, but Brand continued to watch the lonely candle in the window until they had left it beyond a bend in the road.
After a time the rutted road left the docks and the shacks behind and Riverton proper began. Here the houses were larger and more pleasantly lit up. Sounds of merry-making came from beneath several of the thatched roofs. Smoke curled into the night sky and the scent of burning pine and frying trout filled the streets. Brand and Jak both found their mouths watering. It had been many hours since lunch.
Corbin, never one to travel far between meals himself, sensed their mood. “The Harvest Moon won't come for two nights. We needn't take the offering all the way to the faerie mound tonight. Let's go by Froghollow and see if my mother has some of her stew and cornbread left over.”
Brand perked up visibly. His eyes pleaded with Jak.
“Well,” said Jak after a moment of thoughtful chin rubbing. “If you think we can get to the common by first light tomorrow…”
“There isn't a doubt of it!” said Brand.
Jak nodded. “I would certainly hate to miss out on any of Aunt Suzenna's corn muffins.”
“Nor her stew, either,” added Brand, delighted. At his age, skipping a meal, especially supper, seemed an almost criminal act. And for a fact, there was no better cook in the clan than Aunt Suzenna. Even old Gram Rabing's legendary cooking had been surpassed years ago.
“Good then, it's decided,” Corbin said. He made a comfortable readjustment of his bulk on the sagging driver's board. “Quite possibly, I could do with a bite myself.”
Jak laughed out loud at this, poking Corbin in his thick ribs. “Thin as a rail you are, boy. Famished!”
Corbin took all this good-naturedly. When they came to the fork that led to Froghollow, Corbin let Tator turn toward home. Knowing he was headed for fresh straw and a good brushing, the colt picked up the pace, almost trotting as they left Riverton and entered the forest.
Chapter Four
Froghollow
Sometime later they reached Froghollow, where true to its name the frogs and bog-yelpers were singing their nightly serenade. Corbin's father Tylag and his older brothers had already gone to bed, but fortunately Aunt Suzenna was still up. She did indeed have several fine helpings of her stew and more than a dozen corn muffins left over. She ladled each of them a fresh glass of chilled milk to wash the meal down. The three young men made quick work of the lot of it, leaving behind only crumbs and grease spots on the checkered tablecloth.
“Can we camp in your yard tonight, Aunt Suzenna?” asked Jak humbly. Brand and everyone else could see the sparkle in his brown eyes. “It's an awfully long trip back up to the common, and since we brought all our own gear we won't be any problem.”
Aunt Suzenna would hear nothing of it. They were marched first into the washroom and then up the steps to the guest bedroom where they stripped off their clothes and sank into the softest feather beds that either of them could recall having touched.
“Now you boys go right to sleep, you hear?” Aunt Suzenna told them. “I know you've been taking care of yourselves out there on the Isle, but you're under my roof now. I don't want to hear that you kept Corbin up all night playing Jiggers and Swap-Cards. We arise early for chores in Froghollow. There's no place for lay-abouts.”
They assured her that they would be up with the sun to help with the chores. She bade them goodnight and bustled out of the room, dousing the candles as she went. As soon as the door was shut, Jak groaned aloud in ecstasy. “Isn't this grand? I've forgotten what a proper down bed feels like… Just the smell of it is heaven!”
Brand frowned a bit in the darkness. He rubbed the clean sheets and deeply inhaled the aroma of the bed. It reminded him of his mother and father. He even felt a bit homesick.
“Aren't we taking a bit too freely from our clansmen?” he felt compelled to ask his brother. “It seems like none of the family come out to Rabing Isle to visit us anymore. I remember the summer barbecues out on the verandah. Fresh melons and toasted mussels, dad served them every year.”
Jak scoffed, but fell silent. Brand knew that their increasing isolation from the rest of the clan bothered him too. He had yet to take a wife, being too wrapped up in keeping Rabing Isle going to be out courting. The Isle had been family land for many generations back. He wasn't about to be the one who let it wither and die.
Sometime later Brand awoke with a start. He blinked, having just been on the edge of sleep. It took him a moment to figure out why he had awoken, and then he heard it again. A flapping, fluttering sound. He rose up on one elbow, looking around the room. Pale moonlight poured into the room, as the moon was nearly full. Jak was asleep, looking younger with his face relaxed and the cares of the day forgotten.
Brand was on the verge of laying back down when he heard the sound again. He turned to the window. There, silhouetted partially by the moon, was a very large horned owl. It's huge yellow eyes were luminous orbs that radiated an eldritch light. It was staring directly at him, directly into his eyes. While he watched in surprise, it dipped its head and tore at the window sash with its powerful beak. The motion forced the bird to flap its wings to stay in place. Brand was shocked to see that it had already managed to pry up the window an inch or two from the sill.
“What kind of changeling are you?” demanded Brand, sitting up and swinging his feet out of the bedclothes.
Jak came awake with a start. He looked at Brand, and then saw the owl. “What's going on?”
Brand pointed. “It's trying to get in!” he hissed. “It's bewitched!”
Just then, there came a creaking sound from the hall. Very quietly, the brass door handle twisted and the door edged open. Jak scrambled up and fumbled beneath the bed for his crossbow, which he had stashed there when Aunt Suzenna wasn't looking. He had it out and pointed toward the door before he realized it wasn't cocked. With practiced motions, he bent the prod back and loaded a bolt into the guiding slot.
The door was open now, and an indistinct figure entered the room. It held a candle, cupped by one hand so as to dampen the light.
“Corbin?” breathed Brand.
The hand dropped from the candle, and Corbin's face was illuminated. “You're awake?”
Jak made a sound of disgust and alarm. “I nearly shot you, Corbin! Any fool knows to knock before entering!”
“Shhh!” Corbin hushed them, easing the door shut behind him. “My father will hear, or worse my mother.” He then revealed the purpose of his visit, producing a deck of stained and scarred playing cards and a jar full of polished sticks and betting beads. Tucked beneath his arm he had a loaf of bread, with a packet of cheese and a small jug of berrywine riding in his pockets. “It's your own stuff,” he said, tapping the jug proudly. “Rabing Isle makes the best berrywine still.”
Jak groaned, unloading the crossbow. “You think of nothing but your stomach.”
“And of games,” added Corbin with a chuckle. “By the way, why are you two awake and so flustered?”
Brand pointed to the window, but the owl had fled. They explained the incident and inspected the damage the bird's talons and beak had done. Corbin pursed his lips in concern. “An owl you say? Looks more like an eagle, by the look of these marks.”
“It was strange-when it looked at me, I felt that it wasn't afraid and that it wanted to find me. There was no fear at all i
n that creature. Perhaps it was some kind of changeling.”
It was Jak's turn to be skeptical. “For a fact, things have been odd this autumn, and the Harvest Moon is almost upon us. But I don't think that the Faerie would break their pact with the River Haven just to get at the likes of you and me. What could be their purpose?”
“Still, this all seems mighty queer to me,” said Corbin. As he spoke, he methodically set up a table in between the two beds, laying out the food, wine and game pieces. He didn't even bother to ask if the others wanted to play. There was no need.
Brand could keep quiet about what was plaguing his mind no longer. He told Corbin everything about the shadowy horseman he had seen earlier on the shore. Corbin listened intently while he divided the betting beads evenly, dealt the cards and arranged the polished sticks in the appropriate patterns. When Brand had finished, Corbin shook his head and scratched his red beard. “I know of no one like that, nor have I heard anything of such a man. But this is not to say that I doubt you, cousin,” he said hurriedly, cutting off Brand's protests.
Soon, they grew tired of discussing it and turned to the games and the food. Brand was quite tired, but nothing could keep him awake like food and games. The three played Jiggers and Swap-Cards long into the night. They kept their voices low so as not to awaken Corbin's family. Corbin won most of the hands, but Brand was just as glad to have something to keep away thoughts and dreams of the shadow man at the river and the giant bird that had torn up the windowsill to get at him.
Chapter Five
The Candle in the Window
Morning came too soon and they had to fight themselves awake. Never did their beds felt better than when they tried to leave them for the cold dawn air. Shivering, they washed up and dressed in fresh clothes before tramping down the creaking spiral staircase to answer Aunt Suzenna's call to breakfast. She set a grand table that morning. Corbin's two older brothers Sam and Barlo were there in addition to his father, Tylag.
“Good to have you boys here this mornin',” said Tylag, spooning a heavy portion of mushrooms and bacon onto his plate. Brand could hardly wait to get his hands onto the serving bowl. To his joy and Corbin's obvious chagrin, his uncle passed the bowl to the guests first. “We'll be needing help to bring across a heavy load today. The Glints have brought a mighty big offering, and they've made a deal with me to handle the crossing of the livestock.”
Brand and Jak tried their best not to grimace visibly. The Glints maintained the largest flocks of sheep on the river, and were well-known to give generously for the offering. More than a hundred fat sheep and twice as many sacks of meal were likely to be involved. At the same moment, they looked at Corbin, trying to catch a trace of guilt in his eyes.
Corbin seemed preoccupied with his milk glass. His fork too, seemed to have become worthy of study. The brothers exchanged knowing glances. Corbin had duped them into this “chore” which would likely amount to an all-day venture of sweating and straining. Brand sighed quietly, finally getting hold of the serving bowl and giving himself a heaping load of steaming mushrooms and glistening bacon. They should have known not to trust a ferryman's son who offered them free food.
“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.
Chapter Six
The Ferry
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. Up atop the whale-backed ridges of the cliff stood a dark figure on a horse, his cloak a rippling black shadow of a 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 landline. 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 for everything 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 F
olk 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 had 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 pick up on 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.
