The Ways of Winter

by Karen Myers

  Mag stopped in mid-gesture and hesitated.

  She moved to the map of Edgewood and picked up the little piece of gray fabric that represented her daughter. In another pseudopod she held the black hat of Madog. She put the two symbols together, west of the map of Edgewood, and then she moved Cloudie to the barrier way around Edgewood and traced the entire line, returning Cloudie to Madog at the end.

  Eluned translated. “Madog makes Granite Cloud do things. He made her build the barrier way.” In an aside to Gwyn, she said, “You know, the rock-wights are like ways. They not only make them, but they can be claimed the same way.”

  Gwyn said, “I had read this in your reports but hadn’t fully considered the implications.”

  Mag somehow managed to express frustration. She turned to Cydifor and did a little rocking motion.

  Cydifor explained, “This is her ‘find me a word’ request. Bear with us.”

  He ran through a list for Mag. “Noun… verb…”

  One knock.

  “What kind of verb? Movement… action… state… abstract…”

  One knock.

  “Similar to… rhymes with…”

  One knock.

  “So, we want an abstract verb that rhymes with what?”

  She moved to the sheet of human action and pointed at a mouth and cup.

  “Swallow… hold… drink…”

  One knock.

  “Think,” Gwyn suggested.

  One knock.

  Eluned drew a new symbol for Mag on the sheet of verbs, a head with a finger tapping the forehead.

  Mag resumed her place and took up the story again.

  She pointed at the little black hat, the new symbol, the gray cloth, and then put the cloth under Madog. Then she held up a narrow vertical pseudopod, like a finger.

  Ceridwen said, “This is a logical proposition, my lord. Madog thinks Cloudie, what, belongs to him?”

  One knock.

  “And it’s true.” She said to Gwyn, “One for true, zero for false. George’s idea.”

  One knock.

  Mag pointed to the black hat, the new symbol, George’s collar, and then put her own cup under George. She held up a pseudopod that formed a circle.

  Ceridwen said, “Madog thinks George owns Mag. And it’s false.”

  One knock.

  Mag pointed to the black hat and the new symbol, then showed George giving Mag to Madog.

  “Madog thinks George can give Mag to him, to own.”

  Seething Magma sketched quickly on a new sheet of paper. She ran a mountain chain down the middle left. On the top right, she did a recognizable miniature of Edgewood, complete with the barrier way. On the top left, she showed a barrier way running from the mountains west and down a great distance before rejoining the mountains.

  She took Rhys’s crown and Edern’s star and dropped them onto the Edgewood portion. She dropped the black hat west of the mountains. Finally she picked up Gwyn’s lion and placed it below Edgewood, east of the mountains. Most of the space on the map was his.

  Gwyn said, “That’s right. I didn’t know Madog had a barrier way.”

  Mag picked up the gray cloth and ran it around Madog’s barrier way.

  “I understand.”

  Edern said, “It probably keeps his people in as prisoners, that’s why he thought to do it here.”

  Mag paused. She pointed at the black hat and the new symbol.

  “Madog thinks…” Eluned said.

  Mag picked up her own cup symbol and moved it in a big loop east of the mountains, encompassing all the territory on her sketch, and off the paper as well.

  There was silence.

  Into that silence, Mag picked up Gwyn’s lion, Edern’s star, George’s collar, and Rhys’s crown, and dropped them all onto the floor. Then she found the piece of antler that was Cernunnos, and dropped that, too, with a clatter.

  Gwyn said, faintly, “Thank you, my lady, that makes the stakes abundantly clear.”

  Angharad understood it as easily as he did. Rhys’s capture was bad but this was worse. In Madog’s hands, Mag would be a deadly weapon. And he would never stop trying to get her, never. Somehow he didn’t know about her before, but now he did. There was no hope for George, then, as long as Madog thought he had to break him to get Mag.

  Her whole body revolted at the thought. She refused to consider it. She’d trust her husband to find some way back, if he could just survive. So her job was to help him do that. And the first step was motivation, not comfort, as for a hopeless victim, but a reason to fight.

  “Mag, is George awake?”

  Two knocks.

  “When he wakes up, I want you to send him a message from me, over and over, until you’re sure he’s gotten it. Will you do that for me?”

  One knock from Mag.

  Cydifor murmured, “She can only send pictures and emotions to him, George said.”

  “Fine. I’ll make pictures she can use. That’s what I do, after all.”

  She pulled a piece of paper out and inked a series of panels. In the first, she put herself and a recognizable corner of the conservatory with Seething Magma. In the second, she drew herself standing with outstretched arms reaching for a distant George. In the third, they had their arms around each other, with an obvious bandage around his eyes. In the fourth, she drew the two of them standing, a baby in his arms and his eyes still covered.

  Cydifor mouthed quietly, “I’m here. Come home. I want you, the damage doesn’t matter. You have a child.”

  She glanced at him. “Yes.”

  “Will you do it, Mag?” she asked.

  One knock. Pause. One knock. Pause. One knock.

  “Thank you.”

  A horrible thought occurred to her. “Can he still see your pictures, Mag?”

  There was a stomach-clenching pause. Three knocks.

  “I don’t care. Do it anyway, something will get through.” She stood up and walked to the end of the room with the pile of bedding. “Who’s been sleeping here?” she asked.

  Edern rose. “I have, my lady. Shall I have them make up a pallet for you?”

  “Yes, and they can bring my food here, too.”

  CHAPTER 24

  George drifted in blackness for some unknown amount of time. It seemed like hours. The remnants of the hypnotic he’d drunk made it easy to float but the pain kept him from sleeping.

  He felt someone frantically tugging at the straps holding his left arm to the chair. He lifted his head in his direction.

  “Your eyes,” Maelgwn hissed. His movements stopped. Then he resumed working on the straps.

  “Never mind,” he soothed, “You’re going to be fine. Just wake up, please. Now. You have to leave now.”

  Alarm penetrated George’s haze. “Go away, you’ll be caught.”

  “Quiet,” Maelgwn breathed, ignoring him and unbuckling the last strap. “Cloudie and I have a plan. All you have to do is get into this way, right here.”

  With the removal of his bonds, George slumped in the chair, every muscle aching and tingling from inactivity. The slight movement sent fire up his left leg and he gasped.

  “Water,” he croaked.

  The boy pressed a glass into his hand. “Here.” He waited until George drained it and took it away. “Now stand up.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  George felt the voice resonate, realizing too late from the taste in his mouth that Maelgwn must have used the same drugged water that Madog left behind.

  “Keep talking,” he said. “Don’t stop.” He might as well go with the drug this time, the boy was trying to rescue him.

  “I can’t carry you, and you can’t walk, but you can crawl to this way. It’s real close. Don’t you give up now.” George felt him reaching for motivations. “Come on, Cloudie and me, we put ourselves into danger for you. You’re not gonna let them catch us, are you?”

  That worked. George focused on his voice and tried to stand up on his
right leg, pushing with his arms. The muscles failed him part way up and he fell to the ground, agony flashing behind his dead eyes with bursts of remembered light. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out and panted on the ground.

  Maelgwn tugged at one arm. “This way. You can do it.”

  George rolled to his left side and pushed forward with his right foot, dragging the useless leg along with him. He lifted his torso onto his elbows and made his arms share some of the work, groaning at what the twist in his body did to his back.

  “That’s right,” Maelgwn whispered. “Almost there.”

  George felt a way threshold and pulled himself forward into it. Movement was easier in the passage, less friction to drag at his leg, less grit to scrape his bare skin. The drug was seizing hold now and he was tempted to just give in to it and lie there. It felt so much better to lie down.

  “Keep going,” Maelgwn insisted. “You’re almost at the other end.”

  His attention was still focused on the voice and he let it pull him forward as he doggedly crawled, a few inches at a time.

  He felt the transition onto snowy ground and lay there shivering.

  Maelgwn spoke to him frantically. “George, you have to wake up. You’ve got to kill this way or he’ll know Cloudie helped you and find us here.”

  He shook his shoulder. “Can’t you hear me?”

  George heard him but it didn’t penetrate. What did he want?

  Maelgwn said, “Mother of Cloudie, can you hear me? Can you help?”

  *Danger. Picture of way. Picture of way destroyed.*

  What do you want, Mag. He tried to focus what was left of his attention on her.

  *Danger. Danger. Picture of way with George next to it. Picture of way destroyed.*

  You want me to kill it?

  *Yes, yes, yes.*

  Alright.

  He collapsed the way.

  Maelgwn spoke, relieved. “Just a little bit further now. We’ve got a place to hide you.”

  George let himself be coaxed toward another way. He crawled inside, out of the snow, and closed it behind him. He reached out and closed the other end, too, ignoring the protests of Maelgwn, outside. Then he curled up into a shivering ball and let the blackness take him.

  The sound of Mag shifting restlessly woke Angharad from her pallet in front of the fire.

  “Is something happening?” she whispered, trying not to wake Edern.

  One quiet knock.

  She gathered a blanket around her and curled up in a small couch next to Mag. She heard Edern rise behind her, and he joined her, wrapped in his own blanket, his hair unkempt from a restless sleep.

  “Show us,” she said quietly, not wanting to wake the rest of the sleeping house.

  “Shall I light some lamps?” Edern asked.

  “No, the fire’s enough.”

  Mag put George’s dog collar on the prison drawing. Then she picked up the wolf toy and Cloudie’s cloth and moved them together to George.

  “It’s a rescue,” Edern told Angharad. He reached for her hand with his and held it tight.

  Mag grasped all three objects in one pseudopod and lifted them outside together.

  “It worked,” Angharad said.

  In the dim firelight, just awakened, it felt like a dream.

  “Did you give him my message?”

  Two quiet knocks.

  “Why not?” She realized Mag couldn’t answer that. “I mean, did you try?”

  Two knocks.

  “Was he too busy?”

  One knock.

  “Too hurt?”

  One knock.

  “Never mind. You just do it as soon as you think you can, and keep on doing it.”

  One knock.

  Mag stopped moving.

  Angharad leaned against Edern, reluctant to go lie down again. “Seems like old times, doesn’t it.”

  Edern smiled at her. “And how do you like your new husband, really?” he asked.

  “Oh, Edern, I don’t know how to tell you. I’m alive again. I want him back, young, bold, stubborn, kind. I could kill Madog with my bare hands, I could, rip him to small bloody pieces.”

  “And me standing next to you.”

  She kissed his cheek and stood up to try and get some more sleep.

  Edern said, “Is it true what your message says, that you’re with child?”

  “Mag says so, and I believe her.”

  “Congratulations, then, and may it be the first of many more with George.”

  She looked down at him. “Will you be guardian, if George…” She couldn’t continue.

  “My dear, with all my heart. You do me great honor.”

  Rhys was very tired of captivity. After the first interviews with Madog, they’d left him alone to rot. His only assurance that they hadn’t forgotten about him altogether was the bucket of water he’d received yesterday. They weren’t wasting any food on him, or blankets.

  His teachers had talked about captivity, a risk for any warrior, especially for those that had a value for ransom. They stressed finding a way to occupy his mind, and they warned about becoming so lonely that his captors would come to seem like friends. He’d never understood that last one, until now.

  It was dark all the time, so he couldn’t truly count the days, not accurately, but he agreed with himself to call the deepest black “night.” He wasn’t sure how many days he’d been alone, but he’d started making marks on a wall whenever it seemed like a new day and that told him about a week had passed. That wasn’t long at all, and already he found himself looking forward to his next contact. Rationally he knew he should be grateful that Madog wasn’t devoting any attention to him right now, that no good would come of any more interrogations, but he wanted to see a face, any face. The last couple of days he’d heard random screams echoing through the corridors. That could be me, he thought.

  He knew there was no way for his friends and family to reach him, but it was hard not to feel abandoned anyway.

  He’d exercised the first couple of days to keep himself fit but after he realized they weren’t going to feed him, he decided he needed to conserve his energy. He tried to invent mind games instead, running through old famous battles as exercises in tactics and creating new variants to see how that changed things.

  With nothing else to do, he slept as much as he could, whenever he felt like it. This left him awake sometimes in the night, as he was now.

  A puff of wind hit him in the face and he smelled a change of atmosphere. In front of him stood a boy, dimly illuminated by a nighttime snowy scene at the end of a passage. Something indistinct but large moved behind him.

  “Are you him?” The boy had tears on his face.

  “What?” Rhys said, rising from the floor. Was this some sort of dream?

  “Are you the one George wanted to rescue?” He held out a familiar pocket watch in one trembling hand.

  “George is here?” Rhys said, excited.

  “He’s hurt and he’s sealed himself in and I can’t get to him and he needs help.” He sounded as if he were holding himself together by sheer nerve.

  “Slow down,” Rhys said. “You’ve got George, and you can get me out of here?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Well, let’s start with that, then. My name’s Rhys.”

  “I’m Maelgwn and that’s Cloudie.” He pointed behind him, warily.

  Rhys smiled. “I do believe I’ve met your mother, young lady.” He bowed, and thought he heard a giggle.

  He let the boy guide him into the way.

  This time, it was Edern who was awakened first by Mag’s movement.

  “More news, Mag?”

  One quiet knock.

  He shook Angharad’s shoulder and they resumed their places on the couch to watch by the light of the fire.

  Seething Magma took the wolf and Cloudie pair and swept them back into the prison, to Rhys’s crown. Then she moved all three near to George’s collar.

  “Rhys is out?”
Edern said, his voice rising in disbelief.

  One knock.

  “He’s alive?”

  One knock.

  “Badly hurt?”

  Two knocks.

  Edern bowed his head and wept unabashedly. Angharad put an arm around him and leaned her head next to his.

  “How did they find him, Mag?” Angharad asked.

  Mag put her cup symbol next to the crown, then moved it to Cloudie, then moved the crown to Cloudie.

  “You knew what Rhys felt like and told Cloudie, is that it?”

  One knock.

  “You clever, clever girl,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Mag showed Rhys’s crown and George’s collar meeting.

  “This is happening now?” Angharad said

  One knock.

  Edern wiped his eyes and the two of them settled down to watch.

  Rhys stood in the snow, barefoot and coatless. The walled space looked like a bare wasteland in the starlight. Maelgwn grabbed his arm before he could take a step.

  “Can you see the ways?”

  “No. Are there some here?”

  “It’s full of them. You’ll have to let me lead you. The one we want is very close.”

  The boy took him by the hand and led him, with one sharp turn, to an apparently empty space. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

  He walked about twenty feet away. “You’re standing at one end, and I’m at the other. I brought him here to hide him, but he claimed it and closed both ends.”

  “Will he run out of air?” Rhys asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s hurt bad. I don’t think he’s awake.”

  “Can’t you open it?”

  “I can’t. I tried and tried.”

  Rhys could hear his voice rising in a panic. He said, “Can Cloudie open it?”

  Maelgwn froze to consider that. “Cloudie, can you drill into the middle and make an opening for us?”

  Rhys got his first good look at her as she flowed up to the boy. She was several times his size, but her mother was many times larger yet. She seemed to lean against the empty space between them, then backed up.

  “It worked,” Maelgwn whispered excitedly. “Come here, I’ll take you in.”

  Rhys took his hand, and they entered.

  Inside, in the dim light of the passage, Rhys saw the body of a man lying a few feet away. He knelt beside it.