Brinlin Isle

by Robin Stephen

  Chapter 4

  Vailria walked up the three steps to the weaver’s shop. She stood in front of the closed door, taking a moment to fortify herself. It seemed the older she got, the more difficult she found basic human interaction.

  Around her, the fog was all aglow. It was late afternoon: that hour when the sun’s rays caught in the air, filling the entire atmosphere with a gentle luminance. She could imagine how the warmlake looked right now, with the reeds all full of dew and the water liquid gold.

  For a moment, Vailria experienced an intense desire to leave. Since missing Tommin, her regular duties here in Lan Dinas seemed crushingly difficult. It would be so easy to turn around, retrace her steps, walk out past the edge of town and follow the path that led to her own little house, the forest beyond. Once home, she could sit out on the deck over the water and watch the place where the lake met the sky. At her house, she never had to deal with other people. She was in control of her own little domain.

  But while Vailria was almost self-sufficient, there were some things she could not create for herself. She also had a job to do. It wouldn’t do for her to cut herself off entirely from the people here. They already thought her strange. Some of them thought her a good deal worse than that. And the whole point of her being here at all was to maintain a connection, however tenuous, with these people.

  So, Vailria drew in a long, slow breath and pushed her way through the door.

  The weaver’s shop was a vibrant place, full of bright bolts of cloth, colorful trimmings, and the scent of dyes and thread. As she entered, Vailria cast a little spell on the tiny bell that hung above the door, containing the silvery tinkle it otherwise would have made. She did it on reflex. The older Vailria got, the more noise of any kind made her uncomfortable. She stepped into the room and heard two women speaking in the low, urgent tones of gossips. “… saw Tassin on the street last week. Looked like a scarecrow, so thin, he was.”

  Vailria eased the door shut and drifted inside as a second speaker answered the first. “I heard his father requisitioned the butcher’s boy and made him deliver a whole pile of meat up to the house every day. He all but cleared out the shop, from what I heard.”

  The two women were in the corner of the store, blocked from Vailria’s view by a rack of imported fabrics on display. She stayed where she was, listening. Vailria wasn’t above eavesdropping. In her situation, she must use the advantages she had.

  There was a small silence as the two women considered the implicit contradictions in these pieces of information. There was the thump and swish of a bolt of fabric being unrolled. The first woman spoke again. “I guess, if it’s the wasting disease, the poor lad doesn’t have long.”

  “I’m not sure about the pattern on this one,” the second voice said. “I think it’s too bold for the drawing room. What about that other, with the blue?”

  There was another pause and more soft thumps and rustling. After a moment, the second voice continued, “I knew a man who got the wasting disease. He didn’t look like that boy looks. He got spots all over his skin and his hair fell out. And he got thin because he didn’t eat. Couldn’t keep a morsel down, poor soul.” A pause, then, “Yes, this is better. Subtle. A better fit. Don’t you think?”

  Vailria had listened at first because it was her habit. Now her interested was piqued. But the shop owner said, “If you like this, take a look at what has newly arrived from the north isles.” She began to walk towards the rack near Vailria.

  Knowing she’d be seen regardless, Vailria stepped forward, moving past the rack of cloth and into the center of the shop. “Good afternoon, ladies.” She said the words as if she’d just walked in, using her brightest, friendliest tone as she forced her face into a smile.

  It didn’t do much good. Both of the women, the shop’s owner and the customer, stiffened when Vailria appeared. The shop’s owner looked towards the door in surprise, as if wondering why she hadn’t heard the bell. The second woman, who was running her fingers across the rich brocade of a bolt of fabric, snatched her hand back as if she’d been caught stealing biscuits. Neither of them returned the smile.

  Vailria suppressed a sigh. She should be accustomed to these kinds of reactions by now. She was still a little amazed at her continued capacity to care about what these people thought of her. Nevertheless, she felt the sting of their reaction, noted the way they went from comfortable and trusting to guarded and tense.

  She walked towards the till, lifting her canvas sack. “I have some weavings for you, Tashi. I’ll leave them and you can add the value to my account.”

  Neither woman spoke as Vailria crossed the shop, winding her way around display racks and shelves piled high with fabric. She reached the table at the back of the store and set her sack on the worn counter.

  The women were staring. She could feel their eyes like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She turned and, unable to help herself, looked straight in their direction, daring them to keep up the scrutiny.

  Both women looked away.

  Vailria decided the situation was unsalvageable anyway. She might as well push. She directed her gaze towards a rack of yarn and spoke in a mild, curious tone. “I couldn’t help but overhear when I came in. Embriem’s son has the wasting disease?”

  The customer had gone rigid. Her gaze was fixed on the fabric before her, jaw tight. The shop’s owner, who was used to Vailria even if she didn’t approve of her, answered in a clipped tone. “Tassin, yes. They say the physician can’t help him. He eats and eats and only gets thinner for all that.”

  At these words, Vailria felt a shock deep within her chest. A memory from her own distant childhood flooded back. Her time with the hunger had been brief, but she’d never forgotten the way it felt, as if an endless pit had opened up inside her.

  “Thank you,” Vailria said. She turned her back on the two women and headed for the door.

  ✣

  Marim was trapped. The strange man stood on the sand, blocking her way back to shore. She was also badly shaken. Kix was with her again. He’d revealed himself to this stranger, but Marim hardly cared. He was alive, and in resoundingly high spirits. He perched on her shoulder as water dripped off his wings, preening himself. She had no idea if what he’d done was normal or not. She had no idea how he’d survived under water for so long. She had no idea how he’d gotten out again, or why he was so excited now.

  And she had no idea where this man had come from.

  He was close enough now she could see him properly, even with the fog so thick. He was well-dressed in a way that suggested some effort. He wore dark trousers and a white shirt, a red vest with a brilliant green and blue scarf folded at the neck, a golden pin shaped like a rooster situated among the bright folds.

  He’d gone still when Kix had appeared. Now he was staring at her tessila, something unreadable in his eyes.

  Marim wished he would go. Coll wouldn’t have sent her here for no reason. She felt on the verge of understanding. She needed to get a better look at the little creatures she’d glimpsed beneath the surface of the water: the brinlins. Is it a brinlin? This was what Tassin had said when he’d seen Kix. The boy’s words should have been her first clue. Now that she thought she understood, she only hoped she wasn’t too late.

  A breeze stirred the fog, making it swirl. Along the shore, reeds clattered. She heard more soft cries and little plops – brinlins dropping into the water.

  The man was still looking at Kix. He had blue eyes, brilliant in the glowing fog. He was not as tall as Embriem, but he was stockier, with well-muscled forearms and solid legs. He said, “What sort of powers does he give you? That tessila? I always hoped I’d see one in my lifetime.” There was something a little awed in his voice.

  Marim felt her attitude shift. A moment before, something in the man’s eyes had scared her. Now, she realized she’d over reacted. She thought of all the times she and Kix had been overlooked, outshone as they were by even the youngest initiates at the academy.

>   She felt a sudden need to be modest. “Oh,” she said with a nervous laugh, “Kix here isn’t much of a tessila. He’s not as flashy as some of the new strains. But I’m accomplished at healing, and all the basic stuff any Tessilar can do, of course.” It wasn’t quite true. She couldn’t manage all the basics. But he wouldn’t know how to test her on her word, even if he was inclined.

  The fog swirled again. The rich afternoon light fell through the atmosphere. The man shifted as well, moving still a little closer, his expression rapt as he watched Kix shake his wings once more and fold them at his sides. He was a very nice-looking man, Marim decided. His hair was a deep, burnished red. His pale skin made his eyes look all the more blue.

  “Healing.” He repeated her word in a tone Marim couldn’t decipher. His eyes shifted from Kix to Marim. She felt a little shock as his gaze fixed on hers. She had to consciously hold her hands at her sides to resist the urge to try to cover her scarred neck. It was too late for that. If he was going to notice, he already had. “Can you heal yourself?”

  It was a strange question. Marim frowned and felt the unease return. As if sensing this, the man stepped back a pace, smoothing his silk scarf. “I don’t mean to pry, my lady. My name is Cockram, proprietor of the Rooster’s Comb up by the harbor.” He extended a hand.

  Marim hesitated. The fog swirled and shifted around them. She was struck by how alone they were: how isolated. He was much larger than she was, and Marim was no trained assassin like the girls who’d gone through the academy before her.

  Cockram saw her hesitation. He smiled. The shift in his expression made him look boyish. “I’m afraid I’ve spooked you, following you down here like this. Only I’ve wanted to see a tessila for as long as I can remember. I’ll leave you, my lady, but I hope we’ll see each other again.”

  He began to withdraw his hand. Marim felt a flush of embarrassment at her suspicious reaction. She surged forward as if she’d been pushed, put her hand in his, and said, “Marim. My name is Marim, and this is Kix.” She tilted her chin towards her shoulder.

  Kix hissed again, unfolding his wings to flare them once more. He never liked it when people touched her.

  A gust of wind hit them. The light shifted, coming up in such a bright glow Marim had to squint. For an instant, looking at Cockram’s face, she thought she saw something hard come into his eyes. She’d never been much good at passive persuasion, but she began to weave a little spell, just in case.

  She barely had time to get the spell started before Cockram snatched his hand out of hers as if she’d had a tack in her palm. He stepped back, blinking. The pin in his scarf seemed to catch the sunlight and throw it back in a strange flare. Marim felt her cheeks flush again, this time with shame. He couldn’t have known she’d started to cast a spell, could he?

  But Cockram was looking at Kix, who had begun to slink down Marim’s arm, tiny fangs bared. Cockram ran a hand through his brilliant hair and managed a weak smile. “I think I’m rather more enamored with him than he is with me. I’ll leave you for now, but I hope we meet again, Marim.”

  With that, the man turned and walked away into the glowing, swirling fog.

  ✣

  Vailria hurried up the lane, walking as fast as she could without attracting attention. It seemed her entire life was structured around not drawing attention to herself.

  Ever since she’d left the weaver’s shop, a sense of urgency had been building in her. She berated herself as she went. How had she missed this? Was this not the precise reason she was here? She’d let her confusion over Tommin distract her, let herself lose sight of her real purpose.

  If she lost this boy, she would never forgive herself.

  The fog was restless. Tok was restless. She could feel him tucked at the base of her neck, his slim body a warm curl below her hairline. She didn’t like to keep him away from the lake for more than a few hours at a time, and she’d been slow with her errands today. The longer he was out of the water, the more difficulty he had containing his energetic nature. He didn’t like not being able to look around and watch what was happening. Right now, she could feel him battling a desire to inch his way to the top of her collar and peep out at the street.

  He wouldn’t, though. Vailria knew that. She trusted Tok more than any human. He knew it would be a disaster if his presence on her person was discovered. He’d always been intelligent, quick to grasp consequences and see outcomes. Between the two of them, she was more likely to take rash action.

  The street up to Embriem’s house had never felt so long. Not that Vailria had ever had much occasion to walk this way. She liked Embriem. She’d never forgotten the way he’d been as a boy: so precocious, bursting with potential but unable to focus his overabundant energy. And she’d always regretted the memory she’d had to take from him that time Chalsia’s father had gotten lost in the wood.

  It was one of many things Vailria had made the people of this town forget.

  Now, as she hurried, she tried to prepare herself for what was to come. She would either be too late, and the boy would die before she could get him down to the lake. Or she wouldn’t, and in some respects that would be even more difficult.

  She thought of Embriem as she hurried. She worried it would be too much for him. He’d taken the loss of his wife hard. Vailria had heard the gossip – the talk he might have done himself harm if not for the baby.

  Now, it was inevitable. Embriem would lose his son, either to death or to Vailria, which, as far as Embriem would know, was the same thing.

  She reached the top of the street and slowed, composing herself to approach the large house with its long drive and imposing façade. What did two people need with all that space? Vailria’s little house was warm and comfortable, with portholes in the walls of every room so Tok could come and go from the water as he pleased. Reeds grew all around the house, full of other brinlins so he was never lonely. Of the two of them, Vailria was the one who was isolated from others of her kind.

  Feeling a thrill of nerves, Vailria mounted the front steps and approached the towering front doors. They were made of black walnut, composed in a pattern of panels and curves, with a set of narrow windows at either side. The knocker was a heavy black affair – a dire’s head holding a ring in its mouth.

  Vailria felt reluctant to touch the thing. It seemed bad luck to have such an image on the threshold of one’s home.

  She raised her hand towards the knocker, but the heavy door swung inward before she could touch it. A butler looked out at her, startled into silence by the sight of her, as so many of these people were.

  Vailria was used to that. “Hello,” she said, trying to smooth over his rude silence. She didn’t know the man’s name, so she hazarded on. “I’m Vailria.” He would know that. Everyone in town was aware of the eccentric woman who lived at the edge of the forest. “I’ve come to see Embriem.” She bit back the urge to explain in more detail. The less said now, the less work for her later.

  The man looked discomfited, but found his voice. “I’m sorry, miss Vailria. Embriem’s not well, see, and his son’s worse. We’re expecting the sisters from the cloister. Anyone else is to be turned away.”

  Vailria considered the man. She judged he didn’t have a strong character. He looked nervous, standing there. She thought it wouldn’t take much, just a little twist, and he’d change his mind.

  But the man hadn’t opened the door very wide. He was withdrawing already, easing the door closed. He was mumbling a low jumble of words. “I’m very sorry. I’ll let the master know you came by.” She couldn’t very well lunge through the door and grab him by the wrist.

  The door shut, the latch giving off a short, hard click.

  Vailria felt tired. She wasn’t cut out for this work, this life. Such a foolish mistake she’d made all those years ago when she’d begged to take this position. Young people, she reflected, shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions about anything remotely important.

  But she’d had her reaso
ns, and anyway, there was Tommin. She would never regret their connection, no matter what it cost her to stay in this place.

  Vailria stared at the dire’s head for a moment. Tok was offended by this turn of events. She felt him shift within her tall collar, moving around so he was near the front and had a little sliver of a view ahead. She supposed she’d have to go around to the back of the house and find another way in.

  She turned, intending to walk down the steps and make her way around the side, but gasped in surprise when she saw she was no longer alone.

  A young woman stood at the base of the steps, motionless. Neither Vailria nor Tok had heard her approach, which was very strange. Between the two of them, they were hard to sneak up on.

  Vailria had to resist the impulse to bark at the girl, to demand where she’d come from. But as her surprise dissipated, she caught a subtler sensation. She sensed the leftover weavings of a spell – the faint tug of magic falling away as it was let go.

  Which could only mean one thing.

  Vailria drew herself up a little straighter, noting the high collar on the woman’s blouse, which was buttoned up around her throat. She looked her straight in the eye, trying not to show her alarm. “Who are you?” she snapped. “Where did you come from?”

  ✣

  Marim was startled out of her thoughts when she looked up to see a strange woman standing on Embriem’s doorstep. She froze in place, gazing at the woman’s back, trying to decide what to do.

  She’d passed the previous half hour down by the warmlake, trying to get a better look at the brinlins. Even after Cockram had left, she’d felt jumpy. She kept worrying Kix would throw himself back into the water. He didn’t, though. He crawled into her collar and fell asleep.

  The brinlins, Marim discovered, divided their time between swimming in the warm water and climbing about in the stands of reeds that lined the lake. The plants formed a dense screen along the lake’s edge, continuous except for the occasional jut of sand. They were tall and thick and topped with silky fronds. The fronds matured into long, narrow husks not unlike those that grew on brillbane bushes.

  The brinlins themselves were difficult to get a good look at. They were coy and skittish. If they were on the reeds, they tended to shift around to the other side if Marim stared at them. If they were in the water, they swam too quickly for her to lock onto. She’d spent a long while sidling up towards the reeds and standing very still, waiting until one of the little creatures got curious enough to shift back around the stem it was clinging to for a better look at her.

  When, at last, one had done so, she’d been surprised. She’d expected a wingless version of Kix, but that wasn’t quite right. The brinlin was similar to a tessila in shape and size, certainly, but there were marked differences. The neck was shorter and thicker, as was the tail. The legs were short, the feet webbed, and the whole body had a sinuous, slick quality. Frilled gills fluttered at the throat.

  Most surprising was the coloring. All the tessili Marim had ever seen were one solid color. Not so brinlins. The particular one she got a good look at was a brilliant blue, patterned over with an array of black spots of varying size.

  “What a beauty you are,” she’d said. And Kix had woken up, stirred out of his sleep by a rush a jealousy. She’d backed away from the reeds, finally certain of what she needed to do.

  She’d set out, walking away from the warmlake with a sense of purpose. After she’d gone a short distance, however, her skin began to prickle with nerves. The fog made it impossible to see ahead. Anyone could be there, standing just beyond her range of vision.

  More to sooth herself than for any real belief she’d be bothered, Marim tried to cast a passive echo spell. It was one of the basic weavings she’d never been able to manage properly. While more accomplished casters could render themselves essentially invisible, Marim had never even succeeded in making herself forgettable. Still, she worked at it as she walked, pulling threads of magic and fiddling with them. She practiced a deviation Professor Liam had worked on with her, tailoring her magic to focus on sound in particular, since it was a sense most people relied on less than sight. She constructed what she thought might be a passable weaving, then she held it in place. She did pass a few people as she neared town—faint shapes in the fog—but she ignored them and they ignored her.

  She was worrying about logistics as she reached the driveway. They’d have to get Embriem and his son down to the water as soon as possible. Hopefully Tassin wasn’t too weak to make the journey. Or worse, dead. How awful would it be if Marim figured out how to help him only to deliver the news too late?

  She walked through the gate, made her way up the drive, and looked up to see the woman standing on the front steps of Embriem’s house. Marim was so startled by this unexpected encounter, she lost her hold on the spell she’d been playing with.

  The woman, who turned as Marim stopped and made to descend the steps, went rigid when she saw she was no longer alone. She had a lean figure and a striking face and a sort of impatient confidence to her body language. There was also something a little haunted in her eyes. She reminded Marim of some of the older students she’d known at the academy – the ones who’d been forced to systematically murder others of their own kind.

  Stranger than that, though, was her clothing. The woman wore a plain wool dress with a high, stiff collar concealing her throat. If this was a fashion, it was one Marim had never seen before. She resisted the urge to touch her own scarred neck. She’d raised her collar again and buttoned it on her way back from the lake.

  Seeing her, the woman spoke. “Who are you?” She sounded angry. “Where did you come from?”

  Marim blinked, staring at the closed door of the house and thinking about the urgency of the situation. She felt Kix wake up, roused by Marim’s racing emotions. Although in the academy Marim had learned to avoid confrontation whenever possible, now she didn’t have much choice. Tassin would die if she didn’t get past this woman and into the house. “I’m sorry. I’m needed inside.” Her voice, much to her dismay, came out thin and low.

  The woman started down the steps. Marim felt a thrill of real fear – far more potent than the discomfort she’d felt when she faced Cockram. She was filled with a conviction this woman wanted to do her harm.

  The woman reached the bottom of the steps and extended her hand. “I’m Vailria.” Her tones was less brittle now, but still there was that sharpness in her eyes. “I’ve known Embriem since he was a boy.”

  Marim looked at the hand. It was well kept, with smooth nails and a fine webbing of wrinkles showing across the knuckles. It was hard to guess the woman’s age. At least 40, Marim thought. Maybe older.

  The woman’s face softened as Marim hesitated. She began to look less severe, almost friendly. But Marim’s encounter with Cockram had spooked her. She thought of the way he’d reacted to her touch, the strange way his rooster pin had caught the light and flared.

  She did not put her hand in the woman’s hand. She raised her skirts and dipped a tiny curtsey. “I’m Marim. I’m needed inside.”

  She was about to dodge around the woman, to run past her if need be, when Vailria’s face changed. All the color drained out of her cheeks as her eyes locked onto something in the distance.

  Unable to help herself, Marim turned to look.

  She saw a string of figures, mere shadows off in the fog. With them came the slow tread of feet, and the sad toll of the death bell.

  ✣

  Embriem was out of tears. His eyes felt hollowed out and dry. His head thrummed with a dull ache. His stomach was a living thing with claws and teeth and a desire to rip him to shreds from the inside. But he no longer associated the hunger with a need to eat. He was done with that. Embriem was done with everything.

  Baret had returned, bearing a reply from the rector. The man would come, leading a procession of solemn sisters. They would bring the death serum – a potent potion whose secret was known only to the senior physician at th
e cloister. The sisters would gather around Tassin. They would sing a hymn of love and mourning. The rector would speak and light a candle. Then, the physician would unseal a tiny jar. She would dip a silver wand into the sticky serum, and wipe the wand along the boy’s lips. She would do this three times. Then she would withdraw, to dispose of the remainder of the deadly concoction.

  Tassin’s breathing would slow. The toxin would work its way into his system. Within a few minutes, his heart would stop. He would pass peacefully. No more pain. No more hunger.

  Embriem would be free at last. He would see the sisters and the rector out of his home. He would wait long enough so he did not risk catching them up on the road. He would find the fine, sharp dagger his father had given him for his seventh birthday and strap it to his belt. Then he would walk to the warmlake, sit down in the reeds, and open his wrists. His death would not be as painless as his son’s, but Embriem didn’t mind. He would settle back in the grass and think about Chalsia until his thoughts stilled to nothing.

  The distant, heavy click of the front door opening startled Embriem out of his thoughts. He sat up, blinking. He’d been so wrapped in his vision for what was to come, he’d all but convinced himself it was done already. Now he heard the murmur of voices, the soft tread of many feet, the sweet, solemn toll of the death bell.

  The sisters had arrived.