by L. L. MacRae
Either way, his emotions were so raw, Calidra softened her voice. ‘And if it doesn’t lift?’
Fenn didn’t reply, just kept his gaze on the floorboards.
Jisyel cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable. ‘Anything, no matter how bad, recovers after some time, doesn’t it? Broken bones. Even the pain of grieving a loved one eventually passes.’ She gave Calidra a pointed look. ‘You’ll just have to be patient, that’s all.’
Calidra let out a long sigh. There were too many emotions today, in this room. And it stank of glinoc paste and putrid, drying mud. She needed some fresh air.
‘Fenn, are you hungry?’ Jisyel asked him.
‘Starving.’
‘All right. Clean yourself up in here. There’s plenty of spare clothes in the wardrobe,’ she gestured to the mess of clothing Calidra had made moments before Fenn awoke, ‘help yourself to whatever you want. We’ll be downstairs when you’re ready, and get you a plate of something.’
He nodded, shoulders dropping in relief. ‘Thank you. I really appreciate it.’
Calidra didn’t wait for more conversation. Picking up the few items of clothing she’d specifically wanted, she left the room, some of her anger dissipating. If she kept herself busy, she didn’t need to think about Bragalia, about going back.
The strange boy was a welcome distraction from what she knew would be Jisyel’s well-meaning but ineffective advice on facing her family again. She dumped her effects outside the door and marched towards the stairs, her anger now a gentle simmer.
Thankfully, the messenger had left by the time she reached the ground floor. Few people stayed on the Isle of Salt longer than was necessary—Jisyel had that right, most people from the mainland believed the island to be cursed, and Hassen’s ever-changing moods fuelled that theory. But, even Hassen’s mischievous ways didn’t dissuade mainlanders coming to see the vast forest of Salt Ash, the steep cliffs, or enjoying the delicacies of the remote Porsenthian island. Boats came and went to the mainland once a week, twice during high trade, and no doubt the messenger wanted to get back on the boat to Bragalia the moment it finished unhauling and re-loading its cargo.
Bellandri already had a steaming mug of coffee waiting for Calidra at her regular table in the inn’s large dining room, the smell of it easing her fears and aches more than anything else could. She’d added cinnamon too, and Calidra loved the old woman for the way she cared for her in the little details.
The Hog’s Tusk was Bellandri’s pride and joy, an inn that she had run alone for the past forty-three years, and raised Jisyel in after her mother’s sudden passing. She had a habit of helping those washed up on the island, getting them back on their feet again and setting them to rights.
It had been the same with Calidra.
Most went back home, however. Yet, after seven years, Calidra was still here.
As much as she grumbled and complained about the Isle of Salt, the terrible weather, the lack of decent food—or coffee—and Hassen most of all, for her, it was better than going back to the mainland. And it wasn’t for lack of trying—it had become an annual argument she’d had with Jisyel. Calidra had tried to explain that going back home wasn’t that simple. Forgetting the fact she hated water—it was one of the few things in the world that scared her besides her mother’s wrath—her family was so disjointed and broken that she didn’t even want to go back. She’d lost her sister some years prior, and now her father, too. There was simply too much pain baked into where she’d come from.
She took a long sip of her coffee, savouring the taste of home, as the crumpled paper in her pocket weighed heavy on her chest. Her father. She’d not seen him in twelve years. Not seen her mother in eight.
And everything was about to be undone. The new life she’d tried to forge on the cold rock in the middle of the Salt Sea was about to be torn away from her. Jisyel was getting her wish, and she was going to regret ever suggesting coming to Bragalia with her.
Calidra took her hunting dagger from her pocket and balanced it on the table. The ogee pattern on the hilt was typically Bragalian—a memento of her sister. She stared at it, watching light glint off the blade’s edge.
There were no patrons in The Hog’s Tusk. It was the wrong time of year for fishing, not that the place improved much in summer, but the driving rains and stiff sea wind tended to keep all but the hardiest of travellers away. The wood and stone walls creaked in the low wind that howled on the peak where the inn had been built some four hundred years prior, a comforting sound.
Calidra cupped her mug with both hands lest she grabbed the letter and threw it in the fireplace. That would be bad. She’d learned a long time ago to keep a careful hold of her more impulsive reactions. But it didn’t make it any easier.
‘Bad news?’ Bellandri asked, exiting the back room of the inn, bringing the smell of the kitchens with her. She had a rag over one shoulder and wiped her hands on an apron already smudged with soot and flour. Her weatherbeaten skin was deeply tanned and lined with creases, probably made worse by her almost perpetual grin. Having spent most of her life in a physically demanding job, Bellandri’s gait was sure across the slightly swaying inn floor as she meandered through the empty tables to Calidra.
‘You could say that.’ Calidra glanced up as Jisyel came down the stairs, refolding the clothes she’d dumped outside the bedroom door. ‘Or it’s good news. Depends on your perspective.’
‘Oh?’ Bellandri raised an eyebrow, a wisp of grey hair floating above her forehead like antennae. Despite there being two generations between Bellandri and Jisyel, they shared such a likeness they could be mother and daughter. Calidra supposed they were, all but biologically. ‘How’s the young man doing?’
Jisyel slumped into a chair beside Calidra and brought out a small bag of nuts she’d had in her pocket. She popped a handful out of their shells, palmed them into her mouth, and crunched down. ‘Other than not having a clue who or where he is, I’d say he’s doing pretty well. Gonna have to rinse out the tub once he’s done, I reckon. Mud’s gonna get everywhere.’
‘I don’t understand why Hassen made the bog in the first place,’ Calidra said, eying the nut shells and dust covering the table with distaste. She loved Jisyel, but by the spirits, the woman was the messiest person she’d ever met.
‘Boredom, I say. Think about it. An immortal spirit stuck on this island. You’d change things around just because you could, too.’ Jisyel grinned, her hair sticking out at odd angles in the same way as her grandmother’s.
‘Corrupted, more like.’ Calidra shook her head.
‘I wouldn’t go that far. Hassen isn’t corrupted. Spirits take me, you’d know if you met a corrupted one. They only get like that when they’re dying, anyway.’ Bellandri made the torteth sign across her forehead, an old gesture to ward off the attention of spirits that might do you harm, which Calidra found utterly ridiculous superstition. ‘He’s just…a bit of a trickster. Mischievous, like most children are. Some years we’ve been struggling so badly that we wouldn’t have survived at all if it weren’t for him.’
‘Glad I wasn’t here for those,’ Calidra said with a barely suppressed shudder. She didn’t want to think about how the island could be worse than it already was.
‘Gran’s just joking. Apparently everything was more awful back then, but I don’t remember it like that at all.’ Jisyel emptied the rest of the bag’s contents onto her upturned hand, then shoved the nuts into her mouth—shells and all. ‘Anyway. Be nice to have a new friend, eh?’
Calidra looked away, vaguely repulsed. She could imagine the tough, bitter shells, their fine hairs like a broom head, and the thought of it almost made her gag. She’d tried to tell Jisyel it wasn’t good for her to eat those blasted shells, but the woman had laughed it off and eaten them anyway, gleeful at Calidra’s obvious discomfort.
‘Well, perhaps if you’d showed a bit more respect to the forest spirit, you wouldn’t have ended up with that.’ Bellandri gestured vaguely in Jisyel�
�s direction.
Jisyel grinned, as if she hadn’t the faintest idea what her grandmother meant.
Calidra fought to keep her eyes from rolling. Jisyel’s affliction for reckless naivety had always been with her. Hassen had simply made things worse. ‘Fenn is not our friend. And what’re we going to do with him? Leave him here? Not like we have enough guests at the moment to warrant another pair of hands. How do we know he isn’t here to steal something?’
Bellandri lifted her mug and let out a short bark of laughter. ‘Oh no, the good coffee beans. Whatever will I do if those disappear overnight?’
‘I’d be upset.’
Jisyel playfully nudged Calidra’s arm. ‘Yes, but you aren’t going to be here long enough to be upset, are you? I’ll be with you, you know. You don’t have to go back to Bragalia alone. I always said I would go. Now it’s finally time.’
Calidra bit her lower lip. Damn Jisyel for bringing her attention back to Bragalia.
‘Are you going to tell me what the letter says? That messenger was in a terrible rush.’ Bellandri sat back, giving her some space.
After a moment of internal debate, Calidra fished the paper out and smoothed it on the table. Bellandri couldn’t read, so there was no point in passing it to the older woman. She cleared her throat and spoke slowly. It was no easier than reading it the first time. If anything, it was harder, because she knew what was coming and could do nothing about it.
It was the first letter she’d received from home in six years. The only correspondence before that had been from her mother confirming no more funds would be sent. Clearly, she’d embarrassed the family by ending up on the supposedly cursed Isle of Salt.
Though it had been expected, it had still hurt.
When Calidra was finished, Bellandri nodded knowingly. ‘Ah. I see what you mean about it being good and bad news. You know the boat leaves in the morning? If you don’t go, it’ll be another—’
‘I know,’ Calidra snapped, regretting her disrespect but unable to stop herself. If she didn’t make the boat, she’d have to wait a week for the next one. She’d miss the funeral.
Probably her mother deliberately sending the messenger late, forcing her to come home before she could think or talk herself out of it.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to go. If she even could go.
It had been so long, and that particular wound hadn’t healed. If anything, it had festered over the years. She didn’t know what she’d do if she returned home to find everything had gone to rot. Calidra bit her lip again, thinking.
‘It’ll be fine. I’ve been badgering you about it for years, so it’s about time you check in on things. And anyway, didn’t you mention wanting to take Fenn to the mainland?’ Jisyel suggested, leaning on one arm on the table. ‘No point him staying here, all confused.’
‘True. He’d probably get under my feet, sweet as he is,’ Bellandri agreed.
Calidra’s face heated up. She knew what they were getting at. Take Fenn to the mainland, and while they were in Bragalia, she might as well go home to Fellwood. She hated that they were right and let out another long sigh.
‘I’ve a friend in Ballowtown. Ashothka,’ Bellandri said. ‘You can stay with him for a night or two when you arrive, while you sort out things for Fenn. He’ll give you some coin and make reservations for you at inns along the way. He owes me a few favours.’
‘Ashothka? That’s an Olmese name,’ Calidra said. The same as her mother.
Bellandri nodded. ‘Believe it or not, I had a life before retiring here on my little salted island. Anyway, Ashothka helped me smuggle a few things from time to time. So don’t be too shocked if you aren’t staying somewhere as lovely as The Hog’s Tusk when you get there.’
‘Ballowtown’s awful, anyway,’ Calidra said, remembering the crowds from the last time she’d passed through.
‘Where’s awful?’
They all glanced up at the staircase, where Fenn had crept part-way down without any of them noticing. His hair was damp and his arms were red from the paste, but he looked much better now he was clean.
‘My granddaughter and Calidra are taking a trip to the mainland. You’ll be going with them,’ Bellandri said brightly. She stood up and crossed to the bottom of the stairs, where she helped Fenn down the last few steps, which were partly missing. She brushed him down none-too-gently with her hands until she was satisfied with his appearance. ‘Well you don’t scrub up half bad, do you? I’m Bellandri, welcome to my inn. Go on, go on, sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.’ She pushed him towards the table.
‘Don’t fuss over him so much, Bell,’ Calidra said.
‘Nonsense. I did the same to you, Calidra. Leave him be.’ The old woman bustled away into the back room, the door sending more smells of food as it swung open.
Calidra regarded Fenn, then begrudgingly pulled out a chair for him. Now he wasn’t covered in mud, he looked less pathetic. Still scrawny and lost-looking, but sturdier than she had initially given him credit for. ‘I don’t suppose you remember anything about Ballowtown?’
He shook his head and sheepishly crossed the room to their table, looking vaguely put out after Bellandri’s man-handling.
‘One of the biggest towns in Bragalia. Port town. And the closest place on the mainland that we can reach from here.’ She didn’t know why she was explaining it to him, but Jisyel and Bellandri’s confidence in his innocence made her give him the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t relish the idea of having to explain things to him every five minutes, and couldn’t wait to palm him off to the Inquisitors once they reached Bragalia. She had enough of her own problems to deal with without adding Fenn to the mix.
‘Oh, hogshit!’ Jisyel sat up straight. ‘They won’t let him into town without paperwork. They’ll just leave him on the boat to come back here!’
Jisyel had a point. Calidra’s gaze narrowed on Fenn, now sporting new, mud-free clothes. ‘Where are your old clothes? You had no papers on you?’
Fenn shrugged, the faintly bemused look still plastered on his face, which irritated Calidra more than she cared to admit.
Calidra thought. ‘Well, I guess it’s not unheard of that you came here from Porsenthia. Or somewhere else.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Fenn asked.
‘Bragalia is divided into different cantons. You need the right papers to pass between them, which are usually issued by the Laird of that canton. If you don’t have the right papers, you aren’t going anywhere. And Bragalia is the nearest land to the Isle of Salt. Wherever you came from, it was most likely you travelled through Bragalia. Which you couldn’t have done without the right paperwork…So I suppose you came from somewhere else?’
Fenn shrugged again. ‘I’m sorry, Calidra. Believe me, no-one is more frustrated than I am.’ He rested his elbows on the table and leaned on them.
Calidra frowned, trying to work out where he’d come from, if not Bragalia.
‘But what does all that stuff about cantons have to do with Ballowtown?’ Fenn asked, his attention split between Calidra and Jisyel.
‘It’s part of Bragalia. No papers, no travel. You won’t get onto the mainland, they’ll just send you back on the boat here. Except, it only travels once per week, so you’d be stuck there for a week, unable to go anywhere.’
‘Well, we’ll just have to get Fenn some forged papers then, won’t we?’ Bellandri came back from the kitchen, a platter held easily in the crook of one arm, a large coffee pot in her other, and three mugs looped on the end of her fingers.
‘Forgeries?’ Calidra’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Oh, come now. Even the daughter of a Laird knows these things happen from time to time, Miss Vantonen.’ Bellandri gently set the array on the table and shoved the platter towards Fenn. ‘Come on, eat up. Need to plump you up a bit. Salt Sea can be a cruel thing to cross this time of year.’ She patted his back in encouragement.
It was a platter of cooked sausage—cured and smoked from the colour and smell—cabb
age salad, some fresh bread swathed in melted butter, and Bragalian pickles.
Fenn stared at the platter, his hands firmly by his sides. ‘Shouldn’t I…do something for this?’
‘You are a guest, Fenn. Your job is to sit there and be fed. Eat,’ Bellandri demanded, as she poured coffee for them.
Fenn did as he was told, and there was enough on the platter for them all to share.
Calidra gratefully took another coffee, the hot steam calming her. It helped her realise the decision had already been made, she just needed to accept it. ‘Okay, okay. Fine. I have to go back to Fellwood, I see that. Better to go now than wait another seven years, I suppose. Fenn, you can travel with us. But you’ll be the Inquisitors’ problem once we’re on the mainland. I’m not babysitting anyone. It’s hard enough making sure Jisyel doesn’t get into trouble!’
‘Yes, she is a bit of a scatterbrain isn’t she? I don’t know what she’d do without you,’ Bellandri said fondly, patting her granddaughter’s hand. ‘Calidra, that’s a very sensible decision. I’m proud of you.’ She raised her mug high. ‘I just hope it’s not Torsten there.’
Calidra did roll her eyes, then. ‘There’s no chance the Master Inquisitor will be that far south. I’ve not heard of him being out of Porsenthia in years.’
‘Well, just keep an eye on Fenn. Maybe his memory will be back by then and you won’t need the Inquisitors at all,’ Bellandri spoke cooly, watching Fenn as he ate. She poured him another mug of coffee once he’d finished. ‘Poor lad. It’s not much but I’ll make sure you don’t go without tonight!’
‘Time to pack?’ Jisyel stood up, the movement making Fenn pause.
‘I suppose.’ Calidra hated how sudden everything was. She resigned herself to the decision and got to her feet. ‘We’ll need to leave at dawn to get to the boat in time. Best get your head down early.’
