Fool’s Quest

I turned back to the sleigh and reached for the edge of it to climb back over the side. My hands in the immense fur mittens slipped and my forehead jolted hard against the wood.

Wake up! Fight. Or run. But do not fall asleep. Wolf Father shook my awareness as if he shook the life from a hare. I came back to myself with a shudder. Push it back. Push it away. But softly, softly. Don’t make him aware that you fight him.

It was not easy advice to act on. The fog was like cobwebs. It clung and muffled and dimmed my sight. I lifted my head and stared over the sleigh. Vindeliar had the others under his control. It was not that he was forcing them to do anything. It was that he had put their thoughts into a place where rest and sleep sounded more enticing than anything else. It was affecting even the captives. Some were sinking down where they stood, to fall on their sides in the snow.

Shun had ceased her struggles but the fog did not seem to be touching her. She looked up at her captor, her teeth bared. Hogen stared at her, shook her, and then slapped her. She regarded him with hatred, but she refused to fight. She had realized it only amused him. He laughed, a cruel and brittle sound. Then he seized her by the throat and threw her violently backwards. She lay where she landed. The skirts of her dress floated wide, like rose petals on the snow. The fog-man’s efforts rolled past her attacker. The handsome man stepped on Shun’s skirts to pin her down as his hands went to his belt-buckle.

His mounted commander looked at him with no interest. He lifted his voice and spoke to his men. It was an old man’s thin shout but that did not matter. He knew he would be obeyed. ‘Finish here. Put the bodies into the fire when you are done. Then follow. We are leaving now.’ He spared a glance for the handsome man. ‘Do not be long, Hogen.’ Then he turned his horse’s head and lifted his hand. His mounted men followed him without a backward glance. Others came from the shadows, some on horses, some on foot. More than I had counted. The plump woman and Vindeliar looked around. That was when I realized they were not alone. The others had been unnoticeable to me, as the fog-man had intended.

They were dressed in white. Or so I thought. But as they passed the firelight and ranged themselves around the plump woman and Vindeliar, I realized their garments were shades of yellow and ivory. They were all dressed alike, as if their close-tailored coats and quilted trousers were a strange livery. They wore knit hats that covered their ears with flaps at the backs of their necks that could be wrapped around their throats. I had never seen such hats. Their faces were as alike as if they were siblings, all pale of skin and hair, round-chinned and rosy-lipped. I could not tell if they were men or women. They moved as if silenced by exhaustion, their mouths downturned. They walked right past the handsome man struggling with his cold, stiff belt as he stood over Shun. They looked at Shun as they passed, pitying her but with no mercy.

The plump woman spoke as they gathered around her. ‘I am sorry, luriks. I wish as much as you that this had been avoided. But that once begun cannot be undone, as we all know. It was seen that this might happen, but there was no clear vision of the path that would lead both to this not happening and us finding the boy. And so today we chose a path that we knew must be bloody but would end in the necessary place. We have found him. And now we must take him home.’

Their youthful faces were stiff with horror. One spoke. ‘What of these ones? The ones that didn’t die?’

‘Have no fear for them.’ The plump woman comforted her followers. ‘The worst is over for them, and Vindeliar will ease their minds. They will remember little of this night. They will invent reasons for their bruises and forget what befell them. Gather yourselves while he works. Kindrel, go for the horses. Take Soula and Reppin with you. Alaria, you will drive the sleigh. I am weary beyond saying and still must tend to Vindeliar when all is finished here.’

I saw Shepherd Lin and his fellow leave the circle of huddled folk. They carried another body slung between them. Their faces were unconcerned, as if they carried a sack of grain. I saw the handsome man drop to his knees in the snow. He’d opened the front of his trousers and now he pushed Shun’s beautiful red skirts up to bare her legs.

Had she been waiting for that? She launched a tremendous kick at him, aiming for his face. It struck his chest. She gave a deep-throated, wordless cry of refusal and tried to roll to her side and flee, but he seized her by one leg and jerked her back. He laughed out loud, pleased that she would fight because he knew that she would lose. She grabbed one of his dangling braids and jerked it hard. He slapped her, and for an instant she was still, stunned by the force of that blow.

I did not like Shun. But she was mine. Mine as Revel had been, and never would be again. As FitzVigilant had been. They had died for me, trying to stop these strangers from taking me. Even if they hadn’t known it. And I knew, quite clearly, what the handsome man would do after he had hurt and humiliated Shun. He would kill her, and Shepherd Lin and his helper would throw her into the stable-fire.

Just as my father and I had burned the body of the messenger.

I moved. I ran, but I ran as a small person in wet and freezing socks, wearing a long, heavy fur robe. That is, I surged and trudged against a low wall of heavy wet snow. It was like trying to run in a sack. ‘Stop!’ I shouted. ‘Stop!’ And the roaring of the flames and the mutters and groans of the gathered folk of Withywoods and Shun’s desperate wordless cries swallowed my words.

But she heard me, the plump woman. She turned to me, but the fog-man was still looking at the huddled people and doing whatever magic he was doing to them. I was closer to the handsome man than I was to the plump woman and her followers. I ran at him, screaming wordlessly in a strange harmony with Shun’s cries. He was dragging at her clothes. He had ripped her embroidered Winterfest blouse to loose her bared breasts to the cold and falling snow and now he was tugging and tearing at her scarlet skirts, but he was trying to do it with one hand. His other hand was fending off the desperate blows and clawing efforts she was making at his face. I was not moving fast but I did not slow down as I thrust at him with the full force of my braced arms.

He grunted slightly, turned a snarling face toward me and clouted me with an outflung arm. I do not think he even used his full strength, for most of it was devoted to holding Shun on her back. He did not need his full strength. I flew backwards and landed in the deep snow. He had struck the air out of my lungs, but even so, I was more humiliated than hurt. Gasping and choking, I rolled and wallowed in the snow, finally managing to get to my hands and knees. I drew painful breath and shouted words that scarcely made sense to me, the most frightening words I could think of. ‘I will make myself dead if you hurt her!’

The rapist paid no attention to me, but I heard the outraged cries of the plump woman’s followers. She was shouting something in a language I didn’t know, and the pale-faced people suddenly swept in as a mob. Three seized me and set me on my feet, sweeping snow off me so anxiously that I felt like a carpet that was being beaten. I pushed them away from me and tottered toward Shun. I could not see what was happening to her, save that there was fighting there. I fought free of my rescuers, shouting, ‘Shun! Help Shun, not me! Shun!’

The knot of struggling people seemed to trample Shun and then the fight moved away. The pale folk were not faring well, except that there were so many of them and only one rapist. Time after time, I heard the solid smack of fist on flesh, and someone would cry out in pain. Then one of the plump woman’s minions would fall back, holding a bleeding nose or bending over and clutching a stomach. By sheer numbers they overcame him, flinging their bodies over him and holding him down in the snow. One cried out suddenly, ‘He bites! Beware!’ prompting a sudden reshuffling of the bodies on top of him.

All this took place as I wallowed forward, fell, rose and finally burst free of the deep snow onto the trampled ground. I flung myself to my knees beside Shun, sobbing, ‘Be alive! Please, be alive!’

She wasn’t. I felt nothing from her. Then, as I touched her cheek, her staring eyes blinked. She looked up at me without recognition and began to utter short, sharp shrieks as if she were a hen on a threatened nest. ‘Shun! Don’t be scared! You are safe now! I’ll protect you.’ Even as I made those promises, I heard how ridiculous they were. I tugged at her opened top and the torn lace, getting snow from my mittened hands onto her bare chest. She gasped and suddenly gripped the ripped edges of the fabric. She sat up, holding her collar closed. She looked down at the fabric in her hands and then said brokenly, ‘It was the finest quality. It was.’ She bowed her head. Sobs rose from her, terrible shaking sobs without tears.

‘It still is,’ I assured her. ‘You still are.’ I started to pat her comfortingly, then realized the mittens were still laden with snow. I tried to drag my hands free of them, but they were fastened to the sleeves of my fur robe.

Behind us, the plump woman was talking to the man on the ground. ‘You cannot have her. You heard the words of the shaysim. He values her life beyond his own. She must not be harmed lest he do harm to himself.’

I turned my head to look at them. The plump woman was nudging her charges and they were slowly getting off the man. The rapist responded with curses. I did not need to know the language to understand the depth of his anger. The pale folk were tumbling away from him, falling back and stumbling through the deeper snow as he came to his feet. Two were bleeding from their noses. He spat snow, cursed again, and then strode off into the darkness. I heard him address something angrily, the heavy stamping of a startled horse and then the sounds of a horse pushed abruptly into a gallop.

I had given up on the mittens. I crouched beside Shun. I wanted to talk to her but had no idea what to say. I would not lie again, and tell her that she was safe. None of us were safe. She huddled as deep into herself as she could, pulling her knees up to her chest and bowing her head over them.

‘Shaysim.’ The plump woman crouched in front of me. I would not look at her. ‘Shaysim,’ she said again and touched me. ‘She is important to you, this one? Have you seen her? Doing important things? Is she essential?’ She put her hand on Shun’s bent neck as if she were a dog, and Shun cowered away from the touch. ‘Is she one you must keep beside you?’

The words sank into me like FitzVigilant’s blood had sunken into the trampled snow. They made holes in me. The question was significant. It had to be answered and it had to be answered correctly. What did she want me to say? What could I say that would make her keep Shun alive?

I still did not look at her. ‘Shun is essential,’ I said. ‘She does important things.’ I flung an arm wide and shouted angrily, ‘They are all essential. They all do important things!’

‘That’s true.’ She spoke gently, as if I were a little child. It came to me that perhaps she thought I was much younger than I was. Could I use that? My mind tumbled strategies frantically as she continued to speak. ‘Everyone is significant. Everyone does important things. But some people are more significant than others. Some people do things that make changes. Big changes. Or they make tiny changes that can lead to big changes. If someone knows how to use them.’ She hunched even lower and then thrust her face below mine and looked up at me. ‘You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Shaysim? You’ve seen the paths and the people who are the crossroads. Haven’t you?’

I turned my face away. She reached out and took me by the chin to turn my face back to hers, but I put my gaze on her mouth. She could not force me to meet her eyes. ‘Shaysim.’ She made the name a gentle rebuke. ‘Look at me, now. Is this woman significant? Is she essential?’

I knew what she meant. I’d glimpsed it, when the beggar had touched me in the marketplace. There were people who precipitated changes. All people made changes, but some were a rock in the current, diverting the waters of time into a different channel.

I did not know if I lied or told the truth when I said, ‘She is essential. She is significant to me.’ Or if it was inspiration or deception that prompted me to add, ‘Without her, I die before I am ten.’

The plump woman gave a small gasp of dismay. ‘Take her up!’ she cried to her followers. ‘Treat her gently. She must be healed of every hurt, comforted of every wrong she has felt today. Be cautious, luriks. This one must live, at all costs. We must keep her out of Hogen’s hands, for thwarted as he is now, he will want her more than ever. He will be most determined. So we must be even more determined, and we must search the scrolls to know what we must do to hold him at bay. Kardef and Reppin, it will be your task tonight to confer with the memorizers and see if they can tease out any wisdom for us. For I fear nothing comes to mind.’

‘May I speak, Dwalia?’ A youngster in grey bowed deeply and held that posture.

‘Speak, Kardef.’

Kardef straightened. ‘The shaysim has called her “Shun”. In his language, it is a word that means to avoid or beware of a danger. There are many dream-scrolls that caution us, over and over, to avoid casting significant things into the flames. If translated into his language, could not the dreams have been telling us, not shun the flames, but Shun not into the flames?’

‘Kardef, you are reaching. That way lies corruption of the prophecies. Beware and beware again of twisting the ancient words, especially when you do it so blatantly to make yourself look more learned than your partner Reppin.’

‘Lingstra Dwalia, I …’

‘Do I look as if I have time to stand in the snow and argue with you? We should have been away from here before the night fell. With every moment that we linger the greater the chance that someone may see the flames from a distance and come to see what has happened here. And then must Vindeliar spread his talents even wider, and his control grows more tenuous with each passing moment. Obey me now. Convey the shaysim and the woman to the sleigh. Mount your horses, and two of you assist Vindeliar to the sleigh as well. He is nearly spent. We must away right now.’

Her orders issued, she turned and looked down at me where I crouched by Shun. ‘Well, little shaysim, I think you have what you wished now. Let’s get you onto the sleigh and be on our way.’

‘I don’t want to go.’

‘And yet you will. We all know you will, just as clearly as you do. For, from this point in time, only two possible outcomes have been documented. You go with us. Or you die here.’ She spoke with calm assurance, as if pointing out that rain could not fall on a cloudless day. I heard her absolute belief in her own words.

Once, my foster-brother Hap had amused me for almost an hour by showing me how, long after he had plucked a string, the wood of his harp still vibrated to its song. I felt it then, how the woman’s words woke a harmony inside me. She was right. I knew it was true, and that was why I had threatened them with my death. Tonight, I would either leave my home with them or I would die here. All the circumstances that might lead to another outcome from this moment were too remote, too fantastic to hope for. And I knew that. Perhaps I had known it since I woke up this morning. I blinked and a shiver ran down my back. Was this happening now, or was it the remembrance of a dream?

Strong arms were plucking me out of the snow, and voices exclaimed in dismay at the frost coating my wet socks. The one who carried me spoke comforting words I did not understand. I lifted my head and saw that four of them were carrying Shun. It was not that she was heavy but she struggled in a disconnected way as if her legs and arms were all different creatures.

The woman they called Dwalia had proceeded to the sleigh. She was already in the back, making a fresh nest in the furs and blankets. I was handed up to her, and she set me between her legs and facing away from her with my back warmed by her front and her arms around me. I did not like being so close to her, but I was wedged there. Shun they loaded like freight, and then heaped blankets over her. Once they let go of her she ceased struggling and lay like dead meat under the mounded wraps. Part of her skirt had snagged on the edge of the sleigh. The flap of red was like a mocking tongue.

Someone spoke to the horses and they moved off. I was facing backwards. I listened to the sounds of their hooves dulled by the falling snow, the squeaking of the wide wooden runners and the fading crackle of the flames that ate the stable. The folk of Withywoods, my folk, were slowly re-entering the house. They did not look at us. We left the light of the burning stables behind and entered the long carriageway that led away from Withywoods. The lanterns swung and a bubble of light danced around us as we flowed down the avenue of arched, snow-laden birches.

I did not even realize the fog-man was in the sleigh until he spoke to Dwalia. ‘It’s done,’ he said and heaved a big sigh of satisfaction. Definitely a boy, I realized. He spoke with a boy’s voice as he added, ‘And now we can go home, away from the cold. And the killing. Lingstra Dwalia, I did not realize there would be so much killing.’

I felt her turn her head to look at him where he sat, up front with the driver. She spoke softly, as if I were asleep. I wasn’t. I didn’t dare try to hide in sleep. ‘We did not intend for there to be any killing. But we knew that the chances of avoiding all killing were nearly impossible. We had to use the tools we had, and Ellik is a man full of bitterness and hate. The wealth and comfort he expected in his elder years escaped him. He lost his position, his fortune and all his comforts. He blames the whole world for that. He seeks to rebuild in a few years what it took him a lifetime to acquire. And so he will always be more violent, more greedy, more ruthless than he need be. He is dangerous, Vindeliar. Never forget that. He is especially dangerous to you.’

‘I don’t fear him, Lingstra Dwalia.’

‘You should.’ Her words were both a warning and a rebuke. Her hands moved, pulling more blankets over both of us. I hated the touch of her body against mine but could not find the will to shift. The sleigh lurched forward. I stared at the passing forests of Withywoods. I did not even have the heart to bid it a tearful farewell. I had no hope. My father would not know where I had gone. My own people had given me up, simply standing up and going back into Withywoods Manor. None had shouted that they would not let me go. No one had tried to take me back from my captors. I faced what my strangeness had done to me: I had never really belonged to them. Losing me was a small price to pay for the invaders to leave with no more bloodshed. They were right. I was glad they had not fought to keep me. I wished there had been a way to save Shun without having her carted off with me.

The corner of my eye caught a movement. The swaying lanterns made the trees at the edge of the drive cast iron bars of blackness on the snow. But this was not a movement born of that light. This motion was standing snow, gripped by a hand black with blood and above all, a pale face with staring eyes. I did not turn my head, or cry out, or catch my breath. I let nothing in me betray to anyone that Perseverance stood in my Elderling cloak and watched us pass him by.

FOUR

The Fool’s Tale

When winter’s clutch is cold and dark

And game is scarce and forest stark

This songster to the hearth retreats

To warm his cheeks and icy feet.

But on the hill and in the glen

Are hunters hardier than men.

With lolling tongues and eyes that gleam

They surge through snow with breath like steam.

For in the hunt there is no morrow,

Time does not wait. There is no sorrow

As blood spills black and snarls are rife.

For life is meat, and death brings life.

A song for Nighteyes and his friend – Hap Gladheart

The stairs seemed steeper than I remembered. When I reached my old bedchamber, I entered it as cautiously as befit an erstwhile assassin. I closed and locked my door, put wood on the fire and for a short time considered simply getting into the bed and going to sleep. Then I drew the curtains shut and inspected the area where they were fastened to the rod. Yes. I saw it now, as I had not in all those years. Another tug on the drapery-pull triggered the door panel, but no sound nor crack betrayed that. It was only when I pushed on it that it swung silently open and the narrow black staircase appeared before me.

I climbed the risers, stumbling once when my curly toe hooked on the step. Up in Chade’s old workroom, Ash had come and gone. Our dirty dishes had been tidied away, and a different pot simmered at the edge of the hearth. The Fool had not moved since I left him, and I crossed the room anxiously to lean over him. ‘Fool?’ I said softly, and with a cry he flung his arms wide and sat up to cower behind his raised hands. One flying hand glanced off my cheek. As I stepped back from his bed, he cried, ‘I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me!’

‘It’s only me. Only Fitz.’ I spoke calmly, trying to keep the anguish from my voice. Eda and El, Fool, will you ever recover from what you endured?

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated breathlessly. ‘So sorry, Fitz.’ He was breathing hard. ‘When they had me … they never woke me gently. Or allowed me to sleep until I woke. I so feared sleep I would bite myself to stay awake. But always, eventually, one sleeps. And then they would wake me, sometimes just a few moments later. With a little barbed blade. Or a hot poker.’ His grimace had barely the semblance of a smile. ‘I hate the smell of fire now.’ He dropped his head back on the pillow. Hatred surged in me and then passed, leaving me empty. I could never undo what they had done to him. After a time, he rolled his head toward me and asked, ‘Is it day now?’

My mouth had gone dry and wordless. I cleared my throat. ‘It’s either very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on how you think of such things. We spoke last in early afternoon. Have you been sleeping all this time?’

‘I don’t exactly know. Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell. Give me a few moments, please.’

‘Very well.’

I retreated to the far end of the room and studiously ignored him as he tottered from the bed. He found his way to the garderobe, was there for some time and when he emerged, he called to ask if there was washwater.

‘In a pitcher next to the bowl on the stand by your bed. But I can warm some for you if you wish, too.’

‘Oh, warm water,’ he said, as if I had offered him gold and jewels.

‘Shortly,’ I replied. I set about my task. He groped his way to the chair by the fireside and sat down. I marvelled at how quickly he had learned the room. When I brought the warmed water and a washing cloth, he reached for it immediately and I realized that his silence had been so he could track my activity by what he could hear. I felt as if I spied on him as he washed his scarred face and then repeatedly scrubbed his eyes to clear the gummy mucous from his lashes. When he had finished, his eyes were clean but reddened at the rims.

I spoke without apology or preamble. ‘What did they do to your eyes?’

He set the cloth back in the bowl and clutched his damaged hands together, gently rubbing the swollen knuckles. He was silent as I cleared the table. Very well, then. Not yet. ‘Are you hungry?’ I asked him.