Amber Magic

Chapter Twelve

By the following morning the blizzard had stopped. The world had changed from green and brown to white and dark gray. Hoarfrost and icicles were already growing from the house's eaves. One particularly long icicle hung down in front of the doorway like a frozen dagger. It broke way and shattered when Brand went out to fill two tin pails at the covered well in the yard. Corbin followed him out to help.

“Well, what do you think of them?” asked Corbin as they wound up the rattling chain. Far down in the echoing depths of the well the bucket sloshed and clattered against the stones.

“I don't like this whole thing,” Brand replied.

“Oh now, let's not be like your brother Jak,” said Corbin. “They are a bit rough in their ways, but I can imagine that Gudrin has many an excellent tale to spin. I've never heard one of their stories first hand, but they're said to be the best. Wouldn't it be quite a feather in our caps if we could present them at the feast tonight?”

“What about Myrrdin?”

Corbin made an expansive gesture. “Perhaps Gudrin could perform the ceremony. She seems as wise as any.”

Brand looked at him quizzically. “Everyone around here seems so taken with outsiders lately.”

“What's wrong?” asked Corbin, squinting at him. Just then the bucket came into view and they hauled it up and filled one of the tin pails. The bucket dropped back down with a long clinking rattle of the chain and a distant, echoing splash.

Brand frowned before answering his cousin. Should he tell Corbin of Telyn's insane plans? She would be angry when she found out, but perhaps he could come up with some way to stop her. Still, he was reluctant to tell Corbin something she had told him in confidence. It was a troubling dilemma, he couldn't recall ever having held something back from Corbin before.

“I don't know,” he said at last. “Nothing seems to be the way it was a few weeks ago.”

They hauled up the bucket a second time, and Brand waited for what Corbin's mind to digest this. He began to fear that somehow Corbin already knew everything. It sometimes seemed as if he knew things that no one else did, simply because he reasoned them through so carefully and clearly.

“It must be something about Scraper-Telyn, then,” he said slowly, piecing it together. Brand oftentimes thought of Corbin's head as a miller's wheel and stone. He always ground down hard facts into a fine dust. “She was acting oddly last night… Almost as if she expected someone besides Myrrdin. Not a pair of the Kindred, either.”

Brand glanced at him and chewed a bit on his lower lip. He looked away, lest his eyes give away the rest of the puzzle somehow to Corbin's millstone. The bucket rose to the top a second time and they filled the second pail in silence.

“Ah, I have it!” said Corbin triumphantly. “She expected to see the Faerie at the door!”

Brand and Corbin looked at each other. Brand shook his head in defeat. “I was never good at deceit, and you are like a wolf hunting a lost lamb if there is a fact missing in the world.”

Corbin's look of triumph faded quickly, as more ramifications came to him. “But how is such a thing possible? And why would anyone want to meet the Faerie on their doorstep during a midnight blizzard?”

Brand sighed. He explained what little he knew. He cautioned Corbin to secrecy, but knew that there was little hope that Telyn wouldn't figure out that Brand had told him of her schemes. She was almost as good as Corbin at delving into the truth, and Corbin was probably worse than Brand at hiding it.

It was when they were trudging through the new fallen snow back to the house that Corbin dropped his pail of water.

“Corbin, what are you doing, man?” Brand demanded. Then he stopped as he noticed that Corbin was standing stock still, looking out through the opening in the hedge where the path led down into the apple orchard. “What's wrong?”

Corbin backed way to Brand's side. He pointed into the white encrusted trees. “There,” he hissed. “Beyond the fourth row. I saw something moving about.”

They crouched down like hunters, Corbin pointing. To both their ears then came the sweet music of distant pipes. Corbin looked into Brand's eyes, their faces close together, the white plumes of their breath fogging the space between them. Brand knew the truth before his friend spoke.

“It was your shadow man, Brand. I'm sure of it. I feel his spell now, calling us to come and dance.”

The two of them rose up and ran into the house. Behind them the two tin pails spilled their water onto the snow, melting dark patches in the smooth expanse of white.

Brand, always fleeter of foot, won the race to the door and burst through it. “Jak!” he shouted to his brother. “Get your crossbow!”

Jak, who had been sitting on his favorite chair with his feet hanging over the arms, jumped up in alarm. He spilled the tea that he had been sipping. Modi surprised everyone by producing his battleaxe, which he had placed out of sight behind his chair. He leapt up and charged to the door as if an army was on the island. Brushing Brand and Corbin aside, he pushed shut the door and barred it, putting his broad back against it. Only then did he turn to the boys.

“What did you see?” he demanded, his bass voice ringing with command. He gripped his battleaxe in both hands, at the ready.

“The shadow man,” said Brand, pointing toward the orchard and the dock beyond. “Corbin saw the shadow man who has been following us for some time.”

Modi's eyes narrowed. He went to the shuttered window nearest him and released the latch, peeking outside. White light illuminated his weathered face and hard eyes. “Just one man?”

“Yes, but he is very mysterious,” replied Brand.

“Are you sure it is the same one?” Jak asked them.

Corbin shrugged. “I don't know. This time we heard the music of pipes.”

“Perhaps we should go out and thrash him,” suggested Jak, rolling up his sleeves and donning his cloak and boots.

Corbin shook his head. “He is not a normal man. It was like Brand said, I–I felt a cold dread come over me. Even to look at him was difficult. Perhaps he is one of the Faerie. One of the Dark Ones.”

Modi slammed the shutters and latched them. They all jumped at the noise. “I see nothing. Faerie, you say?” he said, snorting. “What do River Folk know of Dark Ones?”

Before any could answer him, Gudrin and Telyn came into the room. “I'm sorry, but I seem to have slept late,” said Gudrin. Brand was a bit amused to note that although she wore a nightshirt, she still had her package under her arm and her rucksack on her back. Gudrin looked at Modi and sighed. “I see your weapon is ready again, Modi of the warriors. What is all the commotion about?”

Brand quickly explained about the shadow man while Jak finished dressing and went upstairs to get his crossbow. While Brand was describing the shadow man, Gudrin became increasingly concerned.

“And the length of the weapon you saw the first time…”

“I couldn't be sure it was a weapon,” interrupted Brand.

“Yes, yes, but if it was, would you say it was the length of a dagger or a sword?”

Brand pondered for a moment. “In between, perhaps.”

Gudrin nodded, kneading her chin. She held her package to her chest, as if it gave her comfort of some kind. Brand watched her and noticed that her rucksack gave a tiny twitch again, as it had last night, a small movement. Brand blinked and frowned. He surmised that Gudrin must have some kind of odd tick in the muscles of her back. Perhaps it only showed up when she was thinking, the way old man Tad Silure's cheek would twitch when he spoke before the Riverton council.

“We must investigate this, Modi,” Gudrin said to her companion.

Modi shrugged his massive shoulders. “It is but one man.”

“They describe not a man, but one of the shirik,” said Gudrin.

At this, Modi came alive. He strode forward to Gudrin's side. They spoke briefly in their own tongue, which, to the ears of the River Folk, sounded both crude and subtle. It was a language of many hard sounds and careful inflections. Each word seemed clear and clipped; none ran into the next as words tended to do in their own tongue. Only Telyn seemed to enjoy the sound of it.

“There was one other thing,” said Corbin. “We heard the sweet music of pipes after the phantom had disappeared.”

Gudrin and Modi exchanged glances. “Man-sized? Bearing a long knife and playing sweet pipes? It can only be Voynod,” said Modi.

Gudrin nodded, but gestured Modi to silence. “It is best not to name them so casually when one is near,” she said.

Telyn had followed Jak and his crossbow to the door, both now fully dressed for the cold. In her hand she held a long thin dagger. Brand frowned at the look of it.

“Wait,” said Gudrin. She raised up a thick-fingered hand. “You must not confront the shirik now. It is weak so far from home, I'm sure, but not so weak as to fall to an honest crossbow bolt or dagger.”

“I didn't want to kill the man,” said Jak, a bit taken aback. “I just wanted to warn him off.”

Gudrin nodded. “It is not a man. It is a shirik — a shade, as you would call it in your tongue. A powerful servant of the Enemy. This one you saw, that Modi has already unwisely named, is the Enemy's bard.”

“The Enemy? Do you mean Herla?” asked Brand.

Gudrin raised her hands to her face and made shushing motions. “Shhh! Don't speak his name aloud with one of his servants near!”

All the River Folk stared at her with mouths open. Brand had heard stories of bogies such as the dreaded shades, free agents of Herla and his Wild Hunt, but the idea that there was one of them stalking about outside was just too much.

“Well, that's it,” Jak said, throwing up his hands. “That's just grand.”

“How do you know?” Brand asked Gudrin, ignoring his brother's outburst.

“I can feel it. Now that I know it is here, its presence is clear to me,” she turned then and leveled an accusatory finger at Telyn. “I believe it was some of your doing that it is here this morning. I warned you about the beacon, but still you saw fit to burn it. There are many things, even here in the Haven, that should not be disturbed by a call from one without the wisdom to deal with them.”

Telyn hung her head, but by the set of her jaw and the way she toyed with her dagger, Brand suspected she was not cowed. Gudrin looked at her and sighed. “Still,” she said, “it wouldn't be fair to blame you entirely, as the thing has been following these boys of Clan Rabing for some time now, even without your aid in marking them.”

“What shall we do?” asked Jak, his voice sounding weak and betraying that he was at a loss as to how to protect his home and his guests.

“We will have breakfast,” said Gudrin simply. The only one who smiled at this idea was Corbin.

Posting Modi as a lookout at the front window, they ate around the fire and made plans. While eating, they all felt the presence of something outside, something that wished them ill. Occasionally, they thought to hear the soft playing of sweet pipes, but they were never sure, as it might have been only the wind whistling around the eaves of the old house. The music, if music it was, brought them no joy. There was no laughter in the house, and somehow the food tasted less appetizing, despite Corbin's excellent cooking. They plied Gudrin with questions, most of which she answered vaguely. Some, she refused to answer entirely. Telyn was the most persistent questioner.

“But madam, you must tell us about Herr-ah, that is, about the Enemy. He is just one of the Faerie, is he not?”

“Yes, and no,” said Gudrin. She swallowed another two strips of bacon, seemingly whole, before continuing. “The Enemy is one we must not speak of just now. Not if that is one of his servants outside.”

She paused for a moment to glance to the closed shutters, her eyes seeming to focus on the snowy scene outside and whatever might lurk there. A tinkling sound came to them all then, a soft half-melody, felt as much as heard. Frowning, Gudrin turned back to the group. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. The others all leaned inward to hear her words.

“The Faerie aren't like humans, merlings or the Kindred. They come in myriad forms, the next one looking and acting completely differently from the last. They do not have families and kinfolk quite the way that we do. A Faerie elfkin is able to sire a dryad or one of the Wee Folk, or even a goblin. What results depends on magic and the nature of the parents. Many of the Faerie seem to be unique examples of their kind, freaks that are never born twice. Some of them were once human, and are now forever cursed to live with the Faerie, not alive, but Undying.”

“Among the unique ones, there are wide varieties of temperaments and tendencies. The Enemy and his servants are unique in this way, many of them once human. They are of a sort that embraces cruelty and the absence of light. It is part of your Pact with the Faerie that they keep away these Dark Ones.”

Jak made a gesture of annoyance. “You mentioned merlings in the same breath as River Folk and the Kindred. The Faerie are strange, but at least they keep their bargains. I'd rather not be likened to one of the baby-stealing, muck-crusted merlings.”

Gudrin shrugged. “True, they steal your young, but do you not eat their eggs when given the chance? In fact, you inhabit the same lands and waters as the merlings for the same reasons. They to, fear the Faerie and reside in the Haven to avoid their torments.”

“You make them sound intelligent,” said Jak with a snort. “I've never thought of merlings as much more than dim-witted savages.”

“A fair assessment,” admitted Gudrin. “But regardless, both your peoples reside here in an uneasy truce, both thankful to be out of the reach of the Faerie.”

“But I thought the Pact was only to appease the Faerie, to keep them from stealing from us and playing their awful pranks,” said Brand, chewing a brown-bread muffin. He sipped a mug of coffee to wash it down. “You make it seem as if much more is at stake.”

Gudrin rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, how short are the memories of humans. The Pact, which seems almost a new thing to my Kindred, appears to you River Folk as ancient history, the origins of which are only vaguely understood,” she said, shaking her head. She drained her coffee mug in a gulp and wagged it at Corbin, who promptly filled it again. “The Pact is really a bargain, my good young man, struck between the Faerie and the River Folk. You see, although their needs are slight, the Faerie aren't farmers. They have always found it easier to steal what food they need than grow it themselves.

“However, the rising of the Enemy in days gone by was the real reason for the Pact. Rather than stealing from and hunting one another, your two peoples decided to cooperate. Your part of the bargain was to give one part in seven of your crops each year to feed the Faerie of Cmyry. For their part the Faerie would perform no tricks, sour no milk, blight no crops and set no changelings in the cribs of your mothers. Also, they had the task of guarding your borders against malicious creatures of every type,” Gudrin finished. She scooped up another forkful of scrambled eggs, which quickly disappeared into her face.

Brand noticed that even at the breakfast table she wore her leather sack over her shoulder and kept her package laid across her knees. He was about to ask her about it, but Telyn bubbled up with another question.

“So the Faerie should have kept out this shade?” she asked. There was an odd light in her eyes that spoke of a hunger for knowledge, rather than food. Brand noticed that she had barely touched her plate.

“Aye, they should have,” said Gudrin. “It is a disturbing thing that the Enemy's bard has so much strength as to be able to get past them.” Her plate was empty and she sat back, loosening her belt and readjusting her rucksack for comfort. Brand thought he saw it jiggle oddly when she moved it, as if a heavy object had shifted inside.

“Are we strong enough here, on our home isle, to face this thing and ward it off?” demanded Jak.

Gudrin considered. She picked up the package on her knees, which Brand was now certain was a book, and closed her eyes. After a moment she nodded. “Yes, I feel that we have strength enough if he is alone. The Shade is weak when alone and in the daylight. Especially when working hard to keep the Faerie from noticing him.

“But that isn't the real question,” she said, placing both hands on the table and eyeing each of them in turn. Her blue gaze had that hard spark of light again that was painful to look upon. “The real question is why the Enemy has sent his bard to watch you.”