Waterborne Exile Page 16

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Alwenna heard a scuffling sound outside. Her first instinct was to reach for the knife that was never far from her hand since Rogen’s… visit. The blanket over the door was flung aside. Marten stood there in the shadow, swaying uncertainly, his chin sunken to his chest. His attitude was that of a man defeated.

  Alwenna half rose from her seat at the table. “What–?”

  He stepped inside, half forwards, half-sideways to catch his balance, moving with none of his usual deliberation. He bowed in a loose version of courtly style, wine sloshing in the open bottle he carried in one hand. “Your servant, my lady.”

  Something hadn’t gone his way, for sure. As he stooped she saw the freemerchant’s long braids had gone. His russet hair had been chopped off unevenly, leaving ragged tufts in some places, exposing his scalp in others.

  “What’s happened?” She subsided into her seat again. “Was this Rogen’s doing?”

  Marten straightened up, spreading his hands in a self-deprecating gesture. “That is a fair question, my queen. A fair question.”

  “I’m no more a queen. I’ve told you before.”

  “And I, my lady, am no more a freemerchant.” He plucked at the ragged remnants of his hair. “My people have shamed me. We are both displaced now, you and I.” He staggered over to the table and sat down opposite her. The table lurched, making the pots in the centre rattle. The wine bottle rocked perilously as he set it down.

  Alwenna reached out and steadied it. The dark red contents sloshed back and forth, a storm-tossed sea in microcosm. The waves tried to draw her in, there was something they had to show her, something she should know. She shook her head and released the bottle, chasing the ghostly whispers from her mind. “What do you mean? Why would they shame you? The elders reprimanded Rogen for his actions, did they not?”

  Marten spread his hands palm-down over the rough table and drew in his breath, leaning forward to stare into Alwenna’s eyes. “Why indeed. They say I have broken with freemerchant ways. My ideas are too radical, too dangerous for them.” He sat back, lowering his eyes to the table. “Some say I have fallen under the influence of a witch, and brought a curse down upon them when I brought you among them.”

  Alwenna’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment her pulse thundered in her ears. The child twisted uneasily in her belly. This was not good news. Marten had always had influence. Rogen had his own particular reasons to dislike him, but if the rest of his own people were turning against him, what lay in store for her and her child? She’d been persuaded to remain after the incident with Rogen, against her better judgement. “Some, you say? What of the others?”

  “The others sat silently by while my hair was cropped.”

  “Are you here to tell me I must leave?”

  “No, my queen. I think none of this surprises you greatly, does it?” He looked closely at her.

  It was Alwenna’s turn to examine the rugosities of the rough-hewn timber from which the table top was fashioned. There was still a faint stain visible from her blood, where it had soaked into the woodgrain. No, it didn’t surprise her. The sight had forewarned her – but she’d been too weak to act upon it. She’d clung to the hope that it had been only one of many possibilities the sight had trailed before her, had been nothing more than a fleeting glimpse into a future that would never be. “I am sorry to hear this.”

  “It was not your doing, my queen. Although I have little doubt our friendship was seized on as excuse by some.” He shifted on the bench seat and looked directly at her. “And I know you tried to warn me. I was so certain of my own invincibility I did not take your warnings as seriously as I ought to have done.”

  “And do you imagine it will help coming straight up here?”

  Marten’s mouth twisted. “I… thought you might have some kind of sympathy to offer me.” His hand moved across the table to touch her fingertips.

  She withdrew her hand and set it on her lap, out of reach. “No. I have nothing of the kind to offer you.”

  “I believed it might be otherwise, once. When last we spoke–”

  “We both know it would be outright folly. And you have a wife, or do you forget that, too?”

  “Oh, yes, I have a wife. And she it was who called the elders to sit in judgement over me for failing to provide for my family.”

  Had things slid so far? Alwenna should have left when she had first made up her mind. She would not be blamed for ruining another man’s life.

  “It grieves me to learn that – you and she have been together many years. I think you might deal better with one another if I were not here.”

  Marten shook his head. “No. It has gone too far.” He hesitated. “And her suspicions are not without foundation. You have been in my thoughts more than she these past weeks.”

  Alwenna pushed herself to her feet, her distended belly brushing against the edge of the table as she stood up. “What? This jest is not a funny one, Marten. Dare I hope you have also discovered guilt at trying to sell me to Tresilian not once, but twice, even after you claimed to be a friend?”

  Marten lowered his eyes, studying his fingernails. “I did that for the sake of my people – and for the sake of my family. I did not know you then…”

  “Nor did I know your family. Now I do, I will do nothing to cause them further distress.” Maiming Rogen by stabbing him in the hand weakened her argument somewhat, but Marten was too far down the bottle to contest that point.

  Marten rubbed his forehead wearily. “I have managed that myself without any intervention from you.” He ran his hand through what remained of his hair. “I deserve their ridicule.” He picked up the wine bottle and swigged from it.

  “It’s not like you to admit defeat, Marten.”

  “I’ve spent over a decade working to secure rights for my people. I was so close…”

  “And so you will be again.” She spoke the words without thinking.

  Marten looked up sharply, setting down the wine. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

  “I…” She shrugged. This was not the time to start dealing in cheap prophecies. “I know if you give up now you will never succeed.” She set a kettle over the fire in the grate that had been hollowed out from one side of the rock chamber. “Let me brew some kopamid. You’ll think clearer.”

  “I’m thinking clearly enough now. Where’s Erin? You have a servant to do tasks like that.”

  “She’s out.” Did he know about the servant-girl’s relationship with his eldest son? Erin had been very close-mouthed about it herself. It was not for Alwenna to interfere.

  “Then this would be a good time to tell me just what you know – your sight has shown you something?”

  Alwenna straightened up from the kettle, easing the persistent knot in her lower back. “You never expected it to be easy when you set off down this road.”

  Marten jerked his head sideways in disagreement. “You don’t need the sight to know that.”

  “Marten, the sight raises more questions than it ever answers. I’ve seen you as a great man. You had everything in place before Tresilian betrayed us all. And you can again. You will. But you must stay true to your people.”

  “What, the people who made me a laughing-stock today?”

  “They are still your people. You risked everything for them once.”

  “Never again.” Marten stood up slowly, his eyes on Alwenna. “I’ll see you set back on your throne as queen of all the Peninsular Kingdoms before I’ll treat with them.” He pushed away from the table and the wine in the bottle was stirred by his movement, ripples spreading across the dark surface. Alwenna’s attention was drawn into the darkness beneath the perturbed surface and she could no more resist her sight than she could convince Marten of what he must do.

  She dived down and down, deeper into darkness, moving through the liquid as if it were nothing more than a breeze. Her hair trailed loose behind her, free and unfettered and her heart pumped blood through her veins wit
h a wicked glee. It was so good to be alive, so good. And revenge would be even better. Ahead of her lay a small cairn. As she drew closer she could see it was composed not of rocks as she had assumed, but of bones. Reposing on the very top of the cairn lay the jewelled dagger.

  CHAPTER NINE

  What impulse made Drew look out of the library door that evening when he heard voices in the hall he never knew, but he had a total conviction that he must not let the visitor go.

  He crossed the library and poked his head out of the door, in time to see Rekhart in the hallway, speaking to a servant. The expression on Rekhart’s face he could only describe as haunted.

  “Why, Rekhart. I gather Hale has told you Jervin is away. Perhaps I can help?”

  Hat in hands, Rekhart shook his head. “I cannot impose on you, I fear.”

  Whatever troubled him, Drew knew he could not let the commander of the watch just walk away. “Nonsense. I would be glad of some company – in truth you would be doing me a favour.”

  Rekhart hesitated.

  “Hale, bring us refreshments.” Drew turned his attention to Rekhart. “Please, join me in the library. The fire is already lit.”

  Rekhart twisted his hat in his hands, looking as if he might refuse the invitation, before apparently reaching a decision and stepping forward into the hall proper. Drew ushered him into the library.

  Up close, there were heavy shadows under Rekhart’s eyes and his face was grey and heavily-lined. It only then occurred to Drew he might be bringing some kind of contagion into Jervin’s house, although he suspected what ailed Rekhart was no physical malady, but an affliction of the spirit.

  “Please, do have a seat.”

  They’d done no more than seat themselves and exchange commonplace remarks about the weather before a servant returned with kopamid, leaving the tray on the table for Drew to serve.

  It was a routine Drew had grown fond of and he’d even developed a taste for the kopamid, after being reluctant to enjoy the local drink at first. Tea of one sort or another had been the norm in his family household, and the only hot drink available in the precinct refectory at Vorrahan. There was something calming about the ritual, the preparation, the pouring. Presenting one’s guest with the small beaker. And the beakers Jervin used were remarkable things: embellished with an abstract enamelled design of vivid colours, jewel-bright. Exquisite.

  “Thank you.” Rekhart took his beaker and sipped at the hot liquid. He drew a deep breath and eased back in his chair rather than sitting ramrod straight. He was clearly troubled by something.

  “I’m sorry Jervin wasn’t here to speak to you, but perhaps I could pass word on to him for you?”

  “I… In truth it’s the sort of thing a man ought to say face to face or not at all.” Rekhart seemed heartened by the kopamid as he took another mouthful. “I will be unable to continue working for him, and had hoped to be able to say this today, in person, rather than put it off again.”

  “Again? You are not happy with the arrangement you have with him?” It was a delicate subject, of that much Drew was certain.

  “I’ll be able to pay back the rest of the money I owe him at the end of this week.” Rekhart twisted the ornate beaker in his hands.

  “I can pass that simple message on to him if you wish – we expect him back tomorrow.”

  “I would not slight him, you must understand. He has been good to me, and helped me out of difficult times.” Again the jewel-bright enamels in the beaker glinted as Rekhart turned it in the candlelight.

  “And yet…?” Drew prompted. There was more to be told here.

  Rekhart drained the last of his beaker. “It would be unseemly for me to speak disrespectfully of our host in his absence.”

  This was important. Drew had never been more certain of anything. “Is it a matter concerning his particular business that troubles you?”

  Rekhart set his beaker down. “No, I ought to say no more. If I am to criticise him I will say it to his face. My apologies, I did not wish to trouble you. But I will say this: you are, I think, a decent young man, and I suspect you do not know the full nature of the company you keep. There are things going on that I am convinced you would sooner not be involved with.”

  “What things, Rekhart? You need not fear to speak plainly with me. I can be trusted with a confidence.” Drew’s unease grew. He’d sensed this all along: that something wasn’t quite right here. And he’d been too happy with his new life, too besotted with Jervin, that he’d turned a blind eye when he ought to have looked all the closer.

  “Of that I have no doubt. Forgive me, I ought not to speak of this at all in my host’s absence. But I’ve seen such things. Goddess help me, I’ve even done such things…” Rekhart tailed off into silence.

  “What things? What has the power to trouble you so?”

  “What? Things that stop a man resting easy at night. Things that haunt him through the waking hours. None of them good things. You would be wise to leave this place before you are drawn into them as I have been.”

  “Those are harsh words. But you cannot convince me if you continue to speak in riddles.”

  “That is what shame does to a man. Pray you never find out for yourself.” Rekhart stood up. “I’d be much obliged if you would be so kind as to tell Jervin I will call on him by the end of the week with the remainder of what I owe him. I thank you for your time today. And I apologise if my words have troubled you. I ought not have spoken so, when all you sought to do was help. Good evening.” Rekhart had left the room before Drew could gather his wits and get to his feet. He heard the hall door opening and closing in swift succession and crossed to the window in time to see Rekhart cramming his hat onto his head and striding off down the street.

  Drew’s view of the street outside was distorted by tiny bubbles of air trapped in the glass. He ran a finger down the window pane, every imperfection suddenly so apparent to the touch. All this luxury came at a price. And up close he could see it was flawed, however perfect it may appear at first glance.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Alwenna sat up in the dark, her forehead pounding. The mattress rustled beneath her. She was on her narrow bed in the cave. Barely a glow escaped from the embers of the fire, not enough to make out even the familiar furniture in the room. A faint snuffling sound, and an uneven inhalation told her someone else was in the room with her. As her eyes adjusted she could make out a shape huddled over the table.

  “Erin? Is that you?”

  The shape moved, unfolding and lifting as whoever it was straightened up. “You’re awake?” It was Marten’s voice, clouded by sleep and more harshly formed than usual as a result of the wine he’d drunk.

  “Yes, I suppose so.” Her head pounded with the effort of speaking. What had happened? All she could remember was… what? Ripples spreading across the surface of the wine… She’d put water on to boil… “Have I been asleep long?”

  “You collapsed. Do you not remember?” Marten had moved to stand between her and the fire.

  She sensed he was uncertain – he’d never witnessed the sight overcome her before. His hesitancy now suggested he found it every bit as repellant as Weaver once had. She swung her feet down to the floor and sat up straight. “I remember.” The dryness of her mouth told her she must have spent some time in the grip of her sight. It hadn’t seized her like that for a long time. She’d begun to hope–

  “Did you have some kind of vision?” Marten’s question was almost casual. And she had nothing to gain by lying. He knew what she was – he’d known even before she had herself. “I tried to wake you – but I couldn’t. And yet you weren’t asleep.”

  “It was a vision. But there was no clarity to it.” There in the dark she could hope he might not see her lie for what it was.

  Marten snorted. “That means, I take it, you will not trust me with what you saw.”

  “I– No.” And yet didn’t he speak the truth? “Sometimes visions are sharp and clear. This one was all confusion. I
was swimming through dark water, free, swimming towards a cairn. And when I got closer I could see the cairn was made of bones – bones of all different sizes. Bones of men, and women… And children. And on the top rested the ornate dagger you still have in your possession.”

  She heard Marten snatch in his breath. “Why does that startle you? The dagger? You do still have it, don’t you?”

  “After a fashion. My wife tried to surrender it to the elders’ care, but they refused to take it.” His voice was tired. “There’s still no sign of your servant.”

  “Erin? She’s not my servant.” Was Marten trying to change the subject? “Sometimes she stays out all night.”

  “So you’re not expecting her back?”

  “She’ll be back at first light, if not before.”

  “You shouldn’t be left here alone.”

  “I’m not a child that needs to be watched over lest it hurt itself.”

  “I know you’re not a child.” In the dark she knew the freemerchant took a step closer.

  “Marten, go back to your wife and make amends.”

  “She threw me out.” He spoke so quietly his words scarcely stirred the darkness.

  “Oh, Goddess. Go back to her. Have you no sense?”

  “Very little, it would seem. I who have fed kings from the palm of my hand.”

  Alwenna stood up sharply. There’d be no more sleep for her that night. She moved over to the fire and stirred the embers into life, adding some dry sticks which flared up obligingly. Now she could see Marten’s expression. His face was drawn, shadows making him appear even gaunter than usual. She stepped past him and poured herself a beaker of tepid water, swallowing it down in a bid to calm her headache. Marten watched her, his attitude belligerent.

  “Do you want to pick a fight with me, Marten?”

  “Far from it, my queen.”

  “Go back to her. The pair of you have too many years together to throw it away like this.”