05 | On Shaky Ground
One is five, and five are one.
In the beginning, before the Rift, all Tribes were one. They were Farmers, Miners, Nomads, Fishermen, and Guardians. They each lived in their own lands, and followed their own calling.
But ever so often some Farmers would travel to the lands of, say, the Nomads, or some Fishermen to the Miners, to live amongst them—and they would become as them, alike in all features and pursuits.
Because all people of all Tribes were Changers.
But then came a time when the Guardians became prideful, and the Nomads secretive, and the Fishermen deceitful... and they would not welcome the other Tribes into their midst. It was the time of the Rift.
The gift of change was frowned upon, and over time all Tribes lost the ability to change—all bar a few of their people who, henceforth, had to hide their gift from the world.
Thus kin became strangers and a gift became a curse.
He came to see me the next morning.
He came as the Smith and this, somehow, made it easier for me to face him. Although not much.
"The riot has been subdued," he said, as if reporting to me. "The rioters have scattered, and the ringleaders are known. They will be punished."
He had come armoured—literally. Over his black attire he wore his leather jerkin, and there was a sword strapped to his belt. His hair was severely tied back and his face, dull olive skin in the daylight, was stern.
He looked like he was shielding himself from me, but wasn't it me who needed protection from his duplicity?
I nodded at the information, but didn't reply. For the present it was all the same to me.
"I hope my brother is in good health?" I said instead. I knew he was as a fact; I had had word.
He gave a short answer in the affirmative, nothing else.
My ire rose. My brother had been under his protection the previous night, but his host had slunk away—and spent the night with me under false pretences!
He owed me an explanation—more importantly, he owed me an apology! Where was it? Why wasn't he saying anything?
"Jinari," he said at last.
"What?"
"Jinari. It means 'fox' in the Common Language. That's the name revealed to me at my Naming... or, should I say, the curse I've had to live with ever since."
"So what? Am I to commiserate?" I said sarcastically. I didn't even try to grasp his meaning, I wanted to hurt him. Chastise him for his deceit.
Then I remembered the story he—the other he—had told me before I had drifted off to sleep the other night. A story about foxes...
... and almost in spite of myself I asked, "Have you always known what you are?"
"No." He gave a dry laugh. "The name brought it home to me—I didn't even need an interpretation... The Hills are full of stories about 'foxes'. About the outcasts that they are."
"But you're not a shape-shifter," I said, my voice slightly rising with the dawning horror of such a possibility. "You don't turn into an animal, do you?"
"None of us do. It's a metaphor—"
"'Us'? There are more of your ilk?"
He stepped closer, until we stood face-to-face, almost touching. I willed myself not to flinch.
"A lowlife? Is this how you think of me?" he hissed in a dangerously low voice. His hazel eyes bored into mine. After what seemed like an eternity he moved, taking a smart step back. "Then there is nothing more to say, lady." He turned and walked to the door.
"I shall keep your secret—as long as you don't turn against me and mine," I spoke to his retreating back.
He looked at me over his shoulder, and his voice was suddenly weary. "And I am to thank you for that, I suppose—" Then he was gone.
As the door snapped shut I slowly slid to the floor. Pulling up my knees and covering my head with my arms, I rocked back and forth, biting my lips to stifle my dry sobs.
I remembered how cherished and safe I had felt falling asleep in the Traveller's arms, and how it had all become a lie.
Upon his return, my brother brought word of what had provoked the riot. A derailing ore dram knocking down a number of props had caused a short section of mining tunnel to cave in. As mining accidents went, it had been a fairly minor one—no-one had been seriously injured—but together with the oppressive weather it had been the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.
"I'm glad that you didn't come for me that evening," he said. "Apparently, bands of Miners were marauding the streets of Town before targeting the Settlement. But I was sure you'd do the sensible thing and stay inside these walls—as you did."
I made an indistinct noise that could be interpreted in the affirmative.
"My host was out all night—I didn't hear him return—but whatever the Masters did to quell the riot must have been effective. The streets were quiet again within the day."
"What will happen to the ringleaders," I inquired. "Did h-he say?" I stumbled a little over referring to him. The Smith. But being the intermediary between my brother and the Council, he would always be present in our conversations—and as mentioning him could not be helped, I should better get used to it directly.
"The Council of Masters will decide." He shrugged, looking frustrated. "I daresay those Miners will mete out punishment quick and hard. We'll hear about it soon enough... Damn politics!" he added not quite under his breath. Damn Guardian politics.
I tried to continue with my life as if nothing had happened. But sometimes I struck the wrong note in my brother's presence, being either too cheerful or too morose. In those moments he would look at me vaguely puzzled, sensing that something was wrong, but not quite able to figure it out. Not yet, anyway.
"That young Guardian, your erstwhile travel companion, hasn't been around in a while," he casually remarked one morning when we were on our way to the top end of the Gorge, to mark out the route for the new conduit in that section.
Driving the carriage, I kept my eyes firmly on the road, but I could feel him scrutinise me.
"He's gone," I said.
"Will he be back soon?"
"I don't know—He didn't say... But I don't think so—"
"Shame," my brother said pensively. "You seemed to be getting on well... I was happy that you had made a friend."
We drove on in silence for a while.
"Did you two fall out with each other?" he suddenly asked me.
My hands convulsed over the reins, and the mare shook her head in irritation. I hoped that my brother hadn't noticed.
"Not as such," I said evasively. "But sometimes things are not as they initially appeared."
"As long as you know your own mind—" My brother sounded doubtful—and he didn't even attempt to hide it.
In a perverse reversal of roles I was trying to find excuses for not accompanying my brother to the Smith's mansion any longer, all the while he kept pointing out that, as his bodyguard, I was obliged to go with him. In theory he was right, and so I couldn't refuse him.
I snappishly replied that this hadn't been a consideration when he had spent several days in a row there, just before the riot—to which he retorted, "Well, little sister, as you say... 'before' the riot! Now that we know these things are possible, you should be more serious about your duties."
Was he insinuating that I had neglected my duties when the Smith's mother had given me no other choice, and my own brother had consented?—The nerve of him!
I said as much.
"Look, sister, I'm not afraid for myself, and I think it highly unlikely that anyone will harm me here in the Hills... But should anything happen to me, then I wouldn't want to give the Council of the City reason to blame you. You'll have to think about your future."
A future spent in the shadows, protecting others...
Now that I knew what the Smith was, I kept watching him for glimpses of the Other—the Traveller whom I had first considered a friend and then accepted as a lover. Knowing what to look for, I was soon enough finding those glimpses. The way he twisted his head to relax his shoulders—he had done the exact same thing after our sparring—knuckles pressed against his lips in concentration, a certain look. All these reminded me of the other one... and yet, it was still nigh impossible to reconcile myself with the notion that they were one and the same and that, between the two of them, they had betrayed me.
I was looking out of the window; the yard that separated the Smith's home from the foundry lay deserted. There was nothing to merit my interest other than the fact that behind me, not close but near, stood the Smith, watching me. I felt his eyes on me.
"Why reveal yourself to me that morning?" I asked in a low voice. "If you chose not to tell me before, then why let me know in such a way?—why let me know at all?"
It was another meeting at his home; my brother was present and a couple of Masters whose workshops were to be connected with the conduit. They were standing by the fireplace, across the room. They wouldn't overhear us if we didn't raise our voices.
"I didn't choose to reveal myself," he said just as softly. "I fell asleep... I can change at will while I'm awake, but when I sleep I have no control and take on whatever form the land dictates."
"Who else knows what you are?—your mother?"
"Of course." He softly scoffed. "Remember what she is!—she gave me my name... but she knew from the day I was born—"
"Are there many of..."
"... of us lowlifes?" The bitterness in his voice lashed out at me. I turned, holding out a hand in an impulse to placate him, but he stepped away. "What is it to you?" he said as he went away to join the others.
Why become a Guardian at all? Why assume a second persona?
By remaining in the Hills there would have been no compulsion for him to change, neither awake nor asleep, and nobody would have been any the wiser. But he came to the City anyway, first as a Miner but then as a Guardian. Why?
To procure Spice, of course!—and not the small quantities he would need for himself—he could have afforded to buy those in Town—but a lot of it, for the people who worked in his foundry, so that they would feel safe and content. He had almost said as much during our first meal at his home.
He must have felt the pull to become a Farmer when we were travelling though the Valley!
I suddenly remembered his stealthy return to the barn in the first light of dawn after sleeping somewhere in the woods... Would it have been the first time for him to wake up as a Farmer? Would he have been apprehensive of the change? Did it hurt?
I went to the hidden valley again, one of the few places in the Hills unrelated to either the Smith or the Traveller.
As soon as I stepped out on the meadow the place extended its familiar soothing spell on me. It was as if a benign spirit guarded this place—and I thought of the Farmer ritual I had witnessed in the Valley. Someone was caring and protecting this hidden patch of land like it was a part of themselves.
It was then that I saw what appeared to be the Miner girl kneeling by the pool. She seemed absorbed and, not wanting to alarm her, I called out from a distance.
Well, I must have frightened her anyway because she leapt to her feet, but before she turned something strange happened; for a moment her outline became blurry—and hadn't I seen this before I would have doubted my vision.
When she finally faced me she was indeed the Miner girl I had met on the day I found the hidden valley.
"You startled me, lady," she said, but her gentle voice held no reproof.
"I didn't mean to... and I don't mean to interrupt you, either," I said. She's a Changer! I'm sure she is! ran through my mind. "What are you doing?" I asked, willing myself to smile at her.
"Cleaning the pool—" She held up a sturdy brush. "—so that the water runs clear again."
"Since you allowed me to return, I have been here a few times during the summer... It is a beautiful place. You look after it well."
She seemed shyly pleased about the praise. I noticed the array of empty cages on the ground.
"Are you going to catch more birds for the mines today?" I asked, adding conversationally, "I tried to attract them to land on my hand once—just to see if I could—but they wouldn't come."
"It is a skill, lady," the girl said. "And, no, I'm not collecting birds today; I've brought some of them back... Songbirds mate for life; and they sing when they are alone in their cages because they call out to their mate. But keep them apart for too long, and they grow mute and die."
"And yet they trust you and let you catch them?"
"I feed them and I care for them," she said. "I guess they have learnt to accept that it comes at a cost."
In spite of everything I missed the Traveller.
I knew I shouldn't. He had wronged me that night.
But it was you who told him to remain silent that night, a treacherous voice inside my head pointed out. It's not as if you hadn't known that he was hiding things from the world.
But how could I have possibly known what he meant to reveal?
another part of me replied. He shouldn't have let me stop him.
But you wanted to spend the night with him, didn't you?
But I didn't want to wake up next to another!
But is he?—Another?
But. But. BUT.
I wondered if I might ever see the Traveller again, the man I had allowed myself to have feelings for...
Had he just been a random Guardian persona the Smith—the Fox!—had assumed?—and when it became obsolete had he discarded with it? Would he, in due time, when there was need to become a Guardian again, choose a different one?
And if so, if he could choose at will to become whoever he wanted to be, had anything ever been real between us?
I met the Smith on my way back from the market, and for a while we walked side by side, a little apart. It would have been odd for us to ignore each other; people in Town knew that we were acquainted.
We were both staring straight ahead as we walked. Despite the late summer's day my face felt frozen, and my movements were stilted. I kept reminding myself that he hadn't yet found it in him to acknowledge the enormity of his betrayal.
I couldn't leave well alone; there were too many questions that begged for answers. It was like picking at a barely healed scab... It would hurt, it wouldn't get any better—and still I couldn't keep my fingers off it.
"Do you even know what you are?" I asked abruptly.
"Excuse me?"
"I mean... do you think of yourself as a Miner? And how many Miners have you impersonated? Don't you lose track of who you are?"
He stopped short and turned towards me. There was hurt in his eyes. "As a Miner I have just the one face. As a Guardian it's the same—You know my Guardian face—as a Farmer, Nomad, Fisherman it's all the same... I am one distinct person—underneath the Change I'm always myself!" His voice, though still hushed, had become sharp with the affront. "I thought, if nothing else, you would at least have understood as much."
He brusquely turned away and left, and I stood in the middle of the street staring after him, indignant that he should walk out on me like that.
But in some small way I was relieved.
Whenever we met the Master of Divination's cold eyes were upon me, following me, and I knew that she knew. Probably—hopefully!—not knew all the details, but she knew that I was privy to her son's secret. She hated me for it—I could see it in those eyes—and she was afraid. But she had protected her son all his life, and fear wouldn't make her weak. It made her dangerous.
Autumn came, and with it arrived a message from my cousin, entreating me to come to her wedding.
It also contained a token invitation to my brother which I duly passed on. My brother hardly took any notice and just went on with his work. He sat in his study poring over the map, calculating and then adding more numbers to it, this time in red ink.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"Figure out the difference in height between one measuring point and the next, so that the flume ends up with a steady gradient."
I nodded, happy that—for once—I understood his explanation. I stood undecided, waiting for him to return to the original topic; that of our cousin's wedding.
When nothing else was forthcoming, I eventually asked, "What am I to write in reply of our cousin's invitation?"
"You're not actually contemplating for us to go there, are you?" He looked at me incredulous. He had little patience with a cousin so much younger in years and living a live entirely at odds with his own—and that was only the start of the reasons why he wouldn't attend a large social gathering in the City.
For a few days I was torn between loyalty to my brother and love for my cousin, but eventually it was duty that won out. My brother wanted to press on with marking out the route on the high ground east of the escarpment before winter set in.
There wasn't much snow to be expected even in the higher reaches of the Hills, not even at the height of winter, and ordinarily we Guardians would not be bothered by a bit of chill—we derived from mountain dwellers, after all—but my brother's once broken bones ached even more in the cold, and I wanted to spare him from exposure to the worst of the icy gusts. I wouldn't be the cause for delaying work until late in the year.
My cousin was often in my thoughts in those days. Sadly, none of us were great correspondents; and I had found it increasingly hard to tell her about the things that were utmost in my mind ever since coming to the east. She in turn had been strangely reticent to tell me about her betrothed, and about their wedding preparations. Therefore I assumed that the one big issue was still not resolved between them.
It occurred to me then that it was me who had come to learn the name of a man. But what should have been a defining moment in a relationship had been a mere footnote in a much graver revelation.
Jinari. Fox.
I wondered how it would feel for him, to be made so vulnerable. Deep inside he must rage at the thought of being at my mercy, that all he had achieved in his life—running a business, being one of the Masters—stood and fell with my continued silence. He had said that, if the truth became known, he would be an outcast.
It made me wonder why he hadn't wrung my neck yet.
"Brother, tell me about Changers," I said one day not long afterwards. Once again we were driving east in our one-horse carriage, the road steadily rising towards the escarpment, and the Torrent a tame creek by the roadside. The autumnal wet season that brought the rain to the woodlands had not yet set in.
He looked at me strangely. "You know about them?" he asked.
"I have heard—things," I replied, unwilling to elaborate. "Is it true that there are outcasts who are Changers?"
"Yes. Once known as a Changer, they are cast out of their Tribes... There used to be a time when they were killed after being found out, but we are more merciful these days." I thought I detected a sneer in his voice, but when I turned to look his face was inscrutable. "We brand them with a mark—one that doesn't disappear with the Change—so that they are outcasts wherever they go."
"What kind of brand?"
"The sign of the Five," he replied. "The Hand of the Creator burnt into their shoulder."
"And there's no other way for them?" I asked.
He seemed to be unwilling to reply, but eventually honesty won out. "Sometimes they are given a choice, depending on who they are and if they are someone deemed useful by the Council. It's a choice between being branded as an outcast or become a spy and live undetected amongst one of the other Tribes. But there's a risk that—when caught spying—they'll be killed."
It made a warped kind of sense. Remove the perfect spy from your Tribe, either by making them known to all, or by placing them with another Tribe for your own gain.
Which begged one more burning question...
"Why doesn't the Council of the City force the Keeper of Secrets to give up the identity of all the Guardian Changers?—and deal with them once and for all?"
"Why, indeed!" he said sardonically. It was all the answer I got.
Standing on the highest elevations of the Hills, I felt like standing on top of the world. I had never been into the Mountains and therefore couldn't begin to imagine how magnificent the view from the upper slopes in the north must be.
From where I stood I saw the Plain in a semicircle before me, bisected by the River which vanished behind the horizon in the west. Nearer by, a haze south of the Bend indicated the Valley. To the north and south of me the chain of the Hills went on for as far as the eye could see. In the east, a short distance behind the ridge, the Woodlands began and, like the Plain on the other side, they seemed to go on forever. Isolated wisps of smoke rising between the trees indicated where the colliers lived. A single goshawk circled in the thermal lift.
Other than that it was entirely still.
Someone at the Settlement had warned me that in late autumn and in winter stray packs of wolves might leave the woodlands and hunt for prey up in the Hills. Usually they would avoid humans, but they were not to be trusted if one came upon them unexpectedly.
But for the moment there wasn't as much as a rabbit to be seen.
"Are you finished with idling?" my brother asked. He was in a foul mood. He had been pressing both of us hard for the last few days, and so he only had himself to blame for the ache in his legs—not that any insinuations on that point made him less grumpy. Quite on the contrary.
Unlike in the previous days, when a team of three Miners had helped us drive stakes into the ground, nail on the crossbars—indicating the future base of the flume—, and affix a red piece of cloth on top of the poles to make them easier to detect in the monochrome landscape, we were on our own. It was the last day in this section, and we would manage by ourselves.
We were working steadily all through the morning, and—once more changing location—we reached the line of marker pegs we had placed during the previous day when a snarling noise behind a knoll caught my attention. I drew my spear out of the bundle of tools and motioned my brother to stay well back. Then I slowly crept around the rise. The wind stood against me, and so I was almost upon them before they noticed me.
A scraggy single wolf and a magnificent grey fox were fighting over the carcass of a small deer.
So much were they engrossed in tearing at either end of the sorry little cadaver, growling and spitting with their teeth bared, that I was but a few steps away by the time they let off, sensing a danger to both of them.
With a yelp the wolf bounded away, but the fox stood his ground. He just stared at me and at the tip of the spear trained on him. It was obvious that he wouldn't budge.
For a moment I was irresolute on what to do with him. If he were to attack me I knew how to react, but he was just watching me—as intently as I watched him.
Step by step, slowly walking backwards, I retreated until I felt my brother coming up from behind.
"We'll leave him to his meal," I said, nodding in the direction of the fox.
"Shame," he replied. "He would have made for a nice trophy."
I didn't grace him with an answer—and besides, what could I have replied? That I saw foxes in a different light these days?
"You're getting soft," my brother calmly remarked as we changed back from mules to our carriage at the stable near the furnaces. "I'd never thought I'd see the day when you would miss the chance of hunting some pelt... Have you discovered lately that there is a gentle side to you, after all?"
I scowled at him from under my cap; it was getting late, and I was grubby and tired. After we had aligned the last of the markers, we had returned to the ledge of the escarpment. The tunnelling was making good progress, and on impulse my brother decided to inspect the site.
The tunnel was narrow—too narrow for a man of his size who was walking on crutches. So, he sent me inside with measuring tape, rod, level, and a set of instructions. I returned soaked through and filthy, but I had the measures he required.
Checking them against his notes, he smiled. The Miners had been doing a good job, it appeared.
Steadily through the afternoon his mood had improved with the prospect of a job accomplished, making him crack jokes at my expense all the way back to the Settlement, and none of my peevishness would deter him. In hindsight I wished I had indulged him more... but little did I know at the time that things were about to change.
At the front step of our lodgings he helped me unload his surveyor's gear before I was to return both carriage and mare to the livery stable. He picked up the bag with the dioptre while I grabbed the more unwieldy items; but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bag slip out of his grip, and with a clanging noise land on the doorstep.
With an oath he stooped awkwardly to retrieve it. I held the bag for him as he took out the instrument—or rather, what remained of it. Bent and with parts broken off, even I could see that it was beyond repair.
"And what now?" I tentatively asked him.
"Seems like you may be able to attend your cousin's wedding, after all," he grumbled.
What was a six days' journey by trade caravan, took all but two days on horseback, if one was changing horses a few times on the road, and if one was prepared not to spare oneself.
In the last few years I hadn't been on horseback, not for any length of time at least, and by the end of the first day the insides of my thighs were chafed, and I didn't feel my legs any more. So, when I got off the horse in the Village—where we were to stop for the night—I would have fallen, if my companion hadn't extended a quick hand to keep me upright. He was a Guardian messenger, and some silvers in addition to a bit of Spice had him agree to let me ride with him to the City, as long as I wouldn't slow him down.
To say that I was succeeding in this would be telling a bare-faced lie, because we arrived at the Village square well past nightfall. Fortunately, an almost full moon had risen early and helped us find our way, and—it being late autumn—the night air was thankfully free from mosquitoes.
There was a stew of sorts waiting for us at the tavern, and I was given a small room on the upper floor. However, the only important sight that registered with me was that of the narrow bed. With a grateful sigh I sank onto it and was asleep within moments.
It was as if no time at all had elapsed before a sharp rap at my door woke me with a start. The interior of my room was barely visible in the pale predawn light.
"Who is it?" I called, hand on the hilt of my dagger.
"It's me, the messenger," a gruff voice replied. "Get up now and you can still grab some food. I'll be off at dawn—with or without you—"
I grunted a reply as I swung my legs out of bed. For a few moments I sat on the edge in a miserable heap, before I forced myself to get up and get dressed.
A fresh pair of horses—along with the scowling messenger—were already waiting for me as I stepped out of the tavern, my pack and a piece of bread in hand.
"About bloody time," he muttered, swinging effortlessly into the saddle.
I followed suit, to the best of my abilities. I thought I heard a snort as I fumbled for the stirrups. I clenched my teeth.
"What are we waiting for?" I said huffily—and off we went.
I remembered the road next to the River well, leading due north to the Bend and then east all the way to the City.
We made the first leg of our journey at a light canter. My horse had an easy gait—I gave silent thanks to my grumpy companion for choosing her—and once the muscles in my legs had stopped aching so acutely from the previous day's exercise, the rapid pace was almost pleasant.
At midmorning we changed horses again in the hamlet just south of the Bend. I didn't see the elder this time but I recognised the younger of the women from his household as we passed her by on our way out, and I gave her a wave and a smile.
She just stared back; perhaps she didn't remember me—or maybe she didn't care, now that I was just some passing Guardian and not a paying guest.
"We'll have to take it easy now," the messenger informed me. "No more changing horses until we arrive in the City."
Long stretches of trotting were interspersed by short intervals when we let the horses walk... The ride became interminable and the monotonous landscape turned into a blur. We only took a short break at the place where I had made camp with the caravan in spring, on my way to the Valley. After watering our horses and having a bite to eat, we were on our way again.
The pain in my legs and backside was back, and as the day progressed it became excruciating.
By late afternoon—the sun was already well in the west—we finally saw the Mound at the horizon. As we rode towards it the sun was setting behind it, and suffused by its ruddy glare the City looked magnificent.
It was entirely dark when we forded the River and trotted through the deserted market square to the compound. The livery barn was closing down for the night, but we were just in time to stable the horses. I sent the Farmer stable boy ahead to my uncle's house to inform them of my arrival.
The messenger had left me without so much as a word of goodbye, and I followed him slowly in through the gates of the City and up the steep narrow streets of the Mound. The climb was bad—worse than any other I remembered, even those after a day at the drill ground. Clenching my fists I trudged on, willing those tears of exhaustion not to spill over.
At last I saw the door of my uncle's home; it stood invitingly open with light floating out into the street, and in the doorway waited my uncle.
"This is a surprise, niece," he said, embracing me fondly. I squirmed a little because his impeccable attire made me acutely aware of my travel-stained appearance. "But what brings you here?—Your brother, is he well?"
It was a reasonable question, of course, especially after we had already declined the invitation to our cousin's wedding. But here I was, looking like I had ridden through the night.
"He is quite well. Thank you, uncle," I hastened to reassure him, as I followed him into the courtyard. "He broke one of his instruments, and a substitute can only be obtained here in the City... and rather than send a message and have it delivered, he decided to grant me a favour and allow me to attend the wedding—if I made haste." I chuckled wryly. "But as favours go, this one comes with a drawback—and now, after two days on horseback, it appears that I might not be able to walk for the foreseeable future..."
"... and we can't have that, not with your cousin's wedding coming up in two day's time. You're expected to dance through the night, you know?" he teased me.
I groaned—more heartfelt than in jest—but he laughed anyway. Like all the family he knew about my dislike of dancing.
He gave a few quick orders to the two Farmer servants who had been waiting in the background, then he turned back to me. "What do you need first?—food or a bath and change of clothes?"
"Food, please," I replied, adding wearily, "Once I'm upstairs in my room, I might not be able to come down again."
"Food it is," he smiled and ushered me towards the kitchen.
Within moments a bowl of lentil soup and a plate of pastries with a spicy chicken filling were put in front of me. Telling by its simplicity it may have been leftovers from the servants' dinner. Not that I cared! My uncle, sitting opposite me at the large kitchen table and by all appearances feeling perfectly at home amongst his cook and servants, gave more orders to the maids who were scurrying in and out of the kitchen, in between relaying to me the state of affairs with regard to his daughter's wedding.
"She's at the home of her betrothed's family this evening," he informed me, "but I can send her a message and ask her to return."
"This is not necessary," I said. "I should be poor company tonight... please inform her of my arrival after her return, or in the morning."
He nodded, but felt compelled to add, "You won't see much of her in private tomorrow. She'll be busy with preparations... They're making a grand occasion of it—" I had seen the flower garlands in the yard, and I imagined that the hall and dining room would be decorated beyond recognition. I would check on that on the morrow.
"Then I shall assist her—" I stared at my empty bowl, preventing my eyelids from drooping. "I'm sorry, uncle. If you'll excuse me now," I mumbled.
"Go ahead. Your room should be ready by now... Rest yourself."
Before I bid him a good night, I remembered to tell him about my brother's order for a new dioptre.
"I'll see to it that his specifications will be delivered to the workshop first thing tomorrow morning," he promised me. "Don't you worry."
I stumbled once on the stairs but managed to reach my old room without disgracing myself by falling flat on my face. Inside, a generously filled and steaming tin bath waited for me. This was a rare luxury at my uncle's home, and the maids would be muttering, having to carry all those pails of water first up two flights of stairs, and then down again later.
Gratefully, I stripped off my tunic, shirt, and breeches, and lowered myself into the water. The sweet scent of roses enveloped me. I winced as the hot water bit into the raw patches of skin at my thighs and calves, but the pain soon abated, and when the heat reached my strained muscles I sighed with pleasure. It was utter bliss.
My head lolled against the high rim of the bath, and I might have dozed for a while because a maid entering the room brought me back with a start.
"Sorry, lady," the girl said. "Your lady mother sent you these—" She held up two jars, obviously some of my mother's unguents. "—you may want to apply this one on the rashes, and the other one's for rubbing into sore muscles."
"She knows that I'm here?" I asked.
The girl just shrugged. Didn't the lady in the turret always know about all the goings-on in the Keeper of Secrets's house? her shrug seemed to imply—and she was right, of course. "She's asking you to visit her tomorrow night." She held out a towel for me.
I was reluctant to leave the bath, but the water was turning tepid and would soon become unpleasant. So I stood, very slowly, and let her wrap me into the towel. Then I dismissed her.
I slipped into the nightshirt that awaited me, warmed in front of the fire, and—sitting on my bed—I applied the balms I had been given.
Later, just before I fell asleep, it came to me how peculiar the nature of my mother's solicitude was. She was never demonstrative, and she rarely chose to humour my wants—but she would always know me and perceive what I needed in the moment, often before I knew it myself.
In my absence someone had oiled the hinges of my bedroom door. I woke up when my cousin threw herself upon my bed, exclaiming, "I can't believe that you've made it here, after all! Oh, thank you, cousin."
I gave her an irritated look. "You know, I almost stabbed the bride on the day before her wedding—" I produced the dagger from in between the mattress and the bed frame and showed it to her. "—just now."
"You're sleeping armed in your uncle's house?" she gasped, staring at me.
"Force of habit." I shrugged, then—sitting up—I returned her embrace. "I'm so glad to be here... If it hadn't been for my brother's broken diopter, I'd still be slaving as his assistant right now." I got up, wincing. "Mind you, my bones would hurt marginally less at present, had I stayed in the Hills," I added with a lopsided smile.
"My father told me that you rode for two solid days to get here in time—"
"Well... yes—" I felt that it wasn't much to my credit to be so much affected by the experience, and I didn't want to dwell on it any longer. Changing the subject, I said instead, "I'm good at being an assistant these days; let me be yours for today... So, how can I help you?"
My cousin rattled off a multitudes of tasks to be overseen in the course of the day. Mostly they had to do with her giving final approval to decorations, foodstuffs, and seating arrangements. And then the seamstress was to come for the last fitting of her wedding robe.
"—and then there'll be the Vigil tonight," she ended.
"You'll be spending the night at the Citadel?"
"With winter almost upon us, the Vigils are starting now. Tonight's the first... I couldn't possibly be absent." She smiled. "But the good thing is that the Handfasting will also take place inside the Citadel tomorrow morning... so, I'll be right in place."
Originally, for us Guardians, a wedding—or Handfasting, as the actual ritual was called—was just a matter between the two persons involved. If they decided to pledge mutual love, honour, and protection to each other, it would be an entirely personal act. They might decide to have friends or family witness the occasion, and maybe have a bit of a celebration along with it, but that used to be the extent of it.
However, within the last few generations, weddings—and in particular those involving members of the priest caste—had become more elaborate affairs... and my cousin's wedding apparently would be one of the latter.
Very much so, I found out as the day progressed and as I saw the ongoing preparations in the hall and dining room. Everything was even more splendid than at my uncle's annual banquet; both the hall and the dining room had been transformed into a lush grove, teeming with flowers. Considering that it was almost winter, those flowers and greenery must have come all the way from the southern Valley, or perhaps even from the Coast.
The overall effect, though undoubtedly pretty, was excessive—and, to my eyes, vaguely disappointing. It was nothing like the serenity of the bird grove in the hidden valley in the Hills.
If I ever pledged myself to a man, the hidden valley would be the place for it.
I blinked, taken aback by the sudden, unbidden thought. As if I should ever get married!—and to whom, anyway?
It was a lovely garment, I had to admit as much—but at the same time my cousin's bridal robe puzzled me. It seemed more befitting the investiture of a priestess than a wedding. The azure tunic, my cousin's habitual dress marking her rank, was covered by an intricately painted gown with wide sleeves in a paler hue of blue, depicting the Southerly Winds—the summoning thereof was her power as a priestess—and closed by a belt of midnight blue and white.
"Has he spoken up yet?" I asked her in a quiet moment after the fitting.
"No," came her taciturn response. I thought that this was all the answer I would receive, when she added, "I am not expecting it any longer... and, come to think of it, it doesn't matter all that much. We are well matched, and he accepts—nay, he is proud—that I shall always be, first and foremost, a priestess." She looked at me with a hint of defiance, lest I contested her statement.
I was silent—what would there have been to say, anyway?—but I mourned for the blushing girl of earlier that year who had been so happily in love. This coolly calculating young woman almost felt like a stranger.
Well, in any case it explained the robe...
Later that day—my cousin had left for the Vigil and I was just crossing the yard to see my mother in the turret—I received a message from the artisan, telling me that the new device would be ready in four days' time. Four more days in the City... Quite aside from my being reluctant to leave my brother alone in the Hills for such a length of time, I wondered if I would be irritated by life in the City long before that.
My mother waited for me in the doorway of her circular work room on the ground floor of the turret. She silently embraced me and then invited me inside.
"Will you lend me a hand?" she asked, pointing at the bundles of herbs lying on the work bench. "There's no need for us to be idle while we talk, is there?" She left the door open and, together with the likewise open windows, the room was well-lit albeit rather draughty.
At first we didn't talk much; my mother told me about the active components of the respective plants we were processing—roots, leaves, or pods of seeds—and about their properties. I reciprocated by telling her about the cures the Miner healer had acquainted me with—but cautioned her that their efficacy was not proven on Guardians.
"How is your brother?" she finally asked.
I sighed. "I wish he would take better care of himself," I said. "He's driving himself too hard—regardless of the cost to his health. I can tell when he's in pain by his grumpiness, but he never complains... And I wish we had more Bitter Bark." I looked at her. "Did you manage to acquire any in the City?"
"Not yet," she replied. "But I had word that someone from the south will be coming to the City the day after tomorrow. He sold me Bitter Bark in the past."
"Why is it so hard to come by?"
It was my mother's turn to sigh. "It is their retribution for our control over the Spice trade," she said. "The Fishermen are not much affected by the swamp fever, and if they are they know where to find the bark—but only they do, and no-one else. So, if we leave them high and dry on Spice they retaliate by withholding Bitter Bark, knowing full well that many of our solders, who contracted swamp fever while deployed in the south, will suffer..."
"... and at present Spice is scarce even in the City."
"Yes, and therefore no Bitter Bark is coming our way." My mother looked up from her work, giving me a—what could at best be described as 'speculative'—look. "Your brother didn't get in touch with anyone else regarding the bark, did he?"
"Not to my knowledge, no," I said, somewhat impatient. Why was she—why were they both—so circumspect about this mysterious source of Bitter Bark?
We stopped when it was getting dark, stowing away everything in tidily labelled jars, boxes, and drawers, and closing both door and windows.
"Wouldn't you recognise these herbs by their looks or smell alone?" I asked, intrigued.
"I might," she said, "but it takes longer to find what is needed, and it leaves room for mistakes—and mistakes can be fatal." She wiped the workbench clean, then had a look around. Everything seemed to be in order. "Let's go upstairs—"
Her living quarters were as chilly as the workroom when we entered, but the brazier, already waiting to be lit, warmed the room quickly. My mother placed a small kettle over the heat, and soon one of her mysterious herbal mixtures was brewing.
"Tell me. How do you feel about your assignment these days?" she asked, handing me a steaming cup.
I shrugged. "It is different from what I thought," I admitted. "I'm learning things—many things—though not the things I expected. The only assaults on my brother I've prevented up to this point were by a snake and, perhaps, a lone fox." I scoffed.
"Important rescues, no less... Is it still your wish to join the Guardians in the north?"
More shrugging on my part. "I am not so sure any longer... I wonder what their task is, anyway—It's not as if they can actually fight the Ice Giants—"
"Don't be deceived, daughter," she said. "The Guardians are doing some proper fighting in the north. Not against the Ice Giants, but against the creatures that herald the Giants' coming."
"What creatures?" I wondered. There had been rumours, but being a Guardian in the north came with an initiation rite, and beyond the occasional drunken insinuation from a veteran word did not get out much.
"Fierce, wild creatures that cross the Mountains at the onset of winter and, at the height of it, they come down to the lower slopes."
"What are they?"
"I don't know," she said, looking pensive. "They are taller than men, with gleaming eyes and pointy teeth, and they are covered by a white shaggy fur. They walk on two legs, and they wield primitive weapons... Some say that, given the chance, they would overrun the Plain. But..."
"But?" I insisted.
She lowered her voice. "I think that they are creatures of the cold... They wouldn't survive on the Plain, and that they live a precarious life at the very edge of the frozen world. Maybe the north beyond the Mountains is full of them, or maybe they are the last of their kind. Who knows?"
"So, you think that no fighting would be necessary if we left them alone?"
"Possibly... probably."
"As assessments go this is not very precise," I said.
She smiled. "We'll never know unless we'll test it by trial, and until we do we shall wonder... Just like we'll keep wondering if spring came anyway if we stopped summoning the Southerly Winds."
"You too?" I was less surprised than, by rights, I should have been. "Is this why you stopped being a priestess?"
"I'm still a priestess," she corrected me. "It's a frame of mind rather than a vocation, and it's not dissimilar to being a warrior... The essence is discipline and commitment."
"So, you mean that, in the end it doesn't matter what we are but who we are?" Somehow, this rang familiar—
"I think you are on to something there, daughter," she smiled. "Drink up. You should get an early night... You shall have some excessive celebrating to do tomorrow."
I had brought the grey dress to wear at the wedding. Another bad dressing choice, it became apparent, as I stood in the rotunda at the top of the Citadel like a small thunder cloud amidst a multitude of pale hues of blue, turquoise, and lavender. Having meant to be inconspicuous, I had achieved just the opposite. The sniggering and puzzled glances told me as much.
The rotunda looked quite different from what I remembered.
I had been in this place before, at my Naming. It had looked more mysterious then, with its circle of white columns lit only by the flickering light of a brazier and torches. There had been a smoky haze, and the penetrating scent of burning incense, meant to induce visions in the young seer who was to divine my name.
My name. So pretty on the surface, it had turned out to be a poisoned chalice. I had never been back to the rotunda since then.
In daylight the place looked both more cheerful and more mundane, and there was little to arrest the eye; the high surrounding walls behind the row of columns obscured the Plain and, at other times, would direct the gaze towards the only opening—the sky above us.
At present, however, everyone was watching the Handfasting ritual. Bride, groom, and high priest stood in the centre of the rotunda, and the latter seemed determined to make sure that the onlookers got their coins' worth... or rather, my uncle's coins' worth, for I assumed that a substantial donation to the Citadel had changed hands prior to this day's events.
There was lavish burning of incense, though not of the vision-inducing kind, followed by slowly walking the circumference of the rotunda thrice while chanting in the Old Tongue, our Guardian language from the dawn of time when we had lived in the north, on the upper slopes of the Mountains. These days only our names were in the Old Tongue, and no-one but the priests spoke it any longer.
The Handfasting itself was the same simple ritual done by all couples, priests or not. The pledges, the pricking of their fingers and pressing their palms together—so that their blood would merge—all the while a white ribbon was wound around their joined hands then rewound after a blessing, the latter the priests' touch again.
Eventually the soiled ribbon was burnt as an offering to the Winds—and as the smoke dissipated it was done.
A cheer went up—it felt at odds with this place of invocation and worship, but who was I to argue?—and then everybody made their way to my uncle's home. The day, as yet hardly begun, would end in revelry...
I had first seen him in the rotunda, but I did not speak with him until we had arrived at my uncle's house. It was, of course, the brother of the groom I was referring to—my erstwhile sparring partner.
So, he had indeed managed to be on leave for the wedding, but he would probably have to return to his unit within days, and probably accompanied by his brother who, as a lieutenant, could not be spared. Just like the priests and their Vigils, the warriors' presence in the north was of the most significance in winter.
The brothers entered the yard together; the younger one walking to the left of the groom while his bride was at his right arm. Briefly I wondered if I should have accompanied my cousin in such a way as brother accompanied brother. But surely my cousin would have asked me, had she wished for it? It gave me slight stab, and I felt suddenly as much of an outsider as my dress proclaimed.
Both brothers were not only close, they were also very much alike—their likeness heightened by their attire, the white Guardian winter uniform of the north. But only the elder brother, for whom it was going to be his fourth season in the Mountains, had his adorned by fur cuffs and collars. The hunting was not yet on in the north, it appeared.
Upon seeing me standing alone next to the entrance to the hall, the younger of the brothers left the couple and came my way.
"So, you are here," he said.
I made a vague noise in the affirmative. After all, it was hardly a question, let alone a great opening for a conversation.
"You look well... Living in the Hills seems to agree with you."
"Thanks to the bracing air, no doubt... and who would have thought that surveying happened rather more often in the great outdoors than by crawling through dank tunnels?" If he noticed my sarcasm he chose not to acknowledge it.
"Not what one might expect in a country of Miners," he agreed, watching me attentively. "And how are those Miners?"
"Proud... gruff. Some are nicer than others... Some are probably scheming bastards—" He chuckled at my rude remark. "—but mostly they are people, and therefore not so different from us as one might think."
He stared at me; obviously, my final observation had taken him by surprise. "So, you actually like them?"
"No," I replied calmly. "Not particularly... I do, however, respect them."
He looked at me with vague disquiet then, perhaps wondering if I might, ever so slightly, have become unhinged.
Clearing his throat he said, "I should like to get my chance to retaliate for your win at our last sparring—and if I remember correctly you promised to grind me into the dust—"
"I'm sorry," I said, "but grinding others into the dust is rather lower on my priorities these days."
"Is it?" Strangely enough, this seemed to excite rather than disappoint him. "And what are your priorities these days?"
"Being a mediocre bodyguard, but mostly being a surveyor's assistant. Keeping my brother from dying of swamp fever or getting eaten alive—generally by mosquitoes, that is... I did kill a snake once." I gave his cuffs and collar, from where the fleece was still conspicuously missing, a pointed look. "I wouldn't go as far as wear its skin, though."
He laughed. "You may claim to be giving up on weapons, but you've grown claws... I'd say I'm game for this fight." He bowed in front of me. "Will you allow me the first dance tonight?"
"There will be no dancing before the banquet," I reminded him with an irritated sigh.
"I'm only jumping the queue," he said, quite unfazed by my reluctance. "I shall see you after the meal."
What was he seeing in me—despite my best efforts to discourage him? Does he think I'm being a flirt with him all of a sudden? ME?
There was a lot of dancing going on that night, and for once I threw myself into it... There were dances only by men; some of them wild and physical, symbolising fight and war, in others they were strutting like peacocks. The women's dances were sensuous and flowing, soft... and for a change I didn't sneer at the prejudice but let myself be consumed by the music as I followed the movements around me. I danced so that I wouldn't have to talk to people; talking made me realise how little I had to say to any of them—but that night I didn't want to be reminded of my otherness... and so I danced.
As he had promised, he sought me out at the beginning of the first of the line dances, but he hadn't chosen well in picking this particular dance. Partners were constantly changing, and we had but a few moments while we moved towards each other, turned, changed direction, and then moved on to different partners. There were many dances of that kind, and I was glad.
I shamelessly asked other men to dance with me, and so I managed to avoid him for most of that night of celebrations.
I drained every cup I was offered, and I drank too much altogether... It didn't make me one with my surroundings as I had hoped; rather, it made me feel like a cork in the current of a stream, being tossed hither and thither, never merging with the surge but floating on it, wavering but separate.
Disenchanted I sneaked to my room at last and bolted the door... I didn't know how late it was, but I felt that dawn was yet a little while away. With my clothes carelessly strewn all over the floor I slipped into bed, not minding the cold of the linen against my bare heated skin.
The last image my mind supplied me with before I went under was that of a face—a face that turned into another. I knew them both. Intimately.
—