06 | All is Not as it Seems
Seven days later I was back at the Settlement and with my brother. He was delighted with the new dioptre which, apparently, had been improved in some way—but in the certain knowledge that the effort would be wasted on me, I laughingly declined to be further enlightened. Rather, I pressed him to tell me how he had spent the time I had been away, stressing the point that it was the part not involving his work I wanted to hear about.
It was an enjoyable evening, and although he would never admit it in so many words, my brother was obviously glad about having me back.
The following morning, after waking up later than usual and wondering why he wasn't up and about, and causing a racket on the floor below, I went to inspect about my brother's whereabouts—and I found him still in bed sitting up, his eyes bright from the onset of a fever.
All through the day I was by his side, sponging his face with a cool damp cloth and making him sip willow bark infusion. For some time I hoped that it wasn't so bad, and that the potion, together with some means I had learnt from the healer—and more recently from my mother—to keep a fever in check, would be sufficient.
But towards the evening the fever rose sharply, and it was not yet showing the least signs of breaking. A dry heat was burning him up from within and his mind started to wander.
I thought about sending the Farmer maid into Town to ask the healer to come. But what would be the point? I knew what I had to do—make up a concoction of Bitter Bark.
I went to the cabinet that held my brother's store of medicines, and even though I knew how little there was, the sight of our meagre supply filled me with dread. I measured out as small a quantity as I dared, trying to make it last—and yet I felt that what was left was too little to see my brother through his sickness. This didn't feel like a light bout.
Back in the City I hadn't been able to replenish our dwindling supplies. The merchant my mother had set great hopes in could offer but a tiny amount, no more than was necessary to make up two portions of the infusion. Still, it was better than nothing, and so I had bought it at a ludicrous price and brought it back with me.
For a while after he had taken the potion he was more alert, and his replies were coherent. It was then that I begged him to reach out to the person my mother had mentioned, the one that would provide him with Bitter Bark when no-one else could.
With the returning fever laying waste to his resolve, he consented at last.
"Bring me paper, ink, and my small writing board, sister," he said.
I watched him as he wrote two short letters. In between he asked for the lamp to be lighted; it was getting dark.
"Sealing wax," he demanded as he shakily folded the first missive. Once sealed, he folded the other letter around it, and sealed it once again. Finally he wrote an instruction on the outside.
"Have it taken to the Village by express messenger, and ask them to find a fast boat going south," he said, falling back into his cushions.
Rushing to the southern gate of the Settlement in order to ask the captain of the guard for a rider who could perform the task, I read the address in the fading light of day... It's recipient was the head clerk at the harbour master's office at the East Port, a Guardian outpost at the southern Coast, at the River delta. I had no idea who held the post, nor could I think of any reason why my brother had been so reluctant to get in touch with the man.
The captain found me a trustworthy messenger with a fast horse, willing to ride through the night, and I paid him handsomely from our small stash of Spice. I also gave him silvers to pay for the second part of the delivery by boat.
And then I could only hope... Hope for the message to reach its destination, and for relief to arrive in time.
With the help of the Bitter Bark we made it through the night, and in the morning the relentless fever had abated a little. He had fallen into an uneasy sleep, and I was also dozing in the armchair next to his bed.
I woke with a start, and I saw him lying motionless, his eyes open and staring... My heart missed a beat, and only when I saw him draw a slow breath, it set in again, hammering out a frantic beat.
A deep frown creased my brother's forehead, and he was listening intently.
"They'll have to go," he said. "Make sure they are out of the house by tomorrow."
"Who?" I asked, mystified. Was he being delirious again?
The clanking of pots could be heard from the basement, and the subdued voices of our Farmer servants.
"They," he said. "Send them away to the Valley for ten days, or so. Make up some pretext—"
It didn't make any sense at all. This was not the time to do without help in the house, not when I spent my entire time in the sickroom.
"Do as I say." His voice was insistent. "You'll understand soon enough."
In the end I decided to give them no explanation whatsoever—because no matter how one looked at it, it was a stupid thing to do...
Just let them believe I'm going off my head, I thought as I told them that—as of the following morning—they were given a dozen days off to spend time with their families in the Valley. I gave them some coppers each so that they could hitch a ride on one of the carts going west, and sent them on their merry way.
While daylight lasted I felt more confident about delaying to administer the Bitter Bark brew. It was during the long night-time hours of my vigil that my fears overpowered me, and I would give in to making another batch of the medicine, all the while dreading that the worst was yet to come.
I saw off the servants in the morning, and in the early hours of the afternoon I prepared the last of the Bitter Bark concoction. By that time he was delirious, and the galloping pace of his pulse made me fear that the fever might overstrain his heart. With the feeble hope that this might be the last crisis before the fever abated, I administered the potion. From that point on my brother's life would be in the hand of the Creator.
Through the early evening he was less restless which gave me hope that he might regain some little strength ahead of the third night of his ordeal.
I was foraging the larder for a quick cold meal when I heard a knock at the front door. When I opened the Traveller stood in front of me.
"You?" I asked.
"Word reached me that your brother has been ill for some days now—and that your servants are away," he said. "I thought you could do with some help."
He scrutinised me as he stepped past me across the threshold. "When have you last slept?"
I shrugged. In truth I couldn't remember.
He took my arm and led me up the stairs. I was too stupefied to shake him off.
"Go to bed. I'll keep watch," he said. "If he's getting worse I'll wake you... I promise."
"But when he wakes he'll wonder why you are here. You never were inside this house... Not looking like—this," I protested.
"He knows my Guardian 'me' by sight... I'm sure I can explain my presence if need be." He gave me a gentle push towards my bedroom door. "Sleep now," he murmured. Hearing him say the words again—and in his familiar tone—brought quick tears to my eyes, and I hastily turned away to hide them from him.
I was asleep before my head fully touched the pillow.
"You must wake up." A hand shook my shoulder.
When I opened bleary eyes I saw the Traveller standing next to my bed, candlestick in hand. Outside it was dark.
"The healer is here—but we need a bathtub, and hot water."
"What—?"
He quickly explained that the fever was on the rise again, and that neither willow bark nor cold leg compresses had any marked effect. Thus the healer suggested to immerse him in a bath.
We didn't have a tin bath, but I knew that our neighbours had one and, unlike me who had let the hearth go cold after the servants had left, they would have hot water, too.
I had never taken great pains to be on amiable terms with our neighbours—I had been too busy as my brother's bodyguard and assistant to feel much need for company outside my immediate circle, and besides, they seemed a dull lot... Now, standing awkwardly at their door and asking them for a favour, I cursed my lack of sociability. However, the woman who answered the door just gave me a pitying look and quickly ordered her Farmer servants to lend a hand.
In no time the bath and several buckets of hot water arrived at our doorstep. Thanking them profusely I took two of the buckets and carried them upstairs while the Traveller navigated the narrow staircase with the tin bath. I upended the buckets and went downstairs to fetch another two. And then I went again...
Meanwhile the Traveller and the healer helped my brother, who was shivering violently, out of bed and into the bathtub, nightshirt and all.
The healer explained to me that the bathwater had to be almost as hot as the fever at first, so as not to shock the body, but that we would gradually add cooler water, and bring down the fever along with it.
With the other two present there was little I could do in the sickroom; so I went to stoke the hearth in the basement, in case we needed more hot water to repeat the procedure later in the night—and we did—but when the night finally came to an end and my brother was returned to his bed, small beads of perspiration started to form on his forehead.
The healer looked at me with a tired smile. "I believe he'll make it through the night," he said, heaving a sigh of relief.
"He's here," my brother whispered in a husky voice.
I must have fallen asleep for a short while because my head snapped up at his words. My mouth was parched and my brain addled.
Who's here? Death? I thought wildly.
"He's knocking... Don't you hear?" my brother insisted, still in a whisper.
He scared me. I sat unable to move, staring at him, wondering if this was indeed the end.
Then I heard it, too. There was a faint knocking sound, coming from below. Someone was at our front door.
I looked around. Outside a pale day in early winter dawned, but the healer was still asleep, sitting slumped over in the other armchair. The Traveller was nowhere to be seen.
I rose and crept out through the door, and down the stairs into the front room. I drew the bolt.
When I opened the door I saw—a ghost.
My legs gave way, and the next moment I fell to the ground like a broken thing. I didn't quite lose consciousness, but my mind was somewhere far away, watching detachedly as the man stepped inside and knelt next to me.
He was my brother.
My other brother. The one who had drowned within days of his deployment with the coastal guards... or so I had been led to believe for five long years!
He closed and bolted the door behind him and then he helped me up. I shrank from his touch, not yet quite believing that he was actually alive.
"It is you, b-brother," I stammered, as if to convince myself that my eyes didn't deceive me.
"Well, sister," he replied, "I must admit I wouldn't have recognised you in the streets. You may not have grown much since I last saw you, but you have definitely grown up."
He looked around, his face sobering up. "How is he?—Have I arrived in time?"
"If you've brought the Bitter Bark with you then there is every hope that your arrival will save him." I was still staring at him. "But how is this possible?" I marvelled.
"I believe I owe you an explanation, but it must wait for now. First things first... Is there anyone here besides our brother?—anyone who might want an explanation about who I am?
"We sent the servants away, but a healer and a... friend helped us through the worst of last night. They're both still here, I believe—" I was frantically trying to impel my sluggish mind into coming up with a plan. "Give me the Bitter Bark, and wait in the basement for my return," I said, leading the way down the stairs on shaky legs. I pointed at the alcove where the cook generally slept. A curtain could be drawn in front of it and would disguise him for the time being. "Stay in there... I may be a while," I warned him. "I'll come back when they're gone."
"I'll try to catch up on some sleep in the meantime—" He disappeared behind the curtain, and for a moment there was the rustling of straw from the mattress, then there was silence.
I took the kettle from the hearth and climbed the stairs, still in a daze.
He's alive!
I found it nigh impossible to wrap my mind around the idea that he was amongst the living, but had been hiding the fact from the world for the last five years... Well, not from all the world. Obviously both our brother and mother had known!
Upstairs, my brother's eyes followed me into the room, and I gave him a small nod.
He's here. Our brother!
Then I said aloud, "The messenger has returned. He brought the Bark." The healer stirred at my words. I bustled about, stowing away our supply and fetching the mortar, then powdered some and brewed it.
By the time I helped my brother sit up and drink, I saw out of the corner of my eye that my bedroom door opened. The Traveller was sneaking out of it. Of course! He would have turned into the Smith in his sleep, and when he found that he couldn't keep awake any longer, he had stolen away to the one place in this house where he had felt safe from detection. My bedroom.
He entered nonchalantly and sat on a stool in the corner.
"I cannot thank you enough, both on behalf of my brother and myself," I addressed both men. I felt like a fraud voicing my gratitude when I was, in fact, trying to get rid of them as quickly as possible. "I propose to let my brother sleep now—"
He's alive! How could they keep me in the dark? was running through my head, over and over again, and all I could do was keep my face impassive until there would be answers.
The healer, after quickly checking on my brother, was the first to leave.
Alas, the Traveller was stalling. He didn't say much as he helped me empty the tin bath and carry the buckets, then took the bath downstairs and to the front door for our neighbours to collect—and neither did I. With the immediate danger to my brother gone, all the inhibitions between us returned. I had learnt to deal with the Smith, but I was not prepared to deal with all the unresolved emotions that seeing the Traveller provoked in me, and especially not after the recent crisis—and with a brother whom I had thought dead hiding in my basement!
I was flustered, and it made me clumsy. I tripped over the edge of the rug and stumbled against him, and his arm shot out and kept me from falling. For a moment—a delicious and unbearable moment—he held me close to him, then he released me, and we both took a step back, embarrassed.
"Will you ever forgive me?" he said quietly. But he was already turning away heading for the door. Perhaps, he didn't want to hear the answer... and so much the better, because I didn't have one.
For a while after he was gone I stared at the closed door. Then I sighed and went downstairs.
"It is me," I said as I entered the kitchen. Not knowing how much on edge my brother was, I didn't want to encounter a sudden knife at my throat—which is what I might have done in his position.
Pulling away the curtain, he came out from the alcove and over to the table where he put down one of our sharp cooking knives. Then he ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair, yawning.
"How is he?" he asked pointing towards the ceiling with his thumb. "Can I see him?"
"He knows that you're here but he's sleeping now," I said. "I wouldn't want to wake him... It was a rough night—" For all of us, I added in the privacy of my head.
He slowly circled the kitchen, looking into baskets and lifting lids. "Any chance of food?" he eventually inquired.
"I'm not much of a cook, but I'll get you fed." He must have travelled at speed for well over a day, and definitely have ridden all through the previous night changing horses a few times, so the least I could do was give him breakfast before I assailed him with questions.
It helped me to concentrate on ordinary things. Looking around for food I found a smoked side of bacon in the larder, and half a loaf of bread, only slightly stale—and with any luck the hens would have laid some eggs.
When I returned from the backyard he was sitting by the kitchen table, leaning back with his chair, and letting the knife spin on its tip. There was something in his casual demeanour that ever so slightly rubbed me up the wrong way.
Why make everyone believe you're dead?—and where have you been all this time?
Growing up we had been close... Although we were seven years apart, the difference in age had never mattered quite as much as with my elder brother. In a family with many intense, serious members, he had been the irresponsible, fun one, and for a child this had been a great allure. He had been constantly in trouble, but he had been charming, too, and therefore had always managed to weasel out—until one day he hadn't.
At the time he was a young adult, though still in weapons training. A good swordsman. Everyone had expected him to go north, but after his misstep he was rapidly redeployed to man the Guardian vessels on the Coast. Our uncle had tried to intervene at the time. However, my brother seemed to have made an enemy in high places, and off he went to become a sailor...
... and the next we heard of him had been that he had drowned on his first expedition.
That had been five years before, but there he sat, in my kitchen, eating the breakfast I had cooked. I sat opposite him, shoving food around my plate. Both too tired and too overwrought, the smell of fatty food made me queasy.
"You're not eating that?" he asked, pointing at my plate, and when I shook my head he swapped his empty one for mine.
I watched him as he ate. Unlike our mother and brother who were both tall, he was slight—like me—and his face was narrow, almost gaunt. His mouth was wide and expressive, always ready to quip and laugh, but his smile didn't always reach his eyes. There was a nervy energy about him.
When at last he sat back in his chair, I demanded, "Now, tell me."
He didn't reply at once. In fact he didn't reply at all—not with words, that was. He sat scrutinising me, and at last he seemed to make up his mind. He sighed and said almost under his breath, "Here goes—"
His outlines became blurred—and a moment later a Miner sat in front of me. His expression, however, was exactly the same as before; half mocking, half apprehensive.
Comprehension dawned, and a strange kind of relief. Of course! It all started to make sense...
"Were you found out in the south?" I asked. "Is that what happened?"
"Yes." He looked at his hands in a vaguely puzzled way, and I wondered if this was the first time he had changed into a Miner. "I'm a Changer—but your lack of shock tells me that I'm not the first one you encounter... Well, I didn't know what I was until just before I left for the south. Our uncle warned me about it then—and a fat lot of help that was!" He scoffed. "Aboard a ship you're almost never alone—so, what are you to do when you can't control the change while you sleep? There were six of us sharing a cabin; I took the bunk bed in the farthest corner, and slept with my blanket pulled over my head... It took just a handful of nights for someone to find me out!"
"And then you were given a choice—"
"You know about the deal they offer to some of us?—Yes, I was given a choice." He spat out the last word.
"How did our brother find you?—Because that's what happened when he was in the south two years ago, wasn't it?" Piece by piece stray bits of information fell into place.
In actual fact, he had been the one who recognised our elder brother coming into East Port at the time and, as soon as the chance arose, had got in touch. He had been living with the Fishermen for well over three years by then, but with the Guardians and Fishermen being allies, the Fishermen would be in and out of East Port with their long narrow sailing boats all the time.
However, being allies didn't keep the Fishermen from doing a little smuggling and slave trading on the side.
"Are you a smuggler?" I asked him.
"Sure." He gave an irritated shrug. "I'm smuggling, and then I blow the whistle on the smugglers... There's a lot of competition between Fisherman gangs, and so I get away with passing on information to the Guardians—just a little, to keep them happy and convince them of my usefulness—"
"How did our brother's message get to you so quickly?"
"Sheer luck... I was in East Port and having a heart-to-heart with my pal the head clerk at the harbour master's office when his missive arrived." His voice was laced with sarcasm, and I assumed that the two of them had a substantial side deal, or why else would a Guardian readily relay messages to a Fisherman?—or maybe the clerk was my brother's contact as a spy?
No matter what, the whole idea of smuggling, subterfuge, and betrayal made my flesh crawl.
"How long will you be able to stay?" I asked him two days later.
I had joined both my brothers in the elder one's bedroom. The latter was much improved, though bouts of fever were still returning late in the afternoon, keeping him bedridden.
"Not for very much longer," he replied evasively.
I wondered under what pretext he had left the gang of Fishermen he was sailing with. I didn't ask; I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.
Lies. His life is built on lies!
Or was it? He grew up as a Guardian, but for many years he had been a Fisherman... Did this make him one?—and who did he think he was these days? I remembered the Smith's words of 'underneath the change I'm always me'. In a world that scorns you, maintaining that much sense of self, and self-worth, would not be easy. I wondered if my brother had it in him...
Once during that time my younger brother was staying with us, the Traveller came to our house. Both my brothers were upstairs and in animated conversation—telling by the sound of their laughter floating down. They wouldn't have heard the knocking at the front door.
I stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind me. Considering how much in his debt I was for helping my brother that night, this would appear nothing short of rude to him.
It did. The frown on his face was quickly turning from perplexed into offended.
"I-I'm sorry, but we can't receive you," I mumbled, grabbing for the first excuse that came to my mind. "My brother is resting—sleeping. He's still..."
A peal of muted laughter from within interrupted me. One of the voices was clearly my elder brother's—and, of course, the Traveller recognised it.
"Is this so," he said with biting sarcasm. "I suppose, I've got my answer now—"
I stammered an excuse, but he was already turning away.
He had caught me out in a blatant lie. I didn't need to see his eyes to understand how quickly I was sinking in his esteem.
Alas, I soon discovered another trait in the younger one of my brothers. One that bothered me greatly. He was getting restless, and restlessness made him reckless.
He was torn between hiding a little longer with us—who knew if there would ever be another chance of seeing each other for any length of time, if at all?—and going back to the relative freedom of his life in the south.
And he was bored. Used to a life of danger, sitting at our brother's bedside didn't come natural to him.
At first he was out and about only as a Farmer; that was how he had first entered the Settlement. It was not without risk because our neighbours would recognise him as not being a member of our household. I feared that an unfamiliar Farmer coming and going freely might deem them odd—especially at a time when our own servants were away.
"And who of your worthy neighbours would possibly be interested in the comings and goings of a lowly Farmer?" he jibed when I asked him not to go out.
"Their servants, for a start," I sharply replied. "Servants talk."
"And do you listen to yours?"
"No. But others might," I cautioned him. The Settlement was small; everyone knew everyone else, and any stranger was instantly recognisable.
On the third evening he left by the southern gate as a Farmer, and shortly afterwards he returned as a Guardian—and went to the tavern!
He had the sense to leave again by the gate after last orders, and then to return as a Farmer just before the southern gate was closed for the night. But I was furious when he returned and boisterously told me about his escapade. His breath smelled strongly of drink.
"Is a night of chummy talk and mediocre wine really worth the risk?" I berated him. "There are traders and travellers from all parts of the Plain coming to the Settlement. Guardians from the City, too... What if one of them recognises you as the person who—supposedly—drowned five years ago?"
"Calm down, sis," he slurred. "I know what'm doin'—"
I knew then that screaming abuse at him would be an entire waste of breath. I watched him—half scornful, half in trepidation—as he staggered down the stairs to the basement to sleep off the copious amounts of wine he had imbibed.
He was less chipper the following morning, and he promised not to do anything as foolish again.
His resolve lasted for all of two days—
I bolted upright as the younger of my brothers rushed into my room—I had, in fact, recognised his hurried step on the staircase. I wasn't, however, prepared to see him in his Farmer form as he stormed through my door in the first light of dawn. Inside the house he always showed up as a Guardian.
"You must help me, sister," he panted. "I must disappear—quickly!"
"What happened?" Alarmed, I jumped out of bed.
"I had to kill a man... Someone recognised me last night, and..."
"You were out as a Guardian again?" I interrupted him. "And killed—who?... and why?"
"Someone from the City... He arrived with the merchants yesterday. And he was already pretty much in his cups by the time I entered the tavern. I didn't notice him—and he certainly didn't recognise me at first... It was when I was out in the back yard for—" He faltered for a moment. "—well... you know... that he came up behind me and started to make a racket—shouting he remembered me, and hadn't I drowned—"
"So you killed him?"
"Choked him to make him shut up—"
I was pacing the room, my mind working furiously. "What did you do with the body?" I asked him.
"Hid him behind a pile of firewood in the backyard, covered by some old sacks and crates... but it was dark and so I couldn't be thorough..."
"Inside the Settlement he'll be found within the day." However well hidden, in a closely built-up place like the Settlement a corpse had a way of making its presence known. "Did you come here directly?"
"No. I went out by the southern gate—I made sure that the guard on duty saw my face—and once out of sight I changed into a Farmer. I hid in the dark, and came back this morning by the northern gate."
Well, at least he has some common sense left in his reckless brain.
I should have been abhorred that my brother's irresponsibility had caused another man's death—and I was. But. He was my brother and, as a Changer, he was living a precarious life. So I would protect him, even now.
"You can't be seen leaving the Settlement in a hurry, even as a Farmer!" I said. "I'll tell you what we shall do... Let me get dressed and fetch my basket, and then we'll go by the livery stable to get the horse you arrived with—" I explained my plan to him in a few quick words, and then I sent him packing.
We met again in the basement only a few moments later.
"There's still time to say goodbye to our brother," I told him.
He didn't quite look at me as he said, "I'd rather you explained things to him... I've made a mess of things—again!—and I'd much rather not face his disappointment—"
"He is not well," I reminded him, "and once he's returning to the City, he may not be able to travel much, henceforth... I can't imagine that he'll ever come to the south again—and so you may not have a chance of seeing him again!"
"So be it, then," he replied evenly.
I stared at him, incredulous.
"Why don't you get that basket of yours, and we'll be on our way?" he said, heading for the front door.
He played the Farmer servant well, meekly following two steps behind me as we first went to the livery barn where I paid the owner in coppers for stabling the horse during the previous days and then, leading his unassuming mount by the reins, as we slowly passed through the streets and out through the southern gate, all the while I, dressed for going to market in Town, kept up a flow of instructions—meant to be overheard by any passers-by—on what route to take and what messages he was to deliver to my relatives in the City.
Outside the walls of the Settlement and out of sight both from its walls and the Eastern Road—a hillock and a ditch in the approach road hid us from both—we stopped by the wayside to say our farewells. It was an awkward moment with little to say. I was both disappointed and distressed that it all ended in such a way, and he looked embarrassed—and, perhaps, in his thoughts he was already on his way south.
All through his sojourn with us he had been evasive as to, whether or not, there was someone he cared for particularly amongst the people of the Fishermen. I assumed there must be someone, friends, maybe a woman... But wouldn't he be afraid that his Guardian siblings considered such a connection a taint? I realised that, until recently, I would have been abhorred at the thought—and that my aversion would have been shared by Guardians in general... So, I could hardly blame him for keeping things to himself.
"Safe travels," I said, looking into his Farmer face. "Remember who you are—"
"A Guardian?" He scoffed.
"My brother," I said gently, "and a reckless—though not an intrinsically wicked—man... or so I hope." In this moment of parting I couldn't quite be reconciled with his Farmer face. "Will you show me the brother I know?—just for a moment?"
I knew it was unwise and dangerous, but I couldn't help myself.
He smiled at me and, as his smile reached his eyes, he changed into his familiar Guardian form.
"Take good care of yourself—and of our brother," he said as we embraced.
I closed my eyes for a moment—steeling myself for our final goodbye—and as I opened them I saw someone walk across the hillock towards the Settlement. It was the Smith!
His steps faltered for a moment, and I petrified. Then I felt my brother's impulse to turn.
"Don't move!" I hissed into his ear. "Someone's on the road... Mount your horse—slowly—and cut across country."
He did as he was told while I returned to the road into Town, walking slowly towards the Smith.
The Miner's eyes bored into mine as I approached, but I held my head high in defiance. There was little else I could do...
"I have come to pay a visit to your brother," he said in cold measured tones as soon as I was within earshot.
"Is there a problem with the water conduit?" I asked, my own voice a lot steadier than I felt. I didn't bother to point out that my brother might not be up yet. Anything rather than have him return to Town with me.
"Yes." He gave me a curt nod. "A good day to you, lady," he said. His parting look was inscrutable.
Later in the morning, when I returned to the Settlement after my token shopping in Town, I was greeted by the news that a body had been found behind the tavern.
The Settlement was abuzz with rumours and, as soon as it transpired that the dead man wasn't a local, the horror of finding a murdered man within the their walls became tinged with ghoulish excitement. Although no-one had actually seen the dead man pick a fight with any of the other customers of the tavern the night before, a bar brawl soon became the most likely explanation; and it wasn't long before the mysterious Guardian, only seen twice in the tavern—once a few days previously and once on the night—was considered the most likely assailant.
About the murdered man little was known; a former soldier turned weapons instructor—there were many of them in the City, so it was not certain that I might have known him, though my brother probably had—he had been contemplating to settle down in the east and purchase some land to cultivate wine, or rather, to have some Farmers cultivate wine for him. At least, those were the plans he had mentioned to the traders he had travelled with.
The captain of the guard manning the gates took on the questioning—but his questions led nowhere. No-one knew the man, and few of the inhabitants of the Settlement had actually seen him at all. The respective guards on duty reported that he had come alone and on foot, and that he left both times before the closing of the gates. He didn't seem to have any connection with anyone within the Settlement.
Nobody mentioned the Farmer who had been staying with us for some days, and who had left on the morning the dead man was found—nobody would even consider a Farmer capable of such violence... They were known for their meekness which was why we—the Guardians—trusted them.
So, nobody had any suspicions that we—the surveyor and his sister—might have any connection with the murderer...
Nobody but one person.
The Smith.
I felt sullied. Besmirched...
Even taking the fact into consideration that my brother may have acted to save his own life, I had allowed myself to be made accessory to the violent death of another man. I briefly wondered what might happen to Changers caught returning to the tribe that first found them out. Would they be branded and cast out, or was their life forfeited? Either way, that man's death would never have happened if it wasn't for my brother's foolhardy actions.
For years I had been trained to defend myself and others, and, in the process, to kill. And yet I had never taken the life of another person. I had hunted animals; mostly for food, but sometimes for sport—It was what Guardians did.
All through the previous year I had felt like being on a fool's errand, and my certainties had left me...
While still in the City I had been so proud of my abilities with spear and dagger that I had never stopped to question my endeavours. But in the meantime the spear had proved a hindrance more often than not, and as for my task as a bodyguard... I felt that any ordinary surveyor's assistant might have been of more use to my brother in these Hills than his highly weapons-trained sister.
And now there was this sordid crime, and I was associated with it...
My self-worth had come from a position of righteousness; that I wouldn't stoop so low as to lie... Well, perhaps I would fib about such insignificant things as whether or not I was a bodyguard posing as my brother's assistant—a mere white lie—but regardless of this I had always felt superior of, say, a Changer whose whole life seemed built on deception.
Only, he didn't have much of a choice—but then, neither had I, once my brother had got himself into trouble.
And so it became apparent that we were both tainted; that we didn't choose our feet of clay—but we had them, all the same.
No, he shouldn't have kept from me what he was at the time, not when I offered myself to him so completely... but neither should I have lied to him when he heard my brothers' voices from the upstairs room that day he came to our front door.
I should have told him there and then that there was another Changer in the house. Maybe it would have been a consolation to both of them to learn about each other's existence—something to lift the burden of the secret and, perhaps, keep my brother from seeking company by other means—but I had not trusted the Traveller—the Smith—at the time. And so I had missed my chance.
I wished I could tell him how sorry I was.
My brother seemed to be on the mend at last. But it was a slow process. He was weak and occasionally still bedridden; he wouldn't be outdoors for a long while yet.
Despite the time of the year work on the water conduit was making good progress. The engineer came to our house a few times, and—albeit reluctantly—my brother introduced him to the art of surveying by means of a dioptre.
This knowledge was supposed to be reserved to us Guardians. It was our mathematicians and artisans who had worked out the science, and—like Spice—it was a means of making the other Tribes dependent on us. But in this instance my brother felt he had little choice. While the route of the conduit was pegged out, the gradient of the building structures had to be checked during construction; and for as long as he couldn't accomplish it, someone else had to do the actual fieldwork.
Unfortunately, his assistant—me!—was utterly inadequate in that respect.
And so the engineer would set out in the mornings with another Miner to assist him and come back late in the afternoon to return the instruments, and in order to discuss his findings with my brother.
With our two Farmer servants returned from the Valley, I was suspended and relieved from all duties for the time being.
I still did my regular weapons practice, though less because I believed I should actually need my skills anytime soon, but for keeping up the discipline. Alas, it wasn't discipline that I was lacking, it was commitment...
I frequently went into Town, where I took pains to avoid the foundry and its Master. Sometimes I went there for shopping at the market, but more often I came to see the healer. In fact, I went to see him so often that I wondered if I was making a nuisance of myself.
He never complained, quite on the contrary. Whenever the weather permitted he took me with him to gather supplies for his medicines in the Hills, and he would introduce me to their healing properties. I spent a lot of time with him in the still room; it reminded me of the time I had spent with my mother in her workroom at the time of my cousin's wedding, and some of the remedies we handled I recognised from back then.
It was quiet, soothing work; and the healer's occasional appraising look or remark told me that I was not nearly as useless at it as I was at surveying.
Once or twice I went to the hidden valley. I never saw the Miner girl, but the birds were always there, although less active now than when I had first seen them in summer. Because Spice was still hard to come by, some of the Miners refused to mine ore in the tunnels, and therefore less birds were needed. The iron and steel business was slow, and there had been a few more violent altercations, though none of them going so far as to target the Settlement.
With prices rising for steel goods in the City, the Guardian Council would have to consider carefully just how much Spice they could possibly withhold before it tipped the scale.
I wondered if the Smith felt compelled to make another journey to the City to acquire Spice under cover of his Guardian persona in order to keep his business afloat...
... but I wouldn't get any information on that account first-hand; the Smith sent the occasional message to my brother, but he never came to our house these days.
Someone else came instead... and I was little prepared to receive this particular visitor.
It was the Master of Divination.
In all the time we had lived there, I had never known her to enter the Guardian Settlement. She came by coach, and her Miner coachman announced her to me.
My brother was upstairs, sleeping. He had a relapse and was suffering from bouts of a slight fever; it didn't seem to be caused by actual swamp fever, but might simply be owed to his weakened state. Other than willow bark, and a tonic the healer had given him to strengthen his heart, little else than bed rest seemed to be required—or working, for that matter.
"To what do I owe the honour?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm as I stood to the side of the door to let her in. There was no disguising that little love was lost between the two of us.
She entered our front room with the self-assurance of a potentate, chose the best chair, and sat, comporting herself as if holding court. It struck me anew that, while the City had a Council sharing their powers, the Miners had one secret leader. The Master who both divined and remembered all names held a wealth of influence within her Tribe inconceivable by us Guardians.
"I have come to warn you," she said gravely.
"Oh?" was all I replied.
"To warn you not to abuse your knowledge about my son—"
"Why would I do such a thing," I said, feigning ignorance.
"—or I shall use mine against you," she continued.
My heart was in my mouth, but my voice was steady as I said, "And what would that be, pray?"
"The knowledge that you are shielding a murderer." There was a hint of a smile on her face. "And I have reason to believe that I know who—and what—he is."
"And how, if I may ask, have you come by this—alleged—knowledge?" I kept my hands—fingers twisted together—behind my back to prevent her from seeing how they shook. Had he been talking to his mother about seeing me with a man by the roadside the morning the body was discovered?
She still had that tight-lipped smile on her face as she replied, "My son told me nothing... Never forget what I am!" With her final words she rose and went to the door and out, without gracing me by another look.
It was at the height of winter that I woke with a strange feeling...
There had been a storm that night, coming from the north. It had blown through the small gaps in the window frames and rattled the shutters throughout the night. Now, in the pale light of a winter morning, all was quiet. Too quiet.
... there was a feeling of absence about the house that made my heart sink.
Slowly I got up, and with faltering steps I went out of my bedroom and crossed the corridor. I knocked at my brother's door, then knocked again. No answer came.
When I opened it the sense of absence overwhelmed me. I rushed to his bedside, and when I saw his pale, still face I knew.
His eyes were closed, and his face was relaxed. There were no traces of pain in it.
His heart had given out, and he had died in his sleep.
—