Blood in Snow (6 page)

Edmund smiled at the slope, remembering how he used to sled down it. It was terrifyingly steep, but that was part of the fun. Children would zoom down, screaming the entire way, to see how far they could slide across the frozen lake. Until late one winter, that is, when a girl named Sonja fell through the ice. They didn’t find her body until spring.

That reminded Edmund: he needed to place markers out by the lakes and rivers so people wouldn’t trudge out onto thin ice. He’d also have to ask Cavin the carpenter to make snowshoes and skis for everyone, after which he’d need to teach everybody how to use them. There were so many things to do before winter hit. Of course, none of it would matter if they didn’t get warmer clothing.

As Edmund stood at the edge of the outcropping, surveying the valley and mentally making a list of tasks to do, Vin slowly retreated a few paces.

“It’s the perfect place,” he said.

Edmund nodded in agreement. “But are you sure you wouldn’t want to be in town? Or at least closer? Wouldn’t you get lonely?”

“No,” Vin said from somewhere behind him, “I think I’d like to be out here. No offense to your Rood, but this place kind of captures the soul, if you know what I mean.”

Edmund nodded some more, knowing exactly what Vin meant. He wondered if he could live out in the country in some small cabin by himself, too, but then remembered why he needed to rebuild Rood and equip an army of men with weapons made from Iliandor’s steel.

“You know, Ed”—there was the sound of a knife slipping out of its scabbard—“if you are the type of man I think you are, the Highlands will be better than even you can imagine.”

Edmund laughed for the first time in several days as he watched a flock of wood ducks fly south in a long, bent line. “And what type of man do you think I am?”

Becky turned and growled, low and menacing, teeth bared at Vin, who was now standing directly behind Edmund.

Edmund spun. Vin had a knife in his hand. “Wh-wh-what, what are you doing?” He grabbed the hilt of his own sword. “Vin?”

Vin gripped the knife in his cold fingers. He panted, his grey breath billowing before him. “I’m pretty sure I know who you are.”

Snarling, Becky inched toward him.

Vin backed away a couple of steps. “Believe me. I hope I haven’t misgauged you. That would be a shame.”

“Misgauged me? What’s this all about? What are you doing? P-put the knife—”

Vin turned the sharp blade toward himself and slashed open his own stomach. Thick, red blood poured from the gash, saturating his expensive clothes. Dropping the knife, he stumbled backward and fell. He looked from the blood on his hands to his open wound and gasped. “Oh gods …”

“Vin!” Edmund rushed to the brewer’s side. “What the hell are you doing? What—?”

Vin cried out and clutched at his stomach. “I’m … I’m betting, I’m betting that you’re a magic user. I’m betting that you’re a … a healer.” He gave a weak chuckle. “I’d better not be wrong, eh?”

Edmund gaped at the blood gushing between Vin’s fingers. “I told you I’m not—”

Vin grimaced in pain. “I know you’re a magic user.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. I can tell.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I’m not a—”

“I know because I’m one, too.”

Edmund stopped short. “You’re a … a magic user?”

Vin coughed, body slackening in Edmund’s arms. “I’d … I’d really appreciate it if you proved me right sometime soon. I have plans later this evening.”

Edmund glanced around frantically, making sure nobody was nearby. “Are you … are you really a … a magic user?”

“Please”—Vin’s face contorted—“save me first. Talk later.”

Edmund put his hands over the wound.

Vin screamed.

“I’d better not regret this!” Closing his eye, Edmund whispered his healing spell: “
Smerte av reise.
”

Breathing hard, Vin watched the wound close. He laughed again, this time a little more strongly. “I … I knew it! I knew it.” He slumped in Edmund’s arms, chuckling. “Thank the gods! For a minute there, I thought you were just a librarian.”

Edmund shoved Vin away and stumbled to his feet. “Why did you do such a stupid thing? What a, what a rotten … what a stupid thing to do! Why—?”

Vin felt his stomach. A thin, white scar slashed across his blood-slick belly, but other than that, he was fine. “I had to find out.”

“Do you know how stupid that was?” Edmund shouted. “What if I wasn’t one? What if, what if I didn’t help you?”

“You’d help if you could. That’s the type of person you are.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Edmund said, thinking of Turd and of Molly’s baby being held prisoner. “You have no idea what kind of person I am!”

Edmund staggered away and sat onto a toppled-over tree. He put his head into his shaking hands.

“What a stupid, stupid thing to do!”

Vin started to get up, but Becky snarled, so he stayed in the blood-covered leaves. “I’m sorry. I just had to—”

“Are you really a magic user?” Edmund yelled, voice carrying far into the valley. He immediately adjusted his tone, but not his wrath. “Are you really what you said?”

Vin pushed himself backward, one eye on the growling Becky, until he rested against a tree. “Do you remember how many casks I brought?”

“What? Don’t change the subject!”

“Trust me and think back. How many casks did I bring? The wagon was full of them, remember? How many would fit in the back?”

Edmund fumed, unable to answer.

“Consider how many drinks I give out each day,” Vin went on, “to two hundred townspeople, plus extra for contest winners …”

He should’ve run out days ago.

Maybe he watered them down or made more.

Made more with what? He’d need ingredients, and it takes time to brew beer. He can’t just make it overnight.

“If you’re lying—”

“Go into the tavern’s cellar,” Vin said calmly, still holding his stomach. “You’ll find that all of the casks are completely full of the best beer you’ve ever tasted.”

Edmund glared.

“Are you really a magic user?”

“Yup!”

Edmund shook his head in disbelief.

“And you can make beer?” he asked, realizing that perhaps his own magical abilities weren’t that meager after all. “There’s actually a spell to make beer?”

“Not just beer. Ale, wine, cider—any drink. Anything at all. I just made beer because I figured your men would appreciate it more than a spiced brandy or a sparkling sherry. I can create an incredible port. You should taste it.”

Edmund wanted to laugh despite the situation. Putting his back against a tree, he sat across from Vin.

“Spells for making beer!”

“Hey,” Vin said, a bit defensively, “it’s not just about making the drinks. I can make them as strong or as weak as I want. And have you noticed how nobody gets drunk? How they’re always happy after a mug of my beer? That’s all me. Nobody can brew like I can. Plus, I can make it all appear like that.” He snapped his fingers. “An endless supply of liquid heaven!”

Edmund thought about this.

Vin’s beer had caused a noticeable difference; no one had fought in town since he came. Plus, the beer had more than just a calming quality; there was something else to it, something Edmund couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“It is good beer,” he admitted.

“Good?” Vin repeated in mock offense.

Edmund looked at him, shirt slashed open, hands and midsection sticky with blood.

“Idiot.” Yet Edmund couldn’t help but grin. “So you’re really a … a …”

Vin was grinning back.

“Two peas in a beautiful pod, far from the nobility who want to kill us. That’s us!”

“Is that why you left Eryn Mas? The nobility hunting witches?”

“Somebody realized I hadn’t ordered any hops or barley in several years.” Vin shrugged. “It was time to get out of there.”

“Why come here?”

“I’d heard about a one-eyed, stuttering man who brought something or another to King Lionel the Moron—something for one of his stupid contests.” Vin stretched his legs out, despite Becky’s relentless glower. “And then I’d heard about a one-eyed, stuttering man who was supposed to be a witch somewhere up here in the north. I just put two and two together.”

Damn it! Everybody will be able to figure that out. It’s not safe here.

I’m not running. No more. I’ll die up here, and that’s fine. But no more running.

Vin snickered. “Did you really call King Lionel an imbecile?”

“What?” Edmund shook himself out of his thoughts. “What? No. No, of course not. I’d be in the dungeon, or worse. I told him about the goblins in the mountains. I raised my voice and he kicked me out.”

“Pity. I’d have even more respect for you if you’d called the idiot an imbecile to his face.”

Edmund stared down into the colorful valley, wondering how he’d ever be able to feel safe again. A large snowflake fell from the grey skies.

“So.” Vin put his hands behind his head. “What now?”

“I don’t know. But we have to keep all of this quiet. I don’t know how the men would react if they knew.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to tell anybody. When people found out about my uncle, they flayed him.” Vin cursed. “The bastards cut all of his skin off while he was still alive. I can still hear his screams.” He shuddered.

They surveyed the hills. A few more fluffy snowflakes floated around them. It was getting colder.

“Could you teach me?” Edmund found himself asking.

“What do you mean?”

Go ahead and tell him.

“Well,” Edmund confessed, “I’m, I’m n-n-not … I’m not exactly a good magic user.”

Vin snorted. “Could’ve fooled me. Not many people could have done what you just did. Plus, this”—he inspected his white scar—“this gives me something to tell the ladies. The way I’m going to retell it, I fought ten goblins at once.”

He took a pipe from his breast pocket, filled the bowl with tobacco, and waved a finger over it. The tobacco glowed orange as he puffed.

“How did you do that?” Edmund asked. “I mean, without uttering the incantation.”

Vin exhaled a stream of grayish-blue smoke into the air. It smelled sweet. “I said it in my head.”

Edmund frowned.

“What, can’t you do that with spells on your path?” Vin asked.

Go ahead and tell him.

He’s going to make fun of me.

“Hey, Becky,” Edmund called. Becky stopped snarling at Vin. “Why don’t you go scout the area, okay girl? Make sure nobody’s nearby.”

Tail wagging, Becky barked and bounded down the hillside, kicking up dry autumn leaves as she went.

Vin watched her race off between the trees. “Now, does she really understand you? Is that something healers can do? Or is she just really well trained?”

Edmund shrugged. “She understands. Whether she listens or not is another issue.”

“Impressive. Is it just her, or can you talk to all animals?”

“I haven’t really tried with any other animals. Just dogs. Only two dogs, really. It might not work with any others. I don’t know.”

Vin blew out another stream of smoke. “Fascinating.”

They both sat, listening to the sounds of the forest.

Vin caught a snowflake.

“Looks like your winter is on its way.”

“No.” Edmund brushed some flakes from his lap. “This is just a warning. The real snow won’t fall for another week or so. After that, you won’t see the ground for months.”

Vin groaned. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Together they stared out over the valley as fluffy flakes drifted out of the grey sky, leaves of yellow and red floating down from the nearly bare trees.

“What’s on your mind, Ed?” Vin said eventually. “I hope you’re not too peeved at me for what I did. I just needed to make sure, you know?”

Edmund shook his head.

“It isn’t that, although it was asinine.” He sighed. “It’s just … it’s just …”

“What?”

“Well … I’m not exactly a healer. At least, that’s not my, my path. It wasn’t the path I took.”

Vin lowered the pipe from his mouth. “I gutted myself like a fish—and you’re
not
a healer?”

“You see …” Edmund struggled for the right words.

Just tell him. Maybe he can help you learn more spells. You can’t get very far in life if you only know four spells.

“My … my f-f-father, my father died when I was fairly young,” Edmund explained, not knowing how much detail to give. “Then my mother killed herself …”

“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“No. I … I think I need to. I need to explain.”

“Was one of them special? Like us, I mean?”

“They both were.”

Vin straightened. “You’re kidding. You’re a purebred? Wow! That explains all the different things you can do.”

“Well, that’s just it. I … I can’t do much. They … they both, they both died before I got very far.”

“I don’t understand. You healed my stomach like it was as easy as boiling water.”

Edmund didn’t know how to boil water, but he didn’t want to admit it.

More snow fell.

Vin pulled his hood over his head.

“Well, yes,” Edmund said. “I, I can do that. I can heal some things. But, I can’t do much else.”

Just tell him. Maybe he can teach you!

“You see, I … I never completed my training. I never actually selected a path.”

“You’re serious?”

Edmund grimaced.

“How far, exactly, did you get?” Vin asked. “I mean, I know it isn’t polite to pry, but—what can you do?”

Edmund brushed away more snow that had accumulated on his clothes.

“Well, I … I can heal some things, like I said. But I can’t grow eyes back!” He tried to chuckle, but felt painfully embarrassed instead.

Vin waited.

“And I can make things bigger,” Edmund added.

Vin waved for him to continue, pipe clenched between his teeth.

“And I can make food—these biscuits that taste like sawdust. And, oh, I … I can make fire. A spark. Sometimes more than a spark, but … I don’t really know how that happens.”

Vin arched an eyebrow. “That’s it? Four spells. You know four basic spells?”