Blood in Snow (7 page)

Edmund shrugged again.

“Seriously? You’re not just being modest or cagey, are you? You’re being serious.”

Edmund gave a half smile that bordered on a pained wince. “I honestly don’t know much magic. I haven’t a clue.”

Vin felt his stomach as though to make sure the scar remained closed.

“Do you think you could teach me a bit?” Edmund asked. “Anything you can show me would be more than I know now.”

Vin stuck his thumb into the bowl of his pipe. The smoldering tobacco’s orange glow disappeared with a crackling hiss. He rose.

“All right,” he said, dusting snowflakes from his clothes. “We have work to do. Get up. Your first lesson starts now.”

“Really?” Edmund got to his feet.

“Absolutely! I’ll teach you like my uncle taught me before the witch hunters murdered him. First off, do you understand the nature of things? Did you get that far?”

Edmund blinked.

“Okay, not a problem.” Vin exhaled, breath still smelling like pipe smoke. “We’ll start there.”

He glanced around but, realizing he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for, turned back to Edmund.

“All right,” he said. “Imagine I give you a mug and told you it was filled with beer. What would it taste like?”

“What?”

“Have you ever taken a drink of water, thinking it was something else, and for a split second that water actually tasted like what you thought it was?”

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Edmund said, “but I’m not following.”

“All right … we’ll try from a different direction.” Vin glanced around again. “You said you used to come here when you were a child. Did you ever lie on these hills, staring up at the clouds?”

“What?”

“Just go with it. Keep an open mind, and go with what I say. Did you ever stare up at the clouds when you were a kid?”

“Yeah,” Edmund replied, “I suppose.”

“Splendid! Now, did you ever think a cloud looked like one thing, but others saw something else, something completely different?”

Edmund blinked some more.

Vin took a deep breath. “Picture this: we’re sitting on a hill just like this one, looking up at big, fluffy, white clouds drifting by in the bright blue sky. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. So you see a big, fluffy cloud you think resembles a rabbit eating a carrot.”

“A rabbit?” Edmund repeated doubtfully.

“Just go with it. You understand what I mean? The cloud’s shape looks vaguely like a rabbit.”

“I … I think I understand.”

“So then you turn to the person next to you, point at the cloud, and say, ‘Look at the rabbit.’ But they don’t see a rabbit, they see a duck or something else. Got it? It’s the same cloud. It hasn’t changed any, but they see something totally different from what you see. Make sense?”

Edmund nodded vaguely, wondering what this had to do with magic.

“All right. So your friend points at the cloud and explains how it looks like a duck. And, lo and behold, you see it! You can see what he sees. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Now here’s the important part. This is the entire basis for magic, so you need to grasp this before we move on. Ready?”

Edmund didn’t think he was, but he kept quiet.

“No matter how hard you try,” Vin said, “you can’t see the cloud as you first saw it; you no longer see a rabbit, all you see is a duck.”

Edmund opened his mouth, but realized he didn’t have the slightest idea what to say.

“And that,” Vin said in triumph, “that is the nature of reality.”

“Ducks, and … and rabbits? Clouds?”

Vin sighed again and pulled his cloak tighter to him, covering the gash in his bloody tunic. The temperature continued to drop.

“Boy, you really have a closed mind, don’t you? But that’s okay. You’re going to master this, and when you do, your mind will open right up. It’ll be like throwing a lit torch into a dark room. Just stick with me.”

Becky trotted up the hill, dragging a long tree branch. She lay in the snowy leaves next to Edmund and began to chew on it, her jaws cracking the dry wood.

“Reality,” Vin said slowly, “is what you believe it is.”

He let that sink in.

Edmund considered this, then nodded.

“If you’re able to see all possibilities,” Vin went on, “if you’re able to look at the cloud and not see just the rabbit and the duck, but a hundred other things—then you have a much different reality from somebody who has a narrower mind. Following me?”

Edmund frowned.

“Damn it!” Vin slapped his forehead. “I wish my uncle was here. He was so much better at this than I am.”

“No.” Edmund motioned for him to go on. “I think I know what you’re saying. It’s like chess; the more potential moves you can see, the better player you are.”

“I suppose. But that doesn’t really get to it.”

Slumping back, Vin sat onto the trunk of a fallen tree and scratched his curly black hair in frustration. He tried again.

“To you—to everybody, really—reality is what we believe it can be.”

Edmund nodded, thinking he understood.

Vin went on. “If your beloved mother walked toward you with a knife, you probably wouldn’t think she was about to stab you. That’s not the reality you have; it wouldn’t even enter your mind. Just like it would be difficult to think of your enemies as being your friends.”

This actually makes sense.

Yes, but how does it help?

“Narrow minds have narrower realities,” Vin said, “and narrower abilities to respond to those realities.”

Seeing he was making progress, Vin continued. “If you believe something doesn’t exist, your mind can’t possibly perceive it, even if it’s staring you right in the face.”

Like the Undead King!

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t see him. Wait … that doesn’t make sense.

“It’s slipping from you, isn’t it?” Vin said.

“Like smoke in the wind.”

“Okay, imagine you don’t believe dragons exist. Right? Something big flies over you. You didn’t get a clear look at it, but it couldn’t be a dragon since you don’t believe they exist.”

“I get it. I’d just assume it would be anything but a dragon. A large bird, perhaps. Or a cloud.”

“Exactly! People with closed minds don’t perceive anything around them but their own realities. It’s like everything else is invisible to them.”

It
is
like the Undead King!

“Hell,” Vin laughed, “I might be a troll, or an elf, or something out of legend. But if you didn’t believe in these things, then you’d probably assume I’m a human. See what I’m saying? I’d be a human to you because that’s all I could be since there’s nothing else, no other possibilities. Make sense?”

“Yeah,” Edmund said, mulling everything over. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Vin pulled out his pipe again and re-lit it with a wave of his hand. “Seeing is believing, as they say. But believing is also seeing. Without an open mind, the world is a very limited and boring place. Magic gives you the ability to see everything. Magic
is
everything, one might say.”

Understanding began to creep over Edmund. “So how do I open my mind?” he asked. “How … how do I see everything, open myself up to other possibilities? What do I do?”

Vin smiled. “Ah! That’s lesson number two! And it’s the biggie. You’ll have to dedicate a lot of time to mastering it. There are a bunch of mind-clearing exercises you’ll need to do, but again, you’ll have to practice. It isn’t easy.” He pulled his cloak tighter. “But let’s get back to town. I’m freezing out here.”

Now Edmund laughed. “Strange. I didn’t even notice the cold until you said something.”

“Then you’re starting to see the power of perception! But I’m serious. I can’t feel my face. Let’s go have a drink. You’ve earned one.”

Chapter Seven

Edmund woke in his tiny room on the second floor of The Buxom Barmaid and glanced longingly at Pond’s still-made bed. Then he heard many voices laughing and shouting and carrying on in the town square. His window was frosted over. He heaved against the pane and pushed it open.

A thin, white blanket of snow covered everything—the ground, the buildings, the trees. In the square, Rood’s townsfolk ran about, laughing and playing.

Edmund watched them, smiling, his breath appearing in long puffs. He had always loved the first snowfall of the year. Everything looked so clean and majestic.

Large white flakes swirled. Some landed on his arms as he leaned out the window, trying to get a better view.

Several people called for him to come down and, like an excited child, Edmund threw on his clothes and ran to the door, Becky leading the way.

“Everything okay, sir?” Gabe asked as Edmund pushed past him on the stairs.

“Yes!” Edmund called back and then stopped. “Gabe, put on something hot for the midday meal, soup maybe. Everybody’s going to be coming in complaining about the cold in a couple of hours.”

“Okay, sir. I was actually making soup for supper.”

“Good! Heat it up and then come on outside. You’re missing all the fun!”

Edmund and Becky ran to the town square, where Vin stood bundled in a heavy coat and fur-lined cloak that must have cost him a small fortune.

“So this is snow?” He shivered a bit. “It’s beautiful! Absolutely beautiful! A tad cold, but there’s an angelic quality to it, you know?”

“Cold?” Edmund replied, wearing nothing more than pants and a woolen shirt. He slapped Vin on the back and laughed. “This is nothing! S-s-soon, soon it’ll be cold enough to freeze your skin in place!”

“I suppose it’s all in how you perceive it.”

They exchanged knowing glances.

“Thanks for everything yesterday,” Edmund said. “You’ve really given me something to think about.”

“Feels kind of wonderful, doesn’t it? Liberating?”

“Liberating is the word, yes. Like I have a whole new world to explore without having to go anywhere. Kind of like learning how to read.”

“Well put.”

They watched some of Rood’s children run through the square, leaping at the flurries. A couple of boys tried to make snowballs, but the snow was too dry for that. So instead they threw fistfuls of snow and autumn leaves into each other’s red faces.

“Did you say you had some special cider in one of those barrels of yours?” Edmund asked, conscious of the people now gathering around them. “Something to keep people warm?”

“There could be.” Vin winked at Edmund. “There could also be some special brandy that’d do the job as well. Would you like me to bring a cask up from the cellar?”

“Let’s stick with cider. Have Gabe heat some in a little bit. Most of these men will need to warm up in a few minutes. The children as well.”

“Not a problem. I have a few recipes that’ll keep us all warm, no matter how cold it gets.”

“Really?” Edmund said, suddenly aware of what that could mean to the town. Without heavy coats and boots, everybody would need some way to keep from freezing to death, and Vin might have hit on the perfect solution. “You don’t just mean keeping us warm like any old drink? You mean … warm. Actually warm, as in no frostbite warm?”

“Well, I don’t know about it preventing frostbite. I mean, it won’t stop you from turning to ice if you jump into freezing water, but you won’t feel—”

“Sir?” Hendrick strode through the cheering crowd, Bain and Merek with him. Upon seeing the gorgeous object of Abby’s affections, Edmund tried not to let his smile slip.

“What can I do for you, Captain Hendrick?” Edmund asked. “Want me to teach you how to make a snow angel?”

“A snow what?”

“Never mind.” Edmund watched Toby and one of the children trying unsuccessfully to roll snow into a ball. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, sir. It’s all of this.” Hendrick flapped a hand at everybody running around the square. “Nothing is getting done. Should I have the men get back to work?”

Edmund watched some women gingerly feeling the snow as if they’d never touched anything so special before. Many had their tongues out, trying to taste the flakes as they floated from the cloudy sky.

A clump of snow whizzed past their heads, barely missing Merek. Edmund wished it had hit the big guard. He pictured Merek crying like a schoolboy and snickered.

“No. There’s a new tradition in the Highlands: everybody can have the day off for the first snowfall!”

A cheer erupted from the men around them.

“You’ve all earned a day off,” Edmund said louder. “Thank you for your hard work over the past few months. Enjoy the snow!”

Henry, the owner of Rood’s general store, shivered in his linen tunic. “How long does this stuff last?”

Go ahead, tell him.

“You won’t see the ground again until about April,” Edmund said.

The laughing faltered.

“You’re joking,” Henry said, but then his smirk faded.

“Until April?” Merek repeated.

Edmund had a strange sense of pleasure in seeing dread on the big man’s face.

“It’s nothing,” he reassured them. “You’ll get used to it. But I’ll need to teach you how to survive. First lesson: don’t get wet. So you might not want to r-r-run, to run around and get all sweaty. We’re also going to need lots of snowshoes.”

“Snowshoes?” somebody echoed.

Becky’s head snapped toward the west gate. She got up and walked toward it. Guards along the wall also peered south.

More settlers …

Good thing you had them build the third barracks. You’re going to need the room.

There was yelling.

“Open the gate! Open the gate!” Guards swung it open. Abby raced in upon a steaming brown horse, followed quickly by Pond.

“Ed!” Abby shouted. “Ed!”

Edmund waved to her.

She swung her mare around and rode toward him, terror in her face.

“They’re coming!” she screamed. “They’re coming!”

Pond appeared exhausted, as if he’d ridden all night.

“The King!” Abby cried, riding up to Edmund. “King Lionel! They’re coming!”

Chapter Eight

“I don’t know how many there were …” Pond huddled over a mug of hot cider, hands trembling with cold and fear. The entire town had gathered in The Buxom Barmaid’s common room, hanging on Pond’s and Abby’s every word. “But there were enough to see from several miles away.”