Haven Magic (18 page)

“So you will leave us soon?”

“Yes, as soon as I am sure that your brother will live. Most likely, we will leave at dawn tomorrow. It seems that Myrrdin is delayed elsewhere, although I can think of little save death that would keep him from renewing the Pact. I fear the worst, but still I must find him. I only wish I weren’t so weary of travel.”

Gudrin’s rucksack was at her side. This and her Teret, the book of the Kindred, were never far from her hand. Brand eyed the rucksack and wondered what was the nature of the burden within that it could slow someone as tenacious as Gudrin. He watched it, wondering if it would move, but it did not.

“My burden sleeps,” said Gudrin. Brand gave a guilty start. Gudrin turned to look at him with a twinkle in her water-blue eyes. “You interest me, boy. You alone of your clan can meet my eyes now almost without flinching. That is a rare thing, and I’m not simply boasting. The Talespinners of the Kindred have a power in their eyes, and I’m the leader of my clan.”

“It would seem that clans work differently with the Battleaxe Folk,” said Brand.

“Indeed. Let me explain. Among the Kindred, craftsmanship is valued above blood lineage. Each clan has a craft, or a set of crafts, to which its clansmen are born. Therefore, our clan names are representations of our craft, rather than our lineage, although they are generally one and the same.”

“But what if one is born a natural warrior into the clan of Talespinners?”

“This is rare, but upon such occasions, a clanmaster or the King can grant a kinsman release from his clan. He is then free to join another, if they will have him.”

“Then as a clanmaster and a clanmaster’s son, you and Modi are akin to lords. Why do you trouble yourself to travel alone like this? What could be your mission in the peaceful River Haven?”

“It doesn’t seem all that peaceful to me,” Gudrin chuckled. “But we travel alone because a large group would only attract more notice. We wished to go unrecognized. That, of course, was undone by last night. As to the rest, well, we are searching for someone, and we need Myrrdin to find this someone,” she said with finality.

“What should we do to prepare for tonight?” asked Brand. “It seems like the Faerie might put in another appearance now that the Pact is broken.”

Gudrin shrugged.

“There is little to be done. I would suggest that you gather all the animals into the barn and ready up a large pile of firewood.”

Firewood. Brand groaned inside. He didn’t want to show it, but he was very spent from the previous night still. Splitting wood right now sounded like punishment.

“Let Corbin do it, boy,” said Gudrin, reading his thoughts.

Brand nodded, but stood up. “I’ll help a bit.” Brand did feel much better than the half-dead state he had arrived in last night, but he groaned aloud when he took up the axe. Corbin told him to just take it easy, and the two of them soon made chips fly.

After perhaps a hundred strokes from Corbin and ten or so from Brand, they were both sweating. Modi came up to them to watch.

“What are you doing?”

Corbin glanced at Brand with a twinkle in his eye, but Brand gave his cousin an imperceptible shake of his head. He didn’t think it a good idea to jest with the warrior, which he could tell from long experience was what Corbin had in mind. Corbin scowled a bit, and simply continued chopping. Brand turned to Modi, his hands resting on his axe. “We are splitting firewood.”

Modi nodded, as if this were a weighty statement. He examined Corbin’s strokes for a few moments. Corbin ignored him. Brand was a bit taken aback by Corbin’s manner, as it was not normal for him.

“Corbin has a better build for the axe,” said Modi at last. “But you Brand, despite your fatigue, are more skilled with it.”

Corbin halted, his sides heaving slightly. Sweat stood out on his brow despite the cold. “Perhaps you would like to demonstrate for us.”

Modi eyed him for a moment, then nodded. Corbin handed over his woodaxe and backed away. Brand glanced over toward the porch, where he saw that Gudrin still sat and puffed her pipe, watching them.

With deliberate movements, Modi selected a large piece of oak. “There are two difficult points,” he said, touching two knotholes with the heavy axe, which he held in one hand and moved about as if it were a delicate wand. With two smooth motions, he clove away the knotholes with a minimum of wasted wood. Then with four more powerful blows, he divided the wood into even pieces.

Brand was impressed. Corbin, however, seemed a bit out of sorts. He pointed to a heavy stump that lay on its side like a rotted tooth. “Can you cleave that in two with a single blow?” he demanded. Brand shot him a quizzical glance.

Modi took the question in with all seriousness. He eyed the stump and then the woodaxe in his hand. “Not with this,” he said finally. “The head is too small, and the haft would break.”

“Thank you, Modi,” Brand said politely, turning back to the job at hand. He wondered if Modi was serious. Could the warrior have done it? There was no question that the haft of the little wood axe would break with the force of such a blow. But if the weapon were larger and more sturdy....

Could Modi really be that strong?

Modi crunched snow back to the front yard, where he began to practice with his battleaxe again. More pumpkin heads were halved and quartered. When he was out of hearing, Brand asked Corbin what had gotten into him.

“I’m sorry, but Modi has started to grate on me. He is so arrogant, so obviously disdainful of us. There is something about him that I don’t completely trust.”

“I’m shocked to hear this from one who’s self-control is legendary,” said Brand. He explained to Corbin who Modi and Gudrin were among the Kindred. Corbin’s eyes grew wide to hear that Gudrin was the clanmaster of the Talespinners.

When the two of them had split enough wood to last for several days and had hauled it into the shed that adjoined the kitchen, they stopped to watch Modi’s exercises. After a time they asked him to give them a lesson in using their woodaxes for war. Modi was happy to oblige and for the first time to their knowledge he seemed about to smile. Modi taught them how to close with an enemy, how to hook his weapon with their own, where to strike for a kill. By the end of it, they both felt that they had learned something. The trio exercised and sweated for two hours until lunch was announced. All the while Gudrin watched them quietly from the porch.

Jak had been carried aloft to rest in the spare bedroom. Brand found that he could eat on the kitchen table that had only hours before seen desperate surgery. Brand and Corbin ate like famished men, as did Tylag and Corbin’s brothers, who had returned from the ferry at the base of the cliff to eat.

Tylag was full of ill tidings. “We’ve been busy all morning. It seems that everyone is leaving the island. The word is that the Rabing Clan broke the Pact and have brought a curse upon all the River Folk.”

“That’s ridiculous!” shouted Telyn. “Who says such things?”

Tylag spooned up a load of steaming mussels. “The Hoots and the Silures are at the bottom of it, I expect. But all the folk are scared, and at such a time they will say things they may come to regret. But there is no doubt that the Faerie are no longer protecting our borders from the Dark Ones among them. All of us should move with caution. No one of this clan should be alone after dark.”

After the others had promised to follow his advice in this matter he made another announcement. “Tonight Suzenna and I go to a closed council meeting at Drake manor. There is talk of a muster.”

Everyone looked up at that. “Are things as bad as all that?” asked Corbin’s oldest brother Barlo. “Surely, the rift with the Faerie can be repaired.”

“That’s as may be, but we must prepare for the worst,” said Tylag. “No one knows what twilight may bring.”

“But a muster?” burst out Barlo. “What’s wrong with the Riverton Constabulary? They have always served us well enough. Let them mount a watch with archers upon the fairy mound and feather the little devils when they come!”

Aunt Suzenna stood up, and everyone turned to her, all thinking of what a muster could mean—and that she had three sons and no daughters. She looked at them sternly. “If there is to be a muster, all my sons shall go, or Clan Rabing will truly be disgraced.”

Barlo could not meet her eyes. He said no more of the Riverton Constabulary. Talk shifted to the unusually cold weather and preparations that they should make to defend the household. Tylag announced he would lock the doors tonight, both front and rear. The boys discussed building an outer fence to circle the homestead during the following weeks. Telyn talked of gathering wards for the lot of them.

Brand noticed that Modi and Gudrin said little. At one point, however, he believed that he saw them exchange glances. He thought to see regret and perhaps a touch of sadness in their eyes. This disturbed him and he left the table early, his head full of thoughts of the coming nights and what they might hold. He didn’t think that Tylag and the others had a realistic idea of what they were facing.

The afternoon passed swiftly. Twilight came all too soon for Brand’s taste. Each day grew shorter with the approach of winter, he knew, but tonight darkness seemed to fall with great suddenness, as if a cloak had been cast over the eyes of the land. Tylag and Suzenna had long since gone to Drake Manor for the council meeting, taking Corbin’s brother Barlo with them. Sam was out using his thick arms to split wood and dragging his lame foot about as they tended the livestock, while Corbin and Brand played Jiggers and Swap-Cards in the parlor. All three of them were content, however, as Sam liked nothing more than to work his body, while the younger boys liked nothing more than competing with their minds. Upstairs, Gudrin and Telyn tended Jak in the spare bedroom, while Modi haunted the upstairs hallway. By the groaning of the floorboards overhead, it was easy for Brand to track his pacing.

“Modi seems anxious to be away,” said Corbin in a low voice. “I wonder how much they know about what will happen here in the River Haven.”

“I don’t know,” sighed Brand. He was in a reflective mood. All around him were sights and sounds that were among his favorite in the world. He had played in this parlor as a child. He and Corbin had often bounced themselves upon the couches until they were discovered by Aunt Suzenna and chased from the house. Along the walls was a shelf containing a row of perhaps thirty books, each of which that he had read at least twice. A painting of his mother and father, one of only three that still existed, hung from the wall behind Corbin’s head. He felt his eye drawn to his mother’s image. Tall and sleek she was, with flaxen hair and a mouth that ever curved into a smile. Jak more resembled her, while he more resembled his father. Holding to the tiller of their boat in the painting, his father was dark-haired with a heavy mustache. His eyes were stern and he smiled little.

“Do you really want to play?” asked Corbin softly.

Brand dealt the cards without interest. “Perhaps we should post a lookout,” he suggested. “The night is black and the moon has yet to rise.”

Corbin shrugged. “Tylag locked the door and Sam is out in the barn. Surely, he will serve as a good lookout until he gets back.”

Brand agreed, and played out his hand. When he had lost three hands in a row he conceded the night to Corbin. Thinking of Modi and his lessons today with the woodaxe, he went to the woodshed that adjoined the kitchen and fetched one. Returning to the parlor, he sat with a cloth and whetstone and worked the edge of the blade.

“Don’t let my mother catch you with that in her parlor,” was all Corbin said as he packed away the cards, the betting beads and the jigger-sticks.

“I just wanted to work out the nicks that we put into the blade this morning—” Brand broke off when they heard a shout from outside.

“That’s Sam,” said Corbin.

“Sounds like he’s in trouble, let’s go.”

The two of them ran outside, Brand still carrying the woodaxe. The big doors were hanging open, and the sheep were crying in their pens nearby. The barn was dark; there was no outward sign of Sam or his lantern. After the one, brief shout, they heard nothing more from Sam. Corbin stood in the entrance and called for his brother.

“I’ll light a lantern,” said Brand. He handed the woodaxe to Corbin and took down a lantern from its peg.

Corbin walked away into the darkness, shouting for Sam. Brand burnt his fingers getting the lantern to sputter into life. Sucking on them, he stepped after Corbin in the lantern’s flickering circle of yellow light.

“Get out of here!” shouted Corbin suddenly, swinging the axe with great force. An old wooden stool exploded beneath the blow. Brand saw something bound away and clamber up the haystack. He got a better look at the thing when it crested the mountain of hay and stood at its peak, looking down at them. Brand marveled at the lightness of the creature. It did not sink into the hay at all.

There could be no doubt that it was one of the Wee Folk. The manling was male and stood about two feet tall. He had a thin face with sharp features: the nose was like a blade and the chin tapered to a point. The overlarge mouth was stretched into a perpetual grin. Brand examined the tiny clothing in wonder. Tight-fitting hose covered thin legs and the feet wore pointed boots. The boots and his russet-brown waistcoat seemed to be made of doeskin. All the clothing seemed woven with impossibly fine workmanship, each stitch smaller than any human tailor could produce. The manling leered at them and rested his overlarge hands on his bent knees.