ã€ŠTenebrae, A Crown of Woven Hemlockã€‹


 Chapter 1

    It was not quite midnight when Crow got out of bed, she¡¯d only pretended to be sleeping. The fire was long dead and the cabin was lit only with a few weak rays of moonlight. She took an oil lamp and book of matches from the mantle then crept across the old floorboards, knowing exactly where to step so they wouldn¡¯t creak. Her cloak, water skin, and satchel were waiting by the door where she¡¯d left them earlier that day, and having taken those she unbolted the door and crossed the threshold. The wind had shifted and there was a chill in the air, the door wouldn¡¯t fit back into its frame. She pulled so hard that the rusted nails sheared and the handle clattered to the ground. She stopped and listened for her mother, hoping the sound hadn¡¯t roused her. Hearing nothing, she set out through the clearing and into the forests that surrounded their home.

    The sky was mottled with clouds that hid the stars but let through just enough light so that she could find her way. Unlike her grandmother who had found her way at night guided solely by a few glances upwards, Crow had to take her reckoning from memory. The paths here were seldom trod, most everyone stayed out of the birch wood. Even the trapper Joshua, for whom she was making this trip. He preferred to set his lines out where the birches thinned and made way for pine and spruce. She walked South-East a quarter mile, each step bringing with it a few droplets of melted frost. Her threadbare boots were soaked by the time she¡¯d made it to the edge of the oak wood.

    Here the trees were short and dense and gnarled, a forest half-dead and mostly leafless even in summer. Branches curled in on themselves as they reached for the sky, reminding her of the claws of nameless dead things that washed up on the riverbank after a storm. Nervousness turned to dread, as it always did, when she saw the path disappear into shadows somehow darker than the rest. Though her trips here were many, the forest always seemed to change and each trip felt like her first.

    She stopped, suddenly aware of being tired and hungry and cold. Supper had been hours ago and only a few pieces of flat bread at that. She reached into her satchel for a biscuit. Even famished and tired they were unappealing. Paper thin rounds of birch boiled three times and dried over a fire. It was better than starving, but barely. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for her eyes to adjust to this new darkness. The hunger and tiredness subsided, but the dread didn¡¯t. The forest was dark as ever.

    Crow crouched down to block the wind and lit the oil lamp. A puff of matchstick sulphur and the tiny wick hissed to life. She closed her eyes and tried picturing the symbol her grandmother used to make. Her grandmother had done it all in complete darkness of course, taught Crow the shape by guiding her hand. The memory was faint and far away. With shaky hands by orange flame, Crow drew it in the earth: a crescent moon with three lines askew, then a sweeping arc that passed back on itself.

    She drew it again, and once more after that, each time rubbing the previous tries out of the dirt. After the fifth or sixth time she stood, not bothering to erase the mistake. The memory was warped and worn now, misshapen like unfired clay handled too long. She shook the tin lamp, the oil was getting low. She snuffed the flame with her thumb and forefinger as she¡¯d need the light later. She thought of going home but instead stepped deeper into the oak wood until the path back disappeared.

    The forest was silent, she could hear herself breathing. She knelt and felt the earth, closing her eyes she tried not to think, tried to separate reason from sinew and somehow dredge things up that her body remembered but her mind had forgotten. Her hand moved as though by its own power, she could feel the shape take its form. The sign was drawn in one unbroken movement and when she opened her eyes the oak wood was changed. A dim blue moonpath had unfurled before her, a stream of cold blue light creeping along through the underbrush. The shadows were dimmer now and moonlight broke through the gnarled canopy though the clouds hadn¡¯t parted.

    Another memory broke free somewhere deep within her and bubbled to the surface, sending ripples through the silence of her thoughts. Her grandmother on the moonpath, counting each step as she walked. One hundred, thrice. Her grandmother turned to speak, but the memory lost its edges there. All Crow remembered was part of a rhyme, ¡°Green vein, red leaf¡­¡±

    Crow counted and walked, lighting the oil lamp once she was done. She cast the weak beam across the forest floor and wherever the coughing orange light set the leaves regained their colour and the moonpath disappeared as though repelled. She reached down and plucked a narrow leaf with ragged edges and held it up to the light. Green veins in a pale red leaf. The rest of the rhyme came back to her,

    ¡°Green vein, red leaf, the bane of beasts¡±

    She packed the satchel full almost to bursting, the leaves would lose their color entirely in a few weeks and become the same shade of brown as the rest of the woods in autumn, this would be her last chance of the year. Finished, she tied the satchel, now heavy with wet leaves and washed her hands with the last of her water. It did little good as her skin was already red and starting to itch. She did her best to ignore it and followed the moonpath out of the oak wood, its blue light fading with the coming of morning. It was gone entirely by the time the sun had crested the horizon. The forest became familiar again, but it brought her little comfort. Her mouth was dry, she was exhausted, her body felt wooden and cold. She was in that place past tiredness where existed only things to be done.

    In the clearing around her house there was an old dilapidated barn and a stone fire pit with a large black pot, most else had been burned for heat or sold. She dropped the satchel by the fire pit and remembering the axe handle was shattered, broke a few more pieces of weatherboard from the barn. Its roof had caved in before her father had died and she couldn''t even remember a time when they¡¯d had animals.

    She piled tinder under the pot¡¯s cast iron legs and stacked the wood neatly around it. The pot was already filled midway with rainwater, saving her some work. She flicked a match into the tinder and gently stoked the ember until the wood caught fire. One by one she picked the leaves from the stems and dropped them into the pot until the satchel was empty. By the time she was done the water was boiling and a thin whisp of grey smoke curled from the house chimney, her mother must have finally woken.

    A long while passed while Crow tended the fire with more weatherboards and stirred the boiling leaves, careful to hold her breath above the vapors. She saw her mother before she¡¯d even heard the door slam shut.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been out again, have you?¡±

    Crow didn¡¯t meet her gaze. The larder is empty, there¡¯s no coins in the purse and no harvest, is what she thought, but managed only to say ¡°We¡¯ve no money.¡±

    But it was enough. There was no arguing the fact, they both knew the few coins she¡¯d get would be gone by mid winter at best. Her mother scoffed, Crow was sure she was going to launch into another lecture, but her expression softened.

    ¡°I¡¯ve baked bread with the last of the flour, it¡¯s still warm. I¡¯ll tend to the fire if you¡¯re hungry. Pray your friend comes back with firewood, as we¡¯ve none left.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not let us down yet, has he?¡±

    ¡°Still. Oh, there¡¯s no water either. I hate to rush you, but be quick? I¡¯ve yet to do my morning devotions.¡±

    Crow made her way to the river twice before sitting down to a breakfast of cold bread. There was dust all over the table and the dishes were piled up near the basin. Every muscle ached and there seemed to be no bottom to the tiredness she was feeling. Ever since her brother had left the days seemed to stretch on forever. Things broken then mended, painted and patched, straightened, shimmed or cut, bought and sold or burnt or cleaned; a never ending list of things to do. Each new chore cut into the day until only darkened shreds at both ends remained.

    It was late in the day and she was stirring the last of the coals when Sevryn came by with a bundle of firewood. She¡¯d heard his heavy footfalls long before he entered the clearing. The younger son of the mill house was lanky and sunburnt, hair cut short with a dull blade and his brother¡¯s too-large clothes draped over his wiry frame. He dropped the bundle by the fireplace and stood to catch his breath.

    ¡°I swear they make this hill steeper every time.¡±

    ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll have to add this to my tally, you know I¡¯ve got nothing to pay you,¡± Crow said with a wry smile.

    ¡°Tally? I don¡¯t know what you mean. It¡¯ll be years until I, uh, we pay back our debts, as far as I¡¯m concerned. I¡¯m just glad you accept payment in kind,¡± Sevryn said, but kicked himself for it. He went red in the cheeks and hoped she didn¡¯t notice. The words were never what he wanted and it wasn¡¯t for tallies and debts that he came by. He stood watching her tend the pot. There was something radiant in her, though touched by hunger and overwork as she was. Skin fair as though the sun had no bearing on her, features delicate and movements quick like a bird¡¯s. It was these moments around which he anchored his day, Sevryn dug deep for something to say but found only half-thoughts and feelings that slipped away wordlessly. He kneaded a bundle of cloth in his hands, nervously.

    Crow broke the silence first.

    ¡°Any word from my brother?¡± she asked, without looking up.

    ¡°Nothing, I¡¯m afraid. This¡¯ll be what, fifth, sixth month?¡± Sevryn asked before realizing the implication ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to pry.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s fine. This coming month will be the sixth, yes.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s your mother taking it?¡±

    Crow ran her fingers through her tousled black hair but it fell back down around her shoulders exactly as it¡¯d been before. Sevryn already knew the answer. Devotions, prayer beads, sweet herbs and burnt offering from dawn until dusk. It¡¯d been that way since the day her brother had left as a mercenary, but gotten steadily worse once the letters and money stopped coming in. Crow and her mother both assumed the worst.

    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s best I go,¡± he said. Everything had seemed simpler at the bottom of the hill, he¡¯d come here to ask only a single question but now it seemed impossible.

    ¡°Any news from the town?¡± Crow asked him, not knowing what else to say to stop him from leaving.

    ¡°Nothing out of sorts. More of Lord Brigham¡¯s men are leaving, called down by the King, supposedly.¡±

    Crow could tell he was biting his tongue. ¡°I suppose one can¡¯t be certain, most of the talk around the mill wheel is just rumor especially when it concerns the Lord.¡±

    ¡°My father heard it, he was at the tannery when the King¡¯s messenger rode by, it¡¯s truth!¡± Sevryn became suddenly animated, he¡¯d been following the war with great interest. ¡°The King¡¯s fighting for the river crossing at Talastyr,¡± he picked up a stick and drew crude horses in the ash around the fire. ¡°The enemy had archers and siege engines ¡®cross the bridge and cavalry hid in the woods on the hill. He drew more shapes in the ash. ¡°It¡¯s been a total rout for the king,¡± he drew arrows and Xs into the ash until all the shapes were incomprehensible. And now he needs more -¡± He stopped and looked at Crow sheepishly, realizing the implication of what he¡¯d divulged. Crow was too tired to realize, the story existed just as figures in ash.

    Sevryn turned to leave but stopped mid step. ¡°Are you coming by the town later?¡± He asked, without even facing her.

    ¡°Is that a joke?¡±

    Sevryn turned to face her, shook his head and smiled when he saw the faintest hint of red across Crow¡¯s cheeks. He handed her the bundle of cloth.

    ¡°The harvest¡¯s in and it¡¯s first day of the new moon. Beers¡¯ been ready for weeks and they tapped the barrels this morning, They¡¯re roasting hogs. There¡¯ll be feasting and dancing and more drink than you¡¯ve seen in years!

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    ¡°You know I can¡¯t, I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said.

    ¡°I reckon everyone will be too drunk to care or even notice one more, especially if you come late. Who¡¯s going to know? I¡¯ll be waiting either way,¡±

    ¡°No. The answer is no, Sevryn. I can¡¯t. I won¡¯t. You know exactly what would happen if I were found out.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a masquerade! Just wait until you see the mask I¡¯ve found for you. Not a soul on this earth would be able to tell it was you.¡± Crow pressed the bundle back into Sevryn¡¯s arms, but he let it fall to the ground. ¡°It¡¯s yours now, do as you will with it,¡± he said, stepping back.

    He sighed and shifted his weight. ¡°I suppose you ought to know the full story, then. My folks, well, my old man mostly. He¡¯s keen to see me wed to the butcher¡¯s daughter. I reckon if she sees me dance with someone else¡­¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s what this is about?¡± Crow¡¯s tongue was sharp, she couldn¡¯t hide the anger and the hurt. ¡°I¡¯m just a pawn to you? Just a set piece in your game, ready to be discarded, hidden away on some hilltop after you¡¯re done?¡±

    Sevryn was dumbstruck for a moment, then bowed his head and took her hand. ¡°No, Crow. It¡¯s not like that at all. Why do you think I come here? From some sense of guilt or duty? It¡¯s for you, Crow. I don¡¯t wish to be wed to that girl because I don¡¯t like her.¡± With that he turned and left.

    Crow watched Sevryn disappear into the woods, she tried calling out to him but the words wouldn¡¯t leave her mouth. She wasn¡¯t going. She couldn¡¯t go, hadn¡¯t been to the town proper for years. But Sevryn¡¯s words hounded her for the rest of the day, and each time doubts and fears beat them back. She tipped the scales one way and then the next, working each option over until she was left where she started, with an impossible tangle of hopes and contradictions. So she let it go, stopped working the thoughts over and lost herself in her work.

    It was already starting to get dark by the time she bottled the the boiled-down tincture and cleaned the pot. Barely one and a half bottles for all her effort. She held the full one up to the setting sun. A faint purple hue cut through the oily liquid, exactly the color her grandmother had shown her all those years before. There was enough poison in the bottle to last Joshua til the doldrums of winter. There were still some hours before midnight, so she busied herself and worked at chores. Though some part of her still protested, in her heart of hearts the question had answered itself, and now it was just a matter of fighting the tiredness, hunger and cold that cut through her bones.

    By the time she was done she was working by lamp light as the sun had long set. The firewood was neatly stacked and the house almost spotless. She thought of building a fire, but her mother had collapsed in front of her makeshift shrine and was fast asleep, Crow doubted she¡¯d notice and preferred not to waste the firewood. Her mother was still holding prayer beads and her lips half parted as though she¡¯d passed out mid prayer, Crow snuffed out the last of the cheap incense and covered her with a blanket. She took her brother¡¯s old cloak as hers was still drying and stuffed the bundle Sevryn had given her in one pocket and slid the tincture into the other.

    It was a warmer night than the one prior, though the clouds were thicker and darker. A gentle south wind blew across the town bringing with it the smell of charcoal fires, baked pies and smoked meat along with the muddled sounds of flute and mandolin alongside laughter and shouting. Where the birch wood path met with the road, she kept to the shadows though there was no one around. She walked this way until the road left the wood and the glow of torchlight cut through the dark. In the half light she could just make out the silhouette of a milestone with a worn sign beside it. Though she couldn¡¯t read she knew its graven words said Eskryn.

    There Crow counted out fifty paces and cut left through a field, finding the well trod path to the cabin Joshua kept behind his father¡¯s tannery.

    The light was on inside, Crow circled around to the back and knocked three times at the door. There was no answer. It had been a long shot, Joshua was certainly out feasting with the others, but she was never one to waste a trip. She turned to leave when the door opened, Joshua stumbled out and threw up in the grass.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    He stood up unsteadily and wiped his mouth. He had the gleam of drink in his eyes.

    ¡°Me ¡¯an the boys started too early is all, might go back for seconds later though,¡± he said slurring, before Crow saw a click of recognition that sobered him up somewhat.

    ¡°You¡¯re here on business, eh? I¡¯d love to help, you know I would. Been yer most loyal client I reckon, but something¡¯s come up,¡± he said looking around nervously.

    ¡°Is someone else here?¡± Crow asked.

    ¡°Can¡¯t be too, uh, sorry ¡®ang on¡± he said, doubling over and heaving into the grass again.

    ¡°Can¡¯t be too careful, is what I was sayin¡¯. Someone¡¯s caught on, no holes in my pelts. Like I ain¡¯t usin¡¯ a trap. I don¡¯t want them to start looking into it, so I¡¯ve laid snares in the far woods again. Big mean iron ones, won¡¯t nobody complain about perfect pelts after they see the next ones. Come back ¡®round in a few moons and we¡¯ll talk again.¡±

    ¡°You might find my prices have doubled by then, so it¡¯s best you buy now¡± Crow said, trying to mask the desperation in her voice with anger.

    ¡°I won¡¯t. I can¡¯t. You know it¡¯s not my fault. Not like I¡¯d be the one complicatin¡¯ my life for no reason. It¡¯s probably best you go, lots of eyes around tonight.¡±

    Crow had left before he¡¯d even finished talking, it was just after midnight now so she made her way towards the town proper. She could find her way even in the dead of night, she¡¯d been welcome some years ago and those memories refused to fade.

    There was light coming from every house and each chimney billowed with smoke. Torches lined the road leading up to the Lord¡¯s barn where the doors were open wide letting music and laughter spill out. Every crevice in the old town seemed to be filled with warmth, the shadows lost their edge and became benign and faded things. She thought of Sevryn and her stomach turned. She could go back. She should go back. Instead she watched herself unwrap the cloth bundle to find a hideous hooded mask. A demon thing, half-porcine with vicious eyes and bloodied fangs, sewn into an executioner¡¯s hood. She pulled it over her head and set the wooden mask into place, finding it covered her face almost entirely.

    Slowly, she walked between the torches and into the barn where she stood on the threshold and let her eyes adjust to the light. The whole barn had been whitewashed and the entire town was dancing and drinking, even the musicians were glassy eyed and swaying unsteadily. Before she could take another step someone pulled her inside. It was Sevryn, she could tell right away. His mask was simple, plain, almost childish, and he was unmistakably himself. Right as he pulled her into the crowd Crow saw a girl storm off, fuming.

    She lost track of time, dancing with Sevryn. Few people paid her any mind, save to point and laugh at the mask. For the first time in ages she was smiling, genuinely. Sevryn pulled her close. Though her steps were poor and untrained, she did her best to follow and tried to stop her mind from wandering. Though the thoughts about what life could have been like if fate had been less cruel were hard to keep at bay. The mandolin player fell over drunk, the music stopped and Crow was knocked her out of her revery. She looked around and found the crowd had thinned somewhat.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s winding down, there¡¯s still bound to be food at the table and it¡¯s likely unattended. You should go, I¡¯ll meet you there in a few moments.¡± Crow wanted to protest knew he was right. They held each other close for a moment that would have been too short had it been an eternity.

    She walked down the muddy lanes between fences half-fallen and out behind the bakery. There, stood a great table on a bed of fresh straw. Even now in the dark, long after the feasting was done and the candles all burnt up it looked unreal, like it would vanish if she got too close. Pies and sweetbreads and bird¡¯s eggs and fish of all kinds piled between giant heapings of pork. Food like she¡¯d never seen before. She looked around, all was still and dark. Slowly, she pulled the hooded mask form her head and ate for a long time, tasting each dish and saving bits of the best in her pockets for later.

    By the time she¡¯d heard the clumsy foot steps and drunken voices it was too late, they were right behind her. She turned around and froze. There were two of them, though she couldn¡¯t make out their faces in the dark.

    ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®at?¡± Asked a voice that sounded familiar.

    She heard a match hiss before she saw two faces in the weak light. It was Joshua and Conrad, friend of the Lord¡¯s son. She turned to run. ¡°It¡¯s the witch, grab ¡®er!¡± Conrad yelled and Joshua grabbed her cloak. She could smell the liquor on his breath, stronger than before.

    ¡°Witch?¡± Joshua slurred, loosening his grip.

    Conrad lit a lamp and crept up closer. ¡°What¡¯s the witch doing here? and I wonder what it¡¯s got in its big cloak?¡± Conrad asked, stepping forward and cutting the bottoms from her pockets with a razor. Food spilled out all over the hay and the bottle rolled to a stop by Conrad¡¯s foot. He picked it up and held it to the light.

    ¡°Poison!¡±

    ¡°Poison?¡± Joshua asked slowly, as though somewhere two things had connected in his mind before falling loose again.

    A shadow shot out of the darkness and slammed into Conrad, knocking the breath out of him and sending him sprawling. The lamp pitched sideways as it landed, spilling its oil and setting the hay alight. Joshua stumbled backwards and Crow tore free of her cloak. He stood in a stupor not sure what to do. Knowing he should do something, he fanned the flames with the cloak in an effort to blow the fire out but only made things worse. Crow took the bottle from where Conrad had dropped it and took off into the night.

    A great fire roared skywards before she¡¯d even made it to the sign post. Calls for water and horses and the Lord¡¯s hunting dogs filled the night. She wiped her mouth with her shirt sleeve and regretted eating as she¡¯d already been sick twice. Horn blasts stopped her before she¡¯d made it to the ragged edge of the birch wood. The hunters were close now. She broke into a run again and her stomach heaved, though there was nothing left within.

    She ran down the paths like an animal, running faster than she¡¯d known she was able. Few people knew the birch wood like she did and every second gained here was a precious advantage. The cold night air that kept her mouth from drying and her clothes from soaking through soon gave way to morning and with the light each step grew slower. Still, she seldom stopped as each time she rested she swore the wind carried with it the sounds of barking dogs and hunting horns alongside the smell of horses. She ran through brush and mire, through shrub thickets and down rabbit paths, hoping the hunters would lose her track that way. She crossed every bog and fetid stream, no longer caring that her boots were soaked through. The sounds got fainter, she slowed somewhat when they had disappeared entirely, replaced with the sound of rustling leaves.

    Crow thought of going home for water and her cloak but dreaded the thought of leading the dogs there so she walked on, no longer able to run. By midday the trees around her were shorter, the forest brown and bare of leaves. Autumn comes first in the pinewood, she repeated her grandmothers words like some kind of mantra, as precious few thoughts were in her head. She fought the exhaustion and forced herself to march on, no longer taking any precautions and leaving a trail of muddy footprints. The thought of stopping nagged at her before it finally won out. There was nothing but silence around her, and so under a towering old fir she sat, stretching her legs out in the bed of fallen pine needles beneath its hanging bows. She realized she was still holding the bottle but was too tired to make any sense of where it should go. Her breathing slowed and she closed her eyes, her heart slowed its frantic beating. Warmth washed over her from within, she leaned back against the tree and savored the smell of pine.

    She woke with a start. Cold water dripped down her face. The tree was now heavy with snow and the wind howled, the sun was throwing out a few dying rays. She got up at once and regretted having stopped. Everything ached, she moved as though lead coursed through her veins. The forest floor was white with snow and the wind whipped it against her face. Still she pressed on, each step deliberate and planned as though her body itself was revolting. She heard her teeth chattering but couldn¡¯t feel anything but the cold. The world seemed to get narrow and far away, her lips were dry and swollen and she felt like throwing up. But the sound of barking dogs brought everything back into focus.

    Her eyes went wide and her stomach turned and she tasted bile, her heart beat out of her chest. She tried running but fell face first into the show, unable to catch herself with hands numb and fingers blue at the tips. She got up and stumbled up over slick leaves, doing her best to move fast over roots and gullies hidden under a thin layer of snow. She fell again, but this time found it harder to rise. Warmth poured out of the earth and its blanket of snow and took the chill out of her soaked clothes. Her left hand was numb and stiff, a rictus claw curled around the glass bottle, her right hand was bleeding. She didn¡¯t feel anything to the elbows now and her feet felt as though of stone. She stood, even in the moonless dark a blind man could follow her path. Still, she walked on.

    Crow heard the click of oiled iron before she felt her ankle shatter. The pain was immense, cutting through the frozen numbness and sending lightning up her spine. She fell and thrashed in the snow, screaming, teeth gnashing and her numb hands reaching blindly around her. An eternity later silence filled the woods again. She¡¯d stopped screaming, the pain subsided somewhat. She reached slowly, deliberately down to her bloodied leg and made sense of it. A trap, wrought iron and spring loaded. She knew it¡¯d be chained to a tree, there was no point in looking.

    She banged her right hand dumbly against the trap, watching blood pool at its base. Joshua had told her, once, that it might take hours for an animal to die like this. It was bad for the fur. That¡¯s why he preferred the¡­ She couldn¡¯t even finish the thought before she heard barking and the snapping of twigs. Dogs. The lord¡¯s hunting dogs, hungry and mad with the chase.

    Her left hand was still clutching the bottle. She undid the cork with her teeth and used her right hand to tilt it over into her mouth. It was bitter and warm. Her throat hurt and it got hard to breathe. The world got fainter before disappearing entirely.

    Tendrils of black gossamer enveloped her and icy fangs bit into her throat. She gasped and tasted blood.

    There wasn¡¯t supposed to be a here, here.

    ¡°It¡¯s not your time, child.¡±

    A voice like wind playing through frozen trees wrapped itself around her. It came from all around.

    ¡°Who are you? Where am I?¡± Crow tried to speak but the words never left her mouth, the darkness heard nonetheless.

    The strands of gossamer loosened and turned to smoke, the fangs slid from her throat.

    ¡°You may call me Nimaena of the river crossing, though I go by many names. They never told you, did they, child?¡±

    The darkness seemed to grow deeper in one spot and Crow saw a wispy figure who¡¯s form shifted like oil on water, darkness moving within darkness, as though she was made of something deeper than shadow. Looking made Crow¡¯s ears ring and blood pooled in the corners of her mouth.

 Chapter 2

    Lenora led her buck-toothed suitor down the pitch black halls, holding him by the sleeve like a child. He must have felt that way too, as even though he was three years her senior she stood a full head taller. A chill ran through them both even though they were dressed for the weather, the keep was always somehow colder than outside.

    Lenora knew the place so well she didn¡¯t need to see, a useful skill when a Lord is too miserly even for torches. She let each warped floorboard and crooked doorway guide her until they reached the guest chambers.

    ¡°Pity you¡¯re leaving so soon,¡± she said flatly, opening the door. A single tallow candle sent a beam of flickering yellow light across the floor.

    ¡°Strange old place, innit?¡± the suitor said, tossing his things back into a battered trunk. He snuck another sidelong glance at her. Tall, sun-kissed skin turning fair now that summer¡¯s sun had gone, hair tied in a loose braid and fastened with an ornate brooch. Even her poorly tailored coat was flattering, her strong lean lines filling it out in all the right places.

    She shrugged and took a pull from her wine skin before spitting out the lees. The suitor wasn¡¯t the only thing from the bottom of the barrel.

    ¡°My father knows the true value of gold, he won¡¯t send for firewood until snowfall and lamp oil only after midwinter¡¯s feast.¡± She was careful with her words, knowing the true reason the Lord kept his halls darkened.

    She watched him pack. It¡¯d been a steady decline from the moment her father had begun arranging her marriage. Men, knighted, with horses and gold had come and gone, apparently disinterested in joining the High Court of a forgotten border town with a decrepit keep and empty coffers. The suitors became poorer and fewer between, each somehow uglier than the last. It¡¯d been months since someone had come by, and now even he was leaving. Short, pox-marked and clothing poorly patched, he¡¯d rode in on an ox cart with hardly half a bag of silver and wearing rings of tarnished bronze. It didn¡¯t bother her in the least, as she¡¯d no interest in being sold off like a prize cow.

    He had barely buckled the latches on his trunk when the Lord¡¯s man Gideon stepped into the room, guided by the hunchbacked spy. Gideon smiled sheepishly at Lenora before straightening his coat.

    ¡°Your mount is ready, m¡¯lord,¡± said Gideon, lifting the suitor¡¯s trunk onto his shoulders. He¡¯d once been the Lord¡¯s strongest man, though age was starting to soften him now.

    ¡°And m¡¯lady best retire to her chambers,¡± the crippled old spy said with a bow. ¡°As for m¡¯lord, we¡¯ve been graced with your presence for far too short a time.¡± He bowed again before kneeling.

    It took the lad a few moments to realize this was his cue and he offered his hand. The hunchback kissed the young Lord¡¯s signet before looking up to meet his gaze.

    Lenora saw the suitor wince. There was something grotesque about a blindseer. It wasn¡¯t just the empty eye sockets, it was deeper than that. Somehow you could feel him looking back. It had taken her years not to startle.

    The blindseer tugged at Gideon¡¯s sleeve, who hunched down until his face was level with the old man¡¯s. The blindseer whispered something to Gideon who immediately went stone faced, stood bolt upright and without another word roughly walked the suitor out. Lenora trailed behind until the hall split off towards her chambers. She knew the blindseer was following her, probably on orders of her father.

    ¡°Pity, pity. I¡¯m sure your father will be very disappointed,¡± the blindseer said. He was so close behind her she could feel his breath, though she¡¯d never heard his footsteps.

    ¡°You can tell him I¡¯ve done my very best,¡± she said opening the door and closing it quickly behind her, but the blindseer was faster. Deftly, he stuck his boot in the door and let himself in. Lenora ignored him and instead walked over to her desk.

    She took off her wig and tossed into a box filled with others. The keep was overrun with all manner of pestilence: lice and mites and nameless little life that skittered round the dark. It got doubly bad in winter, and as such she kept her hair shorn, shorter than even her brother¡¯s. She could not be bothered to comb the horrid things out every morning.

    She sprinkled the wig with arsenic, struck a match and lit an oil lamp before crossing the room towards the hearth. The blind old man was turning his head this way and that, as though lost in a haze. She threw the spent match into the cold hearth and in one fluid movement reached for the iron poker. Soundlessly she turned and made her way towards the blindseer.

    She¡¯d made it six steps and just barely raised the poker before the blindseer turned to face her. The lamp light cast strange shadows across the pits where his eyes should be. She stopped dead in her tracks.

    ¡°That won¡¯t do. That won¡¯t do at all. What would your father think? Chasing away a nice young Lord like that.¡±

    She let the poker clatter to the floor. Her muscles tensed and she clenched her fists, the old spy always knew exactly what to say to send her into a rage and the wine didn¡¯t help her inhibitions.

    Lenora closed the small gap between them until she was standing over the hunched man.

    ¡°Three more steps and my father would have needed a new spy. You¡¯d best hope the next poor soul asks for my hand.¡±

    She saw the man¡¯s right hand twitch slightly, but she was faster. With a movement so quick even the blindseer missed it, she flicked her left hand against a cut in the lining of her sleeve and slipped out a silver stiletto. She held the small blade level with the spy¡¯s throat.

    ¡°Reaching for your sword in the presence of the Lord¡¯s daughter! Should the King hear his Lord on the outskirts lets commoners carry arms I¡¯m sure both you and my father would be hanged. You best hope I never leave this retched keep. Now go on, go ahead and tell my father what I¡¯ve said. While you¡¯re at it you can ask him exactly how I¡¯m supposed to entertain a Lord at a harvest festival in a stinking barn.¡±

    She pushed the old man out the door and heard him lock it from the other side. It was the first move in a now familiar game. The next would be her father flying into a drunken rage after the blindseer¡¯s counsel and the whole thing would end with her spending three days locked in her chamber before recanting at her father¡¯s feet.

    No, this time would be different. She slid the stiletto back into her sleeve and emptied her wineskin into the hearth, pressing out the rancid lees as best she could. From her desk she took what little jewelry she had and stuffed it in her pockets. Reaching under her bed she retrieved two thin pieces of flatiron, she¡¯d found them some time ago and hid them in case they¡¯d be useful.

    She knelt at the door and slid the makeshift lockpicks into the keyhole. The locks were primitive and clumsy but well oiled, one of the few things her father had kept in good repair. Using the fine shims she jostled the pins until the lock popped open. Gently she turned the latch and pulled the door handle, careful not to make the hinges creak. She slid a wedge beneath the door to keep it from closing as the sound would give her away and crept down the hall. Every few paces Lenora stopped to listen but was met with only dead silence.

    She slid down the servant¡¯s corridor and kept close to the walls, moving carefully as here the darkness was total. The door at the end would lead to the courtyard, right by the stables. There she¡¯d fill her wineskin at the watering trough and ride off into the night. She hadn¡¯t quite settled on where, but there were still many hours until morning.

    The door was close, she could smell the outside air. Before she reached for the handle the shadows moved.

    ¡°Just wait until your father hears of this!¡± the blindseer hissed.

    ¡°Filth!¡± She¡¯d said it barely louder than a whisper but it echoed through the stillness as though she¡¯d yelled. The servant¡¯s corridor had no other entrance, he must have been waiting. Though she couldn¡¯t see him, Lenora knew his sword was drawn. She felt him step closer, the blunted tip of his old sword pressed against the nape of her neck, his breathing was ragged and heavy.

    ¡°I know this keep better than the Lord himself. They¡¯d never find you if you were to disappear. So what¡¯ll it be milady? Shall you ride off never to be seen again or return to your chambers?¡± He said with a laugh, pressing the sword further against her skin. ¡°You¡¯ll surrender the flatiron picks as well. The ones you hid under the bed like a child. Your father will be livid when he learns of them.¡±

    Lenora stood in the darkness weighing her options.

    Suddenly the blindseer sheathed his sword, Lenora heard him moving around and swore he¡¯d pressed his ear to the door before running off into the darkness. She opened the door and was met with the smell of smoke. Fire sent pillars of light into the sky from the village, she heard a single horse galloping towards the keep.

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    ¡°Fire! Witch! Fire!¡± Conrad shouted, breathless and panting as he rode into the courtyard. She helped him from his horse.

    ¡°The servants. Are coming. Light the lamps. Sound the bell. Saddle Septim¡¯s horse.¡± Conrad said in bursts between gasps for air before running off towards the keep.

    She lit a few torches and saddled her brother¡¯s horse and was busy readying her own pony when the servants, drunk and barefoot, ran into the keep. Moments hadn¡¯t passed and the keep was lit though it were midday and the bell was ringing, jagged and tuneless.

    Her brother came down from the keep, dressed in his riding coat and hunting hat with a crossbow slung under his shoulder, the Lord¡¯s best hounds following at his heels.

    ¡°Anyone with their wits still about them will ride with me, the rest help douse the fire! Get your bows and your lamps!¡±

    The chaos fell into a loose order with her brother¡¯s words. The drunker men filed back down towards the town, hauling barrels of water. Septim mounted his horse and stood waiting in the courtyard as a hunting party formed around him, the dogs milled about his horse¡¯s legs. She rode up beside him. He gave her a sidelong glance and a scowl.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on? What was Conrad on about?¡± she asked.

    ¡°A witch. Tried to poison the food and started the fire when they¡¯d found her out. Run off into the woods now. We¡¯re going to find her. And you¡¯re not coming with us.¡±

    ¡°Half your men are too drunk to ride and you know I¡¯m as good a shot as any.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely out of the question.¡±

    ¡°The hunting party is ready, m¡¯Lord,¡± said Conrad. He was riding a new horse and had composed himself again.

    Lenora watched the party ride off and waited until they were near the town before setting off after them. Even at a gallop her stout pony could not close the distance between itself and the Lord¡¯s sleek horses. She slowed down and let the animal pick its own pace instead, not wanting to wear it out. She followed the party by the hoof-marks and trumpet blasts.

    She rode through first light, then midmorning and finally stopped around noon. She was making headway on the hunters. The tracks were fresher and the trumpets closer, sometimes she could even hear the hounds. It had begun to snow and her riding coat was soaking through, her pony was sweating. It wasn¡¯t until early evening that they¡¯d finally reached the far wood.

    Smoke billowed out over the treetops, someone had started a fire. She spurred the tired animal into a gallop and reached for her crossbow, circling ¡®round and coming down on the fire from the far side. When she was close she tied the pony to a tree and stalked through the woods, each stepped picked so as not to leave tracks and each breath slow so that no vapor escaped her lips.

    She came upon her brother sitting around a campfire roasting small game. His men were busy building crude shelters or splitting wood for the fire. She crept closer before unstringing her bow and taking a few noisy steps. Her brother startled and leapt to his feet, knife in hand.

    He relaxed when he saw her. ¡°Lot of good it is telling you to do anything.¡±

    ¡°Did you get the witch?¡±

    ¡°Something like that. She poisoned herself just before the hounds got ¡®er. Must have been some poison too. Most of the Lord¡¯s dogs are dead.¡±

    ¡°Can I see it?¡±

    ¡°See what?¡±

    ¡°The witch!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s in the woods not far from here. After the dogs died we¡¯d thought it best not to touch the body for a while. Who knows about that poison. I suppose it¡¯s good that you¡¯re here. You¡¯ve got to go get the old priest and tell father about his dogs. We¡¯ll give you a new horse.¡±

    Lenora nodded, there was no sense in arguing. She¡¯d come too late to be of any other use and the chill was biting to her bones. She almost felt like asking to sit by the fire for a spell, but thought better of it.

    The horse was much quicker and didn¡¯t tire so fast. It was well into darkness by the time she rode through the town. Some men were still throwing buckets of water half heartedly onto the steaming pile of ash that had been the bakery.

    Instead of turning towards the keep she rode onto a path less used, a river of untouched snow between banks of dead weeds. She followed it past the wheat fields, the golden stalks now broken and brown, before making a long arc towards the river. There it forked off towards an old chapel who¡¯s thatch roof had long rotted. She stopped near the fence, half collapsed, and tried to make out the stone markers in the graveyard. Dark as it was, all she could see was a single mound of fresh earth. She spurred her horse onwards.

    Tiredness hit her when she saw the Benedictus¡¯ cottage. Warmth seemed to spill out of every window. The garden was picked and its soil tilled, the orchard apples in cider barrels neatly arranged. Onion, corn and garlic all hung out to dry against the white clay walls of the home. A tarnished brass windvane, shaped like a goldfish, sat atop the roof opposite the chimney and chattered in the wind.

    Lenora knocked twice and watched the strange contraption. Gear-teeth and armatures moved as though the wind had breathed life into metal, the fish was segmented and each gust of wind made it look like it was swimming in place. Inside the cabin she heard Father set down his heavy wood mug and shuffle towards the door.

    ¡°Come in, come in!¡± The old man said opening the door without bothering to look who it was.

    ¡°Lenora, it¡¯s been ages! I¡¯d recognize that knock anywhere. You know there¡¯s always a seat at my table! I¡¯ve plenty of cheese and honey, but what little meat I have is salted. Shall I pour you a glass?¡±

    ¡°Father Benedictus.¡± Lenora bowed curtly and stood by the door, not wanting to relax as it¡¯d be impossible to rouse herself again. She watched the old priest sit down again. Though older than the Lord or even the blindseer, Father Benedictus had an uncanny spryness about him as though his round frame was driven by someone much younger.

    ¡°I presume you haven¡¯t heard?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the fire, but they can¡¯t be so short handed they need help from an old man like me, can they?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°They¡¯ve caught a witch. She¡¯s in the far wood, my brother and his hunting men are there.¡±

    ¡°Caught a witch? Does your father know?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s best we keep it that way, you know how your father gets. Now, go on and fetch a horse.¡±

    ¡°Two horses.¡±

    ¡°Your father would kill me.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll kill me once I give him the news. Besides, you don¡¯t know the way and it¡¯s snowed since.¡± Her tone was sharper than she¡¯d have liked, but she¡¯d take any chance to delay telling her father of the witch and dogs and the fire. She left without waiting for the priest¡¯s reply and rode off towards the keep at a gallop.

    When she returned the priest was already waiting, the fires all doused and his baggage piled neatly by the door. He looked the horses up and down, shaking his head at the grey and bow-legged beasts.

    ¡°It¡¯s my father¡¯s last two,¡± Lenora said.

    ¡°It¡¯s no wonder they¡¯ve been left behind. But I suppose we¡¯ve no choice. Now, it¡¯s always risky business going after a witch. Who knows what we¡¯ll find.¡±

    ¡°But she¡¯s already dead.¡±

    ¡°Is your brother watching the body? Have they salt or herbs? Do they know a banishment canticle?¡± The old man was suddenly animated, his eyes flickering in the dark. He fitted strange saddlebags to his horse, studded red leather with strange gilded symbols. He stood for a moment, counted the bags and rubbed his chin as though he¡¯d forgotten something. Then in one quick motion he as astride his horse, as though he was a rider by trade. They rode off with Lenora leading the way.

    They were nearing the north wood when their horses finally slowed. Father spurred his horse on. ¡°This is no time to stop, you¡¯ll have your rest later,¡± he spoke to the animal. It plodded on with its head hung low.

    ¡°I thought the witches were all gone, stamped out by the Order.¡± Lenora spoke, the thought had been bothering her for some time.

    ¡°Not as many of them as there used to be, that¡¯s certain. They still come up in the wild places where the veil gets thin. Take the blindseer for example. That sort of thing doesn¡¯t happen in civilized places.¡±

    Lenora thought of the awful blind hunchback and shuddered.

    ¡°You know his story, right?¡± Father asked.

    She nodded.¡°Born blind and half-dumb, wandered into the woods as a boy and found a holy spring.¡±

    ¡°My my, is that how they tell it now?¡± The priest shook his head. ¡°It happened years ago, I was just a brother then, hardly more than three years in the Order. He was born blind, no eyes at all, and frail and crooked at that. The poor child was often sick, scarcely remember a time he¡¯d been in good health. Always some affliction or another.¡±

    Father realized he was trailing off and stopped himself before continuing.

    ¡°One year, just after harvest he¡¯d come down with a fever. I told his parents to pay it no mind and treat it like they¡¯d done the rest, but it didn¡¯t lift. No tincture nor ointment, nor prayer beads nor vigil had helped. They¡¯d run out of money for any more medicines, and hadn¡¯t the heart to watch him expire...nor smother him I suppose,¡± the father rubbed his chin. ¡°They carried him off into the woods, bed and all. And that was the end of that.¡±

    ¡°Until he came back. Six days later stark naked in the dead of night. You should have seen the panic! They¡¯d nearly burned down his parents¡¯ hovel. That was when the Lord, the old Lord that is, may he rest in peace, sent for me. I could find nothing wrong with the boy, save he could see with no eyes. A curious thing that is, sees almost the whole way around him he does, but only in the dark...¡± Father said trailing off. He was quiet for a moment after, lost in thought.

    ¡°They¡¯d told us of possession cases like this at the seminary,¡± he continued, ¡°but none of the usual symptoms came up. I tried the incense and herbs, the ley-lines, salt circles, incantations and devotions. No response, there were no spirits in that boy save for his own. And yet, something had gotten to him in those woods.¡±

    The rest of the way they rode in silence. The campfire was sending a plume of smoke into the air and they could see the firelight for at least a mile.

    Father Benedictus stopped his horse a few hundred yards from the camp. ¡°I read in a book once the proper way to handle this. You¡¯d go left, and I¡¯d ride right. I¡¯d make a terrible lot of racket and you could come upon the camp from upwind.¡±

    ¡°That was chapter three of On Decorum and Stratagem by one Brother Aurentian¡± Lenora said confidently. She remembered the book quite well, it¡¯d been an awful bore.

    ¡°I always forget you¡¯re well read. Lord¡¯s daughter after all, I suppose¡± father Benedictus smiled.

    ¡°If it were his choice I¡¯d be locked in my room till I was set to be married. It was my mother who¡¯d convinced him to let the tutor stay and teach me, ¡°well we¡¯ve already paid him¡± she¡¯d said. I suppose that was that. My father can¡¯t argue against sums.¡±

    ¡°I think I remember. They¡¯d no luck teaching your brother, had they? Drinking and hunting and riding, like his old man. Everything ran much more smoothly with the Lady around,¡± Father trailed off.

    ¡°May she rest in peace,¡± is all Lenora could answer before biting her lip to stem the tide of emotion. They rode on together, not bothering with stealth.

 Chapter 3

    Crow dreamt of her grandmother¡¯s mill house. She was alone. It was morning and the fire was lit, she could hear the water wheel¡¯s splash and the grinding of the great millstone. Outside the wind picked up until it was howling. It rattled the windowpanes and shook the trees and grew stronger still. It blew the shingles from the roof until shattered slate rained down outside. It sheared the chimney from its footing, showering the mill in embers.

    She was outside now, watching the mill burn until nothing remained save for the stone wheel. She walked across the ashes and knelt down, not fearing the heat and began digging in the scorched earth.

    Crow woke to the smell of smoke and sat up with a start. Instead of a burning mill she found herself in forest, she gritted her teeth expecting searing pain. Instead she felt nothing but hunger, though she was wet and cold and tired. Carefully she reached down to her shattered leg and found the trap unsprung. The bone was set and the vicious wound the sharpened iron had left had healed over with fresh white scar tissue, as had the places she¡¯d been mauled by the hounds.

    Hounds! A jolt of fear shot through her and stood, no longer worried about what pain it may bring. But there wasn¡¯t a sound in the forest and in the dim light she could see the dogs piled dead around her, deathly rigor contorting their limbs and pulling back their lips, dead eyes and white fangs glistening faintly in starlight. Telltale signs of poisoning. The dose she¡¯d taken would have felled three times as many dogs, had there been so many. Further away she could see a fire and figures huddled round the flames. The hunting party had made camp.

    She crept off slowly, careful not to make a sound and stepped from root to gnarled root as to break up her tracks. Time passed and the great starry dome shifted around her. There was some way to tell time by the stars, too, she vaguely recalled. The dream still bothered her, everything looked and felt so real but she¡¯d never actually seen the ruins of the mill as she¡¯d never been back after the fire. She walked further still, no longer feeling tired or cold. She heard the river and everything suddenly seemed so familiar.

    By the river the mists of time seemed to recede as though the ebb and flow of her life moved against the current. Memories resurfaced, hazy and warm and bright, missing the dark tones and sharp edges that came once childhood ceased. Her father was stuck there in that place, strong and tall and forever building a fence against summer¡¯s setting sun, as were the countless glass vials in her grandmother¡¯s apothecary. They¡¯d had money then.

    She knelt on the muddy shore and stooped to drink, and with the cool sweetness of the water the memories disappeared. She looked at her reflection in the blackness, sunken cheeks and dark rings around her eyes, dried blood at the corners of her mouth. She washed her face, took off her boots and carried on down the river, hoping to lose the hunters this way. The cold water bit into her skin but the feeling was distant, muted.

    It was almost daybreak when she saw the remnants of the waterwheel, a few charred poles sticking up from the riverbank. She climbed onto shore and into the clearing, the place was just as in her dreams, but it didn¡¯t make sense. It¡¯d been over ten years since the fire, yet the clearing was not overgrown. The fence still stood as though unmoored from time and piles of ash lay untouched by wind. The smell of burnt wood was overpowering as she paced slowly until the ruins lined up with the scene from her dream. She found the spot and dug, the earth was warm and soft and forgiving. Soon a pile of ash and dirt lay beside her, and the sun was out now in full. Crow¡¯s hands brushed against leather and she dug faster and soon pulled a square parcel from the earth. Bound in thick oilskins and fastened with rawhide straps, it looked no worse than the day it¡¯d been buried. She hugged it close and walked out of the clearing and into the woods, suddenly aware of the ache in her leg and the pain down her sides. Her stomach growled, she felt weak. The fear had left and the hunters and hounds all seemed to belong to a different life entirely, she had the incredible urge to go home. Without much thought she made her way down deer trails that wove in and out of one another. She took the turns on intuition, doubts silenced as each step seemed to bring her into more and more familiar territory. She held the book at her side, though heavy and awkward it made her feel at ease, somehow.

    When she got home she found the door open and swinging in the wind. Inside was dark and empty. She called out for her mother and waited for a response before stepping inside. The house was ransacked, anything of any value was gone and the rest was strewn across the floor. The table and bed were at odd angles, the bed roll was gone. Her brother¡¯s shrine was missing, as were the lamp and candles and what few pots they¡¯d had. Crow had no doubts her mother had left the moment she¡¯d caught wind of the commotion. Where she¡¯d gone, she could only suppose.

    Crow checked the larder and found nothing but mouse tracks, even the last few crumbs were gone. She propped the door open to let some light into the windowless shack and sat down on the floor with the leatherbound parcel before her.

    She undid the straps with some trouble and peeled away the oilskins to reveal a tome bound in lambskin. The shack filled with the smell of worked leather, the scent bringing with it a vivid memory: her grandmother at her workbench preparing ointments and salves, busy grinding pestle against mortar. A book lay open on a rosewood lectern.

    Crow folded the oilskins and set them aside, the book itself was held shut with a brass hook through an eyelet, tarnished and stiff with age. She fiddled with this for a moment, the pieces let loose all at once and her hands slipped, her index finger catching on the little hook. She shook it off, it stung but did not bleed. With shaking hands she lifted the cover, eager to see what lay inside. The first page was empty. She flipped further and found much of the same. Her heart sank. Every page was untouched, as though it¡¯d never been filled. The ink must have run off over time. She flipped faster now, looking for anything at all. Having skipped to the end of the book she gathered the pages gently and set them straight so as not to break the book¡¯s spine, but in doing so opened her cut and sent a rivulet of blood onto the paper.

    The instant the droplet touched the book the pages exploded in movement. Strange writing the likes of which she¡¯d never seen materialized and filled the paper before settling in neat rows. Sigils and symbols alien to her moved of their own accord between the rows of script. She flipped back to the beginning and found those pages still blank. She held her bleeding cut against the empty paper and was rewarded with maps. It took her a while to decipher the drawings. Before her moved the night sky, a full map of the stars, somehow the enchantment was not constrained by the paper and showed the sky in full depth.

    Crow repeated the trick on the next page. Sigils emerged next to drawings of leaves, one of which she recognized immediately.

    ¡°The moonpath!¡± she said under hear breath. As soon as she said it the writing shifted imperceptibly. Its form remained unchanged but somehow she could read the text, though she¡¯d never learned her letters. The book told of poison plants, where to find them and at which shapes of the moon the sigils would come into power. She studied the page for a long time, reading and re-reading aloud though with some trouble, as the understanding of written words bore some enchantment of its own.

    The house darkened as the day grew long and soon she was no longer able to make out letters at all.

    ¡°I wish I¡¯d some light,¡± she muttered, dismayed, not yet ready to put the book away.

    The page changed before her, new sigils appeared. Though much of it was beyond her understanding, the words beneath two of the symbols she could read plain as day Coldfire: A toothless flame with no heat.

    She traced the symbol with her finger, a simple thing of crossed circles and crescents, and no sooner had she joined the last line with the first that the sigil burst into flame. Though it was not large to begin with the fire shrank down until it was no bigger than that of a candle. Carefully she reached out and touched it and found that it felt like nothing at all. She drew the sigil again and again, until all around the house was alight with small flames. In this strange light that cast no shadow she read on further.

    The snap of twigs underfoot knocked her out of the trance, the words disappeared from the page and all the fires went out. Quickly she slammed the book shut and latched it before wrapping it in its oilskins and pushing it under the bedframe. She got up and stumbled towards the hearth, her legs were asleep. The poker was missing, along with anything else that could be of use. She turned to run, but someone already stood in the doorway. She sighed when she saw it was Sevryn.

    Neither spoke for some time, unable to find the words.

    ¡°You¡¯re alive,¡± Sevryn said, finally, stepping inside and standing beside her. He reached out and touched her hand, carefully, as though his fingers would slip through it. Finding it corporeal he held it tight and looked her in the eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I should have never left you alone that night. I should have stayed by your side. By the time I¡¯d left the barn it was too late, I did what I could to help, I swear...¡±

    ¡°So you were the shadow?¡±

    ¡°The shadow?¡±

    ¡°The shadow that pushed Conrad.¡±

    Sevryn nodded. ¡°I ran after you but you disappeared. Then when I heard what happened, I didn¡¯t know what to do. I ended up here, force of habit I suppose. If you¡¯re wondering about your mother, she¡¯s left for the eastern border, if we leave now and ride through the night we can probably meet her at the southbridge inn. My oxcart¡¯s waiting at the bottom of the hill,¡± he said quickly, tripping over his own words.¡±

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    ¡°How do you know?¡± Crow asked.

    ¡°Everyone knows. She dragged all her things into town in a wheelbarrow, traded it all to the Lord¡¯s moneylender for a handful of silver. Managed to get an old mule, a daypack and some saltfish but not a whole lot more.¡±

    ¡°And they just let her go?¡±

    ¡°She knows how to keep quiet, still has some old friends in town I suppose. And you know how the moneylender is. I reckon she¡¯ll be over the hills by the time word gets around to the Lord.¡±

    Crow poked at the ashes in the hearth, Sevryn was still standing by the door. ¡°She¡¯s always talked about leaving. Starting over. Said the mountain folk weren¡¯t like what we said, barbarians and all that. Simple people, like how people used to be.¡±

    ¡°Tell that to the traders who never make it back,¡± Sevryn said and Crow nodded grimly.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve got any firewood?¡± She looked at him but couldn¡¯t make out the features of his face in the darkness.

    ¡°Firewood? You¡¯re not thinking of staying, are you?¡±

    ¡°Where else am I to go? Hunted like game in the woods, or starve in the badlands? I certainly won¡¯t throw my lot in with my mother¡¯s and end up a chieftain¡¯s servant, or worse. No, if my fate is here then this is where I¡¯ll meet it.¡±

    ¡°Planning to martyr yourself? For what? There¡¯s nothing here. You¡¯ll freeze if you don¡¯t starve first. Besides, they¡¯re sure to look for you here especially since they know your mother left alone,¡± Sevryn said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve got an idea, then?¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t look for you at my house, will they?¡±

    ¡°What would your parents think?¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t have to know. You can stay in the shed overnight. I¡¯ve put down fresh hay and there¡¯s blankets and furs.¡±

    ¡°Then what? Stay locked in your shed forever?¡±

    ¡°Then we leave. My father¡¯s tasked me with collecting deadfall tomorrow, they don¡¯t expect to see me back before sundown. By the time they realize anything¡¯s wrong you¡¯ll be over the hills.¡±

    ¡°Sevryn! You¡¯re mad! You can¡¯t do that!¡±

    ¡°I can and I will. This whole thing is my fault. You would¡¯ve never come to the feast unless I¡¯d asked you. I feel like this is the least I could do. Shall we go?¡±

    ¡°Just let me take one thing,¡± she said, already reaching under the bedframe for the book.

    ¡°Your mother missed something, did she?¡± Sevryn said when he saw the parcel. He held out his hand when she met him at the door and they walked down to the wagon together. She lay down in the back and he threw a canvas tarp overtop before getting up in the front and spurring the ox. Even though it was dark the animal knew the way well. Crow drifted in and out of sleep as the wagon rocked and creaked its way to Sevryn¡¯s house.

    Even in the darkness Sevryn could make out the familiar outlines of the mill and his parent¡¯s sturdy stone house. The animal pulled the cart up to the gate and stopped, Sevryn lit some lamps by the barn so that light filled the yard, then he unhitched the ox before leading it back into the barn. He snuffed the lamps before going back to the wagon and leading Crow to the shed. There he lit a smaller lamp, shaded and with smoked glass so that the light only fell in a tight dim beam.

    Crow was expecting the worst when he opened the door, but instead of rats and animal stench she was met with the smell of fresh hay and clean blankets. The shed wasn¡¯t large, but there was more than enough room to lay down in.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t just to clear your conscience, is it? You¡¯ve paid off any dues in full, I assure you,¡± Crow said.

    ¡°Of course not, I mean this.¡±

    He sat down in the hay and gestured to his side. ¡°Come on, sit down. I¡¯ve got something to show you.¡± She sat down beside him, he put his arm around her and pulled her in close. ¡°I suppose now is good a time as any. You won¡¯t be going alone, whererever you go I¡¯ll go with you, and I don¡¯t intend to return,¡± he whispered. ¡°There¡¯s no future for either of us here and I meant to ask you at the feast, I¡¯ve been saving up for a little while now.¡± With that he reached into his pockets and tossed a satchel onto the hay between them, it was heavy with coins.

    ¡°Sevryn!¡±

    ¡°Sh! They¡¯ll hear. I¡¯ve been trying to find the words but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve got any more time. I love you, Crow. I didn¡¯t just come around from some sense of guilt or reparations, surely you know that?¡± He slipped the satchel back into his pocket.

    Crow went flush, she was smiling though Sevryn couldn¡¯t see it. She leaned in close again, felt his warmth through his clothes and the beating of his heart.

    ¡°My parents don¡¯t know. We¡¯ll go start somewhere else. You and me.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯ll take care of the mill?¡±

    ¡°Jonas and Abel can pull their fair share, finally, I reckon.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t stay too long though, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll think something is up if I linger. We¡¯ll have all the time in the world to talk after tomorrow. I¡¯ll go get you something to eat.¡±

    Right after he said it he turned and pulled her close, grazing the back of her neck with his hand. Their lips touched. Crow put her arms around him, drawing herself in. The moment seemed to last forever, Sevryn was the first to pull away.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± he said before leaving, grasping her hand softly before he left.

    Sevryn stopped by the river and spent a long time looking at the waterwheel. His head was swimming, and he couldn¡¯t help but feel he¡¯d made a mistake. But every time he weighed his doubts against his heart the result was the same. The waterwheel splashed in the dark, unbothered by his worries. His father had been a cobbler before they¡¯d built the mill. Little money then, the constant gnawing of hunger in his belly and their mud brick house always cold as a tomb. He wondered if his new life was going to be like that, and wondered why the thought didn¡¯t worry him more.

    He left the mill and went home, not bothering to knock before letting himself inside. It was warm and smelled of fresh bread and cured meat. His mother sat at the table mending a sock and his father paced before the fire, his brothers were asleep upstairs. Neither said a word, the worried creases on their faces told him to tread carefully.

    ¡°What¡¯s for dinner?¡± he asked, not knowing what else to say.

    His mother dropped the needle and thread in her lap. ¡°What¡¯s for dinner? You¡¯ve some nerve walking in here and speaking to us, you should be kneeling at our feet. I don¡¯t know how many times I¡¯ve told you to stay out of the birch wood and away from those people. Now you¡¯ve brought the witch here?¡±

    ¡°Brought her here? Whatever are you on about?¡±

    ¡°You take us for a fool! The whole town know¡¯s her mother¡¯s left and it¡¯s plain as day you¡¯ve always fancied the girl. Then you take the ox cart to the birch wood and mill about in the yard afterwards?¡±

    ¡°Lie to my face under my roof and I¡¯ll strike you down,¡± his father stepped in, ¡°Now tell us, boy, is the witch here or not,¡± his father said raising his hand.

    Sevryn shrank back, cornered, and saw no choice but to resort to the truth. ¡°Yes, she¡¯s here. But she¡¯s leaving tomorrow!¡±

    ¡°Leaving tomorow! She¡¯s leaving now!¡± his mother yelled.

    His father sat by the fire and rubbed his chin.

    ¡°Where¡¯s she to go?¡± Sevryn asked

    ¡°I care not as long as it¡¯s far from here! Should the Lord hear of this he¡¯d take the mill and have us all burnt at the stake. And you know how the Lord is, he¡¯ll hear of it sooner or later and he wouldn¡¯t pass up the opportunity for the mill!¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t find out, she¡¯s leaving tomorrow and nobody saw¡± Sevryn pleaded.

    ¡°She¡¯s leaving now!¡± his mother slammed her fists on the table.

    ¡°Now, no need to be so rash dear,¡± his father said, finally. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s best the girl stay til morning. It¡¯s best the Lord learn of the truth from the horse¡¯s mouth,¡± he said turning to Sevryn.

    ¡°You¡¯ll latch the shed so she can¡¯t get out and at first light I expect you to be at the Lord¡¯s keep. You¡¯ll tell him how you¡¯n Jonas¡¯n Abel have caught the witch. I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be some kind of reward.¡±

    ¡°Father! They¡¯ll kill her! Let her go, please!¡±

    ¡°Let her go? And burn another town to the ground? I¡¯ve got mind to take you down to the Benedictus and see that you¡¯ve not been witched yourself,¡± his mother hissed.

    ¡°What he¡¯s got is worse than being witched, I think,¡± his father said with a wry smile. ¡°Boy, if you don¡¯t go then we will. And if saving this family means giving you up to the Lord for him to decide your fate, then so be it. If you want to burn at the stake with that witch then the choice is yours, fully.¡±

    ¡°I see you¡¯ve thought this all through!¡± Sevryn fumed. Wordlessly he took a bowl from the cupboard, and filled it from the pot on the fire before storming out and letting the door slam shut behind him.

    He knocked gently before opening the shed, the small lantern was still lit.

    ¡°It¡¯s just me,¡± Sevryn said passing her the bowl.

    She brought it to her mouth delicately, fighting the urge to pull it back in one gulp and instead took long slow sips and basked in its warmth. Crow hoped that he¡¯d sit down beside her again, but something changed about his demenor. She supposed he was nervous about leaving and didn¡¯t pry. He stood waiting nervously, digging the toe of his boot into the ground. When she¡¯d finished he took the empty bowl. ¡°I¡¯m going to lock the latch this time, in case anyone comes looking around.¡± Crow nodded and lay down and heard Sevryn bolt the door shut.

 Chapter 4

    Cold gripped Sevryn¡¯s insides as he walked past the fields and towards the hill upon which the keep was built. It wasn¡¯t just the morning chill, though the air was cold and fresh snow blanketed the fields. His entire body felt like tallow, his head ached. He hadn¡¯t slept at all and daybreak had come too soon. More than anything he wished he¡¯d have said goodbye, or sorry, or both. He wished he¡¯d taken Crow and stolen off into the night and never said a word to his parents. He wished a great many things, but most of all that this day would pass by, that somehow the current of time would flow on around him as though he were a rock in a stream.

    It was not bravery that pushed him on as the morning sun rose behind the wooden walls of the keep, it was a sense of duty. The way things ought to be are not the way things must be, he told himself as he pressed onwards, just as some are born cobblers and some are born Lords, each must do what befalls them. Though he could find no fault in the reasoning some part of him remained unconvinced and with each step forward he fought the urge to turn back.

    There was some sense of finality when he crossed into the long jagged darkness that surrounded the keep, into the shadows sent down from the walls that were made of trees entire, crudely sharpened at the tips. He was too close to turn back now, the deed was almost done and everything could be set right again. The thought bothered him, the rightness of it. Was it just? If it wasn¡¯t, why was the Lord willing to pay? But the thoughts were dispelled with the whistling of the wind through woodwork and the flapping of torn rawhide, the tattered leather that hung off the walls in places and all but worthless against fire now. The gate stood open before him, great oak planks studded with iron. Oiled and tarnished and oiled again so that the gullies where the adze had dug too deep were now stained black. The guardhouse was empty, as were the towers on either side.

    Sevryn walked in slowly, not sure what to expect. He hadn¡¯t thought of the Lord and his keep more than he¡¯d had to, but even in his sparse imaginings the Keep had looked nothing like what stood before him. A muddied courtyard and low-slung stables built the old way of lashed logs with walls of reed and plaster, roofed over with thatch. These stood at odd angles to the Keep itself, which looked to have been built in fits around the Great Hall, the oldest building and the only one with stone fundament. Though it wasn¡¯t tall, the Great Hall towered over the rest of the ramshackle buildings, its size and craftsmanship from a time of full coffers and caring hands. Where it had mortise and tenon, both level and plumb, the new buildings sat rough-cut and crooked and filled in with plastered hay where the boards did not quite meet up. There may have been some difference in the colors between the old and the new, once, but all the wood had long ago turned the same shade of black.

    Without too much thought he walked through the empty courtyard following a cobbled serpentine path that at points disappeared entirely into muddy snow. Part of him hoped that through some miracle everyone had been swallowed up by the earth, that the Keep was indeed abandoned and he could go home. Still, he walked onwards and in stops and starts the path led him to a door set into the stone walls of the Great Hall. Planed planks neatly cut and studded, with an iron wyrm¡¯s head at the center from which a knock-ring hung. Sevryn brought the ring down onto the door twice before an iron shutter slid open, bloodshot eyes peered out from the darkness before disappearing again. Someone coughed and spat.

    ¡°What¡¯d you want?¡± a raspy voice asked.

    ¡°I want to see the Lord.¡±

    ¡°See the Lord! Don¡¯t we all. Let me go get him for you! Ha!¡± They laughed and slammed the shutter closed. Sevryn pounded the knocker against the door.

    ¡°I need to see the Lord! It¡¯s about the witch! I¡¯ve got the witch!¡±

    The iron shutter slid open again, the same bloodshot eyes looked out but this time stared at him for some time. Sevryn could see the man¡¯s face, but barely. Worn and grimy, it fit in with the rest of the Keep, as though somehow the man and the Keep shared something intangible.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a lark? If I bother the Lord for some peasant hearsay he¡¯ll have us both lashed, you know. And I¡¯m not sure who¡¯ll get it harder,¡± there was a softness in man¡¯s voice, and Sevryn felt the words were honest.

    ¡°On my soul, I swear!¡± Sevryn put his right hand to his heart and dropped to his knees. ¡°I¡¯ve got the witch, I swear to you on all that¡¯s hallowed.¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯ll try to fetch someone. And get out of the mud, lad, there¡¯s no use kneeling to me. Save it for the Lord.¡± The face disappeared into the darkness but the iron shutter stayed open. Silence descended again and Sevryn stood there, waiting, his heart beating out of his chest. Minutes passed and though the sun rose higher the day did not get warmer. A chill cut through his thin coat and his feet went numb at the toes. He started pacing on the cobbles, partly to stay warm but mostly to calm his nerves.

    Sevryn heard a heavy lock turn over and iron slide against iron before the door opened partways with a creak. Out of the darkness stepped an old hunchback followed by what Sevryn thought was his minder, a tall man in finely cut clothes with a sword at his side.

    Sevryn fell to his knees and spoke with his eyes downcast, not sure which man to address. ¡°My Lord, I have the witch,¡± he said, not knowing how else to start. It dawned on him that he¡¯d no idea what he was actually planning to say. Hundreds of false starts and half truths ran through his head and he felt his palms begin to sweat.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to kneel,¡± the hunchback said, ¡°I¡¯m not the Lord, though I do speak on his behalf. Now let¡¯s see this witch.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not here,¡±

    ¡°Not here? Is this a trick?¡±

    ¡°No sir!¡± Sevryn said, still staring at the muddy cobbles, ¡°I¡¯ve got her, locked up. Alive. I swear.¡±

    ¡°You swear?¡± the hunchback asked.

    ¡°On my mother¡¯s heart!¡± Sevryn said, looking up. He lifted his head to look the old man in the eyes but was met with two smooth patches of skin where the man¡¯s eyes should have been. A chill ran down his spine because he swore the man was looking back.

    The old man smiled. ¡°Come, boy. Tell me all there is to tell about this witch and where you¡¯ve got her.¡± With that the hunchback turned on his heel, whispered something to the big man and disappeared soundlessly into the Keep. The big man grabbed Sevryn by the shoulders and pulled him inside before shutting the door behind them. The big man had lit a lamp before Sevryn¡¯s eyes had time to adjust to the dark. The guard who¡¯d opened the door pulled Sevryn close and spoke quietly.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Best do as the blindseer says, talking to him¡¯s as good as talking to the Lord. Mind your manners and tread carefully. Now follow Gideon,¡± he said pointing to the big man.

    Sevryn stayed two steps behind Gideon, following the bobbing lamplight through twists and corners and up stairwells of both stone and wood until they came to an open door. Daylight spilled out into the darkened hall, Gideon stepped into the light and gestured for Sevryn to go inside. The room was long and narrow with a high ceiling and tall windows that let in light from all sides, the walls, where he could see them from behind tapestries and banners, were shiplapped timber old and knotty. In the center of the room and taking up most of the space stood long a table laid out with food and decanters of wine, enough food and drink for a party of ten though Sevryn saw only one empty chair. The blindseer had already seated himself at the far end and gestured for Sevryn to join him. The chair, like the table, was made of rich brown wood, inset with carvings of flowers and vines.

    Sevryn hesitated for a moment, suddenly conscious of his muddy work clothes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, to come here so shabby, have you got a different seat, perhaps?¡±

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± the blindseer said after he¡¯d finished chewing. ¡°There¡¯s no shame in hard work, boy. A man¡¯s to be ashamed to come before his Lord in the clothes of his trade?¡± He spat at the floor for emphasis once he¡¯d said it. ¡°Not in these halls. Now sit, there¡¯s a great deal I wish to know.¡±

    Sevryn sat, surprised by the softness of the crushed velvet cushion, as though no one had sat in the chair before. He stared at the table, suddenly aware of the smells. A platter full of roast meat caught his eye, juicy and thick with the skin crisped to perfection, like nothing he¡¯d seen before.

    The blindseer smiled, ¡°Help yourself, I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ve too few souls these days for proper service.¡±

    Sevryn piled his plate full of meat and white bread and drizzled the lot with a thick brown sauce. He ate and drank in silence, it wasn¡¯t until he was half done with his plate and onto his third glass of wine that the blindseer spoke again.

    ¡°You¡¯re Sevryn, the youngest miller¡¯s son?¡± the blindseer said, wiping his mouth his a napkin and pushing his plate away.

    Sevryn stopped chewing for a moment and felt the blindseer staring at him from across the table. He didn¡¯t remember introducing himself, nor ever laying eyes on this man before. He swallowed and poured himself more wine, thinking of a question in response.

    ¡°I suppose I forget myself. It¡¯s been a while since we¡¯ve met, you might have been too young to remember, then. How old are you now?¡± The blindseer asked, ignoring Sevryn¡¯s silence.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be ten years and six just before sowing,¡± Sevryn answered quickly.

    The blindseer nodded.

    ¡°And for how many of those years have you know the girl, the witch?¡± There was a meanness to the blindseer¡¯s voice now.

    Sevryn raised an eyebrow and drank in gulps. The blindseer knew too much, if he were to deliver his story he¡¯d have to have his nerves reined in, otherwise he¡¯d talk himself into a corner. He set the wine cup down and found that his hands were shaking.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been selling them firewood for ages,¡± he said finally, choosing his words carefully.

    ¡°Them?¡±

    ¡°The girl and her mother. They live up in the birchwood in a little cabin, hardly more than a shack. Her father died some years ago and her brother¡¯s a soldier of fortune, they can¡¯t hardly keep up with the work.¡±

    ¡°They pay you?¡± The blindseer asked, and Sevryn felt the pointedness in his question.

    ¡°They keep a tab.¡±

    ¡°A set of tally marks against a guilty conscience? Or is there more to it than that?¡± the blindseer smiled after asking.

    Sevryn poured himself more wine just so that his hands would have something to do while he worked out an answer.

    ¡°Her brother sends money back, they¡¯ll pay with interest before mid summer, I¡¯m sure.¡± Pleased with his answer he cut himself another piece of meat, trying his best to look relaxed.

    ¡°I suppose, I suppose,¡± the blindseer said. ¡°War¡¯s at tricky business, though, and the money¡¯s liable to stop. But I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve taken that into account,¡± the edge was gone from his voice but the answer left Sevryn wondering if the blindseer knew more of Crow¡¯s brother than he let on.

    ¡°What interests me most is how the miller¡¯s son could trap the witch, when the Lord¡¯s son could not,¡± the blindseer continued. ¡°If you¡¯ve some tricks we¡¯d love to hear them, perhaps they¡¯ll take you on the next hunting trip. The Lord¡¯s son is always looking to hone his skills.¡±

    Sevryn knew this question was coming, but stalled as though he were thinking and tried to make this answer as stilted as the previous ones.

    ¡°We were hunting for game, my brothers and I. Rabbits and pheasants and that. They¡¯re easy to track after a snowfall and the weather was mild. We¡¯d gone up into the birchwood, near the old creekbed as we¡¯d had luck there before. It must have been dusk when we¡¯d found her, fast asleep.¡±

    ¡°Asleep? Had she made camp? Was there anyone with her?¡± the blindseer asked, sitting bolt upright and keeping his face fixed in Sevryn¡¯s direction.

    Sevryn shook his head and brought the winecup to his lips again, his confidence bolstered by the blindseer¡¯s interest.

    ¡°Asleep just in the snow like a beast. We¡¯d come at her from three sides, and I don¡¯t recall who¡¯d moved first but I¡¯d be on my life it was Jonas, by the time she¡¯d roused we¡¯d already had her bound.¡±

    ¡°Bound? Do you often bring rope on your hunts?¡±

    This question took Sevryn by surprise and his hesitation was genuine before he answered ¡°Sisal, for rabbit snares, we don¡¯t go out without a roll.¡±

    ¡°And you dragged her like that back home?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯d ridden out in the oxcart. The hunt¡¯s often good after first snow,¡± Sevryn answered almost immediately, having anticipated the question. ¡°We locked her in the shed when we returned,¡± he continued.

    ¡°Neither trap nor death could hold her, and yet you trust a bolted door?¡±

    To this Sevryn had no answer, but it wasn¡¯t long before the blindseer spoke again.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for my doubts, really. But if you think you¡¯re the first who¡¯s come to the Lord cap in hand swearing they¡¯ve got the witch, you¡¯re mistaken. So far I think you¡¯ve been the most credible, and I¡¯ll send some men at once.¡± With this the blindseer stood and reached for his belt before tossing a bag onto the table. It landed with a clatter and came half undone, showing Sevryn a glint of silver. ¡°If, or should I say when they bring her back we¡¯ll iron out the sums, though I¡¯m sure the Lord will take a cut for having to fetch her.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s no problem, I mean, thank you,¡± Sevryn said catching himself, ¡°I appreciate the generosity and please give the Lord my regards,¡± he said bowing his head.

    The blindseer bowed back quickly before turning to leave. He stopped at the door and turned to Sevryn again. ¡°In the meantime you¡¯re most welcome to stay here,¡± he said, bowing again before leaving.

    In the darkened hallway the blindseer gestured for Gideon to stoop down before whispering into his ear. Gideon nodded grimly. With that the blindseer disappeared into darkened hallways, quiet as a ghost.

    Sevryn was weighing the fork in his hands, balancing it across his fingers, thinking of the coins in the bag and relieved the blindseer had bought his story. His nerves were settled and any regrets numbed with the Lords wine. He paid no attention to the heavy footsteps coming from the door.

    Gideon was right beside him now, and Sevryn turned to look. There was no time to react as Gideon pulled back his fist and hit Sevryn in the face with a weighted glove. Sevryn heard a crack before searing pain tore through his face, the world spun round and there was a ringing in his ears. He spat out teeth before everything went dark.

    Gideon slung the boy over his shoulder as though he weighed no more than a sack of flour, the blindseer had returned and was standing in the doorway. The pair worked their way down through the darkness of the keep. As they descended the air changed and wood turned to stone as they made their way into the stone heart of the Great Hall, well below the earth. Here the blindseer lit a lamp, though only for Gideon¡¯s benefit. The walls were dark and mossy and the steps slick and treacherous, Gideon climbed down slowly, one hand reaching out to steady himself. When he reached the bottom he dropped Sevryn roughly to the ground.

    The ceiling was low and arched, so that Gideon stood half-bent. The ceiling, like the walls and floor were made of square-cut stone set so neatly that there was no need for mortar. Orange lamplight reflected off wet stone illuminating rivulets of water that fell from the ceiling and collected in puddles on the floor. Where the light was dim, towards the corners of the room, great masses of rats shifed in the shadows, hundreds of eyes glowed in the half-light.

    The blindseer hung the lamp off a hook set into the ceiling, the light illuminated an iron grate in the floor. Again the blindseer whispered to Gideon, who heaved the grate open without a word, sending bits of rust into the darkness below.

    Gideon dragged the still unconscious boy to the edge of the hole and was about to push him in when the blindseer turned on his heel and stopped him.

    ¡°The salts Gideon!¡± The blindseer hissed.

    Gideon reached into his tunic and brought out a small vial. He uncorked it with one hand and moved it quickly under Sevryn¡¯s nose. Sevryn woke with a start. The blindseer kicked him in the ribs.

    ¡°Up! Up!¡± Sevryn struggled to stand, his hands were still bound behind his back.

    ¡°Where am I?¡±

    ¡°Pay no mind to that¡±, the blindseer said, smiling, ¡°more important is where you¡¯re going.¡± The blindseer took the lamp from its hook and shone it into the oubliette: a narrow hole lined with jagged stone dug some twenty feet into the earth.

    Sevryn didn¡¯t even have time to scream before Gideon pushed him in. He hit the far wall so hard it knocked the air from his lungs and sent him tumbling down, rough cut stone tore into his skin and battered his bones. He landed with a sickening crunch, hitting the ground mostly on his back. The last thing he remembered was the iron grate slamming shut above him.

 Chapter 5

    Father Benedictus and Lenora walked into camp leading their horses by the bridle, a few men stood huddled round the fire with their backs towards the woods.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Lord Septim? I¡¯d like to see the witch,¡± Father said.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be daybreak soon enough, I¡¯m sure it can wait,¡± Septim said getting up from the fireside. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s still dark. Morning will be here soon. Why don¡¯t you sit for a while, we¡¯ve food to spare. And Lenora, it¡¯s probably best you go home and tell our father know that we¡¯ve got the witch but lost all his hounds to her poison."

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve no choice. You don¡¯t mind if I wait for first light? I¡¯m tired and chilled to the bone,¡± Without waiting for an answer she took a seat at the fire.

    Father Benedictus finished unloading his bags. ¡°If it¡¯s no difference to you m¡¯Lord, I¡¯d like to join the next group of sentries that¡¯ll be watching the corpse.¡±

    ¡°Watching the corpse? Father, she¡¯s dead,¡± Septim chuckled.

    Father turned to face Septim, suddenly agitated, his cheeks flush and eyes wide. ¡°You¡¯ve left her alone? Quickly! We must go at once!¡±

    ¡°Father, you¡¯re over excited. I¡¯m sure it can wait till the morrow.¡±

    ¡°Which way to the trap?¡± Father asked, already leaving the camp. One of the men pointed without getting up. Lenora followed the priest and they¡¯d only gone a few paces when her brother and some of his men joined to follow. Lantern light filled the woods and they¡¯d no trouble finding the way.

    ¡°All this excitement for a corpse. I suppose we could drag it back to camp and keep watch there, the poison¡¯s ought to have worn off, right Father?¡± Septim asked, but the priest didn¡¯t answer. He¡¯d lit his own lamp and was leafing through a small leatherbound book.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the trap, there?¡± Lenora said, pointing to a patch of darkened snow around which the Lord¡¯s hounds lay dead.

    ¡°Can¡¯t be, this one¡¯s unsprung,¡± Septim said, stooping low to inspect it, but even he wasn¡¯t convinced of his words.

    ¡°You knew! You knew and you didn¡¯t tell us!¡± Septim yelled at the priest before turning to his men. ¡°Saddle the horses, break the camp. We¡¯ve got to track her again!¡±

    The men took off towards the camp leaving the three alone.

    ¡°The Lord¡¯s sent the best men off to the front at the King¡¯s request, this lot couldn¡¯t trace their own steps through a mire,¡± Septim confided to Lenora. ¡°Still, you and Father best return to the keep. We¡¯ll send for you when we¡¯ve found her again.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s best if I joined,¡± the priest said.

    ¡°You must be tired, we¡¯ll be riding hard through the night. Could you even track without lamplight?¡± Septim said, leaving.

    Neither protested, both knew it¡¯d be fruitless. They returned to the fire and sat eating sweet bread and salt pork that the priest had brought along.

    ¡°Shall we return, then?¡± Lenora said after a long while.

    ¡°I suppose. Far be it from me to put ideas in the Lord¡¯s daughter¡¯s head.¡±

    ¡°Father?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing, let¡¯s saddle the horses.¡±

    ¡°I know you¡¯ve got no kind words for the Lord, that makes two of us. Surely we can speak freely here,¡± Lenora pressed the issue.

    ¡°Do you know why your brother is after the witch?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s revenge for the fire?¡±

    The priest shook his head. ¡°The King pays a reward for anyone who brings him a witch¡¯s head, more if they bring the heart too.¡±

    ¡°I should have known it was about gold.¡±

    ¡°What most folk don¡¯t know is that the Order pays double for a live witch.¡±

    ¡°Father? What are you saying? That we get her alive?¡±

    ¡°Nothing of the sort! It¡¯d be treason! I¡¯m just thinking aloud, about what your mother would have done. She had a much better grasp on the purse strings, much more sense. Great woman, she was. Why, I remember getting a stipend! Guest of honor, invited to feasts! Instead of being sequestered to that old cabin. Why, I¡¯m blathering on. It¡¯s not that I wish to spite the Lord, you see, it¡¯s just, sometimes I wonder how things would have been if your mother were still here. I see a lot of her in you, you know,¡± he said with tiredness in his voice.

    ¡°One could do a lot with so much gold,¡± Lenora said, kicking snow into the coals and watching the steam hiss. ¡°Build a new keep. A new town even.¡±

    The priest threw the last of the wood onto the fire. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t begrudge an old man some rest? Wake me before first light.¡± He passed her a red leather satchel. ¡°There¡¯s a book in here that may interest you, and some things that may be of use. Have a look if you wish.¡±

    Lenora opened the bag. Inside was the book she¡¯d seen Father reading earlier, alongside leather pouches, tin vials, brass trinkets and silver baubles. She took the book out of the bag, but it caught on a tiny pouch which fell into the snow at her feet. Father¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°My signet! I¡¯m supposed to wear it always, it¡¯s the mark of the Order,¡± he said, reaching for the pouch. ¡°It gets tarnished rather quickly though and I took it off some time ago before losing track of it. I¡¯ve forgotten all about it until now, can you believe it?¡± He took the ring from its pouch and slid it onto the third finger of his right hand. It was gilded and ornate, but the working was crude and the gold had come off in places. It reminded Lenora of the cheap brass stamp her Father used to seal letters, except in place of a wolf¡¯s tooth the Priest¡¯s ring had a crescent moon encircled by a script she could not read. She turned her attention back to the book and undid the leather clasp holding it shut. Gilded letters twinkled in the weak light: A Witch-Hunting Primer, by Brother Cornelius. She¡¯d have loved to sit and read it cover to cover but instead flipped to the index and looked for anything of immediate use before skipping to the third chapter: Tracking a Witch.

    By the time she¡¯d skimmed the chapter the eastern stars were dimming and sky was turning paler where it met the horizon. She roused the old priest and he awoke with some trouble. He reached into his coat and retrieved a flask, popped the cork and took a long pull.

    ¡°I suppose this¡¯ll do for breakfast,¡± he said, the sleep suddenly gone from his eyes. Lenora passed him the satchel but he pushed it away.

    ¡°It¡¯s yours to keep, it¡¯ll do you more good than it ever did me. I¡¯d always been rubbish at fieldwork, you should know, you¡¯ve seen me track. I dreaded the day I¡¯d have to leave the Grand Abbey, wished they¡¯d keep me a brother forever. Writing, reading, gardening, baking, studying flora and making medicines, I could go on like that for eternity! But Caldora was growing then.¡±

    ¡°Beg your pardon, Father?¡±

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    ¡°Beg my pardon for what?¡±

    ¡°Caldora. I¡¯ve never heard that word.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you have, whether or not you remember it is another story. Seldom used in these parts, now that I think about it. It¡¯s always just the Kingdom. Everything from the coasts to the hills behind us is the King¡¯s. But when one is sequestered so far from civilization proper one forgets a larger world exists. You¡¯ve never left Eskryn, have you?¡± Lenora shook her head. ¡°A King must become a far away sort of thing, like a petty God, I suppose. You know, I saw him once? A long time ago and he was quite old even then. But I think we¡¯d have heard about it if he died, even out here.¡± He drifted off into thought for a few moments before finding the thread of their previous conversation.

    ¡°It¡¯s so hard getting old, you know that? I don¡¯t recommend it at all. One has so many things to keep track of, so many memories of youth. Now, where was I? Right. Caldora¡¯s borders were moving ever onwards. They pushed us all through the seminary, gave us the rank of Father and sent us off to the hinterlands, scattered to the winds. Every Lord needs a witch hunter! Now look at me, unseated from the Lord¡¯s right hand by a blindseer! I¡¯m blathering on again, have you found the lodeglass?¡±

    ¡°This is it, isn¡¯t it?¡± Lenora said, taking a leather pouch out of the bag and cradling the lodeglass in her hand. It was a shallow bowl made of copper, small enough to fit in her palm. The top was covered over with glass, its edges brazed shut and set with gold wire in a delicate pattern. It was full of water, or something quite like it, and inside floated an arrow of carved obsidian. The arrow fluttered and spun before settling, pointing directly towards the trap where the witch had lay.

    Lenora walked around the camp, weaving big circles and turning around on her tracks and moving the lodeglass around in her hands. The arrow always responded with dead certainty, training its point towards the bloodied snow.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid Brother Cornelius is quite a pragmatist,¡± the priest said, ¡°and the book is often short on details. The arrow is tuned to witch magic, finds disruptions in the aether or latent miasma or some such, I can¡¯t quite recall the particulars. In any case, it makes no distinction as to where a witch is and where she has been. It takes some time for her traces to disappear.¡±

    ¡°Like a dog and scent,¡± Lenora said, ¡°I suppose that means the longer a witch has been somewhere, the more the arrow is drawn to that spot.¡±

    Father rubbed his chin, ¡°That stands to reason, though it¡¯s been years since I¡¯ve used one.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go, then, we¡¯ll never find her here.¡±

    ¡°I can go with you for a while, midday at the latest. Your Father will sense conspiracy if we¡¯re out longer than that. He¡¯s a keen one, cunning and clever even without the blindseers counsel.¡±

    They set off leading their horses by the bridle. A short while later the arrow broke free of its enchantment and settled on a different direction. Lenora looked to the priest, he shrugged his shoulders. They walked the way the arrow pointed. Any doubts she¡¯d had about the strange device were soon dispelled after it led her onto the witch¡¯s faint tracks. The lodeglass led them through the woods and out to the river where the tracks disappeared.

    ¡°Clever. The dog¡¯s would¡¯ve been fooled,¡± Lenora said before helping the priest down the muddy banks. They took off their boots and walked through the water, she could hear Father¡¯s teeth chattering from cold. The sun was well up when the arrow veered off.

    ¡°I should¡¯ve known,¡± Father said grimly.

    ¡°It¡¯s the old mill isn¡¯t it?¡±

    They left the riverbank and walked into a clearing.

    ¡°The place looks untouched!¡± Father exclaimed. ¡°You¡¯d been hardly a girl when it burned!

    Lenora checked the lodeglass, the arrow spun wildly in circles and was of no help at all. She walked through the ashes, looking closely at the ruins.

    ¡°Look, Father, someone¡¯s just dug a hole, and left tracks in the ash.¡±

    ¡°Oh no. Are you sure it¡¯s freshly dug?¡±

    Lenora stooped down to the hole, ¡°Certain. You can smell it in the earth.¡±

    Father began pacing nervously, rubbing his chin.

    ¡°Terrible. Terrible. I don¡¯t think it could be any worse. You know, after the fire I turned this place over end to end. Never found a bloody thing. I should have known, I should have known,¡±

    ¡°With all due respect Father, what are you on about?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s found the damned spellbook! It¡¯ll be in the primer, somewhere, chapter seven or eight. A witch is quite harmless without her spellbook. Tricky things to be rid of, too.¡±

    ¡°Spellbooks?¡± Lenora asked.

    ¡°Spellbooks, witches, the whole lot is damnable trickery,¡± the priest said, mounting his horse.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid this is the end of my tenure here, m¡¯lady. If the abbey finds out I¡¯ve let a dead witch find her spellbook, not to mention lose my post to a blindseer they¡¯ll have me defrocked. Or worse. I haven¡¯t got much time. In the back of the book is a map of all the Order¡¯s cloisters, outposts and abbeys. The nearest one is a week¡¯s ride away, I¡¯ll be there for a fortnight at least. I¡¯ll write to the Grand Abbey to send reinforcements, but should you get the witch on your own, bring her to any one of the places marked on the map. One last thing, before I forget,¡± he said digging under his collar. He fumbled for a moment removing a gold chain from around his neck. The chain itself was simple, tarnished and almost crude, but from it hung a silver half moon who¡¯s brilliance and crafstmanship made Lenora gasp. He leaned down and fastened the chain around Lenora¡¯s neck.

    ¡°Father, I can¡¯t possibly! It¡¯s got to be worth a fortune!¡± she said, reaching for the clasp but the priest shook his head. She held the silver crescent up so that it would catch the light, its details seemed to intensify the longer she looked. Careful script set in with ochre, too small to have been crafted with any tool she knew of and written in a tongue she could not understand, surrounded by graven vines and flowers. All of it polished so that it seemed to have a light of its own.

    ¡°It¡¯s a ward against witch magic. It will do you more good than it¡¯s ever done me, wear it always. And if you¡¯ve any room in your heart for an old fool, put a good word in when you get your reward, will you? Now, I¡¯ve really got to be off.¡± He looked down at the old mare and sighed. ¡°After I buy myself a new horse, that is.¡± And with that the old priest rode off as fast as the animal would take him.

    Lenora wasted no time in leaving the ruins, following the lodeglass, though she had to walk for some time until the arrow settled again. The tracks were fresher here, still untouched by wind or snow. She was gaining ground. Soon enough she met up with the carriage path where she mounted her horse and brought it up to a trot. It wasn¡¯t until she¡¯d ridden through town and passed the new mill that the arrow wavered, flicking wildly off towards the river.

    She stopped the horse and looked, not a soul moved on the grounds. Warm light spilled from the mill house windows and water mill¡¯s wheel spun slowly with the current. She opened the book and once again read over the third chapter, this time carefully, but brother Cornelius offered no insights as to how long the traces of magic may last.

    So Lenora put away the lodeglass, realizing the strange tool was not without its flaws. Though it¡¯d been long ago she still remembered how after the fire the poor cobbler spent what little he had on a hired mule team and dragged the great millwheel out from the still smoldering ruins, she¡¯d gone with her brother to watch. They whipped the animals day and night, the stone left a giant muddy rut in its wake. The town was alight with rumors then, about curses, magic and ill fortune. They would have hanged the poor cobbler too, had Father Benedictus not intervened and blessed the wheel with sweetgrass and rubbed it with salt.

    Little good it must have done, she thought, as those same rites were performed on the ruins themselves but still the lodeglass had responded as though a witch herself were standing there. The witch magic must have permeated the great stone wheel, the heart of old the mill. She rode on, weighing her options. If she returned to the keep, her hunt would be over. Her brother would set off without her, she¡¯d likely spend a week locked in her room. So instead she spurred her horse towards the Father¡¯s cabin.

    It was dark by the time she arrived, the wind had kicked up and brought with it more snow. She was tired and chilled to the bone. She tied the horse up in the lean-to that served as a stable, watered and fed it before going inside and starting a fire. She¡¯d never paid much mind to the Father¡¯s hearth, but now she realized it wasn¡¯t like any she¡¯d seen before. Strange angled lengths of brass and copper, brazed to brackets with springs and pulley-arms and counterweights sat where the iron grate would have been in a typical fireplace and extended outwards towards a pile of firewood. It took her a few minutes of careful poking, prodding shifting and examination before she gave up and built a fire, ignoring the mechanism entirely.

    Knowing tiredness would overcome her if she were to relax even for a moment, she packed as much food as she could fit along with a few useful tools into some riding bags she found so that she¡¯d be ready to set off in the morning. Finally, she sat down on the bed and had a meal of cold ale and stale bread. She didn¡¯t remember laying down, but sleep took her at once.

    A sharp knock at the door knocked her from the dreamless dark. A faint glow still came from the hearth and outside it was still dark. She lay still, trying not to make a sound and hoped whoever was at the door would go away. They knocked again, she cursed herself for building a fire without first blacking out the windows and looked around for another way out.

    ¡°Father, the Lord requests your help at once!¡±

    Lenora recognized Gideon¡¯s voice, got up and threw another log onto the fire before opening the door.

    ¡°M¡¯lady?¡± Gideon stepped back, surprised.

    ¡°None other. Come in, you¡¯re most welcome to stay for breakfast. It is morning, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Gideon nodded and stepped inside.

    Lenora looked through the pantry again and found a tin of tea, some corn meal and a jar of fat. The priest had a potbellied stove that took up most of the space in the kitchen. Much like the hearth it too was overcomplicated, with brass gauges and levers coming off at odd angles. Instead Lenora dropped some teabags into a pot of water and set it directly onto the hearth¡¯s coals. While it boiled she made biscuit dough.

    Gideon smiled when she poured him a cup of hot tea.

    ¡°A nice surprise. One could get used to living in a cabin like this, eh?¡± Gideon said, leaning back and stretching out his legs.

    ¡°I suppose you¡¯re here to take me back to my Father?¡±

    ¡°Of course, I¡¯ve got shackles and a whip waiting outside!¡± Gideon said, laughing. ¡°As far as I¡¯m concerned, I still serve the Lady of the keep, rest her soul. I¡¯m indentured to her, not the Lord and no one¡¯s seen to change that, most certainly not me!¡±

    Lenora smiled and got up to tend the biscuits.

    ¡°Truth of the matter is the Lord¡¯s in a terrible state, I don¡¯t suppose you know they¡¯ve found the witch.¡±

    Lenora almost dropped the pan.

    ¡°Found the witch! How!¡±

    ¡°Blindseer figured it out someways, a lad from town was involved but I haven¡¯t a clue what¡¯s happened to him now. You¡¯d think they¡¯d be celebrating but your brother and the Lord are in a fit, they¡¯ve counted the gold twice over already. Absolutely salivating, you know how they get. Your brother¡¯s ridden off looking for you, the Lord thinks you and Father are trying to get to the King first.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand,¡± Lenora said checking the biscuits and lifting the pan from the fire. She set it down on a wire stand and sat down across from Gideon, who immediately reached for a biscuit and kept talking between mouthfuls.

    ¡°The Benedictus has to mark the witch, he¡¯s got a brand or signet or some such. Makes it so you can¡¯t just drag any poor wretch to the King and ask for a pile of gold.¡±

    ¡°I think I saw him wearing it earlier.¡±

    Gideon raised a brow. ¡°Well maybe there¡¯s a second one? Or perchance a brand? Wouldn¡¯t hurt to look. Old fool would have saved us a lot of trouble if he hadn¡¯t disappeared. Well, I best be off. There¡¯s a lot of ground to cover yet I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Stay as long as you wish.¡±

    Gideon stood up and stretched. ¡°Can I trust these words to never make it to the Lord¡¯s ears?¡±

    ¡°On my mother¡¯s soul.¡±

    Gideon bowed his head solemnly. ¡°It¡¯s good to be out, I¡¯m sick of that dark old keep. I hope they never find that blasted priest. The weather¡¯s nice, chill as it may be. Good for riding. I think I¡¯ll see some old friends past the wood before the day¡¯s up. The Lord doesn¡¯t trust me to stay out past nightfall, so I¡¯ll be back before dark, of course.¡± Gideon sighed after he said it. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t begrudge me a skin of ale before I go?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Father Benedictus wouldn¡¯t either,¡± Lenora said.

    Gideon filled his water skins with the priest¡¯s ale and Lenora stood at the window watching him ride off. Once she was quite sure he wasn¡¯t turning back she began searching through every crevice of the priest¡¯s cabin.

    It was mid morning by the time she was done. Though she hadn¡¯t found a second signet or any sort of brand, the search hadn¡¯t been fruitless. In a pile of books she found instructions for the automated hearth which was now busy ratcheting wood onto the fire, making the cabin uncomfortably warm. Alongside the manuscript she¡¯d found a small pile of gold, dusty with age, and a curved dagger who¡¯s handle was of polished ivory. Most importantly, behind the piles of books and notepads she¡¯d found a rolled up manuscript which she¡¯d unfurled across the table. It was a hand drawn map of the keep.

 Chapter 6

    Crow woke to darkness and deathly silence. She must have crossed over again. But that couldn¡¯t be right. Her head hurt and she could feel herself breathing. It was hard to move, her knees pushed into her chest, her feet pressed against something cold and unyielding. There was dampness in the air and the smell of fresh earth. The past few hours were spotty, memories threaded by a shuttle¡¯s loom guided by unsteady hands, coming up in one place before disappearing behind cloth elsewhere. She closed her eyes.

    The shed door shattered apart, that much she remembered. The next few moments were a blur. Men and horses and lamplight. Rough hands pulled her out into the open, someone reached for the book. She remembered fighting back and being met with fists in return. Darkness after that, then waking up to the world swaying back and forth and the creak of wood on oiled iron. She sat in the back of a cart, men on either side with their hands on the pommels of their sabres. Her hands were tied, and the rope fastened to an eyebolt in the floor. She looked around for Sevryn and almost asked where he was but thought better of it.

    Slowly they creaked and swayed through town where the houses were all lit and the doors were all open, people pressed shoulder to shoulder watching the cart go by. She could feel them looking, though she couldn¡¯t see their faces, shadow-figures trying to get a glimpse of the witch. She knew they¡¯d left town when the wind picked up and pelted her face with loose snow. The guards pulled their coat collars up around their faces, she shrank back into herself to try and stop shivering but it did little good. The horses blew great clouds of vapor as they struggled to pull the cart up the hill towards the keep, their hooves sliding in fresh snowdrifts as the driver whipped them forward. At the gates the cart stopped, a small hunchbacked man hopped down, her book held tightly in his hands.

    ¡°I should prefer Gideon and I deliver the witch personally¡± he said, gesturing to the driver.

    ¡°Sir, with all due respect,¡± one of the guards protested.

    The hunchback whispered something to the driver who immediately turned and slapped the man across the face. The guards left without saying another word. Once they¡¯d gone through the gates the hunchback whispered to Gideon again. Gideon got out of the cart, cut the rope free of the eyebolt and heaved Crow into the snow. She landed hard on the frozen ground, hands still tied so that she could not catch herself. Gideon lifted her upright, blood trickled from her nose and her face throbbed. Without a word the hunchback started walking, and with Gideon towering behind her Crow had little choice but to follow. She followed the hunchback through the gates and the muddy yard, past the stables and through a crooked door into darkness.

    The keep was a tangle of stairs and corridors, turns and dead ends all in near total darkness. Sometimes they¡¯d turn around midway down a hall only to come back the same way later. If they were trying to confuse her it was a wasted effort as she was not keeping track of the directions, focusing instead on each step, as there was no snow here to break her fall. Eventually the hunchback led them through a narrow archway and into a spiraling staircase.

    They descended slowly, the stairs seemed to go on forever. Crow lost herself in thought, there was nothing but the darkness and the cadence of her footsteps. And somehow she hoped that this moment would extend forever, that she could be suspended here in time, for she had no desire to find what awaited her at the bottom. Just then she missed a step and knocked the wind out of her lungs, but she did not fall forward. The stairs had ended, and the hunchback lit a lamp, then retreated into the darkness as though the light itself had struck him. Gideon picked it up and held it aloft, its weak light almost blinding after so much time spent in darkness. She could tell they were in an old part of the keep, somewhere deep underground. It was warmer here than it was above, the ground not yet frozen if it ever froze this deep. Every few steps the walls were inset with carvings, great flat slabs of grey stone plastered into the stonework. Each slab was inset with lions and shields and dragons and arrows, delicate handiwork reflecting in pale light A musty smell, old and sour hung in the air here. She could hear the scurrying of rats in the places the light didn¡¯t reach.

    Down a long hall they walked, the blindseer taking care to never step into the lamplight and Gideon bent almost in half against the low ceiling. She saw now that each carving had a name under it and two sets of dates. As they got further the carvings stopped, replaced instead with openings three feet square at their entrance with nothing but blackness beyond. She was in the catacombs.

    They stopped suddenly, she saw one of the openings had an iron grate in place of a grave stone. The blindseer whispered to Gideon who fumbled with a key before pulling the grate open. They pushed her inside and locked it behind her. She lay there and watched the light disappear down the hallway. The darkness was total.

    Something groaned again in the dark, shivers ran down her spine and she pressed herself against the wall. The stones were poorly set, sharp edges no one had bothered polishing or working flat. She used and edge to cut through the rope, scoring her arms in the process. With her hands free she drew the sigil for coldfire and a small flame flickered to life.

    Rats scurried away with the coming of light. She saw now that the room extended upwards, how high she couldn¡¯t say as up above the darkness won out against her light. A figure lay prone on the wet stone floor, taking up most of the space in the cell. She picked the flame up in the palm of her hand and moved closer.

    ¡°Sevryn!¡±

    He groaned in response. She pressed a hand to his forehead, he was running a fever. She moved the flame across his body, his shirt was bloodied and the leather of his boots torn to shreds by rats. Bile rose and she fought the urge to vomit when she saw the sinew and bone under chewed leather, telltale bitemarks in the torn flesh.

    She cupped her hands against the stone walls in a place where water dripped and waited until she had a mouthful. Carefully she held up Sevryn¡¯s head and poured the water into his mouth. She did this a few more times, dripping some over his forehead in a vain attempt to beat back the fever. He came to, slightly, but his eyes did not seem to focus and were glassy as though he were drunk.

    ¡°Jonas? It¡¯s hot in here, Jonas, tamp the hearth,¡± he whispered.

    ¡°Sevryn, it¡¯s me, Crow,¡± she said, tapping him gently on the cheeks. She held his hand in hers but it was cold and stiff. ¡°Do you remember?¡±

    ¡°Remember what?¡±

    ¡°Try to sit up, Sevryn,¡± she said. With this he winced somewhat and his expression changed.

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡± the realization knocked him out of his fever dream. ¡°I can¡¯t move.¡± He took a deep breath that ended with a wet cough. ¡°Take me home,¡± he said before closing his eyes again. His breathing slowed. Crow set his hand down and witched three more coldfires, setting them all around him to ward off the rats. She leaned back against the rocks and wept.

    ***

    The snow gleamed in the morning light and the sun lit up the frozen forest though its rays brought no warmth. Between thickets of thorny bushes ran tracks of game, both large and small, perfect prints as though drawn from bestiary reference. Birds chirped and tweeted from leafless branches, flying in groups from tree to tree. For Lenora, each step was a struggle. The snow here was deep as the woods were full of gullies and divots, each step had to be deliberate and planned. She kicked herself for not taking a walking stick to check the snow¡¯s depth but she¡¯d gone too far to turn back now.

    She reached a pile of stones and stopped to catch her breath, exhaling puffs of vapor that froze on the tips of her eyelashes. By the time she¡¯d caught her breath she regretted stopping, suddenly aware of how sweat soaked her thin cloak had become. She dropped her mitts into the snow and took a map from her satchel and with a pencil marked the pile of stones with an X. It would be a quarter mile to the next one if she kept her bearings. She checked the lodeglass before setting off again, its arrow set steadfast towards the keep.

    Though she¡¯d spent her whole life in Eskryn, she¡¯d never thought about its past. It wasn¡¯t a subject anyone had ever mentioned, even in passing. It¡¯d come as a surprise to her to find the annotations on Father¡¯s map, and she thought at first they were an old man¡¯s flight of fancy, but any doubts were set aside when she¡¯d found the pile of stones. It was an ancient cairn if the map was to be believed. She was following a funerary path, from times before the Kingdom, relics of barbaric rites. The hillock on which they¡¯d built the keep was a great cairn itself, tribute to some long forgotten god-king, if its size was any indication. It was her father¡¯s great grandfather, or perhaps some Lord before them, who¡¯d built the first keep atop the cairn and dug catacombs through its heart.

    It was midday by the time she¡¯d reached the third and last cairn in the woods. Exhausted and hungry, she wanted more than anything to build a fire but knew the smoke would give her away. Before her lay an expanse of scrubby untilled field punctuated by stands of dwarf trees. The snow here was spread in thin patches across frozen grass. She stood behind the cairn and lined the Great Hall¡¯s roof up with its topmost stone, just like the map instructed. Sure enough, midway through the field there stood a large thicket. She planned her path for some time, taking into account snow drifts and stands of tallgrass so that her path would not be seen from the keep. From her satchel she took the Father¡¯s white bedsheet and pulled it over herself before walking into the field slowly, crouching low as she could manage. It was doubtful anyone would be looking, but it was best to be safe.

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    The going was easy here, the snow shallow and ground flat and firm so that she reached the thicket with little trouble. The small trees were densely packed and between them grew thorny bushes, even though they were now leafless they had grown so thick as to hide her completely. She bunched the sheet up and shoved it into a tangle of roots. The noise spooked a group of magpies who took off into the sky before circling back overhead. Lenora covered her head with her hands and dove into the thicket to get away from the diving birds. Had she dove any further she¡¯d have dashed her head onto stone, as before her stood the final cairn, though this one was different than the others. The color and cut of the stones reminded her of the great hall, as did the precision with which they were set. She brushed some snow away and found a wooden door, hardly bigger than a cellar hatch. With her dagger she pried up the hasp nails, the lock rusted beyond saving. They gave with little trouble as the wood was rotten and worm-eaten. She pulled on the door hard and it came off its hinges, opening to a darkness beyond. She lit a small lamp and went in, almost falling in the low corridor, not prepared for the steep stone stairs.

    ***

    Crow snuffed out all but one of the flames, not able to bear looking at Sevryn¡¯s battered body. Hours passed, or maybe days, and she found each time she fell asleep the flames were out when she awoke and she had to chase the rats away again. His breathing slowed further and he exhaled with a rattle. She tried to rouse him again but it was of no use.

    She sat, back against the wet stones and closed her eyes. Sevryn coughed, the sound echoed against the stone walls until it turned to a hiss. Something warm touched her shoulder.

    ¡°Child,¡± a dying echo seemed to say. Crow tensed but found herself unable to move.

    ¡°Nimaena?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°Yesssss,¡± the words came from nowhere, faintly.

    ¡°Am I dead?¡± Crow asked, feeling Nimaena¡¯s familiar presence.

    ¡°No, child. The veil has thinned, his time is nearing.¡±

    Something moved near Sevryn, faint whisps of white light shifted in the air before fading. ¡°I¡¯m close now, close. Though there¡¯s not much time. We¡¯ve got to get your book, child, but I¡¯m no use without a vessel.¡± The voice trailed off into silence without an echo. Crow shook her head, the air had become thick and she tasted blood. She held her hand above Sevryn¡¯s mouth but could not feel his breath.

    ¡°Nimaena?¡±

    There was no answer.

    ¡°Nimaena!¡± Crow yelled, the words echoing into the darkness. Silence.

    ¡°Is this what you want?¡±

    She cut open her palm on a rock and let blood drip to the floor.

    ¡°Nimaena, answer me!¡±

    ¡°Yes child?¡± a whisper so faint Crow felt she¡¯d only thought the words, not heard them.

    ¡°Don¡¯t leave me here, Nimaena. You¡¯ve got to help Sevryn.¡±

    ¡°Sevryn¡¯s already touched the waters, child. He¡¯s stepped into the river crossing. Only you can help him.¡±

    ¡°How? Is there a spell? In the book? A medicine?¡±

    ¡°Come closer, child. The veil will soon draw closed again.¡± The air around Sevryn shifted again, faint bursts of white light seemed to come off him in waves before disappearing again. Crow crept closer, the air had grown somehow colder.

    ¡°Give me your hands.¡± Nimaena¡¯s voice was coming from within now, a chill ran down Crow¡¯s spine.

    Crow held her hands palms downwards over Sevryn¡¯s body. A warmth grew inside her, radiating out until it pushed out all the cold and hunger and grief, she felt her face contort into a smile though she felt no happiness. Her hands were no longer her own, she watched herself work the buttons of Sevryn¡¯s bloodied shirt and trace a complicated sigil over his heart.

    Sevryn seized and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his jaw clenched so violently he bit off the tip of his tongue. He sank back with blood dripping down his face and exhaled a final deep breath before laying still. Crow stood back, her hands numb, the room seemed brighter and her body seemed to radiate warmth. She watched Sevryn stand on bloodied, broken feet and shamble towards the door, his eyes unseeing and white. With the sickening sound of broken bones and torn sinew he pulled the gate free of its hinges, broken lock pins clattering to the ground. The thing, the dead thing that once had been Sevryn stumbled off into the catacombs.

    ¡°Nimaena! What have you done!¡± Crow yelled, but something was stuck in her throat so the words came out quiet and garbled.

    ***

    The blindseer lit his strange hearth, turning away just as the kindling started to take. The light, though faint, caused the already tenuous edges of his world to tremble. He hated fire almost as much as he hated the cold. With a quick pull of a lever an iron baffle slammed shut over the fireplace, letting heat into the room but without letting light pass. With the fire blotted out, he could see again and so he made his way over to his study. His chambers were almost as opulent and large as those of the Lord¡¯s, though much more sparsely furnished. His desk and chair were shopworn, and though he could ask for new ones and certainly get them, he chose not to bother. He set witch¡¯s book down and worked slowly to free it of its oilskins and undo the clasp that held it shut. His hand wavered for a moment before he lifted the cover, he could feel himself growing stronger already and imagined himself ruling over the keep with an iron fist.

    The first page was blank, and so was the next. Carefully, methodically, he flipped through the book running his hands over the empty pages to make sure the words weren¡¯t embossed without ink. When he got to the last page he was trembling with rage. He slammed the book shut and reached for a stiff leather strap tucked into the lowest drawer of his desk, two pieces of rawhide sewn together over an iron weight. With the book in one hand and the strap in the other he set off for the catacombs, ready to beat the secrets out of the witch.

    He hadn¡¯t taken three steps into the hallway when realized something wasn¡¯t right. The keep had grown around him, or else he had grown into it, it was an extension of himself. It was no coincidence that his room was by the main doors, and that he could hear the comings and goings this way. Gideon was outside, that much was certain. But there was something wrong with the air, it smelled like death, like the catacombs. Panic struck as he realized the witch had gotten free but before he could even make it to the stairwell something was upon him. It moved fast, too fast, and smelled like rotten flesh. He covered his head with the book as blows rained down from every direction. A steel grip tore the strap free from his hands before a blow caught him in the ribs. He spat blood and felt the book break free of his grip.

    ***

    What little light had made it in from outside disappeared long ago and now Lenora¡¯s lamp was beginning to sputter and cough. She heard voices up ahead and doubled her pace, eager to leave the winding darkness. Iron clattered to the ground and sent sharp echoes that made her blood run cold. She stopped and heard footsteps, uneven and heavy. She waited for the sounds to fade before moving on.

    She saw the flickering firelight before she saw the girl holding it in her hands. She snuffed her lamp, but was too slow, the girl must have seen the light because she turned to look.

    ¡°Did Nimaena send you?¡±

    With those word¡¯s Lenora¡¯s necklace pulsed, the pendant felt warm against her skin. This girl must be the witch.

    ¡°No, but I know the way out. We¡¯ve got to go,¡± Lenora said and grabbed the girl¡¯s sleeve.

    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving Sevryn!¡± The girl tore free, the tiny fire winked out for a moment.

    Lenora could hear the witch¡¯s hands move and another fire appeared. The light reflected off something metal and caught Lenora¡¯s eye, an iron grate lay on the floor.

    ¡°He¡¯s as good as dead if he meets the blindseer, it¡¯s best we leave now. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll get a second chance to escape, especially not if they lock me up with you¡± Lenora said.

    ¡°You really don¡¯t understand. I¡¯ve got to help Sevryn. It¡¯s my fault he¡¯s here.¡±

    Lenora reached for Crow, but Crow was faster, sidestepping deftly. The fire went out again and Lenora heard Crow run off. By the time she¡¯d lit her lamp to follow the witch was gone.

    ¡°Sevryn!¡±

    Crow found him lying in an empty hallway, arms curled tightly around her book. She knelt beside him and held a hand to his chest. The instant she¡¯d touched his skin something held her there, frozen, and the sound of running water filled her head. The darkness of the keep fell away and it was summer again, she sat in tallgrass surrounded by wildflowers with the book in her lap. A shadow sat beside her.

    We¡¯ve got the book, child. Tired, tired. I¡¯ve done too much, I¡¯m too old for this. Old, old. Can you imagine? Nimaena, feeling the ebb and flow of time? There as a laugh like winter wind.

    I¡¯ve pierced the veil before and it was never like this, you¡¯ve given me a weak vessel child. Too far gone. I¡¯ve got to rest, but there¡¯s work to do yet. No rest for the weary. No rest.

    The shadow reached out and took Crow¡¯s hand, Crow watched herself open the book.

    It was dark again, her muscles seized and her eyes rolled back into her head.

    ¡°Witch!¡± Lenora yelled but Crow didn¡¯t respond.

    The blindseer had staggered back, battered and bloody, holding the leather strap. He raised it with both hands about to bring it down on the witch¡¯s head.

    Lenora tackled him to the ground, knocking the strap from his hands. He fought back, but she was stronger. Lenora grabbed him by the throat and raised her other hand but before she could hit the blindseer the door opened, flooding the hall with light. Gideon stood dumbfounded at the door. He dropped his horses bridle, the animal didn¡¯t seem to care.

    The blindseer took this moment as his chance and broke free of Lenora¡¯s grip and ran towards Gideon. He whispered something, quickly, and Gideon¡¯s expression changed. Lenora caught up with the blindseer and kicked his feet out from under him, he landed hard, stunned. Gideon hit Lenora square in the back, cracking a rib and knocking the wind from her. She staggered off into the dark.

    ¡°Gideon!¡± She wheezed, but the man followed, picking up the strap where the blindseer had dropped it. ¡°Gideon please! It¡¯s me, Lenora!¡± She coughed and wheezed, each word sending shooting pain through her lungs.

    Crow opened the book on Sevryn¡¯s lifeless body, seeing herself work as though she were watching through a pane of glass. There was so much to know, Nimaena¡¯s voice still rang through her head. The words were there now, she could read them even in darkness. She knew the book and its contents now, as though she¡¯d read it cover to cover every day for her entire life.

    Her hands drew a sigil in the air and coldfire appeared on the blindseer¡¯s shirt. Except this time it wasn¡¯t coldfire, and his shirt began to smoulder and smoke. He picked himself up off the floor and ran for the door before diving headlong into the snow, desperate to put out the fire. Crow drew another sigil, this one more complex, a series of three intertwined.

    She found herself in darkness, soft and warm. The world reduced to ley-lines, pulsing points of light. She could see for miles, lines intertwined between white star-specks, each light the soul of some small life, birds and beasts and things that crawled. And she found she could talk to them, speak without speaking, in the strange and quiet way that animals do.

    A flock of magpies, angered suddenly at the existence of the blindseer, left their comfortable nests and took to the skies. They descended on him mercilessly, the old hunchback caught offguard and blinded by daylight. He ran senselessly around the courtyard, the birds not letting up. He ran headlong into Gideon''s horse, which the birds attacked without second thought. The animal, spooked, kicked the blindseer with its hind legs, hoof catching him square in the face. And so the old hunchback collapsed to the cobbles, blood spilling out of his head and into the muddy snow.

    Gideon dropped the strap and stood, just as dumbstruck as before.

    ¡°M¡¯lady, is anything the matter?¡±