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- Herausgeber: Pushkin Children's Books
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
The third book in the thrilling fantasy adventure series, The Shamer ChroniclesA watching face in a market crowd, a mist-shrouded figure on the moor, a haunting presence seen only when he wants to be seen. Sezuan has The Serpent Gift. With the eerie music of his flute, he can weave a web of lies and illusion to trap the keenest mind. He is also Dina's father, and he has come to claim her.Dina's family set family set off in desperate flight, trying to escape Sezuan's snare. But soon, with nowhere else to turn, Dina must learn to see through her father's deceit and use her own gift against him.An award-winning and highly acclaimed writer of fantasy, Lene Kaaberbøl was born in 1960, grew up in the Danish countryside and had her first book published at the age of 15. Since then she has written more than 30 books for children and young adults. Lene's huge international breakthrough came with The Shamer Chronicles, which is published in more than 25 countries selling over a million copies worldwide.
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PRAISE FOR
The Shamer Chronicles
‘An absorbing and fast-paced fantasy/mystery bursting with action and intrigue. The only question is: when will the next one come out?’
BULLETIN OF THE CENTER FOR CHILDREN’SBOOKS
‘The series as a whole is in good standing alongside Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy and C. S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia’
BOOKLIST, STARRED REVIEW
‘[A] fine novel … The term ‘page-turner’ is often used, but not always justified. It is deserved here, tenfold. I really, really couldn’t put the book down’
SCHOOL LIBRARIAN
‘Full of passion’
JULIA ECCLESHARE,GUARDIAN
‘I gobbled it up!’
TAMORA PIERCE,AUTHOR OFTHE SONG OF THE LIONESS
‘The most original new fiction of this kind … equally appealing to boys. Here be dragons, sorcery and battles’
THE TIMES
‘Spiced with likable characters and an intriguing new magical ability – eagerly awaiting volume two’
KIRKUS
‘This novel stands on its own and offers a satisfying conclusion even as it provides an intriguing setting and mythology for future adventures’
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
‘Classic adventure fantasy, with the right combination of personalities, power, intrigue, and dragons – it will prove to be a sure hit’
VOYA
CONTENTS
DINA
A Stranger
When I first saw him, I had no idea he would change our lives. There was no tremor from the ground, no icy gust of wind, not even a real shiver down my back. Just a small twinge of unease. I didn’t even tell Mama about him. Maybe I should have? I don’t know. It wouldn’t have changed anything, not really. From the moment he caught sight of me, it was too late in any case.
It was supposed to be a good day. I had been looking forward to it for a long time—the Midsummer Market, when all the clans meet to trade, and talk, and entertain each other with races and contests and music from dusk to dawn. Mama and I had worked our fingers to the bone, drying herbs and making ointments and remedies for all sorts of ailments, and Rose, my foster-sister and best friend, had carved bowls and spoons and shelf ends, and little dolls and animals for the children. She was clever with her knife, and in her hands a bit of kindling would suddenly turn into a cow or a dog, as if the animal had been there all the time, hiding in the grain of the wood. My older brother Davin had nothing to trade, but he thought he might win a prize in one of the races with Falk, our skittish black gelding.
This would be my first Midsummer Market in the Highlands.
The summer before there had been strife and hostility among the clans, and no real Market had been held. Kensie, the clan we lived with, had clashed with Skaya, and it was only at the last moment that we had managed to stop the battle in Skara Vale before they ended up killing each other. It had all been Drakan’s fault, of course; Drakan who called himself Dragon Lord and ruled almost all the coastlands now, after having murdered the old castellan of Dunark. He was a bad enemy to have, was Drakan, both devious and ruthless. Instead of doing battle with the clans himself, he tricked them into warring with each other. And back when he killed Ebnezer Ravens, his daughter-in-law Adela, and her young son Bian, he managed to have the castellan’s own son, Nicodemus, accused of the murders. Nico would have ended up with his head on the block if it hadn’t been for Mama. And me, a little bit. On that day, Drakan had become our enemy. And his reach was long.
We still couldn’t go anywhere without protection. Callan Kensie had been Mama’s bodyguard for two years now. He was big and steady and kind to us, and I liked him. But I still wished we didn’t need him.
“Such a crowd,” said Mama. She had to keep a firm hold of the reins; Falk, who was serving as our cart-horse that morning, was not used to all the push-and-shove and hubbub. “Where do you think we should go?”
I surveyed the crowded scene. At first it looked completely chaotic, with people milling about like ants in an anthill. But there was actually a pattern to the Market, streets and squares and crossroads, just like a real town, even if the Market town was made up of carts and wagons and tents instead of houses.
“There’s a free spot,” I said, pointing. “There, at the end.”
“Right,” said Mama, clicking her tongue at Falk. Our black horse snorted but walked on, stiff-gaited and suspicious of the crowd.
“Copper kettles,” yelled a peddler woman. “Best copperware at even better prices!”
“Three marks?” said a broad-backed Skaya man. “Bit steep for a pair of socks, if ye ask me!”
“Pork sausage! Smoked venison! Have a taste, Medama. Ye’ll not regret it!”
Falk laid back his ears and became even more stiff-legged. The cart was hardly moving at all, now.
“Can’t you make him move a little faster?” I asked Mama. “Somebody else will grab our space.”
“He doesn’t like all the ruckus,” said Mama. “Dina, I think you had better lead him.”
I climbed off the cart and grabbed Falk’s bridle. This made him move a little faster, but not much. And just as we were about to reach the slot I had decided was ours, a cart coming from the other direction swung into it.
“Hey,” I yelled. “That’s where we were planning to set up!”
“Is that so?” said the carter. “Ye should have made better time, then.”
I glared at him. He was a thickset man with curly brown hair and a smith’s apron round his heavy middle. And he didn’t look in the least bit sorry.
“You saw us! You knew this was where we were heading!”
“Hush, Dina,” said Mama. “We’ll find another spot.”
The carter seemed to notice Mama properly for the first time. Or rather, the Shamer’s signet that hung fully visible on her chest. It was no more than a pewter circle enameled in black and white to look like an eye, but at the mere sight of it, the man blenched and changed his behavior completely.
“Beg yer pardon,” he muttered, one hand releasing the reins to slip behind his back, “I had not seen—If Medama wants this space, then…” He hauled back on the reins one-handedly, forcing his tough little Highland horse into a sharp turn.
“No, that’s perfectly all right—”
But he was already off, steering his horse and cart through the Market crowd as quickly as the bustle permitted.
“Did you see his hand?” said Rose. “Did you see it?”
“He made the witch sign,” I said tonelessly. “But at least he did it behind his back. Some people make it right in your face.”
Mama sighed. “Yes. It’s sad. And it seems to be getting worse.” She raised a hand to touch her signet, but she didn’t say it out loud—the thing we were all thinking: that it had gone from bad to worse since Drakan had begun to burn Shamers down in the coastlands. “Well. We might as well take the space. Come on, girls. Let’s set up shop.”
“If anyone will buy anything from the Shamer Witch and her family,” I muttered.
Mama smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, they’ll buy. For some reason they seem to think that my herbs work better than other people’s.”
Mama knew a lot about herbs and the way they worked on the various illnesses people get, but what she did was not magic. Anybody could make the same infusions, and many did. But because Mama was also the Shamer, people assumed that there was witchcraft involved. In reality, there was only one thing Mama could do that others couldn’t: she could look people in the eyes and make them confess their ill deeds, and she could make them ashamed of what they had done.
We unhitched Falk and pushed the cart into the neat row of stalls and other carts.
“Will you take Falk back to the camp?” I asked Rose. We had left the men—that is to say, Callan, Davin, and Davin’s friend Black-Arse—setting up the tent in the shelter of some rocks a bit farther up the slope, away from the worst of the crowding.
Rose looked a little anxious. “Can’t you do it?” she said. “With all those people around he might get a little… wild.” Rose was still not all that comfortable around horses. In Swill Town, the meanest and poorest part of Dunark, where Rose used to live, not many people could afford to ride or keep a horse.
I nodded. “Yes, all right. You have your own stuff to unpack, anyway.”
On the slope, the men had finished their task. They stood there, side by side, looking at the tent as if it was a four-story building they had just managed to erect.
“There,” said Davin, rubbing his hands. “Nothing to it when you know what you’re doing.” He gave me one of those big brother looks that clearly meant that girls were generally good for nothing except being a suitably admiring audience for manly deeds.
I pretended not to notice and hitched Falk to the tethering line so that he could graze with the other three: Callan’s sturdy brown gelding, Black-Arse’s dun mare, and my own beautiful Silky that Helena Laclan had given me last summer.
“Any sign of Nico?” I asked.
Callan shook his head. “Not yet. But the lad will be around somewhere.”
Originally, Nico had meant to ride with us to the Market. But that morning when we came to fetch him, he and Master Maunus had been in the middle of a full-blown row. We could hear them yelling at each other even as we came down the hill. The voices cut through the morning silence, and Master Maunus was shouting so loudly that Nico’s bay mare was all but choking herself, trying to tear loose from the post she was hitched to in the yard outside.
“What will it take to make you understand, boy? It’s your damned duty—”
“Like hell it is. Don’t preach duty at me. I couldn’t—”
“Couldn’t care less, yes, I’ve realized that. You would rather jig and dance and brawl with a mob of drunken peasants. And get drunk. Isn’t that what you’re planning on, Master Guzzle-Gut?”
“Don’t call me that!” Nico’s shout was nearly as loud as Master Maunus’s, now.
“Oh? So truth is an unwelcome visitor?”
“Is it so unthinkable that I just want to have a bit of fun for a change? Must you immediately assume that it’s all an excuse to get drunk? You don’t trust me.”
“Have I reason to?”
The words seemed to hang there for a moment, a bitter accusation that Nico apparently could find no answer to. Then the door was flung open, and they both came out, Nico first, pale as death, and Master Maunus on his heels.
“Where are you going? Damn it, boy, you can’t just run away like that!”
“Why not?” said Nico. “You don’t listen to a word I say anyway. And why should you? I’m just an irresponsible drunkard. Can’t trust guzzlers like me, can you now?”
“Boy.” Maunus tried to put his hand on Nico’s arm. “Nico, wait.”
But Nico wouldn’t wait. He threw one swift look at Rose, Davin, and me, but it was as if he barely saw us. With a quick jerk on the tethering rope, he unhitched the mare from the post and leaped onto her back without bothering to use the stirrups. The mare, already half-panicked from the noise and the anger she could feel in him, practically took flight. She tore up the hill in a series of wild lunges, and within moments, both of them were lost from sight.
In Maudi’s yard, Master Maunus came to a halt, looking oddly helpless. He was a large man, with graying red hair and beard and strong, bushy eyebrows. Standing there so bewildered-looking and empty-handed did not suit him at all.
“Damn the boy,” he muttered. “Why won’t he listen?”
Actually, Nico was no boy. Not anymore. He was nineteen, and a grown young man. And the son of a castellan, to boot. Many people considered him the rightful lord of Dunark Castle, though Drakan ruled there now. But Master Maunus had been Nico’s tutor throughout his boyhood, and ruling his charge had become a habit. He had very firm opinions about what Nico should and shouldn’t do, and he would voice those opinions in no uncertain terms. Rows had become almost their normal way of talking, but even by their standards, this one had been a sizzler.
Master Maunus seemed to see us properly for the first time. He dabbed his forehead with a worn green velvet sleeve, trying to regain his composure.
“Good morning, girls,” he said. “Good morning, young Davin. How is your lady mother?”
He always asked. Like most people, he had a great deal of respect for my mother.
“Good morning, Master,” I said. “She’s fine, thank you.”
“Glad to hear it. What can I do for you?”
I exchanged glances with Rose and Davin. Judging from the row, Master Maunus would not be thrilled with our errand.
“We came to ask Nico and you, Master, if… if you were ready to ride to the Market with us,” Davin finally said.
Master Maunus looked at us for a moment. “The Market. Yes. I see.” He raised his eyes to the morning sun and looked indecisive. “I—I do not feel like going myself. And somebody has to stay here and mind the animals, after all. But the young lord… I think he has already left. At least, I think that is where he is going. And I thought, perhaps you would do me the favor of keeping an eye on him there. If he is with you, then, well, I would feel better about it.”
You wouldn’t be so afraid that he would drink himself senseless, I thought. But I didn’t say it out loud.
Davin looked annoyed. Nico was not his favorite person in all the world, and acting as nursemaid to a nineteen-year-old “young lord” was probably not what he had had in mind for his first Highland Market.
“Of course we will,” I said, before he could say anything.
Now it looked as if I might have cause to regret that rash promise. Merely finding Nico looked like a steep task in this circus.
“I’m not spending my time playing sheepdog to Nico’s sheep,” said Davin. “He’s a big boy now. He can look after himself.”
“But we promised Master Maunus—”
“You promised. You look. I’m going to check out the race-course.”
“Best ye stick together,” said Callan. “I cannot mind ye all if ye go wandering off by yerselves.”
“But you don’t have to,” I said. “Callan, there are so many clansmen here. Nothing will happen to us here. Even if somebody did try anything, I could just call for help.”
He looked at me for a while, then nodded slowly. “So ye could. But…” He prodded my shoulder with one finger. “Be careful now, ye hear? Do not let me catch ye going off with strangers.”
“Of course not.”
He had reason to be cautious. Last year, when Drakan’s cousin Valdracu captured me, it had been Callan who had to tell my mother that I was missing and that they feared I might be dead. It was not an experience he was likely to have forgotten. I hadn’t either, of course, and I was sometimes scared that something like that could happen again. But here, at the crowded Market, surrounded by clansmen and market vendors, I felt very safe. All I had to do was raise my voice and help would be at hand.
Callan, however, had not quite finished with me yet.
“Perhaps I had best… it might be best if ye did not go alone.”
“Callan. Please. Nothing will happen.” It would be a very boring Market, I thought, if I had to have Callan trailing me everywhere I went.
He sighed. “Aye, well. I cannot cage you, can I? Be off then. But watch yer step!”
“I will.”
Davin and Black-Arse were already headed for the race-tracks, and I skipped off down the slope, to launch myself into the crowded Market once more. It was a little overwhelming at first: smells and sounds, people and animals, hawkers shouting at the top of their voices, mummers and mountebanks all eager to entertain you for the price of a copper penny. On one corner, a man was juggling three flaming torches; he had a trained dog that went around the watching crowd, sitting down in front of each of the onlookers in turn. It had a tin tied to its collar, and if you didn’t drop a penny, it began to bark and howl and make a terrific fuss. It was fun to watch, but I hurried along all the same because I didn’t want the dog to sit down in front of me.
I moved through the throng, searching for a familiar face, but Nico was nowhere to be found. Not at the races, where Davin and Black-Arse were watching the other contestants judiciously and making remarks like “a bit narrow in the bone” or “not enough chest.” Nor at the wrestling ring, where a mob of Laclan men were roaring their heads off, cheering for their man. I looked in every beer tent I passed, but didn’t find him there either. Instead, I bumped into the carter who had nearly taken our space. I was so busy peering at the beer drinkers that I didn’t notice him until I backed into his heavy aproned middle.
“Have a care, lass,” he said. And then he recognized me. “Pushy, aren’t ye?”
“Sorry,” I said, lowering my gaze from old habit. “I didn’t see—”
“I’ll say ye did not. Nose in the air, I’ll wager. But ye cannot go knocking decent people over just because yer mama is the Shamer.”
“I never meant to,” I said, trying to edge past him.
“Hold yer horses,” he snarled, snatching at my arm. “Ye might at least have the manners to say ye’re sorry.”
“I did.” I tried to pull away.
“Did ye now? Very quiet, it must have been, that ‘sorry.’ Quite silent, I think.”
This man was such a pain. I was beginning to get really angry.
“Let go of my arm,” I said, “or I’ll—” Or I’ll yell, was what I meant to say, but he didn’t let me finish.
“Or what? Or ye’ll get yer mother to curse me? Threaten an honest man, would ye?”
I wasn’t scared, not really. I looked around quickly to see if Callan was anywhere near, but he wasn’t.
“I’m not threatening anyone,” I said, as calmly as I could. “And my mother can’t curse people. And even if she could, she wouldn’t.”
“A likely story.”
“A true story!” I glared at him. And right then, it happened. It wasn’t anything I wanted. It wasn’t anything I could control. Not anymore. It was just a flash, a quick searing pain inside my head, and then it was gone.
He cried out and let go of my arm as if I had suddenly become too hot to hold.
“Witch brat,” he hissed, backing away, and this time he did make the witch sign in my face, fully visible to me and everyone else who cared to look.
I had looked at him with a Shamer’s eyes. I hadn’t meant to; perhaps it had happened because I was angry, or because he wouldn’t let go of me. Now he wouldn’t even look at me, much less touch me.
“Get away!” he cried, so loudly that people turned to stare. “Keep away from me with yer devilry!”
Other people were making the witch sign now. A woman clutching a basket full of eggs backed away, trying to look and not look at the same time, and a black-haired man in a red shirt simply stood there and stared, as if I had turned into a troll or a banshee before his eyes.
Time to leave, I thought.
“Just leave me alone,” I told the carter and turned to go.
The black-haired man in the red shirt was barring my way. At first I thought it was an accident and tried to move past him. But he was still in my way.
“Excuse me,” I said, politely. One fight a day was quite enough.
He didn’t move. And he was staring at me with the most peculiar look on his face, as if… I wasn’t quite sure. As if he had found something, perhaps.
“What is your name?” he asked, and his voice had a strange sort of lilt to it. He did not sound like a Highlander, nor like any Lowlander I knew. And from one ear dangled a jeweled earring, a silver serpent with green gemstone eyes. The men I knew did not wear jewelry like that.
My heart was beating more rapidly than before. Who was he, and why was he interested in me? Was it because of the things the carter had shouted to the world, about devilry and curses and the like? I felt no desire to tell him my name.
“Excuse me, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Suddenly he put a hand on either side of my face and looked straight into my eyes. There was no roughness to his grasp, it was just so unexpected. I took a step backward, and he released me immediately.
For a moment we stared at each other. Then I spun around and began to walk away, back the way I had come.
“Wait,” he said.
I looked over my shoulder. He was following me. Oh, why hadn’t I waited for Callan? I started to run as best I could in the crowded Market street. Where was our own stall? I pushed through a narrow gap between two tents, leaped across a wagon shaft, and dove beneath a table full of pottery, making the potter yell in surprise.
“Damn monkey!”
I didn’t stop. I just ran. Was this our street? Yes, down there at the end was Callan, so reassuringly big and trustworthy, and Rose, dressed up in her Market best in a green skirt and white embroidered blouse. I looked back once more, and to my relief there was no black-haired, red-shirted stranger bearing down on me.
“Hello again,” said Rose. “I’ve sold three of the little horses already, and a bowl! And the herbs are selling well, too.”
Mama was talking to a customer, getting her to sniff our thyme balm. She was careful to look at the jar, and not at the customer, but they were both smiling, and it looked like another sale.
“Great,” I said, pushing my fringe away from my forehead and trying to calm my breathing.
Rose peered at me. “What happened?”
“Oh, I bumped into the carter who tried to steal our space. He wasn’t in a great mood.”
Rose giggled. “I bet not. He missed a great space. Serves him right, too.”
I don’t know why I didn’t say more. Perhaps it was just that Mama looked so happy right then, and I didn’t want her to become all anxious and worried again. But there might have been more to it than that. It was as if I could still feel his palms against my cheeks. His hands had been warm and slightly roughened. His hair and beard were carefully trimmed and black as night, like the fur of Maudi Kensie’s favorite hunting dog. And the eyes that had looked so searchingly into mine had been green. Just like my own.
DINA
Heroes and Monsters
In the end, Nico found us. The light was beginning to fade, and we were packing up our little shop and thinking of supper. Or at least, my stomach was.
“That was a good day,” said Rose. “I should have brought some wood along. I could have carved more of the little animals, they’re selling like hotcakes.”
“Perhaps you should charge a little more for the ones you have left.”
Rose hesitated. “I don’t know. I like it that everyone can afford them. And it’s not as if they cost anything to make.”
Not if you don’t count the work, I thought. And the imagination, the skill, and the patience. But Rose didn’t seem to reckon that. She was just happy that people wanted to pay good money for something she had made.
Suddenly, Melli came to attention like a hunting dog who has caught the scent.
“There he is,” said my little sister and pointed. “Look. It’s Nico!”
She was right. There was Nico, slipping easily through the crowd because people moved out of his way, perhaps without realizing why they did so. It was a little odd, because he wore the same kind of clothes as everybody else now. There was nothing particularly lordly about his woolen shirt and jerkin. And yet, you could still tell. You could tell that he was no ordinary Highland peasant. I don’t know if castellans’ sons are actually born different. I mean, when they are babies I expect they squall, sleep, and fill their nappies like any other child. But perhaps as they get older, they learn to move and talk differently. At any rate, it shows. And it’s not just the clothes.
He had grown a beard since we moved into the Highlands. Most clansmen wore beards, so perhaps he imagined it made him look less recognizable. But it would take more than that, I thought. Even the careful courtesy with which he greeted us was somehow different from the Highland idea of good manners.
“Where is Callan?” he asked.
“Gone to fetch Falk,” I said. “We’re packing up for the day.”
“Was it a profitable day?”
I nodded. “The salves are all gone, and Rose has sold a lot of her little animals.”
He picked up one of the carved dogs and weighed it in his palm. “They’re good,” he said. “What do you charge?”
“A copper penny for the smallest ones and two for the others,” murmured Rose, her face coloring from the praise.
Nico frowned. “Isn’t that too cheap?” he asked. “I’m sure you could charge more.”
“See?” I said. “I’ve been telling her.”
“But that doesn’t count,” Rose burst out. “I mean, Nico isn’t used to—”
“To what?” said Nico, suddenly very still.
Rose shuffled a foot and clearly wished she had kept her big mouth shut.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
“No, tell me. What am I not used to?”
“To counting the cost of things,” Rose whispered.
Nico put down the little dog figure, very carefully.
“No, you’re right.” His tone cut all the way to the bone. “People like me always have someone else to pay the price for us.”
He spun on his heel and walked away from us, and once more you could see people making way for him without even thinking about it.
“Wait,” I called, putting down the jars I had been packing. “Nico, wait for me!”
“Don’t trouble yourself on my account,” he said coolly, not stopping. “I am perfectly capable of buying a mug of beer myself.”
In the crowded, twilit Market, he was almost lost from sight already. Oh, bother, I thought. We promised. We promised Master Maunus.
“Mama? Mama, can I go with him?”
“Yes,” said Mama, following Nico’s dark head with her eyes. “Perhaps you’d better.”
I eeled my way through the throng in Nico’s wake, but he had longer legs than I did and catching up with him was not easy. I only succeeded because he had stopped at a liquor stall in the next street over. He stood there, hesitating, with the coin in his hand, but at least he had not yet put it on the vendor’s desk.
I walked up to him.
“Nico, won’t you eat supper with us?”
He spun. Apparently, he had not believed I would follow. He gave me only the briefest glance before lowering his eyes, and that made a sudden wave of misery well up in me.
“You can look at me,” I said quietly. “I’m no longer dangerous.” Strange how that made tears sting at the corner of my eyes. It had been lonely, before, when I still had my Shamer’s eyes, but it still felt wrong, somehow, not to have them. As if I was no longer quite my mother’s daughter. As if I was no longer quite myself.
Mama had said that the gift would come back, that it was only hiding, and I did sometimes get a flash as I had with the carter just now. But most of the time… most of the time absolutely nothing happened when I looked at people.
“Dina.” He touched my cheek, so lightly that it was only a fleeting warmth. “Why do you mind so much? I would have thought you might enjoy being able to look at other people every once in a while, without having their darkest secrets leap out at you like a monster from a cave.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You’ve had the chance to become ordinary,” he muttered. “You’ve no idea how much I envy you.”
I didn’t feel ordinary. I just felt… broken.
“I think it might be too late,” I said. “I’m not sure I know how to be ordinary. I’ve never really had the chance to learn.”
“Then the two of us have more in common than I thought,” he said darkly.
“What do you mean?”
“If I had had a choice, I think I would have chosen to be the son of a horsebreeder, perhaps. Or a merchant. Or a carpenter.”
“You only say that because you’ve never had to be hungry all the time at the end of winter when there’s hardly any food.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to be poor. Or to starve. But all my life, people have had a lot of fancy ideas about who I was, or ought to be. When I was a boy, I wasn’t allowed to play with the guardsmen’s children because I was the son of the castellan. I would have liked to make pots or work with wood, but no, I had to learn the sword. And when I didn’t want any part of that, when I finally threw away my sword, well, you know what happened.”
Yes. I knew. His father had beaten him. Again and again, shouting all the while that “a man is nothing without his sword.” But Nico had refused to fence anymore, no matter how often or how hard his father hit him.
“And when—when it all happened, with my father and Adela and Bian… when they were all killed, everyone thought I had done it, and a lot of people think so still. To them I am Nicodemus the Monster, and they would kill me without hesitation and boast about it afterward. Did you know that there were people who came down to the dungeons of Dunark just to spit at me? People I knew. People I had grown up with.”
“But there are some—quite a lot, now—who don’t believe those lies anymore,” I said. “The Weapons Master, and the Widow, and… and all the people they’ve gathered.” There was resistance now, down in the Lowlands, to Drakan and his Order of the Dragon. Secret resistance, but none the less serious for all that.
“That is true. And to them I am the Young Lord, and they want me to fight Drakan in some bloody battle and liberate all the conquered towns and cities, so that everyone can live happily ever after. They want a hero, I think.”
“Is that so bad? It beats being a monster.”
“Not by much. Have you noticed how often heroes die in battle? Afterward everyone is very sorry, and a lot of pretty songs get made, but the hero is still dead. Stone cold dead. I’m in no particular hurry to climb up on my white steed and go slaughtering people until someone who is better or luckier than me spits me on his sword. No thank you.”
He looked both determined and ashamed at the same time, as if he really thought he ought to climb on his white steed and all the rest of it. I could well understand why he didn’t want to end up dead, but all the same… I suppose I always did think that he would return to the Lowlands someday to fight Drakan.
“But then what?” I burst out. “What do you want to do instead?” I couldn’t quite see him working as Maudi’s third assistant shepherd for the rest of his life, and to be honest, he wasn’t much good at it. Only last week we had spent a whole day looking for a sheep he had lost.
Nico raised his head and for once looked straight at me.
“I want to be me,” he whispered. “Is that so terrible? I just want to be Nico, not a lot of other people’s hero or monster.”
“But, Nico, do you even know what that means?” Without meaning to, I glanced at the penny he was clutching in one hand, and Nico noticed it immediately.
“It means,” he said angrily, “that I buy myself a mug of beer if I feel like it. Just like other people. And if you want to run home to Master Maunus and tell tales, go ahead and do so.”
I didn’t know what to do. If Nico had a mug of beer, well, that in itself wouldn’t be so terrible, of course. It was just that with Nico it was rarely one mug. Or even five or six. And that had actually been one of the reasons why it had been so easy to get him accused of murder.
Perhaps, if I had still had my Shamer’s eyes, I could have stopped him. But I hadn’t.
“Nico,” I said. “When you’ve had your beer, won’t you come and eat with us? We’re camped up there, by those rocks.” I pointed.
Nico looked a little less tense.
“I will. Oh, go on, stop looking so worried. I will.”
I headed for the rocks myself. After a whole day of noise and bustle, it was quite nice to get away from the crowds for a while. I was pleased now that Mama had chosen a campsite here. The dew lay like a gray veil across the grass and the rocks, and my feet and ankles were soon soaked with it. The sun had almost set, with just a few pale golden streaks to show where it had gone. A soft twilight hugged the hills. This close to Midsummer, this was about as dark as it ever got up here. Wood smoke hung like mist across the valley, and I could hear the distant baa of goats and sheep, and a little closer, dogs barking at each other.
Suddenly, there he was. Standing right in front of me, as if he had sprouted from the earth itself. The stranger. The man in the red shirt. I breathed in a little too suddenly and ended up having to cough from sheer surprise.
“I mean you no harm,” he said in his alien accent, softer and more lilting than the voices I was used to hearing. “I just want to know your name.”
I didn’t answer. I just darted sideways, away from him, and began to run.
It wasn’t far to the camp. Our big hound, Beastie, gave a threatening wrooof when he heard me come charging up like that, and Callan, who had been nursing a small fire into life, got to his feet in one smooth, dangerous-looking move.
“What is it?” he asked, sharp-voiced.
“Nothing,” I said, catching my breath. “A man. A man who—”
“Where?”
“There.” I waved a hand at the slope.
But the slope was empty. Only boulders, dew, and wood smoke. The stranger was gone.
“No one there,” said Callan.
“He… he must have gone back down. To the Market.” But I didn’t understand. How could he disappear so suddenly? Melting away, like he was a ghost or something, and not properly human at all.
“What did he look like? What did he want?”
“He just wanted to know my name.”
That sounded strange, even to my ears. But Callan nodded, as if that kind of thing happened every day.
“It is a good thing that ye’re careful,” he said. “But I do not think he wanted to harm ye.”
I didn’t know what to think. He had said he meant no harm. But it would have been pretty stupid to say “Come here and let me harm you,” in any case. And after everything that had happened during the past two years, I felt I had reason enough to be suspicious.
I sat down by the fire and let Beastie keep me company while Callan took Falk down to fetch the cart. A little later Davin and Black-Arse came up, and then Mama and the rest. Even Nico. Mama had spent good money on smoked sausages for all of us, seeing that we had done such good business, and as we talked and joked, I nearly forgot about the stranger once more. It was the Midsummer Market. We had a bit of money for once. Davin was happy and proud because he and Falk had taken a prize at the races, and Mama promised that we could go down to the Market later, and listen to the music, and maybe even dance a bit. Life was good right then, and worrying seemed silly.
DINA
The Baying of Hounds
Mama was shaking me.
“Dina, wake up. We’re leaving.”
“Mmmmh.” I didn’t feel like waking up. It had been quite a late night, and I had ended up dancing till my head spun and my feet hurt.
“Are you awake? I need you to go and find Nico and Melli. I think they went down to the pond.”
I struggled free of the blankets and got to my feet, somewhat stiff-backed from sleeping on the ground. Trekking through the Market grounds in search of my rebellious little sister was not high on my list of favorite things to do this morning. But packing up the tent was not going to be a much more pleasing task, so after a visit to the latrines I set out for the shallow pond that served as a watering hole for most of the Market beasts.
I could hear Melli laughing long before I saw her. She was chuckling and snorting and giggling with laughter, and I sneaked in a little closer to see what was so funny.
It was Nico.
He was standing in the middle of the pond, with a long, wet garland of water weeds across one shoulder. In one hand he held a stick as though it were a proper staff.
“I am Neptune, King of the Seas,” he called in a pompous voice. “And I bid the winds and the waters rise. Let there be such a storm as never was before!”
And then he bent and blew at something—three little boats, I saw now, made from reeds and woven grass. The three boatlets rocked precariously, one of them threatening to capsize.
“They’re drowning,” said Melli, her giggles coming to an abrupt halt. “Nico, please save them!”
“As M’lady commands.” Nico bowed deeply, a real courtier’s bow. Carefully, he righted the little boat and sent it on its way.
I just stared. I had never seen him like this before—clothes soaked, hair and beard dripping with water, yet luminous, somehow. His whole face was lit from within with laughter, with sheer unshadowed fun, and he looked as if he had never even heard of worries. I could hardly believe my own eyes. Here was the exiled heir to Dunark castle, playing the fool for the benefit of my six-year-old sister—and having a fine old time doing it, it seemed, with nary a thought for heroes and monsters now.
I was almost sorry to interrupt, but Mama and the rest were waiting. The Market was over, and we had a fair way to go.
“O Great King Neptune,” I intoned, “we’re packing up.”
His head came up with a jerk. He obviously hadn’t heard me coming.
“Dina,” he said, and I watched the laughter die from his eyes. “Yes. Quite. We’ll be with you in a moment.” He made a sudden gesture with one hand, spraying my skirt with a small shower of droplets in the process. “I slipped and gave myself a ducking. But perhaps Davin has a spare shirt I can borrow.” He brushed the weeds off his shoulder and headed for dry land.
“The ships,” objected Melli. “They’ll have no one to give them good winds now.”
“They’ll have to manage on their own,” said Nico, wringing the tails of his shirt to rid it of the worst of the wetness.
Melli set her hands on her hips and gave me a defiant glare.
“I don’t want to go home now.”
“Too bad,” I said, “ ’cause that’s where we’re going.”
“But I don’t want to!”
I gave her a measuring look. Her cheeks were still flushed from laughing so hard, and her dress was stained with grass and mud and pond water. There was a stubborn set to her mouth, and she looked like a very angry and slightly chubby pond troll. She was perfectly capable of throwing herself on the ground, howling and screaming, and generally kicking up a fuss.
“Come on, M’lady,” said Nico, settling to one knee. “Climb up and let your trusty steed bring you to the ends of the earth.”
And lo and behold. The troll surrendered. Melli happily climbed onto Nico’s shoulders and rode piggyback all the way back to our camp. No doubt that made her even damper and muddier, soaked as he was. But I didn’t say anything.
I don’t know how it happened, but by some mysterious magic everything we had brought with us had swollen to twice its original size, or at least that was how it seemed to us as we struggled to pack up the tent and the rest of the gear. Similarly, everything we had bought at the Market seemed bulkier than the stuff we had sold. It was a good long while before we were ready to hitch up and head for home.
We had been traveling for less than an hour when Beastie started to act strangely. He struggled against Rose’s hold on his collar, and when she let go, he leaped off the back of the cart and began running around, circling us as though we were a flock of sheep he needed to protect. And then he barked. A series of short, sharp wrooofs, the way he often did when strangers approached the house back home. Silky danced uneasily, and I had to put a soothing hand on her neck.
“Mama, can’t you get him to be quiet? He’s scaring Silky.”
But Callan would have none of that.
“Leave him be,” he said. “It’s a poor hunter who will not heed the baying of the hounds. And Beastie is not a dog to sound off over nothing.”
Nico glanced at Callan. Callan shrugged his shoulder very slightly, as if to say maybe, maybe not.
“M’lady must ride in the carriage for a while,” Nico told Melli, who was perched on his saddlebow.
“But I want to stay with you,” said Melli.
“Perhaps later,” said Nico. “Right now I need you to do as you’re told.”
And once more, to my utter astonishment, Melli obeyed him, climbing into the cart and onto Mama’s lap with no further ado.
“You really must teach me how to do that,” I muttered.
“Do what?”
“Get Melli to do as she’s told without a tantrum.”
He smiled faintly, but his attention was elsewhere. He was sitting very straight on the bay mare, looking around him in a wary manner.
“Best I take a little ride,” said Callan. “If yerself will stay here.”
Nico nodded. Callan dropped back, not suddenly but bit by bit, as if by chance. The road here wound its way around low hills, and soon he was lost from sight.
“Is someone following us?” I asked Nico, as quietly as I could.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Callan is checking.”
My whole body had gone stiff and tense at the thought, but when Callan reappeared a little while later, he was shaking his head.
“Nothing,” he said. “Least, nothing I could see. The dog has caught the scent of some animal, it may be.”
“Yes, maybe,” said Nico. But he would not allow Melli back on his saddlebow, and his dark blue eyes kept flickering this way and that, left, right, ahead of us, behind us, all the way back to the cottage.
It was evening before we got there. Black-Arse called good-bye and rode off home, and Nico also went off, home to Maudi’s place and grumpy Master Maunus. Callan stayed around for a little while, to help us unload and unpack. We let the horses into the paddock and watched for a few moments as they slumped to the ground, rolling and kicking and sighing with relief. The chickens all came running, cackling and begging for food, so I gave them a few handfuls of grain even though I knew Master Maunus had fed them earlier.
“Can I go and fetch Belle?” asked Rose. “Please?”
“Yes, do that,” said Mama. “She’ll have missed you terribly.”
Belle was Rose’s dog. She was only about a year old and still quite puppyish, so Rose had not wanted to risk bringing her to the Market, among so many strangers and strange sights and sounds. Luckily, Maudi never minded looking after Belle, as it was Maudi who had given her to Rose in the first place.
“Can I go too?” I asked.
Mama frowned. “We have to unload everything before it gets dark,” she said. But then she relented. “Oh, well, we’ll manage. Go on, be off. But hurry home, the both of you.”
Rose was so impatient that walking was too slow for her. Even though we were both tired, we ended up running almost all the way over to Maudi’s place. And even before we came into the yard, Rose gave a shrill whistle between her teeth.
What a ruckus—wroof, wrooof, wouuuuh, woooouhhh! Yes, Belle had missed Rose, and she was busy telling the whole countryside, so much so that she soon had all of Maudi’s other dogs barking too. Maudi opened the door, and a black and white arrow shot out between her legs and aimed itself at Rose. Belle was not a small pup anymore, but she leaped straight into Rose’s embrace, so Rose keeled over backward, her arms full of dog.
“Well, well,” said Maudi drily. “Looks like someone is happy to see you.”
Rose muttered something into Belle’s fur, but I couldn’t quite catch the words. Belle’s pink tongue licked everything within reach: hair, sleeve, neck, and cheek. And I stood there feeling almost envious, because even though I knew I had Silky and Beastie, sort of, neither of them ever greeted me in that fashion.
We said good-bye to Maudi and headed up the hill. Belle was racing in large circles around us, playing shepherd the way Beastie had earlier, but in a much more light-hearted manner. She kept so low to the ground that her belly touched the grass at times.
It was dark enough now that the first few stars had appeared. Our cottage nestled in a hollow among the hills, protected from the strong Highland winds. On the tallest of the hills, the Stone Dance showed black against the darkening sky. There were few trees here, and almost all of those were birches. Other than that, yew and heather were the commonest of growing things, so on the day our cottage had had its first anniversary, we had made a neat sign to hang above the door: YEW TREE COTTAGE, it said, though most people still called it simply the Shamer’s place.
Mama had lit the lamp in the kitchen and opened the shutters so that the glow from that and the hearth spilled onto the dusty grass of the yard. As we came down the hill, Beastie came trotting slowly up to meet us. He had become a little stiff-limbed lately, especially when he had been lying still for a while. We had had him for a long time, and he was not young anymore; not like Belle, who was busy greeting him with delighted little puppy noises, practically wagging her tail off.
Mama was frying onions, by the smell of it. Supper. Mmmmh.
“I’m soooo hungry,” said Rose.
“So am I.” Starving, actually.
Yet I still halted to stand for a moment, looking down at our small cottage with the tarred beams and the turfed roof, and at the stable and the sheep shed and the paddock where Silky and Falk were grazing. Behind the house the apple trees that Mama had planted last year were blooming, with pink and white blossoms like snowflakes against the black boughs.
“It was a great Market,” I said. “But it’s good to be home.”
“Yes,” Rose said simply.
DINA
Fog
Two days later, the weather changed. We woke to a heavy, gray-white fog which clung so closely to the hills that we could barely see the sheep shed on the far side of the yard.
“It might lift once the sun is properly risen,” said Mama.
But it didn’t. Finally, we had to go out and be about our tasks, even though the fog slowly seeped through our clothes, until it felt like wet fingers touching one’s skin. Big fat drops of moisture collected in our hair and in the fur of all the animals. It would have been much nicer to stay indoors, but Mama had bought a lot of seedlings and seeds at the market, and if we didn’t get the planting done soon, nothing would come of it this summer.
“This is disgusting,” I muttered, pressing the dark soil into place around the stem of a baby cabbage plant. “You can’t breathe without getting your mouth and nose full of fog!”
“It probably won’t last much longer,” said Mama. “It’s nearly noon, isn’t it?”
“I can’t tell,” I said irritably. “The sun might as well not be there for all the good it does.”
“Let’s eat,” said Mama. “Maybe it will have cleared away by the time we’re done.”
There was a lonely whinny from the paddock.
“I think I’ll let the horses in first,” I said. “Sounds as if Falk doesn’t like the fog.”
“You do that,” said Mama.
I rinsed the dirt off my hands at the pump, wiped them on my apron, and headed for the paddock gate. It was still the old, somewhat ramshackle paddock we had put up when we arrived, but Davin was making a bigger and better one now that we had two horses. But even though the paddock was quite small, I could see neither Falk nor Silky. I heard hoofbeats and another plaintive whinny that I thought was Falk’s—that was all.
“Silky! Falk! Come on, horsies!” I called out, then whistled the signal they usually obeyed if they felt like it. “Want to come in out of the fog?”
Falk neighed once more. Now I could see him, at first only as a darker bit of fog, and then he came trotting out of the mists. But where was Silky? I peered into the mists behind Falk, but he seemed to be alone.
“What have you done with Silky?” I asked. Our black gelding merely snorted and shook the droplets from his lashes.
“Silky!” I called out. “Siiiilky!” I whistled again. Still no Silky.
It was a little odd. But if I brought Falk into the stable, she would probably be standing by the gate by the time I got back—she didn’t much care for being alone in the paddock.
“Come on,” I urged Falk. “If My lady wants to be coy, let her. There’s no reason why you have to be wet and hungry.”
I put him in his stall and fed him a few handfuls of grain. But when I got back to the paddock, there was no dappled gray mare waiting by the gate. I wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or anxious. She was not usually so difficult. Could something have happened to her? I climbed across the fence and trotted toward the far end of the paddock, whistling and calling. My sense of unease grew. Granted, a gray horse might be more difficult to see in the mists than a black one, but even so…
I reached the fence on the other side. And yes, the fog was dense, but not that dense. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I realized that my sweet-mannered Highland horse was not just being coy. She had disappeared altogether, and the paddock was empty.
“Silky is gone!”
Mama and Rose were setting the table and heating water for tea.
“Gone?” Mama put down the bread knife. “What do you mean, gone?”
“She’s not in the paddock!”
The kitchen went very quiet. All the little noises—the rattle of plates and mugs, the sound of Melli’s feet kicking gently against the bench—had suddenly stopped. All you could hear was the hiss of the kettle.
“Are you sure?” said Davin. “I mean, that’s quite a fog—”
“Of course I’m sure! I went all the way around, following the fence, and… and I found a place where the top pole had come off.”
Davin cursed. “I knew I should have checked that fence. Only, I was so busy with the new paddock—”
“She won’t have gone far,” said Mama. “The two of you can go and look for her. By the time you’ve caught her, Rose and I will have lunch ready for you.”
