The Gathering, page 17
part #1 of The Hundred Series
“And then simply selling them to the highest bidder?” Guise finished for her, lips curling for a moment in disgust.
“We’ll keep our ears open,” Brea promised.
There was more to that than simple words. Yvonne cradled her tea between her hands and looked around the table, at the serious expressions, then at the map. Finely made. It must have taken an extraordinary amount of effort and magic to make it. And few people would need a map with layers. She had the odd certainty that there were more layers, that she was not being shown. And Brea and Thort took the detailed magic in their stride, had combined their knowledge with Guise. Friends was a poor word to describe their relationships.
“You let the quarrel be,” Yvonne heard herself saying, voice matter-of-fact, “to avoid drawing attention to yourselves. So you could keep gathering information.”
A shadow crossed Brea’s face, confirming her suspicion. Thort reached for and took his wife’s hand again.
“It has been hard,” Thort said, his voice harsh with emotion Yvonne could not identify at first. He shook his head slightly, turning to Brea, his eyes shading to a colour Yvonne had never seen before among goblins. A soft, melting gold.
“We had another daughter,” Brea told Yvonne, her voice as rasping as her husband’s. “She was taken.”
“She died before Jesset was born,” Thort added. The echo of their loss and grief rang around the peaceful room. Goblins, like Hunar, lived long lives. The grief was decades old, and still fresh in their minds.
“Sold,” Guise added, voice soft. Looking at him, Yvonne saw the echo of Brea and Thort’s grief in his face. He rarely showed emotion. His eyes were blazing green, tinted with red. A childhood friend, Yvonne guessed. Perhaps something more. And her capture and death had left Guise a life-long enemy of slavers.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Yvonne told the room.
“We were close to acting,” Brea said, turning to meet Thort’ eyes. “However dangerous it was. Even if we would need to move on from here.” She shook her head slightly, swallowing. “To know that the quarrel was there. And to do nothing.” A tear made its way down her cheek. “All those other daughters.”
“Safe now,” Yvonne said, throat tight. All those other daughters. The ones from this quarrel were alive. Not whole. Many of them would never be whole again. But there were other daughters who had not been saved. Too many of them, and too many of their screams echoed in her head.
“We will take them to the Sisters,” Brea announced, as though there had been a discussion and agreement leading up to that statement. “And Rebecca, too, if she wishes to come.”
“Good.” Yvonne sipped her tea, finding she was cold, the tea’s slight warmth burning through her. The Sisters never turned anyone away, and they had past experience of healing those rescued from a quarrel. “When?”
“Tomorrow,” Thort answered, and untangled his hand from his wife’s. He picked something from the pocket of his coat and handed it across to her. “To remember.”
The carving from the night before.
Yvonne set her tea down on the floor beside her chair and took it with both hands, cupping it in her palms.
A Firebird. A creature of legend. A protector. A mythical being that could level whole cities with one sweep of its great, flame-encrusted wings. Thort had carved the bird with her great, spreading wings half-open, head lifted in defiance, mouth open in a furious cry. Yvonne could almost hear the shriek, feel the heat from those magnificent wings, and see the fury in the burning eyes.
“It is exquisite,” she said, voice hushed. “Thank you.”
“It is the least we could offer,” Thort answered, bowing his head.
She turned the creature in her hands, wondering how much Thort, and Brea, and Guise knew. The Firebird was the legendary companion of the first Hunar, a loyal and lifelong companion who despised injustice as much as the first Hunar had. There were crude drawings in story books, and painted on walls of old temples.
The only place she had seen a more detailed depiction was a place she had thought only the Hundred knew about. The final test that they all had to pass to be accepted as one of the Hundred.
For a moment she was back there, bare feet on sun-warmed stone, her whole body heavy with exhaustion, staring up at the wall that rose high above her head, plaster still fresh after all the years, and the giant painting of the Firebird, shimmering slightly with the gold leaf used to outline her wings, her head back, beak open in a silent scream that Yvonne could feel ringing through her soul as she looked at the wall. The first Hunar’s legendary companion, as formidable as he had been.
She closed her fingers, gently and carefully, around the carving, imagining that she could feel the flutter of feathers against her skin and the burn of the bird’s anger.
It did not matter where Thort had got the idea from, she told herself. It was simply beautiful, and one of the best gifts of her life.
“I have made a sort of nest for it,” Thort added, “so you may take it safely.”
“Thank you,” she said again, opening her hands. “You have an extraordinary gift.”
“That he does,” Brea agreed, proud of her husband.
Yvonne looked back at Guise’s map, the Firebird in her hands. She could almost feel those wings twitching, wanting to rise into the air, to soar over the land, searching for those responsible for all this. All those children taken.
The map. A bird’s eye view. Underneath the crosses and questions marks were the black lines that mankind had made. Borders. Patches of territory. Things that a bird did not care about, but which mattered to humans. Mattered a great deal.
The mastermind had not cared about the borders. But the rulers did, and kept their attention focused on their own lands. Their own interests. And, if they were good rulers, their own people. She wondered how many of the leaders were even aware of the missing, and how many of them would care, even if they did know.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Yvonne did not know what kind of money Guise had needed to spend, but somehow he had arranged transport for her, and the vast quantity of gifts the townspeople had left for her, that same day. He regretted he could not come with her, he said. But he would send word to her at Fir Tree Crossing. Meantime, she had transport back to Fir Tree Crossing.
There was a mastermind to hunt. But, before then, she needed to see her children. Wanted to listen to Mariah’s laugh, see Joel’s smile. Wanted to be surrounded by familiar things for a while, to set aside the memory of the quarrel.
And she needed time to think. To prepare. Caroline and Alexander were found, the girl badly wounded but heading to the best place to heal her, and a mother who loved her. Ubel’s corpse was with law keepers, his killer still at large. But Guise had not asked her to track Ubel’s killer.
Rebecca was on her way to the Sisters, too, and Yvonne had a sketchy impression of her brother, although some instinct told her that was not an urgent matter.
She and Lothar were carried in style on a barge which she was quite sure was meant for more commercial service but which had been given over to her exclusive use. She was given her own cabin, a small but adequate room, and as much privacy as could be managed on a river barge, but chose to sit outside, wrapped in the down-soft blankets the barge captain had insisted on fetching for her, protected against the slight chill in the air.
As they travelled, she remembered Guise’s map, with the marks made for each missing child he and his friends had learned of. With those black lines depicting borders. Law keepers might search high and low in their own territories. Very, very few of them crossed borders. And even smaller numbers of rulers welcomed outside interference in their lands.
It was likely that no one else knew the full extent of the slavers’ operation.
For several long breaths she felt overwhelmed by the task she had set herself. The mastermind could be anywhere across those lands, in any of those countries marked by the black lines of the borders.
Very few people could cross borders at will, and have their authority respected.
A Hunar could.
The Hundred were outside the reach of rulers, their only purpose to help those in need.
Her breathing settled, stomach calming. She knew what she needed to do.
With the smooth passage of the vessel across the water, she pulled out the parchment and pens she always had in her travel pack. The barge captain saw her preparations and had his own writing desk brought from his cabin, a beautifully crafted wooden box with a sloping top covered in fine leather. It needed two of his crew to lift it.
Settled like a grand lady, in blankets, and with a beautifully crafted writing surface to use, she picked up the pen and began writing.
I call for a Gathering.
~
The barge moored at Fir Tree Crossing at dusk the day after they had left Kelton and, in more evidence of Guise’s influence, as if she had needed it, wagons were waiting to take the goods to her house.
She arrived home in early dark, to Mariah and Joel’s evident astonishment, at the head of the train of three wagons whose drivers cheerfully helped to unload the boxes from the wagons and take them into the house’s largest room.
The largest room had once been a grand dining room, complete with an elaborate chandelier, at odds with the plain outward appearance of the house. The room had seemed huge when Yvonne had first seen it. By the time the wagoneers were done, boxes were piled high against every wall, and there was barely any room to walk around the table and chairs. Some of the boxes smelled divine, with delicious scents that she thought she knew. Mariah and Joel were not the only ones who loved the confectionery that came from Kelton. Not only that, but she still had the discreetly labelled box that the hotel manager had somehow smuggled onto Lothar when they had left Three Falls. The preservation spell was still intact and she knew that, when she opened it, it would be full of the desserts that had belonged with the superb tasting menu from the hotel. It seemed a lifetime ago.
The wagoneers left with the same efficiency as they had arrived, and refused her offer of coins as an extra tip for them, her small hoard of coins much larger thanks to the heavy purse Guise had insisted she take. She wondered, not for the first time, just how vast Guise’s resources were.
“The horses are settled,” Joel told her, coming into the dining room. “Mariah is warming the stew.” He read her expression and laughed, softly. “Don’t worry, it’s very good. We got it from The Tavern.”
She trusted his judgement, and put the hotel’s box on the table. “We’ll need side plates, and forks, as well.”
His eyes lit up. Side plates and forks meant something sweet, and a rare treat. He left on silent feet, and for a few moments she was alone in the still-unfamiliar surroundings of the house’s dining room, made even more strange by the towering piles of boxes all around. The children had been busy in the house while she had been away, whatever else they had been doing, and the room itself was spotless. Not one speck of dust anywhere. The table surface, scratched and pitted from years of use, was gleaming softly in the light from the candles that they had set there, in mismatched holders.
It was only a few moments of displacement before the children were back, with bowls and cutlery and plates and a pitcher which contained plain water flavoured with fruit. Her brows rose as they set the table with no fuss, and no arguing, and she sat down with them for their meal.
The lack of arguing she could explain immediately, as their eyes travelled around the boxes in the room.
Even so, she stuck to their normal tradition. She asked them for news, and what they had been doing since she had been away. They were used to this, used to the departures and the returns. Elinor had stayed with them when she could, or another trusted adult, until a few years ago when Yvonne had arrived back at their house to find that the trusted adult had been thrown out by a determined-looking Mariah, having been caught going through Yvonne’s belongings. There were no more adults after that, the children more than capable of looking after themselves.
But she always wanted them to tell her their news. She very rarely told them what she had been up to, even when she came home bruised and bloodied.
The meal passed quickly, with more laughter than she would have thought possible. They had both been doing some work. Mariah for the dressmaker in town, who seemed to want to hire Mariah full-time, having far more work for her than she could possibly do. Joel had done some shifts loading and unloading barges at the docks. They both reached into their pockets, in a move that they had clearly planned, and drew out piles of gleaming coins, spilling them onto the table. More than enough money to feed them all for the next month, at least, possibly beyond that.
“We were quite pleased with ourselves,” Mariah commented, looking around the room again. “But you have surpassed us.”
Yvonne ignored the implied question, instead opening the box from the hotel, the preservation spell flying away and releasing the scents of the food inside. She saw, with an odd pang, that the hotel had given her three of everything. Somehow the manager, and Guise, had known that she would want to share this with Mariah and Joel.
“That smells amazing,” Joel said, completely distracted from the boxes. “Where does it come from?”
“Three Falls city,” she answered, carefully lifting out the desserts and sharing them among their plates.
They both hesitated, looking at the food, clearly wondering at the source.
“Guise knows one of the hotel managers well. He seemed an honest man, and the food was amazing.”
They still hesitated.
“If you don’t eat it, I will,” she told them, not really joking.
That was more than enough.
When they were finished, and there was not even a single crumb left, Joel tilted his head to the boxes lining the room.
“These did not come from Three Falls.”
The desserts, which had been an explosion of taste in her mouth, suddenly seemed leaden in her stomach. She looked around the room, and thought that they needed to know.
“No. We went to Kelton. There was a quarrel.”
They both stilled. They might not have any active memories of the quarrel that they had been born in, but they knew enough. Bits and pieces of information gathered over the years, innuendo and threats from various bullying cerro.
“Was?” Mariah had picked up on that critical word.
“Yes. These,” she tilted her head to the boxes, “are gifts from the townsfolk. They hadn’t dealt with the matter themselves, but they were grateful that somebody had.”
She rose, and picked up the smallest box, that she had carried with her through the journey. “And this was a gift from a master carver.”
She opened the box. The nest, Thort had said, lined with cream satin. The Firebird glared out at them, as lifelike as she had been when Yvonne had first seen her, in Brea and Thort’s kitchen.
From the slight intake of breath from Mariah and Joel, they were equally impressed.
“Stunning,” Joel commented. “Master carver, indeed.”
“May we?” Mariah asked, and, at Yvonne’s nod, tentatively picked the carved creature out of the box. “This is days of work.”
Yvonne shook her head. “Overnight. I suspect a bit of magic went into it.”
“Goblin magic, by the feel of it,” Mariah noted, passing the bird to Joel. “Not Guise?” her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“No.” Yvonne laughed. “He was recovering from a poison arrow. This was from Guise’s friends. They live in Kelton.”
“Guise has friends?” Mariah’s brows shot up.
“Mariah,” Joel chided, carefully putting the bird back into its nest. “She is beautiful,” he added, to Yvonne. “I swear she would take my head off if I looked at her the wrong way.”
Yvonne laughed, bringing the box slightly closer to her.
“I know what you mean.”
“So, what’s in the rest of the boxes?” Joel asked, eyes gleaming.
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t opened them? Not even one?” Mariah was astonished.
“I thought you would like to help me,” she said, a welcome smile pulling her mouth, her meal settling in her stomach again. It had been the right decision.
“Where can we start?” Joel asked. He did not have the same delight in material things as his sister, but even he was looking around with eyes glinting with excitement.
“Wherever you like.”
Yvonne sat back in her chair, comfortably warm, full of food, and watched her children as they grabbed the nearest boxes, bringing them back to the table to unwrap them.
Despite the abundance before them, they were, both of them, careful and meticulous in the unwrapping. Mariah demanding that all the ribbons were kept. She might be able to make use of them, she explained. And Joel was simply careful by his nature.
They unwrapped each one with the same care and attention. They revealed boxes of candied fruit, marzipan, chocolates, bottles of exotic liqueur, perfumes that made Yvonne’s nose itch and Joel and Mariah sneeze, luxurious soaps and other toiletries, silks, beautifully patterned blankets and rugs, swathes of fine linen, and a case of fine wine.
When they reached the wine, they were not even halfway through the boxes. Joel left the room for a moment, and returned with a wine glass and a corkscrew, opening one of the bottles without asking, and handing a glass to Yvonne.
“Thank you,” she said, throat closing for a moment. It was so easy to forget how observant they were, particularly when they were squealing with delight like tiny children at each thing they unwrapped. “Why don’t you open some of the confectionery?”
By design, or by coincidence, there were boxes of each of their favourites.
Not used to this much abundance, it would have been so easy for them to be greedy, and to inhale the gifts on offer. But they did not. Control was valued amongst the wulfkin. So they took a piece at a time, and made sure they shared with her as well.
