The Gathering, page 31
part #1 of The Hundred Series
Saying goodbye to the Hundred after a pleasant evening in Hogsmarthen had been hard. It always was. They might only gather for solemn or awful occasions, but they were an extended family, the clashing personalities and long history set aside as soon as they were needed.
They could not stay, though. None of them. There were too few Hunar in the world, and too many people in need of their help.
There had been no lingering goodbyes, just brisk farewells and promises to write.
Then she had made her way back to Fir Tree Crossing, passenger on a river barge that Guise had commandeered. He had been oddly quiet since they left the Sisters, and left her at the docks, saying he had family business to attend to. She was used to his abrupt arrivals and departures. It might be months before she saw him again. Or it could be a few days.
She felt hollow as she left him. Too many farewells.
She arrived at the house just as the sky was beginning to darken, Lothar’s ears sweeping forward as they crossed the bridge.
No screams this time. The house looked intact as she rode up to it, and around the side to the stables.
As she slid off Lothar’s back, the kitchen door opened and Joel and Mariah tumbled out, hugging her one after the other. Brief, hard hugs.
“You’re home,” Mariah said, voice high with excitement and something that sounded like relief.
“I am,” Yvonne answered, putting a hand out and briefly touching Mariah’s arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“We were worried about you,” Joel said, taking Lothar’s reins. “All of you. It sounded serious.”
“It was. It is,” Yvonne told them, frowning at his back as he led her horse into the stable.
“Is everything alright now?” Mariah asked.
Yvonne watched Joel unsaddle Lothar for a moment, trying to think of the right way to answer that, to reassure her children.
“Yes.” She tried to put as much conviction into her voice as possible. “We helped a lot of people.” It was a poor summary of what had happened, and yet she did not want to say more, did not want to relive the memories of the mine, and the black tendrils. Those memories did not belong here, with this quiet house, serene in the evening light. This was becoming their home, and she wanted to defend it, however impossible that might be.
“Good,” Joel said, giving Lothar a final pat and coming out of the stable, taking the saddle and bridle to the harness room at the end of the block. “We went to the bakeries earlier,” he told her as he came out of the room and back towards her, her saddlebags over his shoulder. “Plenty for all of us.”
“Bakeries?” Yvonne’s brows lifted. More than one. Perhaps every baker in Fir Tree Crossing. Knowing her children, that was entirely possible. “Did you set the kitchen on fire?”
“No, not this time,” he answered, smiling.
“Nothing went on fire,” Mariah added, doubtless trying to be helpful, but making Yvonne wonder instead what had gone wrong while she had been away.
She used the excuse of wanting a change of clothes to sneak a look around the house before they ate. Everything was intact, and she came back to the kitchen to find the Joel and Mariah had set out a feast for them. Her children had, indeed, been to every bakery in town, spending some of their wages.
Joel had poured her a glass of wine, and they settled around the table, Yvonne demanding all the news since she had been away, Mariah more than happy to tell her.
It was the perfect end to the journey. Settled in her family’s kitchen, listening to the news of the town, a glass of wine next to her. Far, far away from the misery of the mine, the slaves even now under the Sisters’ care, and the corruption of the ancient enemy.
~
Another day passed and she found herself with that rarest of things, an afternoon off.
Mariah was at the dressmaker’s, and had left almost skipping that morning, so Yvonne was not expecting to see her back until after dark. It was always a wonder to her that Mariah found such joy in putting clothes together, but she excelled at it and worked hard, and seemed satisfied with Yvonne’s words of praise, even if they were probably ill-informed.
Joel was at the docks. A few of the other young wulfkin in town had discovered that they, too, could earn good money loading and offloading river barges. The dock hands who usually took on such jobs, and who had been moaning about the work, and the poor pay, were suddenly faced with competition from much stronger wulfkin, who could clear a barge in half the time it would take the same amount of humans. Yvonne could foresee trouble ahead. For now, though, there was a good-natured competition being set up between different crews. Four wulfkin against ten humans seemed to be about right, and the wulfkin had somehow negotiated to be paid the human equivalent, so four wulfkin were splitting the equivalent of ten humans’ pay. That would not last long, she was sure. Joel was fully aware of the potential for trouble, and had mentioned, too casually to be an accident, that Sephenamin himself was taking an interest, along with Grayling. So, Yvonne set her worries aside.
It was an unfamiliar feeling, to have both children out of the house and employed. And to have the house to herself. The horses were out in the field, enjoying a warm day. There had been no supplicants at the gate.
Time off was rare. On previous occasions she had taken an extra-long bath, or read a book, or written some long over-due letters.
This afternoon she could not be still, turning instead to the well-stocked kitchen to experiment with.
She was in the middle of measuring ingredients for a beetroot cake, hands stained with the purple juice, when one of the wards tripped, alerting her to a visitor. She looked around the mess in the kitchen, and down at herself. Despite the apron, she was covered in flour, as well as having stained hands. For once, she did not care. There were far more important things in the world.
She washed her hands quickly, hung up the apron, and went around the side of the house to meet the visitor, brushing flour off her clothes as she did so.
Guise was the last person she had expected to see at her house. He was usually meticulously careful at arranging their meetings in public spaces, somehow sensing she did not like to have people in her house. He was also dressed with unusual care, even for him, and she felt even more shabby than usual by comparison.
He got off his horse and led it to a convenient spot under a tree where a water trough had been set up before turning to her. He made an odd bow before he moved towards her and when he came close enough, her brows lifted at his expression. It was a similar expression that she had seen on Joel or Mariah’s faces when they had done something they knew she would not approve of. Eating the rest of the cake. Sneaking out after dark.
It was not an expression she expected to see on a goblin’s face, let alone Guise’s. Guilt at being caught out in some mischief or other.
“Good day, mristrian,” he said, his voice apparently calm.
“What have you done?” she demanded.
He shifted on his feet, from side to side, reminding her even more of a guilty child.
“I don’t think there is enough time to explain fully,” he began, “as we are about to have visitors.”
“What do you mean visitors? And what you mean we?”
“Do you have your memories back? From the dungeon?”
She opened her mouth, then clamped her jaw shut against angry words and shook her head instead.
“Occasional flashes. Nothing more.” She looked away for a moment, swallowing hard. “I remember fear.”
“I am sorry,” he said, sincerity bringing her eyes back to him. He bowed slightly again. “I was not myself.” He stood silent, frowning, for a moment, then shook his head slightly. “I do not think it is right that I simply tell you what happened. It would be better if you remembered it.”
“Does this have something to do with how we got out of there?” she asked, eyes narrowing. His gaze slid away, and her eyes narrowed further. “It does. What happened?”
“You remember the bond?” he asked instead. He was not meeting her eyes. In fact, he was looking everywhere but at her.
Bond. Something stirred in her memory. The grating sound of metal on stone.
“I’d been hit on the head at least twice,” she reminded him. “I don’t remember. Something about … Poison?”
“Yes.”
There was a snarl in his voice that a sane person would back away from. She stood her ground. He would not hurt her.
The certainty of that echoed through her. He had not wanted to hurt her. He had not hurt her.
“The lord put us in the dungeon for you to kill me,” she remembered, feeling the colour drain from her face.
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t. Somehow.” She frowned into middle-distance, trying to remember.
“Do not try and force the memory. It’s likely to come back.”
“Before these visitors arrive?”
“No.” His face closed.
“So, you were poisoned. And there was a bond. And we escaped,” she concluded.
“Somewhat. And not quite.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, unease creeping into her, knotting her stomach. He would not hurt her. It was a core-deep truth. Of all the people in the world, she was safe with him.
“Guise, you are worrying me. I do not like to be worried. Just tell me what I need to know for these visitors.”
“I think you may want to sit down.”
And he insisted that she did, walking with her over to the bench outside the front of the house, remaining standing, while she sat in the sun, and glared up at him, waiting for an answer.
“It doesn’t translate well,” he began, and she almost interrupted him, annoyed at the further delay. Something in his manner kept her still, and quiet, though. He was not delaying any more. He seemed to be struggling for words to try and explain what he needed to tell her. “Goblins create bonds. There are family bonds, which we are born with, although we can choose to reject them. And there are bonds that we create through our lives. Something like, and nothing like, the contract humans enter into between each other.”
Yvonne sat back against the wall of the house, the sun-warmed bricks a welcome support, not really feeling the warmth as her whole body chilled. She thought about what he had said, and not said, and clamped her jaw shut. He had more to say.
“I did not intend to make such a bond with you,” he began, hesitating, and fleetingly met her eyes. He looked ashamed. “I intended to speak a temporary bond, that would let us get out of the dungeon. But I was not quite myself.” That was an understatement. She remembered the fear. The sound of metal restraints grating in the wall as he struggled, and almost pulled them loose. “So I gave you the words for a much more serious bond. A lifetime commitment.”
She was abruptly glad she was sitting down as the world seemed to spin. The chill that had been creeping over her numbed her nose and her toes, and her face froze, her mouth half-open.
“I am sorry.” He sounded sincere.
All at once, she was on her feet, hands on hips, furious and disbelieving at the same time.
“Married? We are married? Actually married? This isn’t a joke?”
“In human terms, marriage is the closest equivalent. But it’s not quite the same.”
“You said visitors?” Her mind would not comprehend the idea of being married, let alone to Guise, so she turned to something more understandable.
“I had family business. My mother sensed a change in me, and-”
“Your mother is coming here?” Yvonne interrupted, breath running out of her. “Helgiarast se’laj Krejefell, the current star in the Karoan’shae, is coming here?” The Karoan’shae were the corona, ruling the goblin nation, and at their centre was a star. A King, or Queen, in human terms.
“You seem well-informed about my family’s position in the Karoan’shae,” he commented. It sounded like a compliment, from someone who valued secrets and information.
“Your mother is coming here?” she said again, her mind stuck on that one fact. “I’m covered in flour and beetroot juice. There is nothing in this house to serve her. I haven’t cleaned the house.” Her voice had risen in pitch by the end, hysterical, and she closed her mouth against further babbling.
“You are beautiful, mies maisredayenni,” he told her. It was said in the most matter-of-fact tone possible, as if he was commenting that the sky was blue or the grass was green.
She was staring at him, open-mouthed and uncomprehending, when the sounds of carriage wheels drew her attention past his shoulder.
“Your mother is here,” she said. She looked down at herself and, for the first time in a long while, wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Her clothes were old and worn, perfectly appropriate for an afternoon in the kitchen, even though she was also wearing her weapons. She could feel wisps of hair around her face. Her fingers were still tainted pink, despite the quick wash.
Lifting her head, she tried to judge the distance between the carriage and the house, and whether she would get away with using a quick cleansing spell to take the worst of the day’s activities off her person. The carriage was too close, though. And goblins had exceptional eyesight, hearing, and sensitivity to magic. There was no way that whoever was in that carriage would miss her attempt to tidy herself up.
“You are perfect as you are,” Guise told her, in the same matter-of-fact tone.
“Have you hit your head?” she asked. “What have you been drinking?”
His mouth curved up in a smile, eyes shading to gold for a moment before he shook his head. Her breath caught, attention snagging on that gold shade. She had seen that shade before, but could not remember when or where. And then she realised it must have been in the dungeon, in that missing space in her memory.
The carriage drew to a halt before she could follow that thought further. The driver jumped down from his perch, landing lightly on the ground with the grace of a cat. Another goblin. Of course. He was dressed in navy, head to toe, which was an unusual colour but, if she recalled correctly, the house colour of the Krejefell, Guise’s family. He might be a carriage driver, but he was armed, and his beautifully crafted clothes were decorated with enough gold thread to feed her family for a year.
He ignored her, and Guise, going instead to open the carriage door and put out a hand for the occupant to lean on as she descended.
Guise’s mother stepped out of the carriage with the same lithe and easy grace that her son possessed. Doubtless she also excelled at weapons and swordsmanship. She was not dressed for combat, though. Instead, she was dressed in a gown that Yvonne was quite sure would make Mariah’s eyes pop out of her head. All Yvonne could tell was that it was well fitted and of a smoky, pinky grey shade that should have looked strange against the lady’s dark grey skin, but which instead almost glowed in the sunshine.
“You must be Yvonne. I am Helgiarast. I am delighted to meet you.”
Of all the greetings Yvonne might have expected, in the few moments she had been given to realise that Guise’s mother was on her way, this was not at all what she thought would happen. She froze, realising she didn’t know if she was supposed to bow or curtsy, or how she was supposed to address the current star of the Karoan’shae.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” she managed to say. “Be welcome to my house.”
“Mother,” Guise said, his voice dry, “you must have raced all the way here.”
“I was impatient to meet my new daughter,” Helgiarast answered, a light note in her voice that might have suggested playfulness but, which Yvonne was quite sure, was anything but, making her every more wary. The wrong word in the Karoan’shae could get someone killed.
“I regret I did not know that you would be coming,” Yvonne said, with as much grace as she could muster, “so the house is not prepared well for you. But I do have some excellent wine, and I’ve just finished baking, if you’d like to come inside for some refreshment?”
“That would be most pleasant. My lady in waiting can deal with the refreshments, if you will give her directions to the kitchen,” Helgiarast said.
Feeling like a visitor in her own home, Yvonne looked past Helgiarast to find an elderly goblin lady standing patiently by the carriage, awaiting instructions. She gave her a brief description of where to find the kitchen, and then led Helgiarast through the front door of the house and into the house’s sitting room. It was clean, at least, as it was rarely used, but it was a cacophony of mismatched furniture and clashing prints that even Yvonne knew was hardly the sort of thing that Helgiarast was used to.
To her surprise, Guise’s mother looked around the room with an attentive expression on her face and made a low sound.
“Rented properties are so difficult, aren’t they?” she said. “One never knows what one is going to get.”
Yvonne recognised an attempt to put her at ease, in her own house, and had to bite her lip to stop an unexpected smile. She was quite certain that the current star of the Karoan’shae had never done anything as pedestrian as occupy a rented dwelling.
Continuing to display the exquisite manners that were expected of the Karoan’shae houses, Helgiarast somehow managed to allow Yvonne to sit down, with Guise not that far away, and subtly take over so that when her lady in waiting arrived with a tray of refreshments, she was gently dismissed and Yvonne found herself waiting for Helgiarast to reveal the real purpose of her visit.
It took half a glass of wine being consumed by all, and Helgiarast’s effusive compliments on Yvonne’s baking, before the lady approached her point.
“I was so surprised when Guise told me about the bond,” she commented lightly.
In fact, her tone was so light that Yvonne almost missed the real meaning behind the words.
Helgiarast was waiting for a response, but Yvonne thought she was getting the measure of her now. A wrong word now would have implications that Yvonne did not understand. And she still could not remember what had happened. But she knew the effect of it. She and Guise had escaped the locked dungeon, both in one piece, and it had taken the efforts of the entire Hundred to heal her, putting her skull back together. She could afford to take a little bit of time to find out what was going on, and what she wanted or needed to do about it.
