The sword that should’ve been hanging at his belt was gone. He must have left it behind in his hurry to escape from the Standing Stones. Fingers closing into a fist, a weapon of last resort, he squinted into the darkness. Nothing was moving in the reach of the coals’ scant light, but he hadn’t expected to see anything. That thump was one he recognized. It meant someone was entering the cave. Was it possible he had been followed?
Usually, Harish made sure that no one tailed them when the band went back to the caves, keeping careful watch behind them. He had to admit to himself that he had hardly looked back at all. He hadn’t even taken care to make sure not to leave a trail. Most likely, his headlong flight had left signs that any skilled tracker could follow. Well, Harish wasn’t around to yell at him about it now. He had not followed the rules, and he alone would pay for it. At least dying would save him the trouble of figuring out what to do now that he was on his own. The stores in this cave would last a little while, but he had no idea what to do after that. It would be like the old days, alone on the streets with no one to watch his back. It was hard and horrible and he didn’t relish the thought of living like that again. He’d joined the band for a reason.
More thumps. Whoever was coming was not alone, and they were not being quiet. They were talking among themselves, but the echoing of the cave turned their voices into a confused babble. Individual words or voices were impossible to pick out.
Shifting torchlight began to filter into the main chamber, throwing elongated shadows against the floors and walls. Light and dark played on the cave formations in a way that gave him few clues about the torchbearers. Then one of them stepped into the chamber, and stopped, hooded face turned to the young bandit, who stared back. He couldn’t see the man’s face, hidden in the deep shadow of his hood beside the bright light of his torch.
The invader gave a loud guffaw. “HA!” he shouted. “You’ve been cursing Markus all night, Harish, but look, the little weasel’s made dinner!”
The young bandit Markus gasped. “Neal? You...you’re alive.”
The rest of the bandits came in behind Neal. Harish, who Markus could recognize in the poor light because he was so much taller than the others, pointed right back at Markus and snarled. “We’re alive no thanks to you. You left us behind.”
“He can’t be all bad as long as he feeds us, eh, Harish?” Neal said, stroking his close-cropped beard. “What do you say to dinner?”
Harish advanced into the circle of Neal’s torch. His hair hung in stringy tight curls over his dark narrowed eyes. The torchlight accentuated the tight lines in his face and his clenched jaw. Everyone else held back, waiting for Harish’s reaction. He nodded once, sharply, and the others hurried forward to the fire. Harish stood his ground, stroking his blade with one hand and fixing his eye on Markus until the younger man looked away nervously.
“Here,” Jas nudged Markus with his elbow as he swept by toward the fire. Markus was surprised to see Jas had Markus’s own sword and knife. Markus quickly took them and put them away. He didn’t want to seem like he was itching for a fight with Harish. Everyone besides Jas had walked wide around him, leaving him to confront Harish alone. No one was going to defend him. They were acting as though this wasn’t even happening, busying themselves with the dinner Markus had cooked. They were going to leave Markus to whatever Harish decided he deserved. There actually was honor among thieves, and Markus had broken it. Leaving your companions behind and saving your own skin was the kind of thing that could earn a man a black mark, or much worse. Markus saw that Harish still had all of his weapons, and the others had theirs, too. He was curious to know what had happened after he left the Stones...just as soon as Harish calmed down.
Harish stepped up to Markus, close enough that Markus had to fight the urge to drop back, and glared down at him from his much greater height. “You left us. You’re a coward.”
“Sorry,” Markus said.
“Sorry,” Harish growled through gritted teeth. “Doesn’t cut it.” He shoved Markus back hard. As his hand made contact with Markus’s chest there was a snapping sound, like the crackling of sparks from the ruffling of a woolen blanket on a dry day, but louder, accompanied by a blinding flash of light. As his vision cleared Markus saw that Harish was clutching his own hand and grimacing.
“What was that?!” he said. “You zapped me like that lightning girl!”
“It wasn’t me!” Markus protested. But his arm was hot, as hot as if he had plunged it in the boiling pot of stew, though the feeling was quickly fading. He knew his protest lacked the conviction he couldn’t feel even as he insisted, “I didn’t do anything.”
“My hand feels like it’s going to fall off,” Harish said. “You did something.”
“But I didn’t,” Markus shook his head. “I just...” He stopped. “Like that lightning girl. Listen, Harish, it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t her. It wasn’t us. It was that place! Isn’t that the reason we went there? Eldan magic? It was that Eldan knife.”
Harish just stared at him, confusion and anger playing across his face. It was Neal who spoke up from beside the fire, through a mouthful of food. “What knife?”
~
Kiri woke with the light of a full moon on her eyes. She reached out to twitch the curtain closed, but her hand closed on empty air. This was not her room. The window, instead of being right beside her head, was on the opposite wall. She could not remember going to bed. She felt cold, like she had a fever, though she was laying under two thick warm quilts. Her right hand itched. She held it up, and though the moonlight was silver, her hand seemed to be bathed in golden light.
Kiri gasped. She wrestled the covers off herself one-handed and scrambled out of bed, holding her glowing hand out as far from her body as she could manage. Images she had tried to forget flashed dizzyingly before her eyes. Lightning arcing, and the bodies of her enemies, and her mother’s throat blossoming crimson, and the heat in her hand.
Kiri’s breathing picked up, and she knew she was starting to panic. She closed her eyes and took the time to take a few deep breaths, pushing down the terror that demanded she open them right away. When she was calm enough that she could do it as a rational decision she opened her eyes again, and looked back at her hand. It wasn’t glowing, just picking up the light from the window. It was a very bright moon. She must have been imagining things.
Now that she was fully awake, Kiri remembered that she was in Marta’s house, sleeping, at Marta’s insistence, in her own and Eric’s room. Kiri hadn’t wanted to go to bed at all. She wanted to be there to explain herself when the men returned, once they had seen the bodies at the top of the hill. It didn’t make any sense, since she knew her explanation would only sound insane. She was so tired, though, that after bathing and changing into Marta’s spare nightgown, she found she could not resist the pull of sleep. The men must be back by now. They would know, now, what she had done. But if they knew, then why did they let her sleep? A murderer didn’t deserve a good night’s sleep.
No, they let her sleep, here, in the best room, because her mother had died today. She’d died, and they brought her body back.
Kiri found herself overwhelmed by sobs she couldn’t control. She lay down on the bed and put her face in the pillow so she wouldn’t wake the whole house. She cried for a long time. Eventually, still curled around the pillow, she fell asleep.
~
The sun was shining brightly, turning her closed eyelids red. Kiri turned her face away and groggily pulled her blanket over her head. It was so warm. If she pretended she didn’t notice it was morning, then perhaps she could sleep a while longer. There was no point in getting up until Mother called her for breakfast.
Mother.
Kiri’s heart pounded against her ribs. White-knuckled fingers jerked the blanket down. Sitting bolt upright, she stared around the room. Marta’s room in Marta’s house. She was here because Mother was dead. Mother was murdered.
Murder. Kiri opened her right hand and held it inches away from her face. It was glowing, faintly, very faintly, like there was a light behind it. Shifting her hand into a beam of sun and back into shadow, the glow remained.
Kiri flattened her palm to the covers and breathed deep to try to calm herself. Some clothes neatly laid out on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed caught her eye. It was her own dress and apron, even her own underclothes. It had been kind of someone to get them for her. They must have walked all the way to her house to fetch them. It made her feel a little guilty that someone would have gone to the trouble. Surely, she could have gotten her own clothes, or just put on what she had worn yesterday.
No, she couldn’t wear those clothes. Kiri flinched, thinking of the blood. She could never wear those clothes again. Someone had taken them off of her last night and replaced them with the nightgown she wore now. It wasn’t hers and she didn’t remember putting it on. The idea that Marta must’ve dressed her like a doll was embarrassing.
The dress still waited at the end of the bed. It was morning. That meant time to put on clothes. Kiri moved slowly. She did up every bow with deliberate care. When she was dressed, she folded the nightgown and placed it on top of the chest. The whole time she was getting ready she could hear voices and the sounds of people moving about the house, but would not think about it. First she would get dressed, then worry about facing other people.
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Finally there was nothing left to do in the room, and no more excuses not to go down to breakfast. They might be keeping breakfast for her. It would be rude to keep them waiting.
The sounds doubled in volume as soon as she opened the door. Her feet hesitated on the threshold. It was as if the weight of everyone just being there was pushing her back. They must have gathered here in grief, but no one sounded sad. It sounded the same as a house might when filled with guests for a wedding feast. Kiri recognized Mala’s and Garon’s father Kerklin’s booming laugh rising above the general din. Kiri felt she didn’t belong with that. She wanted to turn and run back to the bed and hide under the covers.
Nevertheless, it was time to eat breakfast. She didn’t feel hungry. In fact, her stomach felt heavy. But it was time for breakfast. Mother was dead, and it was time to eat. Kiri’s resolve lasted to the bottom of the stairs, but then found herself stumped by the kitchen door. She didn’t want to open it. She didn’t want to face the sympathy of the people on the other side, and hear their voices suddenly hush as she stepped in. But then she heard footsteps on the stairs behind her, and it would be worse to be found standing staring at a door, so she went in.
No one suddenly fell silent, but there was a hitch in Eric’s voice as he kept on with whatever he was saying. Many of the people at the crowded table looked sideways at her, but none met her eyes.
Marta stepped in front of Kiri and smiled pleasantly enough, though her eyes were studying Kiri’s face. “Morning, dear,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
Kiri dropped her eyes, not wanting to meet Marta’s, and nodded.
One of Marta’s sons hopped up from his chair and cleared his space.
“Oh,” Kiri said. “Go ahead and finish. I can stand.”
“I can’t fit in another bite. You have a go,” he nodded at Kiri, who was trying to decide if he meant it. It was awkward being waited on or treated any differently than she would have if it weren’t for...things.
“It’s all right, Kiri,” he said. “Go ahead.”
Kiri tried to smile thanks as she slipped into the chair, but her lips would only slightly twitch.
Everyone had forgotten to pretend things were normal. Kiri’s eyes flicked from face to face. They were all watching her, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say
“I’ve never known one of my sons to be full before,” Marta said, covering Kiri’s silence.
“Aye, and I’ve never known you to serve such tough bread before,” Eric said. “Likely his jaws gave out.”
Marta swatted him with her serving spoon and set a full plate in front of Kiri.
There was porridge, topped with a fried egg, and two thick slices of bread. There was a honeypot in the center of the table, but Kiri didn’t ask for it. She chewed at a corner of the bread, hoping no one would expect her to talk if her mouth was full.
“Careful, Eric. After what happened to Old Thom, I wouldn’t dare insult a woman’s cooking,” a voice at the far end of the table said. Kiri realized with surprise that it was Garon. She couldn’t see him behind Eric’s vast bulk.
“Poor Old Thom,” Eric said. “He complains he still can’t taste proper. But I didn’t say it was bland. Marta’s got no reason to be puttin’ peppers in my food.”
“No,” Garon’s father Kerklin said. “Just tough. I reckon she could put something soft in for you. Feathers, maybe.”
“Hey, there,” Eric said.“Don’t be giving her any ideas.”
Kiri put down her bread. It was indeed very tough. She picked up her spoon and stirred her porridge, watching it slowly fill the valleys her spoon left behind.
“Now then, now that Kiri’s up, it must be said,” Eric cleared his throat. “We brought your mother back to your sister’s house.”
It took Kiri a moment to drag her eyes away from her porridge and focus on his face.
“No sign of the bandits, I’m afraid,” he said. “There wasn’t likely to be.”
Kiri’s spoon dropped into her porridge and her hand hovered, empty, in midair. Eric’s face looked sympathetic.
“We’ll take you over there after breakfast” he said. “So you can be with your family.”
Kiri ran her hand over face. Eric kept talking, but his words didn’t penetrate the spinning in her head. How, how, could there have been no sign of the bandits? They were dead! Weren’t they? She gripped the edge of the table, trying to anchor her mind with the solid wood. No bodies. That meant...that had to mean. Were they never dead? Kiri could feel Marta’s hand on her back, and all at once her spinning thoughts stopped. If they were dead, or if they weren’t, her mother was gone. And that was what Marta’s hand meant. She was comforting Kiri, because her mother was dead. She should be with her sisters. They would need her.
“Yes,” Kiri said in a small voice. “I’ll go after breakfast.”
~
The sun had been covered by clouds while they ate, and now the day was gray and wet. Heavy sheets of rain fell on the ground without a hint of wind to stir them, turning the dirt lanes of the village to mud. Kiri and Marta hurried through the rain. Marta was cloaked and hooded. Kiri had refused to borrow Marta’s old cloak. It was so long she would have had to hitch it up to keep it from dragging in the mud, and it didn't seem worth the trouble.
Marta and Eric’s home was at the outskirts of the village, but Westfall Village was small, much smaller than the town of Westbridge near the manor. It was less than a mile’s walk to Kiri’s family’s home above their shop on the village square. It seemed much farther in the rain. The only dry spot along the entire walk was when they went under the thick canopy of the oak in the square, so Kiri was soaked by the time they reached the shop.
“Kiri!” Mathilda made a beeline for her the second she stepped in the door. “Look at you! You look like a drowned cat. I should have brought your cloak over for you.”
So it had been Mathilda who brought the clothes. Kiri set her basket down on the floor so she could push her dripping hair out of her eyes. She didn’t want to think about what she looked like, though drowned cat was probably fair. It had been a mistake not to borrow the cloak. “Hello, Mathilda,” she muttered. “Good morning.”
Mathilda snapped up Kiri’s basket and wiped up the small puddle of water it had left on the floor. Kiri had no idea where she had gotten the rag. It seemed to appear in her hand whenever she needed it. Kiri couldn’t have found one if she’d wanted to. There had to be one in the shop…somewhere. The nearest place she could think where they were kept was the kitchen.
“Oh, sorry,” Kiri said.
Mathilda didn’t look at her, just took the basket and the one from Marta’s hands and bustled off through the door to the back of the store, probably to put them back where they belonged. Mathilda would not tolerate an item not currently in use not being put back where it belonged.
Kiri looked around sheepishly. Two of her other sisters, Ani and Yalisa, along with their husbands, were sitting at the table on the far side of the counter. They greeted each other and Ani got to her feet.
“We’d best get some dry clothes on you before she gets back,” she said, coming around the counter. “I’ll come with you.”
“I’ll be heading home, then,” Marta said. “I’ll be bringing some bread at dinner time.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Ani said.
“It’s no trouble,” Marta said. “You folks take care of yourself. Kiri.” She patted Kiri on the shoulder and left.
There was a narrow staircase tucked around the corner behind the barrels that led upstairs to the family’s rooms. The hall ran along the back of the house and four bedrooms opened off of it. Each door was firmly shut. The other wall didn’t have any doors. Mother displayed her art on this wall, rough paintings of each of her many daughters, and the one son who had died as a baby. She had painted them over the course of years, saving up to buy the paint and canvas from the artists that occasionally visited the manor. Kiri’s was the last door on the long hallway. She didn’t dare look into any of the rooms they passed. She didn’t want Barden to spot her looking like this.
When threw open the door to her room she was so surprised by what she saw that she halted on the threshold. How had she forgotten? The wardrobe stood open and empty, the slim wooden bed was stripped. At its foot there was an open trunk, stuffed full of everything Kiri owned. She’d been packing to leave.
Ani moved around Kiri and started digging in the trunk.
“Close the door,” she said. “Let’s get those wet things off.”
Kiri kicked the door closed. “Here.” She darted forward to pull her simplest dress out of the trunk.
“You’ll need underclothes.” Ani continued to dig through Kiri’s things.
Kiri rolled her eyes, but quickly found enough clothes that Ani was satisfied. While she changed, Ani sat on the bare bed.
“Could you tell me what happened, Kiri?” Ani asked. “I know you don’t want to talk about it...it’s just...I need to know.”
Kiri was grateful that changing out of her wet clothes spared her having to look Ani in the eyes. She told the story quickly, telling the same lie she’d told before that she had managed to run away instead of fleeing up the pillar. By the end of her account, both girls were sitting on the bed dabbing at their eyes with hankies Ani retrieved from the trunk.
“Thank you for telling me,” Ani said. “If you don’t want to talk about it anymore, I can make sure everyone else can learn the truth with you having to do this again.”
“Thanks,” Kiri whispered. The truth...She clenched her hand in a fist around her hankie and felt it immediately begin to heat up. Alarmed, she flattened her fingers against her skirt, but a tiny curl of smoke escaped. She looked at Ani, but her sister was blowing her nose and didn’t seem to have noticed anything. This time carefully not clenching her hand, Kiri pushed the hankie into her pocket and jerked up to her feet. Ani looked up, startled.
“I’ve...uh,” Kiri looked around. “I’ve got to fix my hair.” And she scuttled over to the trunk. While digging in the trunk with her left hand, she studied the palm of the other. The glow was bright. There was no mistaking it for a stray sunbeam. Her fingers found the two leather items she was looking for.
“Gloves?” Ani asked. “I thought you were getting your hairbrush.”
“Right.” The gloves came first, though, and it wasn’t until Kiri had pulled them on and covered the glow that she could even think about her hair. She finger-combed it and twisted it into a bun. Then she found two hairpins from the trunk and stuck those in. “There. Fixed.”
Her sister clucked her tongue. “Kiri, you’re ridiculous.” Ani picked Kiri’s brush up. It was right on top of the jumbled mess in the trunk. Kiri wondered why she hadn’t noticed it there.
Ani pulled the pins out of Kiri’s hair and held them in her mouth while she carefully brushed out Kiri’s hair and braided it. She wrapped the braid into a tidy knot and fastened it with the pins.
“Fine,” Kiri said. “Now let’s go back down before Mathilda comes looking for us.”