Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Fortuneteller

‘You!’

‘Me.’ the hunchback agreed, leaning on a staff knotted like old rope. The fire glimmered. Outside, rain was whispering against the thatching, steaming against the smoke.

‘What is he… I don’t understand…’

Shadows shifted, and the door fell shut behind them. The fortuneteller stared back at him over the flames, eyes flashing. The light carved deep valleys into his hideous, twisted face, and his tangled hair gleamed blackly. Ren’s feet felt suddenly unsteady.

‘Easy, Ren.’ his grandfather murmured, holding his shoulder.

‘But, why? He’s the one that brought them here!’

‘What are you talking about?’ his grandmother whispered from her place beside the fire. Beside her, the old hound snuffled, snuffled, recoiling clumsily from the broad shadow on the other side of the hearth.

‘I… I saw him. In Overwood.’ Ren stammered, fire in his cheeks. ‘A mask on fire, you said. You knew! You’re one of them!’

‘I told your fortune, boy.’ the fortuneteller told him. ‘I saw a mask. I don’t wear one.’

‘But, why, then…’

‘A little more gratitude, boy.’ the hunchback leaned into the firelight, and his knotted staff gleamed red with blood. ‘They’d have you if not for me.’

A Brother. Crumpled. Dead. Leaking blood into the dirt.

‘It was you!’

‘It was. How many torches did you count, boy? A dozen? Two?’ the fortuneteller’s eyes flashed, and his voice rumbled. ‘Where do you think they went?’

‘What about Hector?’ Ren demanded. ‘They killed him!’

‘Nothing I could do.’ the hunchback replied, looking into the flames. ‘Old fool walked right up to them.’

‘Nothing you could do?’ Ren spat. ‘He was trying to protect us!’

‘And he failed, boy. I didn’t.’

Ren felt heat in his cheeks. ‘Why were they here? What did they want?’

‘Looking for you, boy. And others like you.’ the fortuneteller stared back at him darkly, ruined face twisting. ‘The Black Hand has a long arm.’

‘The other boys are all accounted for.’ his grandfather said softly. Ren frowned. Trin. Seril. Tomon. Brothers out for blood.

‘You’re a Greycloak, then?’

‘Would that be so bad?’

‘I… I don’t understand.’ Ren gritted his jaw, frowning. He looked at his grandmother, but she looked away, frowning, tears on her cheeks. ‘Who are you?’

‘A friend of a friend.’ the fortuneteller replied, meeting his eye. ‘Asked me to keep an eye on the place whilst he was away.’

‘The old man.’ Ren murmured.

‘One of them.’ The twisted little man leered back at him from the edge of the firelight. Ren almost retched again. His vision blurred, and his legs went weak, swaying. His grandfather caught him by the shoulders, keeping him upright.

‘Ren-’

‘You say you know the old man?’ Ren demanded, clinging to his grandfather’s arm. ‘Then you’d know he’s not welcome here.’

‘What are you talking about?’ his grandmother asked him, frowning.

‘It’s not just the other farmers. I see the way you look at him.’ Ren told her, scowling. ‘Like he doesn’t belong. Like you’re angry.’

His grandmother’s frown deepened, but she did not reply.

‘You see?’ Ren said went on, looking back at the hunchback at the edge of the firelight. ‘We don’t trust him. Why should we trust you?’

‘Trust whoever you want, boy, but he did send me.’

‘What would he want with you?’

‘I didn’t scare off the Brothers with my smile.’ The firelight surged and creased against the hunchback’s ruined face, and his eyes flashed. ‘Think what you want of that old man of yours, but I was a friend to your mother, once, and I’ll be friend to you, too, if you’ll let me.’

Silence. Ren shrugged off his grandfather’s hand, pushing himself upright. Clouds full of fire. Shadows with faces. Tamla looked at Derin, lips pursed, then back at the hunchback beside the fire.

‘You’re sure they’ll be back?’ she said quietly.

‘They always come back.’ the hunchback told her. ‘It is time.’

Tamla looked back at her husband again, and he frowned, moustache twitching. Ren looked at him, then back at his grandmother. Neither of them would meet his eye.

‘What are you saying? Time for what?’

‘The Brothers will be back, Ren.’ his grandmother told him, meeting his eye. ‘You aren’t safe here.’

‘You’re saying we have to leave?’ Ren stared at her incredulously. ‘This is our home. Where would we go?’

She looked away, holding a hand to her mouth. His grandfather looked at the floor. The fortuneteller watched him over the flames, ruined face full of shadow.

‘You misunderstand, boy.’ he said, voice rumbling like a wagon wheel. ‘I travel fast, and light. I can take only one passenger.’

Ren's eyes widened. ‘You can't...’ He looked at his grandparents, each in turn, grabbing at them. ‘You wouldn't let him!’

‘They come for boys, Ren, not old folk.’ his grandfather said quietly. ‘You aren’t safe here.’

‘He’s right, Ren.’ his grandmother told him, fresh tears in her eyes. ‘You’ll be safer with him.’

‘Safer?’ Ren replied, casting dark eyes over the fire. ‘I don't even know him! He’s a liar! A freak!’

The hunchback stared back at him from beside the fire, breath rasping through his ruined lips.

‘Sticks and stones, boy. I've been called far worse, by far worse than you.’

‘So you’ll take me, instead of them?’ Heat filled his cheeks, and his head ached. ‘A Greycloak, instead of the Brothers? One group of madmen for another?’

‘I never said I was a Greycloak, boy.’ the fortuneteller told him. ‘And the Cursed Ones are not the Brothers, no matter what the ignorant whisper.’

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Ren looked away into the dark, half angry, half ashamed. The heat was fading from his cheeks, and the ache in his temples was spent. His grandmother was beside him, taking his hand in hers.

‘But know this, boy.’ the fortuneteller continued. He looked up, and his golden eyes gleamed. ‘I will not harm you, and no harm will come to you whilst you are in my care. That is my word.’

Ren stared at him. His grandmother silently lay her head against his shoulder. His grandfather looked away into the fire. The old hound had slumped again onto its haunches, dozing indifferently.

‘Make your preparations.’ the hunchback told him, shifting his twisted staff. ‘We leave tonight.’

*

It was dark in his bedroom. Outside, the rain had stopped falling, and a beam of silver moonlight filtered down through the rafters. The fire was gone, and with it, the sounds of terror it had brought. No roar of flames. No more shouting. No more screams. From his small bedroom, with its narrow, sightless window, the farm might have been the same as it always had been. But he knew better. Some things cannot be undone, and all beginnings must find their end.

His things were laid out on top of his cot. A few grass-stained shirts. A spare cloak, patched at the hem. A pair of woolen trousers, worn bare at the knees. His pocket-knife, barely longer than a thumb. An old waterskin. Not as much as he’d been expecting. It all looked very bare, laid out together in the pale moonlight. All he had to keep.

The rest he would have to leave behind. There was a pack of cards his grandmother had bought him from a travelling tinker, warriors and kings and Chosen etched across them in black ink. Some of his grandfather’s books, stacked in a neat pile of worn leather on his bed beside the map, half-empty and mysterious. A little box of toy soldiers, polished smooth with use. He picked it up and lay it on the cot beside the rest, opening the lid, then knelt down and reached inside, picking one of the wooden figures up. He stared at it, turning it over in his hand. It was smaller than one of his fingers.

‘I remember when I brought you those.’ his grandfather said quietly. Ren turned. He was standing beside the door, looking back at him, grey hair turned silver in the moonlight. ‘Didn’t put them down for days.’

Ren smiled. He put the figure back in the box, slipping the lid closed.

‘Feels like a long time ago, now.’

‘It was. You were younger, then. Young enough to keep you from exploring.’

‘What about now?’ Ren asked him, staring up at him.

‘I gave up the fight long ago.’ his grandfather murmured. He coughed into his hand, choking on his own breath, and Ren was on his feet, hand on his shoulder. He looked so tired, so old, shriveled in around himself, emptied out. Like an old waterskin, so spent the leather had sagged into folds deep as riverbeds. Standing beside him, now, Ren realised how small he was.

‘I can’t… I can’t leave you.’ Ren told him quietly, staring at him. ‘You’re sick. You need me.’

‘I’m fine.’ he protested weakly, shrugging off his hands.

‘No, you’re not.’ Ren told him. ‘You’re not well. I can’t leave you like this.’

‘Enough, boy!’ his grandfather shouted suddenly, straightening to face him. ‘I won’t let you die here with me!’

They stared at each other for a long moment, frozen. Then the old man’s shoulders sagged in around his chest, and he crumpled, wheezing. Ren helped him over to the cot, and sat down beside him, arm around his slumped shoulders. They sat there for a while in silence, neither quite ready to break it.

‘I don’t want to go.’ he said at last, staring at the floor.

His grandfather squeezed his shoulder.

‘I know.’ he said softly. ‘But it’s what you always wanted. To see what’s out there.’

Ren looked at the map lying on the bed beside them. Mountains, seas, rivers, towers. What would he have seen, the next time he saw his grandparents?

‘Not like this.’ Ren whispered, frowning. Derin watched him sadly.

‘None of us wanted it to happen like this.’ his grandfather said quietly. ‘But you were never going to be here forever. Your grandmother and I always knew that. The time we had was… It was more than we could have hoped for. A gift.’

They fell silent for a moment. Ren stared down at the cot, at the little assortment of spare clothes and ancient oddments scattered over the sheets. He frowned.

‘I spoke to him, before…’ he said. ‘Hector, I mean.’

‘I know.’ his grandfather said softly.

‘I… I asked about the night I was born. The night mother died.’

His grandfather looked away. Ren swallowed.

‘He said… the screams… the old man was there.’

‘Now, listen to me, Ren. I don’t know what Hector thought he saw.’ Derin told him, looking back at him seriously. ‘But if he could have saved her, he would have.’ he hesitated, frowning. ‘He… he is a friend. You can trust him.’

‘What about… him?’ Ren asked, looked down towards the stairs.

‘Looks can be deceiving. The friend of my friend is always welcome at my hearth. The old man trusts him, and so should you.’

Ren looked back at the cot. Outside, the wind moved softly over the thatching, whispering. The nightglass pendant was cold against his neck.

‘I wish I could have known her.’

‘Me too.’ Derin said softly. He cupped his hand around Ren’s chin, looking him in the eye. ‘But she loved you more than you’ll ever know. Gave you everything she had, just to be here.’

‘Just like you and grandmother.’ Ren said softly, and his grandfather smiled. He looked around the small room, tracing the silver beams of moonlight over the low rafters.

‘Do you remember what I used to sing to you, when you were younger?’

‘When I couldn’t sleep.’ Ren murmured, remembering.

‘You could never sleep.’ his grandfather replied quietly, smiling. ‘Do you remember how it went?’

Ren looked away through the narrow window, frowning.

‘You… You are my sunlight.’ he murmured.

‘My only sunlight.’ his grandfather finished, moustache quivering. And he put his arms around his shoulders, hugging him close. Ren set his jaw, and water filled his eyes. When his grandfather drew back, his eyes looked very old, tired, and they were gleaming with tears. He got to his feet, smiling, and wiped at them awkwardly.

‘We’ll be waiting for you, when you’re ready.’

It was quiet when he was gone. Ren stared down at his cot for a little while longer. Then he stuffed the spare clothes into his sack, tying it shut, and stared at the little box of toy warriors for a time, watching the silver moonlight play across the wood. Then he reached down, tucking one of them in with the rest of his things, and slung the sack over his shoulder, heading for the door.

*

The fortuneteller was leaning against his knotted staff beside the door when Ren came down the stairs. His grandfather was sitting in his armchair, staring tiredly into the flickering firelight. His grandmother was pacing back and forth, wringing her hands. He stood looking down at them for a long moment. Looking at all of it. The familiar sag of the weary walls, the glow of the hearth, the old hound merging lazily into one of the many rugs. Home. But, though it was quiet outside the door, he knew the farm beyond was changed. More than he could undo. Everything was different now. Suddenly, all at once, but now he could see it, the changes were strangely familiar. Part of him had known this was coming. Like a mug, just now overfilled, spilling at last over the rim. So he came down towards the gleam of the fire, taking care not to avoid the creaking third stair, and his grandparent’s eyes watched him, full of half-shed tears.

‘About time, boy.’ the hunchback grumbled.

‘We cannot wait till morning?’ Ren asked hopefully.

‘Tonight. Before anyone knows you are gone.'

‘Why?’

‘We must be far from here by dawn.’ the twisted man replied, scratching at his tangled beard. ‘Or we'll have Brothers on our tail.’

Derin looked up from his place beside the fire, frowning. ‘These are good people here. No one will talk.’

‘Fear makes all men cruel.’

Ren stared back at the twisted little man, frowning. ‘I still don’t know where we’re going.’

‘Away from here. That is all that matters.’

‘Not to me.’

The hunchback stared at him, eyes flashing gold, and he stared back, unflinching.

‘Have it your way, boy.’ he grumbled. ‘I have an errand to run, and you’ll be running it with me. A delivery, of sorts. We’ve a long way to go, before it’s done. After that, we will see.’

‘You said you knew the old man?’

‘Better than anyone living.’

‘You’re taking me to him?’

‘That old goat’s got his own worries, right now.’ the fortuneteller told him.

Ren scowled. ‘Riddles. Thought you were done playing the tinker.’

‘That mask has its uses.’ he replied dryly, smiling a ruined smile that made Ren flinch. He looked at Derin. ‘You have the horses?’

‘Tied up behind the house. A couple that won’t be missed.’

‘Then it is time.’ The fortuneteller wrapped both hands around his staff. ‘Say your goodbyes, boy.’

Ren stood at the bottom of the stairs, hesitating. The room lay frozen for a moment, wrapped in the quiet waiting of their reluctant parting. Then his grandmother gave a sob, rushing towards him and burying her head in his chest. Ren held her close, a knot caught in his throat.

‘Be safe.’ she murmured into his chest. ‘Promise me.’

‘I promise.’ he told her, squeezing her shoulders. They stood there for a long moment, holding each other. Then she pulled herself away from him, sniffing, tears streaming down her quivering cheeks. She looked over her shoulder at her husband, smiling sadly.

‘I’ll look after him.’ she told him earnestly. ‘Don’t you worry about us. We’ll be alright. There’s enough out there for you to worry about, without that.’

She smiled at him, and he smiled back, nodding. His grandfather was beside her, then. He pointed at the teardrop of nightglass hanging over Ren’s chest, meeting his eye.

‘Your mother left that for you.’ he told his grandson. ‘Don’t ever lose it.’

‘I won’t.’ Ren promised. He hugged them both to his chest, breathing in the closeness of them, safe and warm in the way only family can be. Then he stepped back, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

‘Keep him safe.’ his grandmother told the fortuneteller. The hunchback nodded.

‘You have my word.’

Ren was staring at his grandparents. There were tears on his cheeks.

‘Be good.’ his grandfather told him, sad and tired and familiar beyond measure. He nodded. They stood there, watching him, arm in arm. Together. He realized, then, how little he had looked for that, and how often it had been there.

‘I’ll come back.’ he told them.

His grandfather smiled, and his whiskers twitched.

‘We know.’

Then he turned and followed the fortuneteller out into the night, and they watched him go, frozen forever in the amber light of the doorway.