Witchsign. Den Patrick

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      ‘The thing is,’ said Marek after a pause, ‘the children sent to the island aren’t executed.’

      ‘At least we don’t think so,’ said Verner.

      ‘I can’t go to the island,’ said Steiner. ‘What will happen to me once I get there?’

      Marek looked to Verner and the fisherman shrugged. ‘We don’t know.’

      ‘We’ve been trying to get someone sympathetic to the Scorched Republics on the island for years,’ said Verner.

      ‘So you are spies then,’ said Steiner.

      ‘Steiner.’ Verner said his name so softly it had the tone of apology. ‘This is terrible, but it’s also an opportunity. You could be the person we need to infiltrate the island.’

      Steiner stared at his uncle and shook his head. ‘All this time I thought I knew you, and now you’d send me off to Vladibogdan without a second thought.’

      He turned on his father and stabbed out an accusing finger. ‘And you’re supposed to protect me. Aren’t parents meant to protect their children? Some father you are.’

      ‘I never wanted this for you,’ said Marek, but his voice broke and he looked away.

      ‘Steiner,’ said Kjellrunn, ‘just hear them out.’

      ‘Because that would suit you perfectly, wouldn’t it? Sacrifice me so you’re spared whatever happens on the island.’

      ‘She can’t go to the island,’ said Marek. ‘If she’s forced to use her power for the Empire …’

      ‘What? What is it you know?’ asked Steiner, stepping closer.

      ‘Using the arcane burns people up,’ said Verner. ‘It hollows them out, renders them sick and useless. It’s like fire with coal and wood.’

      ‘Kjell will die,’ said Marek, though it barely needed saying.

      ‘And you think they won’t kill me the moment I fail to …’ Steiner waved a hand, unsure what he was gesturing. They all knew he meant displaying the arcane.

      ‘You can’t go to the island, Kjell,’ said Marek. ‘No good will come of it.’

      ‘Even if we did tell the Vigilants about Kjell–’ Verner shook his head. ‘They’d likely take both of you. A Vigilant can’t be seen to make a mistake.’

      ‘I’m glad you three are in agreement then,’ said Steiner bitterly. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to make the most of my last few hours of freedom.’

      Kristofine stood on the front step of the tavern, and once again she favoured Steiner with a smile, though the sadness in her eyes could not be missed.

      ‘Hoy there, Steiner.’

      ‘Hoy yourself. I suppose you’ve heard the news?’

      She nodded and sighed.

      ‘Will you let me in? I fancy drinking my cares away, though I fear they’ll still be here come morning.’

      ‘I can’t. Father said the other patrons would leave.’

      ‘I don’t have witchsign,’ he grunted. ‘There’s been a mistake.’

      Kristofine nodded again but she didn’t move. ‘He said you might say that. Why not stay home with your family?’

      ‘We had a fight.’ Steiner looked away, and for a moment he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the words for the way he felt about Kjellrunn, Verner and Marek.

      Kristofine stepped forward and laid one hand against his arm. ’Why don’t you get comfortable in the stable?’ she said, breaking his introspection. ‘I’ll bring a jug of mead out to you?’

      ‘I’m not going to drink in the stable. I don’t have the witchsign and I’m not a horse.’

      ‘It’s drinking in the stable or no drinking at all. Now get in there and don’t let anyone see you.’

      Steiner gave a reluctant nod. He slunk around the outside of tavern in a daze; the stable was a ramshackle wooden building that squatted like a beggar at the rear of the building. The raucous voices from inside drew Steiner’s attention; for a moment he fancied he could hear his name. His eyes lingered on the light that glowed from beneath a shuttered window. He savoured the smells of old beer and the straw strewn on the ground, listened keenly for the rise and swell of laughter and the low din of conversation. Small chance there’d be any such comforts on the island.

      Steiner slipped through the stable door and found an empty stall. Kristofine had prepared in advance; two stools with a lantern and two tankards awaited them. An old horse blanket had been laid over the straw. She snuck into the stall behind him with a clay jug of mead and a mischievous smile.

      ‘I notice there are two tankards,’ said Steiner.

      ‘It’s a bad habit to drink alone,’ she replied, nestling on the blanket.

      Steiner looked at her. ‘Why do you care? Why do all this for me?’

      ‘All that time we had at school and I was too shy to talk to you. As we got older I worried about what the other girls would say.’

      ‘Because I can’t read,’ said Steiner, feeling the old shame.

      Kristofine shook her head and ignored his interruption. ‘Now you’re going, and I realize I should never have let shyness or people or anything else stop me from talking to you.’

      ‘But tonight? And me with witchsign and all.’

      ‘What’s it like?’

      ‘What is what like?’ Steiner frowned.

      ‘The witchsign, of course. What powers do you have?’

      Steiner gave a resigned chuckle and pressed a callused palm to his forehead. For a moment he thought he might give in to despairing tears. He closed his eyes tight to spare himself crying in front of Kristofine. He felt her warm hand on his, slowly prising his fingers away from his face.

      ‘Fewer questions, more drinking,’ she said and began to pour.

      ‘I don’t have the witchsign, I promise you. It’s that damned Hierarch and—’ But anything else he wanted to say was silenced as she pressed her lips to his.

      ‘I believe you,’ she said when the kiss was done. Steiner put aside all thoughts of Vladibogdan, the Synod and the Empire, determined he should have this last night for himself.

       CHAPTER FIVE

       Kjellrunn СКАЧАТЬ