Brinlin Isle Read online

  Chapter 7

  The storm had moved on. Outside the drawing room windows, the sky was lit with a false dawn. The air was bright and fresh, the fog as thin as it ever got. Late light spilled into the room, drenching the furniture in rich afternoon tones.

  It was several hours since they’d left the warmlake. Embriem had squelched back through the driving rain, dirty and soaked, never taking his eyes off his son. They’d encountered no one. When they’d reached the house at last, he’d been relieved to find it empty. There would be a reckoning with the rector later. So much to explain. But for now, all Embriem wanted was to see his son safe, clean, and dry.

  And alive. Tassin was alive. He was not only alive, he was shining with vitality. He chattered the whole way back from the lake, rattling off question after question Embriem was unable to answer.

  Embriem felt it too, a new undercurrent of life. Where the hunger had been before—a living, gnawing, drain—he now felt instead a vast well of energy. It was to do with Nel. He knew that much at least. As he walked, keeping an eye on Tassin, he cradled the brinlin’s small, perfect body in his cupped hand.

  They’d split up when they left the lakeshore. Embriem, Tassin and Marim heading for Embriem’s house, Vailria promising to join them there once the storm passed. Tok, she’d explained, needed some time in the water.

  Now, the sun was falling. Embriem had requested a large meal, which he and Tassin had eaten together, ignoring the startled looks of Secha and Baret. Now, the two of them sat in the drawing room, waiting for Marim and Vailria.

  The latter arrived first. Embriem heard the distant sound of her knock. A moment later, the tall woman stepped into the drawing room. Down by the warmlake in her wet clothing, she’d had a wild, desperate look about her. Now, she was composed, dressed in her neat woolen dress. Her gray-shot hair was dry and tidy. Embriem understood the collar now. It allowed her brinlin to ride within, concealed and warmed against the skin of her throat.

  As Vailria stepped into the room, Embriem turned with eager relief. His mind felt clear for the first time in days. He had so many questions. Was Tassin out of danger? Were he and his son like the Tessilari now, capable of wielding magics? How much time would their brinlin need to spend in the lake? Why did no one else on Cynnes Tarth know this could happen?

  The questions swarmed in Embriem’s mind, so many he couldn’t get a single one out. Vailria proceeded forward. She crossed the great space, her soft shoes making no noise on the polished floor. As she neared, Embriem felt some of his happy anticipation fade. There was something in her expression that made him draw back a step.

  She stopped a few paces away, glancing from Embriem to Tassin and back again. Tassin was seated on the floor, his brinlin perched on his finger. The tiny animal was stretched out in splendid contentment, absorbing the heat of Tassin’s skin. Tassin was speaking to it in a low, excited stream of words. He’d been doing this ever since they’d left the dining room.

  Embriem thought he understood. He felt a similar fascination with Nel, only his mind was too full of questions and ideas to focus on her in the same way. He gestured towards his son. “Is this normal?”

  Vailria’s steady gaze locked onto his. For a moment, Embriem almost remembered something. It was an old memory, dim with the passage of time. He seemed to be standing by the great forest, looking at Vailria, who was staring at him with her glittering eyes. He had just done something, something remarkable, something he was very proud of. He couldn’t remember what, and Vailria was stepping forward, she was extending her hand.

  She did the same thing now, speaking as she approached. “Embriem.” There was a note of command in her voice. “We need to go.”

  Her hand settled onto his: a gentle touch. He felt an urge to pull back, to jerk away, but it faded as a soothing warmth seemed to flow into him. He had no reason not to trust Vailria. After all, she’d helped save his son’s life.

  “Go pack.” The note of command was distinct now. “Bring only what you can easily carry.”

  The warmth bloomed past Embriem’s hand, moving slowly through his body. He heard an angry chittering sound. Was that Nel? He wanted to turn his head, to look at his brinlin and see what she was upset about, but he couldn’t look away from Vailria’s eyes.

  She was right, he realized with a dawning sense of certainty. He must pack. They must go.

  He was on the verge of compliance. He would take his son and hurry to their rooms. He would give Tassin his old leather bag, he decided, and he himself would carry his trading pack. He was seconds away from internalizing Vailria’s command when Marim burst into the room.

  The girl’s entrance was a shock, not the least because of her appearance. Where Vailria looked cool and composed, Marim was disheveled. Hair wild, the bruises on her throat standing out in stark contrast against her white skin, she flew into the room like an enraged banshee. Kix, small again, was an electric speck on the air. He flew straight towards Vailria and Embriem’s joined hands.

  “What are you doing?” Marim’s voice was raw. She charged across the floor. She hadn’t changed her clothing. Her dress was wet and there were creases on her face, as if she’d just woken from a deep sleep.

  Kix, hissing, made as if to attack Vailria’s hand. The woman snatched it back with a quick intake of breath.

  The spell broke. There was a strange dip in Embriem’s mind, like a bell ringing under water. The conviction he must pack, they must go, fizzled away and became nonsense.

  Marim hurried forward, full of enraged energy. “What are you doing?” she said again. Her voice was shaking, full of rage. “You put me to sleep, somehow. You would have bewitched them into following you. You would have left me alone here if Kix hadn’t managed to wake me up.”

  ✣

  Marim’s head felt muzzy with sleep. She was chilled from her wet dress. Her throat was so stiff and sore she could hardly swallow. She felt stale and disheveled and she was painfully aware of the contrast between her and Vailria as they stood facing each other in the drawing room.

  Marim had no doubt she looked like a lunatic, but she was too shaken, too shocked, to care. Never in her life, in all her years at the academy, had anyone ever manipulated her with magic.

  She could feel the residue of the spell clinging to her. It was sticky, hard to shake off. She remembered the walk home, following Embriem and his son through the downpour. When they’d parted ways with Vailria, the older woman had reached out, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. They’d separated. Marim and Embriem and gone on. She’d grown more tired with every step, but that was hardly surprising, given all she’d been through.

  Back at the house, she’d told Embriem she was going to wash up and change, but she’d barely managed to remove her sodden boots before collapsing onto the bed.

  She’d woken later to the feeling of Kix’s desperation. He was worrying her hand, nuzzling and pawing at it. He’d returned to his normal size when they left the lake, but she could feel the sense of urgency in him. She needed to wake up. She needed to go downstairs. Something was happening.

  Now, facing Vailria, she wasn’t sure she’d ever been so furious in her life. She felt foolish. Worse, she felt betrayed. Weren’t they on the same side? Hadn’t they worked together to save Embriem and Tassin?

  Vailria said nothing. She faced Marim, seeming to weigh her with her gaze. Her brinlin was visible, peeping out from behind her collar, chattering with agitation. Marim felt her skin prickle with alarm. She tried to recall her old lessons at the academy, the ones she’d been so bad at. She drew up a passive shield spell and held it around herself and Embriem. It was possible Vailria would be able to punch through, but at least it would slow her down if she attacked.

  Embriem looked confused. He was rubbing his head, eyes narrowed, looking from Marim to Vailria and back again. “Vailria? Can you explain?”

  The woman’s nostrils flared as if she was fighting to contain some intense emotion. “We have to go,” she said. “
The longer we stay, the more work I’ll have to do to contain the damage.”

  Marim tried to speak, to ask the question. “What damage?” But her voice caught in her throat. She began to cough. A flash of irritation shot through her. With a giddy rush, she remembered the vast pool of new power Kix gave her access to. It was still there, even though he was small again. She pulled on impulse, wove in a hasty rush, and cast an active healing spell on herself.

  She couldn’t see her own transformation, but she could see the effect of it in the expressions on Embriem and Vailria’s faces. She swallowed with relief as the throbbing pain in her neck and throat drained away to nothing. The tight feeling in her eyes dissipated. She invested heavily in the spell, and it did its work. A rush of warmth swept over her body. When it had passed, she felt energized and well.

  But healing magic could only do so much. Her dress was sodden and clinging and filthy. She took a risk and cast an active ignition spell – one of the few bits of magic she’d been passingly good at back at the academy. She started the spell, targeting her entire dress, but stopped it before the fabric could get to the point of bursting into flame. A great billow of steam rose out of her skirts as the fabric went hot, then cooled. As the cloud dispersed into the room, Marim was, at least, mostly dry.

  Rejuvenated, she turned to Vailria. “What damage?”

  Vailria lifted her chin, eyes sparking with anger. She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to Embriem. “Embriem,” she said, “you know me. You know you can trust me. There is more going on than I can summarize, but there is a long history here of violence against people like you, people like me. People like your son. I can take you to safety. It’s what I’m here for. It’s my roll.”

  Marim glanced at Embriem, afraid whatever history he had with Vailria would trump his new friendship with her. But he was shaking his head. “No.” His tone was firm. “I’m not going anywhere until I understand what happened today. You can’t expect me to walk away from my home, from my family?”

  Vailria made a gesture towards Marim. “What do you think happened to her? What do you think nearly happened to your son? She didn’t strangle herself. She didn’t carry your son off and leave him for dead in the grass. Someone already knows what has happened. I must get you and Tassin safely hidden, figure out who attacked Marim, and fix this before it gets worse.”

  But Embriem was shaking his head. “Your argument is flawed, Vailria. Why should we hide? We’ve done nothing wrong. There is no law against taking a brinlin from the lake. There is no law against wielding magics. You can do what you like, but I’m going to stay. I’m going to stay and I’m not going to hide. If people here don’t like what I’ve become, that’s their problem. Not mine.”

  Marim felt a rush of satisfaction as Embriem spoke, but Vailria seemed to grow more angry with every word. Her reply was short and bitter. “You’re a fool, Embriem. You have no idea what you’re up against.”

  Some of the stiffness went out of the other woman, then. She looked suddenly gray and worn and tired. Marim felt a surge of empathy for her. Trying to ease the blow of Embriem’s refusal to listen, Marim spoke. “There’s no reason we can’t all work together. If you explain, tell us what is happening, we can pool our resources and work for change.”

  Vailria drew herself up taller, her eyes glittering with anger. “No.” The word was distinct. “Events have moved beyond my authority. I must go.”

  The woman turned and began towards the door. Marim felt a surge of relief. She let her shield fall.

  The instant she did, she felt her mistake. There was magic on the other side of her magic, waiting to take hold. She felt it move over her, move through her, and fade away.

  Marim and Embriem stood in the drawing room, looking at one another. She had the fading sensation someone else had been with them a moment before, but the idea was weak, and faded quickly.

  She looked down at her dry but dirty dress and rubbed at her throat, half remembering a feeling of pain. But there was no pain now, and no one else in the room except for Tassin.

  Disoriented, she turned for the door. “You and Tassin should rest,” she said. “I’m going to go get changed.”

  ✣

  Cockram tossed back another brandy. He sucked in his breath, gritting his teeth against the pain. His daughter had never been talented with a needle. Now she was as clumsy as she’d ever been, tugging and poking with unnecessary force as she attempted to sew the dangling flap of skin on his calf back into place. She worked in silence, head bowed over the wound, but Cockram could sense her skepticism. He’d told her he’d gone too close to the woods and been attacked by a dire. This was plausible in that the animals were known to sometimes hunt beyond the edge of the wood when the heavy storms set in. The bigger question, though, was what would have possessed Cockram to go to the edge of the wood at such a time.

  Cockram couldn’t worry about that now. The leg was painful, but it was nothing compared to the agony in his head. He didn’t know what the tessila had done to his eye. Bitten it and clawed it, he thought. The pain had been immense, far worse than anything he’d ever felt before. He’d slapped the creature away and thought he’d killed it, but then it had come at him again, far larger than it had been before, a whir of fury and wings.

  Letting go of Marim, Cockram had run to Tassin and scooped the boy into his arms. He’d heard the creature come crashing after him and run away, driven close to the warmlake even though that was the one direction he didn’t want to go. He’d still been running when he felt teeth sink into his calf, vicious and tearing. With a shout of pain, Cockram tried to pull free, but the teeth were sunk too deep. In desperation, he threw the boy at the animal. There was a thud and a hiss and Cockram was able to tear free. Bleeding, mad with pain, he limped away, barely avoiding Embriem and Vailria when they’d appeared out of the fog. He’d pulled his rooster pin free of his scarf and stuck it through his lapel, wrapped the scarf around his leaking eye, and hobbled home.

  Now he was enduring his daughter’s clumsy ministrations. She’d replaced the scarf with a proper bandage, but not before he’d seen the fabric, soaked with blood and some sort of clear, runny liquid that made Cockram’s guts loosen with disgust. He was worried. The leg would heal, but what about the eye?

  At last, Tilde lifted her head, coiled the leftover gut and pushed back from his leg. His head was swimming with the drink and the pain. She seemed to waver and spin, becoming multiple images of herself as she walked to where the bandages were laid out on the bar.

  She was back a moment later, wrapping his calf in a soft, clean batting. She was clumsy and slow, as usual, but at least she was taking care of him. That, Cockram reflected, was worth something.

  As his thoughts drifted on a haze of liquor, Cockram had to admit he’d lost the round. If the boy had made it to the warmlake, he was one of them now: a monster, like Cockram’s sister had been for a time. The girl, the Tessilar, complicated matters, but Cockram saw now he’d only lost because he hadn’t been prepared. He hadn’t known Marim’s creature could grow large that way. Now that he did know, he could factor that in, he could work it into his plan.

  For a time, Cockram’s thoughts slowed and shifted, becoming dreamlike. He remembered his sister, remembered the day she’d come running up the hill to their house, hands clasped gently before her. He’d been out in the side yard, shooting at squirrels with his old sling. She’d run up to him, face all flushed with excitement. She’d shown him what she held.

  It was one of the little monsters from the lake. He could still see it, clear as day, with its bright hide and sharp eyes. He could still remember the feeling of revulsion that had crept through him, still remember her excited words. “Promise not to tell anyone? Promise?”

  “There you go, Da.” Tilde’s rough voice brought him back to the present. His head felt huge with pain, his calf molten. He leaned in his chair, groping for the brandy bottle.

  His daughter spoke again. “We’d best get you to bed
. I’ll need to open the place up soon. Lucky the storm kept everyone away.”

  Cockram grunted. She was right. They could not serve patrons with him passed out in a chair, bleeding into his bandages. “Help me.”

  His daughter did not protest. She waited as he heaved himself upright, bore his weight as he slung an arm about her shoulders and made his slow way across the reed strewn floor. The reeds were fresh, he noted. She must have put them out while he was gone.

  As they fumbled up the staircase, Cockram cursing and staggering, his daughter supporting him, his mind strayed again to his sister. Put this in her tea. Make sure no one sees you. He remembered how the vitality had drained out of her, day by day. He remembered how she’d grown thin and listless. As he pushed through his bedroom door, he seemed to hear the death bell tolling.

  If his sister had had to die, so too these others must die. It was a simple matter of how to bring it about.

  Cockram made it to his bed. He was vaguely aware of his daughter adjusting the bedclothes, pulling the curtains, shutting the door.

  This was fine. This was ok. Cockram had dealt with setbacks before. He would sleep for now. Tomorrow he would make a plan.

  ✣

  Embriem’s back garden was a large space divided into sections by sculpted hedges, graveled pathways, and stone benches placed at strategic intervals. The weak morning sun filtered through the fog, giving the scene a soft appearance.

  Marim and Embriem walked side by side. A sense of contentment resided between them, a feeling they’d accomplished something.

  Tassin was asleep again. He had a long way to go on his journey back to health, but there was the bloom of life in his cheeks even when he slumbered. When he was awake, he was alive with excitement, full of verve and fascination. He’d already lost the skeletal appearance. His eyes were no longer bruised, his cheeks no longer sunken.

  Embriem also radiated a certain vitality Marim hadn’t seen in him before. As they walked together, he looked around as if seeing the world with new eyes.

  Marim, too, felt as if everything had a special shine. Her renewed bond with Kix was still electrifying, the sense of her new potent power reassuring.

  What was less reassuring was her memory. There were smudges in her mind, a muddling starting from the moment she returned to Embriem’s house from her first visit to the warmlake and ending with standing in the drawing room before going upstairs to change. Trying to piece together what had happened in between was like looking at a charcoal drawing after a spray of water has splashed across the paper. Some parts were clear, others obliterated.

  Embriem too, had only partial memories of what had happened between the house and the warmlake. His confusion was doubtless a side effect of the hunger. Hers was doubtless a side effect of over-extension. He was convinced it didn’t matter. She wasn’t so certain.

  As they walked, Embriem spoke in a firm and steady tone, telling Marim his plan. “I won’t hide.” He’d said this several times already: to Marim, to his mother, to his son. “I won’t hide what I’ve become. Whatever happened in the past has no relevance in today’s world. Masidon has accepted the Tessilari. Lan Dinas must learn to accept me and my son. You will help, Marim. You’ve been through this before, so you can share what you know, guide us through the difficulties. And you must teach Tassin. He must learn some spells.” He paused, laughing. “My son will wield magics.”

  Marim thought of all the conflict she’d already seen in her short life. She thought of the brutal War of Diodsfall, the hundreds of fallen soldiers, the simmering resentment so many in Masidon still felt for her people. She thought of the dark looks, the harsh words that had so often been directed at her. She thought about the sailors, about what had happened on the ship.

  It would not be easy. On this shiny morning, however, knowing this did not dampen her feeling of contentment. Part of it was coming from Kix. He’d gone through the stitchring last night and was currently gnawing his way through a brillbane husk after a full night of deep slumber. He was happy – as happy as she’d ever known him to be. Marim was aware of a new sensation in her own heart: her deep, abiding love for him.

  Walking with Embriem, she couldn’t seem to feel anything but optimism. Kix was healed at last. Marim, for the first time in her life, was needed. “What about you, Embriem? You will need to learn as well.”

  They turned a corner, walking along the edge of a shallow pond. Embriem waved his hand, batting away her comment like a buzzing a fly. He looked ahead and gave a little laugh. Marim tilted her head to look at him, an inquiring smile on her lips.

  “That day, when I stopped you in the street, I thought you were the answer to a prayer. Then, for a short while, I thought instead I’d stumbled in some nightmare of a fairy story. But it turns out my first impression was correct.”

  Marim thought back. It seemed so long ago now she’d first stepped into Embriem’s house, first laid eyes on his starving son.

  As if following her train of thought, Embriem’s smile faded. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for helping me. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, but for now I hope you will continue to accept my hospitality. I hope you will stay.”

  As he spoke, Embriem reached out and took her hand. His fingers were much larger than hers, but his touch was gentle. Around the two of them, the fog was all aglow.

  Marim knew nothing in life was this easy. She knew things would change. She knew she would again face adversity and pain.

  For now, though, she was happy. She was appreciated.

  She stopped walking and set her free hand on top of Embriem’s. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will stay.”

  Then she thought of the academy, of Coll’s face as she rode away. She added to herself, For now.

  Excerpt from

  Brinlin Forest

  Annals of the Brinlocks: Book II

  A Story of Bydaira