DDDDD ZZZZZZ // D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE || D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 12 -=========================================================+|) D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 3 DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE || \\ \ ======================================================================== DargonZine Distributed: 3/27/1999 Volume 12, Number 3 Circulation: 700 ======================================================================== Contents Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb When Things Get Woolly Mike Schustereit Firil 7-13, 1016 Once Upon a Winter's Night Cheryl Spooner Janis 18 1017 Talisman Zero 3 Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Mid-fall, 2216 ID ======================================================================== DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet. We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project. Please address all correspondance to or visit us on the World Wide Web at http://www.dargonzine.org/. Back issues are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon. DargonZine 12-3, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright March, 1999 by the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb , Assistant Editor: Jon Evans . All rights reserved. All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution. Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden. ======================================================================== Editorial by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb For those of you who haven't checked our Web site's "What's New" page recently, DargonZine was recently reviewed by Todd Kuipers' "Open Road" newsletter. I mention this not to promote ourselves, but because his review contained a point I'd like to address. Todd wrote: "The organization and consistent level of publication (sic) needed to drive a publication like this is amazing, especially given that it is, I assume, volunteer based." To address the question, DargonZine is in fact completely volunteer based. Our writers receive no financial reward for contributing their works, nor do any of the production staff receive any payment for their time and effort. We have never charged our readers any fees, nor do we have any plans to do so in the future. With that as a premise, a commercial-minded person might ask how and why we do what we do. The 'why' is easy: we love doing it. We are passionate about writing. The question of 'how' is a little more difficult. At the present time, producing and distributing DargonZine costs a couple thousand dollars each year. That money goes primarily toward the fees incurred in maintaining our Web site. Until recently, I paid these fees out of my own pocket, because DargonZine is very important to me; I consider it my life's work. However, about a year ago our writers decided that they wanted to help bear some of the financial burden for running the zine, and have since begun contributing funds to offset our production costs. DargonZine is, after all, vanity publishing, and as Alan Lauderdale once put it, our writers thought it wrong to expect me to underwrite their vanity! There are, of course, other ways of bringing in money. However, because DargonZine was founded in the early days of the Internet, we retain some of the old values which characterized life in those pioneer times. One of the strongest themes of the early Internet was that it was aggressively noncommercial, and its evolution into an exclusively commercial venue is both outrageous and insulting to those of us who freely volunteered our time, skills, and labor to grow the Internet from its prosaic beginnings. While many sites these days squeeze pennies out of flashing banner ads and link exchanges, DargonZine has remained firmly noncommercial and avoided self-promotion. We do not accept advertising of any sort, nor do we participate in banner ad exchanges. We do not place ads, and our promotional efforts have been limited to occasional brief posts to relevant forums. We do not spam newsgroups or send unsolicited email to anyone. We will not exchange hyperlinks with other sites; in fact, we are questioning the value of our "Links" page, and may delete it altogether. And as Mr. Kupiers discovered, we will make little or no mention of awards we receive, because we consider it shameless self-promotion, and most Web awards are merely ways for the award sites to self-servingly generate more traffic for themselves. We do not share our distribution list with anyone, and have a published Privacy Policy that we live by. Like I said, we're firmly noncommercial. However, the strength of this conviction has the potential to become our undoing. When DargonZine was founded, there was very little interesting content to be found anywhere on the Internet, and it wasn't difficult for readers to find us. Today the Internet is the world's biggest entertainment venue, and the currency of the Internet is people's attention. Not only are we competing with hundreds of other fantasy fiction Webzines, but we are also competing for your attention with online versions of traditional magazines like the New Yorker, online broadcasts of professional sports like the NBA, online gaming from Yahoo Games to Quake, online pornography, and every other site on the planet that wants to capture your attention and turn it into a profit. DargonZine isn't after a profit, but we do need readers to survive. Part of our mission as aspiring writers is to write for a broad, representative audience and receive feedback from our readers. But because of the increased competition for your attention, there is no question that unless we begin to more aggressively promote ourselves, our readership will dwindle and fall off. For that reason, we are looking into things like purchasing advertising space, putting out press releases, and so forth. However, we will pursue this course without participating in commercial ventures, charging fees, or displaying banner ads on our site. You can rest assured that DargonZine will always remain a volunteer-based organization that is wholly noncommercial and will never be motivated by profit. Our goal is to get the word out about the great things we have accomplished and build our readership, while remaining a self-supporting organization that publishes great fiction not because it brings us profit, but because we enjoy writing and publishing great fiction and making an unselfconscious contribution to the richness of the Internet. ======================================================================== When Things Get Woolly by Mike Schustereit Firil 7-13, 1016 It was a bright night with both the moon Nochturon and Regehr the sailor's star shining their light down upon Makdiar. This unimpeded light gave the two men on the hillock a good view of the animals grazing around them. From somewhere down below a predator howled, as if telling the two men that he knew they were there. Even as the last of the rain clouds emptied its contents, the sheep continued to graze peacefully. One of the sheep drifted close by. "Come here you pale skinned beast," called out one of the shepherds. The ewe bleated in return but held her ground. "Mefin," the other man spoke, "leave them alone. I doubt if even the sheep want to listen to you ramble." "But I miss my women," Mefin replied. "I have no one to keep me warm." He crossed his arms and faked a pout. "Don't you think it is time you settled down?" Doth asked. "And rob all the women of Dargon of a chance to sample my charms?" Mefin said with a grin. "Baaah," said the ewe. Mefin grimaced and asked,"Why did I agree to watch over these creatures?" "So that our shepherd could be there at the birth of his child," the other man replied. "I was kidding, Doth," Mefin interrupted. "I was there when he asked." The ewe wandered closer to the two men, intrigued by their banter. Doth patted her head, causing her to lean into the touch of the larger man and receiving a good scratch in return. Satisfied, she bleated quietly and went on her way. Doth rubbed his hands together, working the lanolin into his skin. He closed his eyes and leaned against the tree and waited for sleep to come. "Ever wonder what sheep think?" Mefin asked, his words piercing the veil of sleep that was lowering over Doth. "Probably that you talk too much," Doth replied. "Now go to sleep." Mefin whined, "I'm trying." "Then try harder," Doth sleepily said. "We have to be up with the dawn." "Don't shepherds usually stay up and guard the sheep?" Doth glanced over at Mefin. It was useless to remind him of the dogs sleeping amongst the sheep. They were the best protection from the creatures of the night. "You do it then. And when you get tired, wake me and I'll watch them." "Fine," Mefin said. "You sleep while I protect our charges from the evil wolves of Beinison. Let them charge and I shall rally my woolly soldiers and rout them from this pristine pasture." Doth gave a sleepy smile. "Don't forget about the shivarees." "Let them come," Mefin boasted. "I am strong of arm and full of spirit. My companions ..." Doth was starting to get irritated. "Would you shut up?" "Oops, sorry Doth." For a while it was quiet. Then, somewhere off in the night an insect chirped a curious song, causing Mefin to join it. He was well into the climax of a great composition when Doth reached out and slapped his leg. The whistle died on his lips. Sheep passed by, looking for better grass or merely following the lead of some other member of the herd. Occasionally a yip could be heard, but it was far off in the distance. Doth squinted, watching Mefin trying to relax but not go to sleep. It was in those passing moments between consciousness and sleep when the rains finally stopped and sky cleared. Mefin blinked. He rubbed his eyes and look again. A bright light was shimmering in the sky where none had been before. "Well lop off my head and call me a prophet," Mefin quipped. "Doth, wake up. Wake up man, something is happening in the sky." Doth jumped to his feet. He grabbed for his sturdy wooden club but Mefin grabbed his arm and raised himself up by it. "Not someone," Mefin said, pointing to the sky, "some thing!" Doth followed the path made by Mefin's arm until he could see the object of excitement. "What is it?" Mefin shrugged his shoulders, for once unable to talk. Doth looked from the sky to his friend and back again. Whatever it was, it was bringing more light to the already bright night. Doth looked out across his herd and watched as the sheep calmly carried on with their late night grazing. "I'm sure this bodes ill," Mefin said. "It is too far away to cause any problems," Doth said. "Probably walk half of 'diar and still not touch that thing." "Let's gather the flock and move them closer to home." Doth looked over at his friend, asking, "For what reason?" Mefin replied, "I don't know; just a feeling I have." "You're just upset over nothing," Doth said. "And why is that?" Mefin asked. Doth held his arms out over the flock. "They aren't afraid. Can't be too important if they didn't get scared." "Simple creatures like that have nothing to fear," Mefin said. "We humans on the other hand, should watch what we make of this. A little too much of the natural can become supernatural." Doth slowly digested the meaning of those words while he watched Mefin. The smaller man clearly wanted to find something to be humorous about, but the strange light in the sky had him unusually subdued. The wagon crossed the causeway, creaking and groaning all the way across. All around them people hustled to and fro, making their way. "Busy for this time of the week," Mefin said. "Too busy if you ask me," Doth replied. "It's times like this when I wish they had built some rails on this thing. One day somebody is going to get run off into the Coldwell." "Probably wash up in Bichu," Mefin agreed. They both got quiet, looking over the edge of the causeway at the river passing beneath them. As if in response the horse moved a little further toward the center of the stony bridge. Doth glanced at the reins in the hands of his partner and snickered. Mefin shrugged in response. "Doesn't hurt to be safe," Mefin said. Doth nodded in agreement. As they got closer to the end of the causeway Mefin said, "Hey Doth, look at the crowd." The gate into Dargon was usually crowded with people coming and going, but today was worse than normal. While there were places for guards to stand watch over the people coming into the town, they remained empty. Today would have been a good day to have someone keeping the gate free of loiterers. Over the noise of the people waiting for their chance to enter, Doth could make out someone speaking, no, preaching. He listened in order to understand the tone of the voice correctly. "Listen," he said to Mefin. "... listen all of you," the speaker said. "This event was foretold to us by our great prophet. Each of you needs to repent to keep the angry god of the sky from coming down and punishing us." "Great," Mefin said. "Last thing I wanted was to hear someone speculate about the light in the sky." "Repent," the man said, "for there is not much time left. Offer something so that the god might overlook the things you have done." Doth started to say something but Mefin spoke up first. "I'm probably going to regret this." He jumped off of the wagon and waded through the people. By the time Doth had recovered the reins and got the pony to come to a halt, Mefin was at the foot of the hastily erected pulpit. A man passed by the cart. "Better get home, tomorrow the god is coming to destroy us all." "You are fools," Mefin yelled at the preacher. A few people turned their heads at the intrusion. Most still milled about, still engaged in individual conversations. Doth watched as Mefin drew himself up for a tirade. The preacher ignored Mefin and continued his to preach by saying, "We have survived the onslaught of the marauders from Beinison but the gods are not happy with the way we have behaved. Rather than being thankful and giving them the sacrifices due to them, we have coveted our goods and earned their disfavor." A murmur went up from the crowd. Then Mefin shouted out, "And why is it that the gods cannot fend for themselves? We have struggled to recover from the war. Isn't that enough?" The preacher lowered his eyes to rest on Mefin. He paused, as if in thought. Then he said, "Brother, you are wrong. We would not have suffered if we had given willingly." "I'm not your brother," Mefin shouted. He turned to face the crowd around him. "Go home people. Feed your children and take care of your loved ones. This fool knows nothing." There was silence. It took a moment for the preacher to recover. He started to get red. His hands gripped the pulpit as he said, "I knew of the coming of the god. These people have heard the truth of my words and know that my story is the one true explanation. Turn your back on the truth and you shall be one of the first to feel the rage of the god in the sky." "Rage," Mefin said. "You want rage? What about the mother who feels rage when she reaches for her husband and then remembers that a Beinison sword cut him down? What can your god in the sky do to her?" "You must believe," the preacher said, at first speaking to Mefin and then raising his gaze to the rest of the crowd. "You must believe or the god in the sky will come down and destroy you." Mefin asked, "Why were you chosen to deliver this word?" "I have been faithful," the preacher said. "I did not take from the gods and instead I gave to them willingly." He lifted his arms to emphasize this. "I have nothing but myself to give and this is what the god in the sky asks of me." The crowd cheered him. Mefin clenched his fists, his face getting redder with every word that the man said. "There is nothing to fear," the preacher said, "for I have the key to turning away the god in the sky." Doth watched as Mefin tried to climb upon the pulpit to push the man out of the way. A few members of the crowd grabbed Mefin and pulled him down. He fought as much as he could but they overwhelmed him. Soon he was pushed back and he found himself a short distance from the wagon. He walked up to the wagon and looked up at Doth. "Somebody needs to beat some sense into that man." "Oh fark," Doth said. "Don't let him get to you." "You are right my friend," Mefin replied. He clicked the reins and the horse picked up his pace. "I have been away from Dargon far too long. There are tavern wenches whose lust has gone unfulfilled. Let the false prophecies increase their need for my company in these last days. While the prophets of doom fill the streets, I'll take my rolls between the sheets." Doth started to say something and then stopped. He shook his head at the grandiose talk that Mefin spewed. "Perhaps I overdid it a bit," Mefin said. They passed through the gate and Doth turned to watch the speaker, so impassioned in his pleas, imploring the people to help turn away the angry spirit. He shook his head again. Doth said, "They should be in the temples asking for understanding instead of waiting for doomsday to occur." Mefin was still pondering his last soliloquy. "Did you think it was a bit much?" Doth asked, "What was too much?" "My statement," Mefin grinned. Doth sighed. "I don't think that the tavern girls are as lusty as you say. Besides, describing a night with you as fulfilling is stretching the truth further than I can stand." Mefin winked at Doth causing him to laugh. Mefin feigned being slighted. "I beg to differ. My name is spoken in hushed whispers amongst the girls who tote ale to patrons of taverns around the town." Doth laughed, saying, "They are afraid to say it any louder in case you are within earshot." "Do I really talk all that much?" Mefin asked. "I always try and keep things to a minimum." "But you never listen when someone tells you to shut up," Doth replied. "Not true," Mefin said, "I remember the time we were in Magnus during the war and you were listening to a story of mine. Some big lout from Beinison jumped a bulwark and came crashing down ..." "Shut up," Doth said. "... but, you pushed me out of the way and ..." Again Doth said, "I was forced to serve my time in the levy with you. But now I can tell you to shut up. So do it." They rode in silence for a few moments and then Mefin asked, "What do you think it is?" "What?" "The thing burning in the sky," Mefin said. "Oh," Doth replied, "I don't know. I've thought about it much since it appeared and I still have no better understanding." "Perhaps it is a god," Mefin said, "and we are doomed." "Then you should join him on his pulpit," Doth said, pointing behind them with his thumb. "I don't believe that," Mefin said, "but it might be what people will choose to believe." "So the sailor who watches stars to navigate is going to see a moving light in the sky and think that it is a god?" asked Doth. "I can't answer that," replied Mefin. "I have never been a sailor and the only time I use the stars is to woo some woman with feelings of sincerity." Doth laughed. "You always come back to a common theme." "Well," asked Mefin, "what else do I have to think about?" "You could worry about the flock." "Now why would I need to do that when you do it so well?" asked Mefin. Doth laughed again. As he finished he pointed to the warehouse that they were fast approaching. A boy lounging in a chair jumped up at the sight of them and ran inside the building. "I guess it is time to get down to business," Doth said. "Just be careful," Mefin said, "I trust this man about as far as I can spit a mouse." They slowed the horse to a halt. Mefin took the reins and tied them through a ring built into the wall. The boy returned with the man whom they had started dealing with. "Good day, sirs," he said, slightly bowing his head. "What wondrous fleeces do you have for me today?" "It was a good winter," Doth said. "Ah," the man said, "I can see as much. What, two bags more than the previous harvest?" "You have a good memory." Mefin snorted. Doth let it go, preferring to lead the merchant to the wagon for a sampling of the goods they had brought. Though the merchant appeared to be in a good mood, Doth knew this would change as soon as coin was discussed. Whether it was tactic or genuine distress Doth did not know. He did not intend to go away without a profit, so the theatrics had better dissolve early in the bargaining process. Mefin must have read his mind. "I'm going for a drink," he said. The merchant watched Mefin leave and then asked, "Not much of a head for business, eh?" "Mefin prefers to lead a simple life," was Doth's reply. "No wife?" "Not to my knowledge," Doth said. "Ah, those were the days," the merchant said, letting out a small sigh. "And you?" Doth said, "Happily." "Well," said the merchant, "let us go get a drink and talk about what I'm able to spare for your goods." The selling had gone well and Doth counted himself wiser in the ways of bargaining after dealing with the man. Wool was harder to trade after winter than before it, but he felt comfortable with the jingle in his pouch. Trying three different taverns had produced no sign of his companion and Doth was faced with the prospect of spending a night away from Ilsande. However, Mefin was entitled to spending his part of the profit, even if he chose to spend it on women and drink. He listened as he walked up to the door to the sounds of the people in Belisandra's tavern. Somebody was angry. Doth pushed against the door and walked into the smoky tavern. He immediately found Mefin. He was shouting some warcry learned in Westbrook. The two men opposite him looked amused. Doth walked up behind his friend and held up his hand to the two men. They straightened at the sight of a hand as big as Mefin's head. Doth held a finger to his lips indicating they should keep quiet. One man started to nod but a frown from Doth ended it. "You ignorant savages," Mefin said, once he regained the air expended on the warcry. "I'll say what I want in this tavern, and if you don't like it you can move." One of the men moved forward and Doth stepped back, crossing his arms. As long as the fight was fair he would not interfere. "Ah," said Mefin. "a foe emerges. At least one of you isn't a coward as well as ugly." The second man started forward, appraised the size of Doth and decided to keep his place. Mefin kept talking and the first man decided to end it with a punch. Quick as a shivaree, Mefin shot forward and hit the man squarely in the stomach. As the man bowed from the pain, Mefin smashed him in the face with a mug. Doth winced and reached up to feel his own mug scar. Sometimes getting introduced to Mefin was hard going. "Now," Mefin said, "do you want a little of what your friend got?" The second man took the look on Doth's face as disinterest and grinned, moving forward to try and do better than his companion. Mefin looked over his shoulder at Doth. "Howdy Doth," Mefin said, grinning, "I'll be with you in a moment." Doth shrugged and watched as Mefin turned back and raised his fists. The second man, a little better prepared, came in swinging and scored on a shoulder. Mefin bounced around the inn, feigning pain and managing to pick up a drink intended for another patron. "That hurt," he said. The man smiled and stepped forward. Mefin's leg shot out and smacked the man against the outside of his knee joint. The man went down howling. Mefin brushed his hands together and said, "And that does it, I think. Doth, I'm sure I'm liable to owe a few coins for this ruckus, so would you be so kind?" Doth shook his head and made his way to the bar. Everyone expected him to be the violent one and Mefin proved them wrong every time. Mefin joined him as he was paying and patted him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you got here," Mefin jovially said, "I was thinking that the whole place was going to jump on me at once." "Fark. I should have stopped and gotten something for Ilsande," Doth chuckled. "Very funny," Mefin replied. "What do you think you would do if I got killed?" "Well," said Doth, jingling his purse, "I would probably see an increase in profit." "Fighting makes me thirsty," Mefin said. "Would you like something cool?" Doth held up a hand, saying, "Perhaps you should tell me what happened before we get too comfortable." "A difference of opinion." "And you resorted to beating someone to resolve the difference?" "Look," Mefin said hotly. "I merely mentioned the fact that money tossed at the preacher at the gate was coin ill-spent. Is it my fault that they felt embarrassed by the truth I told?" "Perhaps you could use some tact," Doth said. "I tried it once," said Mefin. "I recall that the noble was less than flattered by my attention on his wife." "I take it back," Doth replied. "You need a leash." Mefin ignored the remark and grabbed for the frothy mug that the barkeep placed in front of them. Doth savored his own drink. He was about to tilt the mug back to finish it when a man burst in the door. "The burning god will not go away," said the man. He stumbled into a table and drinks flew. One of the people at the table picked the man up roughly and said, "What is wrong?" The man said, "We tried to pray and end it, but the god still glares down at us. You must abandon your drinking and carousing and join us so that the god will turn away." Mefin thumped his mug against the bar. "*Fark*." The man pushed away from the people who held him up and wandered back out the door. A few people followed him outside but most returned to their drinks. Doth was curious and started for the door with Mefin close on his heels. As he stepped across the threshold, Doth was amazed by the amount of people standing in the streets and staring skyward. He looked to the sky and for a moment held his breath. It was still there. "I'm puzzled," said Mefin. "Perhaps it is time to seek guidance from the gods," Doth replied. "Maybe," Mefin said, "but I wouldn't hold my breath for any answers. At this point though I am ready for some kind of explanation." Doth nodded in agreement. He was not the most devout follower, but there were times when it was best to seek advice from a higher being. Even if the interpretation had to come through another man. "Are you afraid?" he asked Mefin. "Of what I don't understand," Mefin replied. "But I do know that the light in the sky didn't hurt me the last time I saw it, so I feel safe walking the streets." "No," Doth said, "I meant what if it is a sign of the gods?" "What do we need a sign for?" "I don't know," Doth answered. Mefin placed his hand on Doth's arm. "You live a good life and have nothing to fear. I, on the other hand, have to hope for a less sinister outcome." "Could it be another moon?" Doth asked. Mefin said, "I don't know." "I don't want to die," Doth said in a whining tone. "If we go to your church," Mefin asked, "and he tells you that you only have a limited time to live, what shall you do?" "Go home to my wife and child," Doth replied. "Then go home," Mefin said, "and save yourself some more time. Do you think that the gods have given the priests of Dargon some special wisdom that will help you?" Doth kept quiet, not yet sure of what his friend was saying. He had faith in his god and it allowed him to believe that the priest always had the answers. He did not need a miracle to confirm what he already felt. Unlike the Stevenes, he did not believe in a god walking through Dargon, but he did believe that the gods did give information. Doth fished out a coin from his pouch. He turned it before Mefin and said, "Except for this Round, the rest of the money is already accounted for. Take it and spend tonight in luxury." "I thought we were going to visit the temple of your god?" Mefin asked. "You would only cause trouble," Doth said, sighing, "and I do not want you to do that in the presence of my god." "Well," Mefin said, "it is a Round more than fills my purse at the moment. Are you sure that you do not want me along?" Doth nodded. "Then I shall be on my way," Mefin said. "I may even pay a visit to my long lost relatives." Doth was happy to see a smile on Mefin's face. It meant the man was not in as bad of humor after all. "Good luck to you," he said. "I have all the luck I will ever need," Mefin said. "Be good," Doth said, "or I will worry about you." "Worrying about me is like worrying that the sheep won't grow wool," Mefin replied. He turned and started walking back into the tavern. "Oh, Doth," Mefin said. "Yes?" "Say a prayer for me just in case." Doth nodded and said, "I already had something in mind." It was a few days later when Doth again thought of his prayer for Mefin. The light in the sky still showed up at night causing confusion amongst the people of Dargon. Still, it disturbed Doth even more that his friend had never shown up at the farm. "Doth," a quiet voice called out. "Over here, Ilsande," he said. "One of the hounds showed up with a hare," she said as she walked up to him. "Would you mind cleaning it?" "Of course not," he replied. He dropped the pickaxe and nudged the stone he was trying to repair in the fence. "What's wrong?" "Nothing my dear," he said, "nothing at all." She touched his face. It made him realize that he had not taken the time to shave in the last day or so. Her soft hand against the roughness of his face had a calming effect on him. "I'm worried about Mefin," he finally sighed. "Is he sneaking around with that girl again?" she said with a tease. Doth shook his head. "Not even Mefin would ignore a man who said he would have him pulled apart by horses if he ever saw him again." They both had a good laugh. Before long the smile disappeared from his face. "He promised to meet me at the tavern after I went to the temple and when I returned there was no sign of him." "And what is unusual about that?" Ilsande laughed. "The light in the sky was making him act strange," Doth replied. "He kept getting upset with people." She grabbed at a strand of her hair and twisted. They stood together in silence until the sound of the baby wakening pulled them from their thoughts. "Doth, Paeya is crying," Ilsande said. "Come to the house when you are done." He smiled at her. She knew him so well. He rubbed his hand through her hair and watched her as she went to get their little girl. He returned his attention to the stone. After mending the fence he went to the house. There were other chores to do and of course, the hare to be cleaned. Cleaning it took his mind off of his friend for a while and then entertaining Paeya occupied some more. It was only by glancing out the window that he realized that the day was slowly coming to an end. He set his daughter on the floor and stood. Ilsande came to stand by him. "Going out to work again?" she asked. "Just for a little while," he replied, lifting her chin and looking into her beautiful eyes. "I've got to finish repairing some bags and then I'll come back in and sit with you." "Take your time, my love," she said softly. He walked down to the barn, Farrell in tow. The dog was feeling playful, clamping his jaws around Doth's hand and dragging him around. Doth stopped and picked up a stick, throwing it out as far as he could. The dog took off. Farrell reminded Doth of Mefin. The dog was quick to play, but there was no more reliable an animal to be found. Mefin was the same way. That was why it bothered Doth so much that Mefin had not shown up to meet him. He looked to the sky. There, off in the distance, was the cause of all of the trouble. Doth stopped and sat on the stone wall, trying to examine the peculiar light in the sky. "Kurin," he prayed. "If this is a sign, could you let me know what kind of sign it is?" But there was no answer, which was typical of the way gods behaved. He waited a moment longer only to be brought back from his thoughts by the dog bringing back the stick. He looked down at the hound. "Wrong stick," he told the dog. As usual, Farrell accepted the criticism with glee. Doth chuckled at the dog and threw the stick out into the night. In one swift turn, the dog was gone again. They were so much alike, Mefin and that dog. Like Farrell, Mefin would disappear for days on end, but he always managed to come back. He shook his head and headed for the barn. There were bags to mend and that was something that he did not have to speculate upon. Night passed into morning and Doth awoke without troubling thoughts. Paeya woke them. She was ready to be fed and Ilsande crawled over Doth to give the child what she wanted. "Better go and check that ewe," Ilsande said. Doth nodded and put down the brush. He patted Paeya and pulled on his britches. He pulled on his boots and stood. "I'll be back in a little bit." It was brisk outside, but not cold enough to require a jacket. He walked down to the pen and stood there watching a ewe as she waddled around the pen, heavy with lamb. He thought of Mefin and looked to the sky. To his surprise, the bright light in the sky was gone. For a moment he stared in shock and then he turned to scan the sky. It wasn't there. Not anywhere. "Ilsande," he yelled, "come look." He turned and ran for the house. "Ilsande." She appeared in the door still nursing Paeya. "What is it?" she asked. "Look," he panted, "in the sky. The light is gone." She looked and a visible expression of relief crossed her face. When Doth reached her, she was crying. He held her close for a moment and then held her at arm's length. "It's gone." "I know," she said. "No," Doth said. "I prayed to Kurin last night and this morning the light is gone." "We should thank Kurin for this then," Ilsande said. "I only hope that it is a good sign that the light has gone." She shivered from the chill of the morning. "Doth," she said, "It's cold. I'm going inside." He followed her and sat on the bed as she finished feeding their daughter. He wondered if it was really true. Did Kurin truly listen? As Ilsande fed her, Doth brushed her hair and thought about the townspeople. He wondered what kind of tale the prophet was telling now. After so many days of forecasting doom, surely he was running out of excuses for why it had not happened yet. He smiled at the thought of the man being discredited. There was little to do on the farm so he said, "Ilsande, would you like to go with me to Dargon?" She looked up and said, "Of course." He smiled and got up from the bed. He got dressed and walked out to the barn, preparing the wagon for the journey. He looked forward to these trips because every trip with Paeya opened his eyes to the world around him. She looked at everything with fresh eyes, not knowing that the things she took delight in were overlooked by the grownups around her. Watching her as they passed over the causeway and listening with delight to her squeals of joy helped to relieve some of the tension Doth felt. He left them near the market and took a walk about the town, trying to find some sign of his friend. Time passed by and Doth kept looking up and finding it strange that the light was no longer in the sky. He stopped in Kurin's temple. The old priest assured him that while Kurin was aware of the distress the light had caused, the disappearance of the light was not of his doing. Doth left some coins with the priest and left the temple. "I thought I would find you here," Mefin said. He was leaning against the wall of the temple. Doth joined him against the wall. "How did you know that?" "I saw Paeya terrorizing some vendors in the bazaar," Mefin said with a laugh. "Let's go find them," Doth said. They started down the street. Doth waited as long as he could and then spoke. "Where have you been?" "Spiritual reconciliation," Mefin said. "Recon ..." Doth tried to say. Mefin said, "I tried to decide what it was that was making me so against the light in the sky having a religious meaning." "I prayed to Kurin last night," Doth said. "And you want to believe that it is because of you that the light has gone away?" Mefin asked. "That is what I wanted," Doth said, "but the priest told me otherwise. It must have been caused by some other god." "Perhaps," Mefin said slyly. "What," Doth asked, "do you know something?" Mefin laughed. "Only that it has happened before." "How do you know?" "A scribe told me," Mefin said. "Told me that there are scrolls describing similar events." "Then why don't the people know?" "I don't know," Mefin said. "The scribes know and they have more important things to do than to worry about educating every fool who cries out doomsday." "I didn't know you could read," Doth said. Mefin said, "You never asked. Did you miss me?" Doth smiled, "How could I? It was quite peaceful without you lying about everything that ever happened to you. Although it was kind of hard to get Paeya to sleep." "At least somebody noticed I wasn't there," Mefin said. Doth held out his hand. Mefin grabbed it and shook it vigorously. "I thought so," Mefin said. Doth said, "If you knew that it was merely nothing, then where have you been?" "Praying," Mefin smiled. "Just in case they were wrong." ======================================================================== Once Upon a Winter's Night by Cheryl Spooner Janis 18 1017 Snowflakes, big as a baby's fist, fell thick and steady past the window. Illuminated by the lamp that stood on the sill, they seemed to Carl Sandmond akin to feathers, as though someone were emptying pillow after pillow out of an upstairs window. They had been falling like that all day, blanketing the street outside so that even the sound of a passing cart was muffled. Carl let out a bored sigh. He hadn't had a customer since midday. There was no ship in the harbour -- hadn't been for a sennight thanks to the storms that had plagued the coast. Even without the sailors, there would normally have been his regulars and passing carters, but as the snow had deepened the customers had become fewer and fewer, until even the hardiest had decided that they'd had enough. He looked around at the empty inn and sighed again. He'd given the barmaids the rest of the day off -- with no customers for them to serve, their being there was pointless -- then he'd cleaned the tables and the chairs and benches, swept the floor and put down fresh sawdust. He'd been so bored that he'd even scrubbed the privvy out back, a job he normally left to his wife. Even his wife had deserted him, he felt, having gone to visit their daughter and her husband in Barel a few days earlier. The birth of their first child was imminent, so Aileen probably wouldn't be back for at least another sennight. Carl groaned, realising that it might be even longer if this weather kept up. He picked up a mug and crossed the room to fill it with spiced wine from a large, blackened pot that hung over the fire. Another pot, full of stew, hung beside it. It seemed that the preparation of both would likely prove to have been a waste of his time. He sat down at the nearest table and let out another sigh. It was going to be a long night. He was beginning to snooze, resting his head on his forearms, when the door opened, startling him so that he nearly upset the half-full mug of wine. He hurried to take the tall stranger's coat, collecting his senses and offering a cheery greeting on the way. He shook the cloak to rid it of its crusting of snow, then hung it near the fire as the man stamped snow from his boots. Carl watched the stranger as he settled at the same table from which the innkeeper had himself been startled moments earlier. He hadn't seen him in Dargon before, but that was the case with a great many of his customers. The man was tall and thin and Carl thought that he must be somewhere around his own age. The almost-black hair was greying and the face was heavily lined, although there was a youthful intensity to the brown eyes that watched Carl's approach. The stranger didn't look too well off: his clothes were patched and faded and his boots looked as though they would fall apart at any time. Then again, no one travelled in their finest clothes, not in this weather, so his shabbiness didn't necessarily mean that he was poor. "A mug of spiced wine, sir? A bowl of hot stew to warm your belly?" Carl offered cheerfully, picking up his own mug and wiping the table-top with the corner of his apron. "The wine sounds inviting," the man nodded with a tired smile, "but my purse won't stretch to the stew, not unless you'd trade a bowl for a story." Carl frowned. So the stranger *was* poor. Carl didn't usually trade anything for stories -- he heard enough for free usually, especially from the sailors. He sometimes traded for meat, or other commodities and he'd once accepted a bolt of fine cloth in return for a night's lodging, but never stories. Still, the pot of stew would go to waste if the weather didn't pick up over the next day or two, so he supposed it wouldn't hurt to give a bowl away. And he *was* bored. "Well," he said, "I don't usually, but since it's so cold out, and you look hungry, I think I can break my own rule for once. Just as long as you don't tell anyone ... If word got around that I gave food away for stories, I'd have every bard and talespinner from here to Magnus trying their luck." The stranger laughed, a deep, melodious sound, and held out a large, weathered hand to Carl. "You have my word innkeeper," he said with a broad smile. "No one will hear of your generosity from Bran Farnath's lips." "That'll do for me," Carl grinned back as he shook Bran's hand, "and the name's Carl, Carl Sandmond." As he ladled a generous portion of stew into a bowl, the door opened again, and he glanced up to see a slight figure enter. "Be with you in a moment," he called as he tore a hunk of bread from one of the loaves in a basket that stood next to the hearth. He hurried over to Bran and placed the bowl and the bread before him, along with a wooden spoon that he took from the pocket of his apron. "Get that down you," he said briskly, "and I'll be back with the wine in a few menes. I'll hear that story of yours when you've eaten." Bran, who had started eating as soon as the bowl had been set before him, nodded as he chewed and Carl hurried off to see to the newcomer. It was a young woman, probably about nineteen or twenty years old: his daughter's age. She was wrapped up in a heavy cloak, although she shook her head when he offered to take it from her. "You'll not feel the benefit when you go back outside if you keep it on in here," he admonished with a friendly smile, but the woman shook her head again. "I might take it off when I've warmed up a little," she said with a shiver, as though to emphasise how cold she felt, "but not until I get the feeling back in my body." Carl shrugged and waited until she had knocked off most of the snow, before leading her towards the crackling log fire. She didn't sit at the table with Bran, but instead perched on a bench close to the fire. "Is this spiced wine?" she asked, leaning over the pot and peering in, sniffing the aroma. "Finest in Dargon," Carl nodded proudly as he filled a mug and placed it before Bran. "And this stew's the tastiest you'll find from here to Magnus." "Then I'll have a mug of the wine and a bowl of the stew," she said, pulling back the cowl of her cloak with her left hand to reveal short, curly brown hair and a face full of freckles. Carl picked up another bowl and filled it with stew: another generous portion and more than he would usually give, but he reasoned to himself that there would be less to waste this way. He placed the bowl on the table next to the one at which Bran sat and gestured for the woman to take her place as he bent to tear another piece of bread from the loaf. He felt in his pocket for another spoon, then filled another mug with spiced wine and placed both before her. His own mug of wine had gone cold, so he took a poker from the fire and placed inside the mug for a few moments to warm the liquid before taking a seat at Bran's table, just as the other man was mopping up the last of his stew with the remains of the bread. "So, friend," he said after gulping a mouthful of wine, "How about this story?" "Certainly," Bran smiled, taking a swig from his own mug. "And a fine story it shall be, in return for a fine meal." Carl gave him a look of warning, gesturing towards the girl who was busily spooning stew into her mouth with her left hand. Bran grimaced apologetically as he fished in his pocket and brought out a pipe, which he lit from the flame of the candle that sat in the middle of the table. "This is a true story," he began, "as true as you and I are sitting here over this marvellous spiced wine. It was a cold night, so cold that the frost was glittering on the road in Nochturon's light as I passed a small hamlet to the south of Shireton. There was no inn to be found and I was faced with the choice of continuing to Shireton or sleeping rough, neither of which appealed to me as I was exhausted from walking all day and the cold was freezing my blood. Well, there was a small house on the edge of the hamlet, with a good sized barn and I had the idea of asking the owners if I could shelter there. As it turned out, they were as kind and hospitable as your good self, and offered me a cot in the larger of their two rooms, as well as some food and a mug of ale. "They were a pleasant couple, or so it seemed to me as I sat at their table and ate their food, although the woman seemed a little distant, staring into nothingness half the time. No, it was more like she was listening to something. I'd speak to her, out of courtesy, to tell her how grateful I was for them taking me in and it was as though she had to tear herself away from something to answer me. This went on for some time, and I could see that her husband was growing anxious about her as she slipped further and further away from us. Then, when she no longer seemed to hear anything I said, he stood up and announced that it was time for bed. I didn't see anything wrong in that at the time, after all they were peasants and most likely had to be up with the sun. Mind you, I did think it a little strange that he had to pull her to her feet and more or less guide her through to the other room as though she was blind. I knew she wasn't -- she had managed to move around on her own earlier -- but I was so tired that I put it out of my mind as I settled down on the cot and let the flickering of the dying firelight lull me to sleep. "I woke to find it still dark, except for Nochturon's steady light shining through the window, but I had the sense that something wasn't quite right. Then I heard it. I thought at first that they must be having an argument, the shouting was so loud, but after a few moments I realised that only the woman was shouting. She was carrying on something terrible, moaning and crying, even screaming at times and the man was making soothing noises, but nothing he said would quiet her. I tried to go back to sleep, thinking that whatever it was, it was none of my business, but her cries were so loud and pitiful that I couldn't shut them out. Eventually, I decided to go and see if there was anything I could do to help." At that moment, movement caught Carl's eye and he turned his attention away from Bran to see that the young woman had risen from her seat and approached their table. "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked. "Only, I couldn't help overhearing and the story is so interesting." "Please," Bran gestured expansively, "I am only too happy to share my tale with a fellow traveller. Please join us." Carl smiled as the woman pulled back the chair, then she turned and picked up her mug of spiced wine from her table with her left hand and sat down, her cloak still wrapped tightly around her. "Well," Bran resumed his story, "I knocked on the door of the adjoining room, not wanting to barge in on something I shouldn't, and the man called out that he would be out in a moment. I couldn't help but look into the room when he opened the door and I caught my breath at the sight I beheld. The poor woman was tied to the bed! There were ropes around her wrists and ankles and she was struggling like a crazed animal and crying out for him to let her go. I must admit that the scene shook me and as the man came through the door, closing it behind him, I stepped back for fear of what he might do to me. "He must have seen the horror in my eyes, because his own were full of sadness as he shook his head and placed a trembling hand on my shoulder. "'I'm sorry you had to see that, friend,' he told me, 'I suppose I had better explain.' "He led me back into the other room and lit the lamp. While he busied himself lighting the fire again and placing a kettle of water over it, I studied him. He seemed an ordinary man in every respect. He was losing his hair, and had started to grow a little stout around the belly, a little like yourself, friend Carl. His face was a kindly one, if a little careworn and he seemed hardly the type who would tie his poor wife to the bed, for whatever reason. When everything was done he sat himself down at the table and gestured for me to do the same. I did, perplexed by the pain in his eyes as he faced me over the glow of the lamp. "'What you saw just then is not what you think,' he said to me at last, the words leaving his mouth on a heavy, sorrowful breath. 'My wife is a good woman, and means everything in the world to me. It breaks my heart to have to tie her down like that, but if I don't, then who knows what harm will befall her.' "'Whatever do you mean?' I asked him, dumbfounded. "'It all started twenty years ago this very night,' he began, pain darkening his hazel eyes as he remembered. 'Lileth, my wife, was in the throes of childbirth. Things were not going well for her and I was afraid that I would lose her. We had tried so long to have a family, but to no avail, and by now she was coming to the end of her childbearing years. Anyway, the midwife gave her some potion or other to ease the pain, and eventually she gave birth.' "By the tears in his eyes I could tell that his story would end in tragedy, and I was not wrong. Tell me Carl, could I impose on your hospitality to ask for another mug of wine? My mouth is so dry with the telling of the story." Carl frowned. He had been lost in the story, wondering what terrible thing was going to come next. He was also dismayed that the teller of the tale wanted another mug of wine, for which he obviously wasn't in a position to pay. Nevertheless, he took Bran's mug with a forced smile and filled it, because he wanted to hear the rest of the story. While he was up he filled his own, and that of the young woman, so that there would be no more interruptions before the tale was finished. When she rummaged under her cloak and came up with a silver Round to pay for her food, drink and a night's lodging, sincerity returned to his smile. At least one of his customers could pay their way. "Now," Bran mused, scratching his long, straight nose as Carl resumed his seat. "Where was I? Oh yes. Well, according to the man, the child was born and at the same moment his wife lost consciousness. He tried to rouse her, but in vain and he thought her lost to him until the midwife told him that his wife's deep sleep was a result of the potion and that he should let her rest. It was then that he turned his attention to the child and saw that it was a pale, sickly-looking thing. Worst of all, its right arm was withered and useless. The midwife told him that it wouldn't last more than a sennight and Faren, my host, was distraught. Here was their last chance to raise a child of their own and it was unlikely to live more than a few days. How could he watch his Lileth care for her child, knowing that soon she would have to bury it? How could he watch Lileth's heart break like that? "The midwife told him that what he should do was expose the child, that night before Lileth woke and tell her that it had been born dead, so that she would be spared the ordeal of caring for a child that would soon be lost to her. Faren was torn. Part of him wanted to ignore the midwife's advice, after all, she might be wrong, the child might live and grow strong. Then he looked down at his child, at its frail, still body and its poor withered arm. It looked to him as though the effort of drawing in breath was something that it would be unable to sustain and it had not cried once. How could he stand by and watch it suffer? Without another thought he picked up the child and carried it out of the house, hardly able to see where he was going for the tears in his eyes. "He carried the babe to the top of a nearby hill and laid it, naked, on the frost-covered earth. Then, before his resolve broke he hurried away, leaving it to the mercy of the elements, telling himself over and over again that he had done the right thing. But it was no use. He had hardly reached his door when he heard a sound that had him running back up the hill. That sound was a baby's cry. His child had cried for the first time, a long, plaintive wail and he suddenly didn't care whether it lived only a week or a lifetime. His child needed him. He ran faster than he had ever done before, up the hill, not even stopping to catch his breath when a pain in his side doubled him over. When he reached the top of the hill he was on the point of collapse, but it had all been in vain. His child was gone." "What do you mean *gone*?" the young woman interrupted. Carl looked at her, jolted out of the story by her outcry. He could see that she had been moved by the story. She was clutching the folds of her cloak around her, and her eyes were bright as she bit her lower lip. It seemed odd to him for a stranger to be so affected by another's story, no matter how sad, and he wondered if she knew the couple in question. Then something else occurred to him. It was something he had been noticing ever since she had walked into the inn, something that until now had seemed unimportant. He had not seen her right hand. For everything, from eating to running her fingers through her short brown curls, she had used her left hand. Even now, as she questioned Bran, her right arm was hidden somewhere under that heavy cloak. Could she be the child from the story? Then he smiled to himself, shaking his head and grinning at his own foolishness. Of course she couldn't be that child; it would not have survived. "Gone," Bran confirmed. "There was nothing to be seen of the child on the hilltop. Faren dropped to his knees on the spot where he had left the child only moments earlier and he wept. What had he done? He had thought he was doing what was right, giving the child a swift and painless escape from its suffering, and preventing the further suffering of his beloved Lileth. The keening of a wolf in the forest nearby confirmed his suspicions. He had damned his only child to be food for the wolves. "He stayed there on that hilltop until the sun began to rise, then when all his tears were shed, he returned home to his wife. He told her the story that the midwife suggested, that the child had been born lifeless and that he had buried it as she slept. His wife -- as he had known she would be -- was inconsolable at first, but through time she came to accept the story, along with the fact that they were destined to be childless. They went on with their lives as normal, despite the sadness that they both felt whenever they saw families with children. Everything seemed fine, until a year to the day after the child's birth." "What happened then?" It was Carl's turn to interrupt. He couldn't help himself. He had been listening to the story and watching the young woman from the corner of his eye, unable to quell the thought that she still hadn't used her right hand. "Well," Bran replied, his expression slightly vexed at the interruption. "He woke in the night to find Lileth gone. It was cold; in fact the weather was much as it is tonight, with deep snow covering the land and a strong wind that stung his flesh through his clothing as he went out to search for her. She wasn't difficult to find -- all he had to do was follow the footprints in the fresh snow -- and before long he found her, cold and still at the top of the hill: the very hill where a year earlier Faren had abandoned his only child." "Was she dead?" the young woman asked fearfully, and Carl noted that she was chewing the nails of her left hand, while her right was still nowhere to be seen. "No, she wasn't dead," Bran continued. "She was asleep, with a smile on her face as serene and peaceful as a well-nursed babe. Faren tried to wake her, to ask what on Makdiar she was doing, but it was as though she was in thrall because he couldn't rouse her. He tried everything, from shaking her and calling her name, even to gently slapping her face, but nothing would work. Eventually, fearful that she would die from the cold, he picked her up and carried her bodily back to their house. There, he laid her by the fire and wrapped her in the blankets from their bed to keep her warm. When she awoke the next morning she could remember nothing of the previous night. "After that, things went on as normal once more, until the night of the second anniversary of the child's birth. Once again, Faren woke to find his wife gone and once again, he found her atop that very hill. On the third year, he waited up, watching her and sure enough, at roughly the same time that Faren had carried the child to the hill, she got up out of their bed and headed towards the door. Faren was ready and he stopped her before she reached the threshold. He picked her up and carried her back to the bed and it was then that she seemed to wake. She began to scream and carry on something terrible, kicking out at him and raking him with her nails as he tried to restrain her. She had to go, she kept telling him, someone was calling her and she had to go. Eventually he had to tie her down to the bed itself, and that is exactly what he has done every year on that same night. This year, however, things had grown worse. For the whole year, whenever Nochturon is at his fullest wax, the thrall has come upon her. "When he had finished telling his awful tale, Faren looked almost relieved, as though he had released a heavy burden by sharing the knowledge that he had kept locked within him for twenty years. "'I suppose you think me a monster now,' he sighed as he rose from the table to make the morning tea. Yes, it was morning by now -- the pale winter sun was shining through the window -- we had talked the night away. "'I am no judge,' I told him, 'but if you would have my advice I would gladly give it.' "Faren nodded, his hazel eyes hopeful, no, desperate. I could see that he would give anything to end the curse that had blighted his marriage. "'You must tell Lileth the truth,' I told him, noting the sudden bleak look that entered his eyes. I could see that he had considered doing exactly that on many occasions. "'But she will leave me!' he cried, tears rolling down his grizzled face. 'If I tell her that I killed our only child she will hate me.' "'Maybe,' I told him honestly, 'but it is the only way to break the spell. The child's spirit is obviously calling her, wanting her to know the truth and it will keep on doing so until you tell her. One night she might escape and you may not find her in time. She might die of exposure, or worse. She could even suffer the same fate as her child. Do you want that Faren?' "No, Faren didn't want that. He shook his head miserably. I could see that my words had found their mark, and with a heavy sigh he went through to the other room. I didn't follow, it was a time they needed to be left alone. I tried not to listen to their voices, but it was difficult, especially when Lileth's became shrill and angry. Soon Faren came out of the room. He joined me at the table and his eyes were dead. "'She hates me,' he said flatly and despite my resolve to remain aloof I could not help but place a hand on his shoulder in a futile effort to comfort him. "Did she leave him then?" the young woman asked, and Carl was astonished to see that she was actually weeping; tears rolled down her freckled cheeks, sparkling like jewels in the candle-light. Why was the story affecting her so? Yes, it had brought a lump to his own throat at times, but it was just a story, wasn't it? It shouldn't make anyone weep, should it? Unless it was true? "No," Bran smiled, "She didn't leave him. She came out of the bedroom and placed her hands on his shoulders. "'I should hate you for what you did, Faren,' she told him sternly, her own eyes red with crying. 'But I know you did what you thought was best and I know you were trying to protect me. I've loved you for thirty-five years and no matter how angry I try to be, or how much I try to hate you, I can't.' "'You ... you're not going to leave me?' Faren's eyes blazed with hope as he turned to look up at her. "'No,' she sighed, 'I'm not going to leave you, but I want you to do me one favour.' "'Anything!' Faren cried, jumping to his feet and holding her to him. 'I would do anything for you Lileth, you know that.' "'Good,' she smiled. 'The next time I get the calling I want you to let me go. You see I know now. My child is still alive somewhere. It wasn't eaten by wolves. Someone found it and cared for it and now it is alive and looking for its mother. That's why the calling has come more often this year, don't you see, Faren? My child is looking for me and I must follow where it leads.' "Faren sighed and shook his head. I could see that he didn't believe that his child lived, but he would agree to her request; he couldn't do otherwise. All he could do was to let her go, and follow her to make sure no harm befell her." As Bran finished his story, Carl felt tears sting his own eyes. He could see poor Faren following his wife as her trance took her who-knows-where. Maybe they *would* find their child, maybe it *was* still alive. At that thought he turned again to the young woman, his suspicions heightened to fever-pitch by the story and her unseen right hand. Maybe she *was* the child. Perhaps that was why the story had affected her so badly. As he watched she began to unfasten the clasp of her cloak with her left hand. Now he would find out! When she took off the cloak the withered right arm would be exposed and he would know the truth! He jumped to his feet, eager to take the cloak from her, eager to see what malformed limb the poor girl kept hidden under there. As he did so, the door opened again and he almost cried out his disappointment. With a sigh he turned towards the door and began to walk towards the newcomer, forcing himself to become the cheerful innkeeper once again. As he approached the young man who had entered, he turned to take one last look at the girl, who was busy rummaging in her pack, with both hands. Both hands! Both, perfectly formed, slender-fingered hands! He almost laughed aloud at his own stupidity. How could he have let himself get so carried away? Bran was obviously a seasoned talespinner, so the story couldn't be true. How had he let himself be taken in by such a story, to the point where he suspected a young girl of being the tale's subject, just because she was left-handed? "You old fool!" he scolded himself, shaking his head and smiling as he went to take the young man's cloak. The smile, however, froze on his lips as the young man's withered right arm was brought into view. ======================================================================== Talisman Zero Part 3 by Dafydd Cyhoeddwr Mid-fall, 2216 ID Part 1 of this story was printed in DargonZine 12-1 Kendil was waiting his turn somewhat impatiently to rinse down after morning sparring practice. It had been a week since Captain Eldinan's plan to try to cheer up Nikkeus had been turned by the teraehra musician into the beginning of a trio that was working out better than any of the three of them could have dreamed. And he was anxious to get back to the captain's cabin before Eldinan's daily duty began. Of the three of them, Elin had the most claims on her time each day. As captain of the _Typhoon Dancer_, she had no official duties except in times of danger. However, sailing the Valenfaer Ocean in mid-fall meant that times of danger were seldom far away. The _Typhoon Dancer's_ mission was to transport her cargo of supplies and personnel to Wudamund, a watch-keep on the northern point of the continent of Cherisk. Not very long ago, that mission would have been as safe in mid-fall as in mid-summer, but no longer, not since the civil war. So Elin felt that her place was on deck with the crew throughout the day. Kendil's only daily obligation was morning drill. He was part of the alkaehran squad posted to the _Typhoon Dancer_ as protection. The soldiers drilled amidships at the tail end of the night watch in order to keep out of the way as much as possible. The twenty alkaehran of the squad tended to be crowded in the limited open space amidships. But Jenkil, their commander, was adamant that they practice every day so that they would be familiar with the ship and fighting at sea should their skills be needed. Nikkeus had no duties. He usually spent the day serenading the ship from his position in the bow, switching often between the half-dozen instruments that he had brought with him, including those of his own construction. All three of them spent the evening and night in the captain's cabin. Kendil marveled at what went on in there each night. He had thought he had reached complete satisfaction with Elin, but the addition of Nikk compounded his delight in ways he had never contemplated before. And it wasn't just the sex, either. Sometimes they just sat around Elin's table and talked, and Kendil was amazed to find that activity to be deeply fulfilling as well. Finally, it was his turn in the small enclosure set up in the corner between the gunwale and the quarterdeck wall for showering. He closed the door behind him and looked up at the wooden tub set on the quarterdeck itself. Through the single stave in the front that had been rendered transparent by magic, he saw that there wasn't much water left. He would be stuck helping heave more water up from the ocean in buckets to refill the tub unless he was very careful how much he used. The whole process of refilling the tub, then tracking down Gerr-ap, the alkaehran squad's magician, to purify and heat the water, could take a quarter of the morning watch. Which would mean that he would not make it back to the cabin before Elin went on duty. He had stripped out of his drill kirtle and was reaching up for the tap in the side of the water tub when the door opened behind him. He turned around, an angry remark ready on his lips for Leilan, who was next in line for the shower and obviously trying to hurry him up. But when he saw three of the regular crew crowding through the door, dark looks on their faces, he changed his remark to, "What do you want?" Burrilain, the _Typhoon Dancer's_ first mate, moved quickly behind Kendil and grabbed the alkaehra's arms, immobilizing him. Corrik, one of the other interlopers, shoved a piece of parchment into Kendil's mouth and wiped it on his tongue. Kendil tried to spit it out, but the sailor removed it quickly. Then Geziir, the third intruder, produced a knife and waved it in front of Kendil's face. Corrik turned Kendil's head aside, and the soldier felt the knife jab lightly at his earlobe. Kendil thrashed around, trying to kick his assailants and get free. But with four people in the shower enclosure, there just wasn't enough room for him to move. Corrik lifted the parchment, wet with saliva, and Kendil felt it rubbed against his bleeding ear. All three crewmen stared at the parchment that Corrik held in front of himself. Kendil looked too, wondering what they expected to see besides blood and saliva. Suddenly, the surface of the paper started to glow and then, with a tiny pop, the fluids vanished and the parchment turned a pale violet. The three intruders seemed pleased by this result, except maybe Geziir who muttered what sounded like an oath under his breath. Burrilain let go of Kendil's arms and came out from behind him. The first mate said, "Sorry there, Kendil me lad, but we had to be sure. The paper proves it -- you've not spellbound the cap'n. She's our cap'n, you know, and it was important. You understand?" Kendil nodded, and the two crew members that were holding him let go. They shuffled away from him as far as they could, which wasn't far in the small stall. Kendil started to ask why they had done this, but Burrilain interrupted him. "It's just that she's acting odd. Oh, not every day, no. But with you in her cabin for so long, and then to take that teraehra in as well ... But if there be no magic holding her unnatural-like, then all is well. "You just remember, we all care for her. Hurt her, and we hurt you. Understand?" Kendil nodded, and all three nodded back. Kendil knew by the intense looks on their faces that they were perfectly serious. Fortunately, he knew that he wasn't out to hurt Elin. She was, as far as he knew, just as ecstatically happy as he was himself. "Right," said Burrilain. "We'll be going then. But you remember!" Geziir opened the door and slipped out. Burrilain followed. Corrik stopped in the door, and groped Kendil briefly. He leered, and said, "If I had known, Kendil, I would have told the others that it wasn't magic that kept you in cap'n's bed." He winked, patted Kendil's cheek, said, "Be good to her," and left. Kendil slumped against the quarterdeck wall and panted as the excitement and fear from the encounter faded. He lifted a hand to his cut ear, but it didn't even hurt though it turned his fingers red with blood. Having recovered somewhat, he shook his head and turned back to the shower tap. He reached up again and opened it, letting the lukewarm water flow over his whole body. He turned the water off and reached for the soap, and he heard the door open behind him again. He whirled around, and found that two of Nikk's fellow teraehran had entered the shower enclosure. Both were female, and both were holding swords pointed at his middle. He backed against the quarterdeck wall, raising his hands defensively, and said, again, "What do you want?" One of them held out a small glass tube containing a greenish liquid. "Drink this," she said. "Why?" Kendil asked. "Drink it, or we'll feed it to you. It won't hurt you, but we might, accidentally." They pushed their swords forward until the points were touching his stomach. "All right, I'll drink it." Kendil took the glass tube, removed the stopper, and gulped it down. It didn't taste like anything but water and he wondered what it was supposed to do until he felt his head start to tingle. "Open your mouth," the other teraehra said. Kendil complied, and the woman stared for a moment then frowned. "Stick out your tongue." Kendil shrugged, and did so. He looked down, crossing his eyes, and saw that his tongue was a familiar shade of violet. The two women withdrew their swords. The second speaker said, "Well, I guess everything is okay. No magic bindings present. We were just worried about Nikkeus, that's all. He's one of ours, you know, so we felt obligated to look after him. No hard feelings, eh?" The first speaker said, "But just remember, alkaehra, that if you hurt Nikkeus, we'll hurt you. Got it?" Kendil nodded. The two of them saluted him, and turned to leave. The first speaker was the last to leave, and she glanced back from the door. Her eyes dipped below Kendil's waist, and she smiled. She looked back up into his face and said, "Nice tongue, among other things. Lucky Nikkeus. Lucky captain." She winked, turned, and left. Kendil sagged against the wall again, though his recovery was quicker this time. His lovers certainly had some forceful friends. He hoped that the two groups spread their news everywhere. He certainly didn't need anyone else trying to ensure the wellbeing of Elin and Nikk. He turned back to his shower, and realized that he was almost dry again. As he reached up for the shower tap, he heard the whistle of day watch beginning, and slammed his fist against the wall in frustration. Well, it was too late for a morning cuddle with Elin now, but he still didn't want to have to refill the water tub. Taking another estimate of the water left, he twisted the tap to on just as the door opened behind him again. Without turning the water off, he turned beneath the stream and shouted, "Oh, by Aelther's lazy eye, what now!" It was only Leilan, who said, "Are you just about done? Do you have any more appointments this morning in the shower? Because there are still five of us waiting." And as the last of the water gurgled out of the tap, Leilan grinned and said, "And it looks like we'll be waiting a bit longer, eh Kendil? Why don't I go hunt up Gerr-ap while you start working with the bucket and rope to refill that tub?" Kendil just shook his head as the young alkaehra walked away laughing loudly. "At least," he thought, "my two lovers are worth all this trouble!" Nikkeus knelt in front of his locker in the teraehran's hold and tried to decide which instrument to play today. He was somewhat disappointed that Kendil hadn't made it back from drill before Elin had to go on duty, but it was only a minor thing. Nothing worthy of upsetting their relationship. He pulled out his vibrolin first, plucked a string, and set it back in its place. The vibrolin was too innately sad for him to be playing today. The trio he had suggested had been together for a whole week, and he was far too happy to be playing such a mournful instrument. He reached for the five-valved sakbut and nodded. He was already composing tunes in his head as he closed his locker, when he heard the door to the room open and close. He stood up and turned around, and found two men standing by the door looking at him with strange expressions on their faces. He didn't know their names, but he recognized them as being part of the alkaehran squad assigned to the ship. Something about the way they were staring at him frightened him, and he condensed the question he wanted to ask into one word, like he usually did. "What?" he asked as strongly as he could. "'What?'" the dark haired one mimicked. "Can't even ask a proper question, can he, Quell? Can't talk, but he's damn cute, huh?" The pair started advancing toward Nikkeus as the dark haired one continued, "What does 'what' mean? What are we doing here? What do we want? Answer's the same. You. We want some of what ol' Kendil's got, and since we can't do this to the captain, we'll get what we want from you instead." "Yeah," said the one named Quell. "Kendil always did act too big for his kirtle, too good for the likes of us simple alkaehran. And now he sleeps with the captain, *and* a little teraehra. That's one too many for Kendil, ain't that right, Odonbar? We're just gonna take our share, that's all. Just take our share." Nikkeus gripped his instrument as he looked around for a better weapon. There was something wrong with these two, something about their eyes, about the way they moved, haltingly and strange. He instinctively knew that trying to talk them out of their intentions was just a waste of time. So he steeled himself, and prepared to defend himself. Quell seemed to decide that getting naked should come before subduing his prey, but Odonbar just kept stalking toward Nikkeus. All of a sudden, he lunged at the musician, who reacted as he had been trained. Nikkeus tightly gripped the sakbut, a coil of brass tubes he had modified to use valves instead of the normal slide, and when Odonbar leaped, Nikkeus swung the instrument as hard as he could into the alkaehra's face. Metal impacted Odonbar's nose, and the man gave a cry and crumpled, blood streaming from his nostrils. Quell looked up, his tunic half unlaced, and growled, then charged. Nikkeus lifted his bent instrument and tried to use it like a club again, but Quell ducked the swing and tackled the musician, knocking the sakbut out of his hand. Nikkeus tried to roll out from under Quell, but the other man quickly grabbed him tightly, keeping him in place. Nikkeus tried to batter his way free, but the alkaehra was in a better position. As a last resort, Nikkeus shifted his hips and slammed his leg upward, catching Quell perfectly between the legs. The alkaehra screamed and clutched at his groin, and Nikkeus rolled out from under the groaning soldier. Nikkeus scrambled to his feet and started for the door, but Odonbar had recovered somewhat and blocked his way. The bloody-faced man growled, "You'll be a more willing partner once I've cut you some." He drew his knife and started brandishing it menacingly. Nikkeus knew he was in trouble. Unarmed against a knife was a bad position to be in, and the hurt and crazed condition of this man only made it worse. Nikkeus swiftly glanced around again for a weapon, or even a shield, but the teraehran were too neat and there was nothing lying around that suited his purposes. He tried to dart around Odonbar, but wasn't fast enough. He had just decided to try to gain some room by retreating into the depths of the room when Quell, who had stopped groaning some time before, lunged at his ankles and knocked him to the deck. With animal-like growls, both men leapt on top of him. Odonbar kept his knife flickering in front of Nikkeus' face while Quell started to reach up under the musician's tunic to pull down his undergarments. Nikkeus made a few futile grabs for the knife, and then realized that Quell was so busy trying to get him naked that both of Nikkeus' legs were completely free of restraint. He didn't waste his opportunity, and once again kicked Quell hard, this time in the side. The alkaehra grunted and rolled away, which distracted Odonbar. Nikkeus again took advantage, and heaved his torso up, throwing Odonbar off. Leaping to his feet, Nikkeus dashed for the door. He heard both of his assailants close behind him and he wondered whether he could run fast enough to get up on deck. He had just about decided that he couldn't, since they were almost upon him and he hadn't even reached the door, when that same door opened, admitting a handful of his fellow teraehran. "Help!" he gasped breathlessly as he stumbled into them. Neither Odonbar nor Quell reacted to the new presences, but just dove after Nikkeus. They didn't stand a chance. They were tackled immediately, and even their crazed struggling wasn't enough to overcome the efforts of three people holding each down. Both assailants were wrestled to their feet, still held securely, and the lot of them trooped toward the deck. Nikkeus called out, "Deck command!" as soon as they arrived on deck. There was a scramble of people toward them, including the crew member designated deck commander. Nikkeus told his story to Geziir, who examined the two attackers briefly and then summoned the ship's healer and chirurgeon. Kendil arrived before Telfra, the healer, and he immediately hugged Nikkeus tightly. "Are you all right, Nikk?" Nikkeus hugged Kendil back, and eventually said, "Yes. Fine." It felt good to be in Kendil's arms. Comfortable and safe. He just rested there, head on Kendil's shoulder, until the healer arrived. Geziir muttered something to Telfra when she walked up, and she started examining the two captives. She said, "You were right, Geziir. They are drugged. By the signs, it was crystallized Jur-fish." She stared at them for a while longer, holding her hands over various parts of their bodies. Finally, she shook her head and turned back to Geziir. "The drug is everywhere in them, so they've been taking it for at least a fortnight. You know as well as I that they couldn't have smuggled it on board before launch, so they must have caught some Jur-fish along the way and processed it themselves." The captain arrived then, and hugged Nikkeus to herself. She also asked, "Are you all right?" Nikkeus nodded, and hugged her back, and he found himself equally comfortable and safe in her arms. She passed him back to Kendil and took a step toward the prisoners. She said, "Report, deck commander." Geziir gave her a condensed version of Nikkeus' story, as well as the pronouncement of Telfra on the prisoners' condition. "Jur-fish, huh?" the captain said. She shook her head, and said, "Take them below and put them in lock-up. Sentence will be delivered later. Back to stations, everyone. We can't let these scum disrupt the ship's operation totally." The crew dispersed, two of them leading the teraehran who were restraining the captives to the brig. Soon, only Kendil and the captain still stood by Nikkeus. She said, "Come on, let's all go back to the cabin." Nikkeus had no problem with that, and the three of them started across the deck. As they walked, Eldinan called out, "First mate, I'll be in my cabin if I'm needed." Nikkeus became the center of hugs and kisses and tender endearments as soon as the cabin's door closed behind them. Both Kendil and Elin were touching him, kissing him, trying to comfort him and make him feel better. They dragged him over to the bed and sat him down, trying to ease him, make him comfortable, feel safe and loved. And he did feel safe and loved, and comfortable for a little bit. But very soon, their overly dramatic attentions began to smother him instead of making him comfortable. Finally, he had had enough. "Stop! I'm not a child!" They both pulled back, puzzled and hurt looks on their faces. "What?" asked Elin. "I don't understand," said Kendil. "I am not a child. I am trained to fight, and have been in imperial service for nine years. Those two were not the worst I've faced in combat, and they didn't hurt me, only scared me a little. You two need to stop treating me like a baby! Would you smother Kendil with worry like this if he were attacked, Elin? Then give me the same respect. I am a year older than he is after all." Kendil and Eldinan looked sheepish and repentant. "Sorry, Nikk," said Kendil. "I respect you, and I'll remember that you're not my kid brother next time." Nikkeus laughed at that, and hugged the alkaehra. "I apologize too, Nikk," said the captain. "Ever since that first day, when I asked you why you were playing such sad music, I've felt like you needed protection. But you can take care of yourself, which should have been obvious. The empire doesn't employ musicians -- at least, not ones who can't also fight -- and you are a teraehra after all. "Come and give me a hug, and I'll get back on duty." Nikkeus hugged her. He felt better for having asserted his independence, and was glad that Elin and Kendil had accepted it. Even so, he realized that he wasn't quite ready for Elin to leave just yet. "Do you absolutely *have* to leave so soon, Elin? I ... ah ... well, we ... we don't get time together during the day very often, and ..." The captain smiled gently, and patted Nikkeus' back. "No, Nikk, I don't have to go quite yet." She led him back to the bed, where he settled back between his lovers, happy and feeling independently protected. Eldinan stepped out of her cabin and paused a moment, listening to Nikk and Kendil still chatting away. With a soft sigh at the call of duty, she closed the door softly and strode up on deck. She reflected on the conversation the three of them had shared. Kendil had related his experiences in the deck shower. He had been slightly indignant that both her crew and Nikk's fellow teraehran had suspected him of using unnatural means to coerce his partners into a relationship. She had done her best to reassure him that it was only over protectiveness. In the case of her crew, the over protectiveness was out of loyalty. And in the case of the teraehran, it was because Nikk just seemed so vulnerable. What she hadn't done was voice her thought that part of their actions might have had to do with the way he held himself aloof from the rest of the ship's alkaehran, and everyone else on board. No one had really known him well enough to be sure that he wasn't doing something unnatural. In the absence of anyone to vouch for his character, the two groups had used variations of the same magical test to be sure that his involvement in the trio was clean. She emerged from the other end of the passage from her cabin into sunlight and a fresh wind. She checked conditions on deck with a practiced sweep of her gaze, then walked over to the ladder and climbed onto the quarterdeck. The first mate was standing at the rail, and she went over to stand beside him. "I'm back, Burrilain. I see that there's been no excitement in my absence." "Aye, Captain. Calm and steady." He paused, then continued, "Ah, if I may suggest ...?" "Go right ahead, First Mate." "Well, Captain, I've been thinking that you might want to assign the punishment of the two alkaehra to me. To remove yourself from any hint of trouble, since you are so close to the situation." She had been avoiding thinking about the two assailants ever since leaving the deck earlier, but it was time to deal with them. She thought about Burrilain's suggestion, and didn't have to think very hard to know what he meant by 'hint of trouble.' She *was* very close to the situation, and she couldn't be sure that her judgment wouldn't be affected. When she had heard that Nikkeus, her little Nikk, had been attacked, she had been *so* worried! And then, an instant later, she had been so angry she could have chewed rocks! When she had heard the deck commander's report, she had been ready at that point to draw her sword and behead the two assailants right then and there. So, actually, there was no question that her judgment was impaired. And her first mate had offered an elegant, and perfectly permissible, solution. She finally said, "You thought right, and right well, Burrilain. There's a reason you're first mate, isn't there?" She clapped him on the shoulder. "You know the rules as well as I do. Undertake the punishment of the prisoners, Burrilain. I leave them in your charge." "Very good, Captain. I'll attend to them at once." Eldinan watched as Burrilain strode down to the main deck, and ordered the prisoners brought up. She was looking forward to this, perhaps a little too much. True, Nikk hadn't been hurt, and it was true he could take care of himself. But Nikk had told both of them exactly why the alkaehran had attacked him, and she knew that scum like that deserved just what they were getting. It only took two crew members to bring the prisoners back on deck, as they had been locked into irons. They presented little threat, even though they were still under the effects of the Jur-fish drug. They scowled at everyone around them as they stood there shackled hand and foot. Burrilain stood in front of the prisoners and raised his voice for everyone to hear. "You stand accused of two crimes. The first is assault on a passenger of the ship. The proof is incontrovertible, and the punishment is ten lashes. This punishment will be postponed for the moment." Eldinan gave the first mate a silent "Excellent" for the way he dealt with the first matter. He got it out of the way quickly, gave it a medium sentence, and then set it aside. That way, it would be forgotten quickly as the subsequent charges were brought up. Nikk wasn't even mentioned by name, which kept his association to her from being directly brought up, which was all to the better. Either Burrilain had been planning this out very carefully, or he was a natural barrister. The first mate continued, "Your second crime is that of use of a proscribed drug, compounded by the production of that drug in a proscribed location, namely on board this ship. The apparatus for crystallizing Jur-fish was found in your lockers, and Chirurgeon Telfra avers that it has been used." Another perfect move, thought Eldinan. Burrilain must have ordered the search earlier. She looked around at the crew on deck, and almost everyone was frowning or shaking their heads. There would be no sympathy for those two among her crew. "By imperial law and ship's law, use of a proscribed drug carries the maximum penalty by reason of being incapable of carrying out your duties. Your dereliction of duty could endanger the lives of everyone on board this ship, and that must be punished. There are circumstances that might commute this sentence, but the fact that you procured the drug for yourselves seals your fates. You are responsible, and you will pay that price. "Deck command, open the gunwale." Geziir walked over to the railing on the port side of the ship and opened the gate. Burrilain said, "You two, Alkant Quell and Alkant Odonbar, are consigned to the mercies of the sea. May you find your just reward. "Carry out the sentence!" The two alkaehran began to struggle as the crew members pulled them toward the open rail. More of the crew joined in, restraining the prisoners further and shoving them closer and closer to their fate. Except for the grunts of the prisoners as they struggled, there was silence on the deck. Eldinan looked out over her crew, and saw grim faces everywhere. They knew that what the two alkaehran had done was wrong, and they knew that the sentence was just. But the one thing every sailor feared was death in the sea; death by drowning. Only the fact that the two had brought it on themselves mitigated that shared nightmare. Face after face turned to look up at her and nod, then return to the morbid spectacle of the prisoners. Her crew understood, and she felt better. With a final, wordless cry, first Odonbar, then Quell, was pushed out the gate. The two splashes sounded moments later, and a faint, unanimous sigh swept over the deck. Geziir closed the gunwale gate. It was done. Eldinan turned from the rail of the quarterdeck, and walked to the pilot house, displacing Corrik again. She took up her position behind the unmoving wheel, and stared out over her ship. It happened slowly, but presently the _Typhoon Dancer_ bustled again with normal activity. Eldinan found it almost impossible not to think of the two men they had left behind, sinking slowly into unmeasured depths ... Just then, a cry came down from the weather watch. "Storm on the starboard horizon, Cap'n!" Automatically, her hand reached out and touched her anhekova, but of course there was no tingle, no contact with that extra sense. She would get no sense of the size or strength of the storm, or of how far it might blow them off course. She sighed. Only one more week, and they would dock at Wudamund. She stepped out of the pilot house to start readying her ship for the storm. They had had calm weather for two weeks, so a storm was almost inevitable. But how many more would there be before they reached Cherisk? And would they survive? ========================================================================