Memnalar

Since the day they destroyed the lighthouse, there were always fresh pickings on the beach. Tan's shoulders strained as he pulled the dragging-litter across the sand, leaving deep grooves over his footprints. He glanced back at the litter as he shifted the straps. A big haul, and not even two hours past daybreak. There must have been a battle at sea. Tan glanced at the horizon over the water, and wondered. Leader came stomping toward him, hit him in the jaw. Tan tasted blood. "You fall behind!" Tan could smell Leader's breath. He had eaten meat, and recently. Tan and the other Draggers had only hard, wormy bread and filthy water. "Keep up, or it's the whip." Leader grinned with red teeth, as he patted the black, oiled length of twisted roel-gut, wound into a tight coil at his belt. He loved that whip, like an extension of him. "Or," Leader's grin widened even more, so much that Tan thought the top of his head might split off, "Will you turn Killer today?" By now, the

In the end, after seven full moons, a dozen houses burned, and the bones of two-score villagers and seven unlucky knights had been strewn for leagues around, the farming clans took matters into their own hands. Heirloom silver from every house went into the smelter. Even the sullen, miserly old usurer was held down and fed whiskey until his silver molars could be pulled. They paid an itinerant bladesmith with as much coin, plum-wine and pelts as she could load on her wagon. They loaded the result of her craft into a huge, old siege crossbow left over from dozens of brushfire wars as this land changed hands from one king or another. And they waited until the next full moon, until they next heard the beating of leathery wings and claws skittering against the treetops. They would steel themselves with whiskey and plum-wine. They would aim for the center of the shadowy mass as it bent to feast. They would pray. Some balked at the plan of using the drunken moneylender as bait for

Tan smelled the Church long before coming within sight of it. Smoke had found its way into the bark of every tree for a mile out, and smothered all other scents so completely, that Tan barely registered anything else until he rounded a bend in the road. The old Church was gone. Only the ancient, stone chimney from the rectory still stood, surrounded by a black patch in the ground. The rubble was gone as well, removed days ago by volunteers. Those volunteers were still here, unloading lumber from Tan's wagon as Typhoon munched oats from a bag hanging around her snout. Each board, barrel and bag of nails travelled in a procession toward the Church's new frame, growing where the old stood just weeks ago. Several men and women from the village were gathered along either side of a large section of frame, newly assembled flat on on the ground. As one, the villagers hoisted it up on one end and held it against the standing frame as ladders were placed against it. The shortest and

Tan could finally sit up, and did so, rubbing his eyes. He looked around, shocked. "What's all this?" Montrose looked up from his notes, then around the room, and smiled. "You saved those children, Tan. This is what happens." Two tables in the infirmary were so full of homemade gifts that several had fallen to the floor. Baskets of bread, cakes, jugs of cider, sacks of beans, carvings, a handmade broom, dolls and animals of sticks or patchwork fabric, wooden spoons, candles, quilts, a knife, and jars upon jars upon jars, each corked and covered with colorful cloth. Tan remarked on them. Montrose laughed. "Every house has its own recipe for preserves," he said. "You remember a couple winters ago when Kloette delivered Olga and Rolf Kyarny's baby? The Raven is still working through all the strawberry jam they gave her." Tan smiled. "I'd wondered why Klo never charges for it." "There are piles outside, against the north wall," said Montrose, "We couldn't fit the firewood and pumpkins

Tan dreamed of fire, of heat, of his skin blistering and melting away like candle wax. He heard screams ahead of him. Children were caught beneath a burning beam. He reached out to them, but his wax hands melted away. The little ones would die here. All his strength, everything he had learned, and he was useless. The last thing you are in the world to me is useless. He heard Igrid, but did not see her. He saw only the trapped children. He could not pull them out, so he would stay with them. They would not be alone. As he drew close, one of the children grabbed his beard and pulled. That's it! Tan pulled back, hoping to drag them out this way. Maybe it would work! But the child was stuck fast, and strong. Tan felt himself being pulled further into the flames. The child's hand grew bigger, stronger, and grew claws. A troll's hand. Then there were more. Dozens, hundreds of trollish hands, each ending in filthy nails, grabbed at his beard and pulled him into the flames. No! Tan

We had three storms together, you and I. The first was on the night you were born. Oh, how the wind howled, and the rain hit the stone of the walls like cannon fire. "My Lady, the foal is too big," old Wicker said to me, the flash of lightning keeping him half in shadow, "We'll have to cut it free." Penumbra, your mother, would not live to nurse you. Oh, how I wept. I learned to ride on Penumbra, learned to couch a lance, swing a mace and steady a bow on her back. I cried into her neck when my father passed. She looked on as I was crowned Duchess, barded in my family's colors. I held her head and screamed into her mane. I would not be consoled, not by old Wicker or anyone else. I had lost Father, I had lost Mother, and now Penumbra, my strength and sunshine, had left me. I paid no attention to you. I didn't see you struggle to your feet, by yourself. I didn't even know you were there, until you hobbled up and bit me. I jerked my head up then, hand over my bleeding ear, sad

They prepared to leave Elifred's smithy as the sun grew low. In addition to nails, the wagon was full of door hinges, horseshoes, spoons for the inn - They always seem to run out of spoons, Tan had said - and a wrapping for Igrid's new saber. The hammering and singing began anew inside the smithy. Igrid wondered if Elly was mostly naked again. They climbed aboard the wagon, and Tan picked up the reins. Just then, the smithy's door banged open, and Phea emerged, carrying two sacks. Her iron feet sinking deep into the grass, she marched up to the wagon, and handed one sack to Igrid, without ceremony. Igrid peered in, holding a lantern against the fading light. "Wow!" she said, "Bread, cheese, fruit, wine! And I think that's jerky!" Tan nodded, smiling. "They trap lots of wild boar around here, and make jerky and sausage from them." Igrid leaned over to thank Phea, but the iron woman had already turned and marched up to Typhoon. She dug into the second sack, and produced a carrot.

Igrid looked back and forth between the cargo coming off the barges, and the manifest. She snorted in disgust. "What's wrong?" Kloette said, approaching Igrid on the dock. She had her red parasol open. Igrid raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh," Kloette said, glancing up. "It's very sunny today. Not good for me." "Are you a vampire?" "Why, yes," Kloette smirked. "I've been thinking of biting you since you arrived." Igrid sniffed herself. They'd been unloading half the morning. "I should really take a bath, or that won't be pleasant for you." Kloette grinned. "Problem?" Igrid held up her manifest and growled at the stacks on the dock. "I ordered ten gross of nails for the roof. They sent one. That's gonna put me behind for days while we wait on another barge." The pier shook as Tan dropped a stack of shingles. He was faster than the ancient, creaking cargo hoist. He wiped his brow. "We can go see Elifred at the smithy," he said. "She can turn out most of what you ordered in a day or

An acolyte found Montrose in the brewery, testing samples while walking some newer brothers through the process. "Yes, Lupo?" Montrose looked up from his beakers. The acolyte bowed respectfully. "Your pardon, Father Abbot, but there is a visitor at the gate to see you. She gives her name as Kloette Fishermorn." "I see." Montrose smiled at the resigned look Kloette must have worn when having to say her last name. She'd always hated it. "Show her to the library, please." "I'd already tried to take the liberty," young Lupo said, flustered. "But she won't enter the grounds." Montrose nodded, groaning inwardly. This meant she wasn't happy, and wanted to say things out of the monks' earshot. He was grateful for her discretion, but sometimes wished she'd just send a note. "I'll be along in a moment." Lupo nodded, and left. Montrose assigned duties to the new brothers, gathered his nerve, and went to the gate. There was Kloette, looking stern in her boots and grey traveling clothes

CW: Description of sexual assault. Summary in comments. Igrid and Tan bounced along the delivery route, back to routine until Kloette's lumber made it up the river, or Magistrate Quill came around to hear Igrid's case. Between stops, they paused to have lunch and let Typhoon nibble on wild grass. Igrid told Tan about her time in the city after the navy, and her occupation during most of it. "Ah." Tan said, pausing as he sliced cheese. "I've read about that." Igrid then realized she'd been holding her breath, and felt like an idiot. She let it out in a laugh. "What's funny?" "Nothing. Just the way your mind works." She rested her chin on her knees and grinned at him. "So, you've um, read about it?" "Yes," he replied, now self-conscious. "Do you mind if I ask you questions?" "Not at all." He put the cheese slices on a piece of cloth between them, then started on an apple. Igrid told him about her time alone on the street, then who she worked for. She talked about the money

Immediately, Igrid began costing Kloette money. She inspected the Red Raven Inn from pier to weathervane, Tan in tow and clicking away with his abacus. They presented a page with numbers that made Kloette blanch. "The roof is fucked," Igrid said in her usual soft-shoe. "Warping, rot, and termites. I don't know if magic is holding the roof up right now, or just stubbornness, but if you make it another year without it sliding off into the Elsa, I'll miss my guess." Igrid followed this by ticking off the inn's other problems. Walls, doors, cabinetry, the lavatories, half the guest rooms and the river dock all needed attention. "Summing up, she's a gut job," Igrid finished. "Be cheaper to pull her down and start over." Tan put a hand on Igrid's shoulder, a gentle hint. Igrid looked up from her quote and saw that Kloette was looking at the rafters with misty eyes. "Your great-grandfather built this place, right?" Tan said, quietly. Kloette nodded. "And my great-grandma. And my

A steady, rhythmic clicking intruded on Igrid's dreams. She imagined herself inside a room of delicate clockworks, fragile gears meshing, flywheels whirring, springs slowly uncoiling. The clock room vanished into morning light filtered through curtains, but the sound remained. Igrid opened her eyes to see the woman she knew as Kloette, but had never spoken with. This was the Red Raven Inn, perhaps. Kloette was seated in a chair at the foot of the bed, knitting. Or rather, her metal, clockwork hands were knitting. She looked up to see Igrid watching her. "Ah, you're awake," she said. The needles didn't stop. "Good morning." Igrid sat up with a groan. Her skin burned, her head throbbed, and her muscles felt like they'd come unmoored from her bones only to be stitched back in place. That didn't increase her comfort with Kloette's knitting. Koette mistook her staring for interest. "I actually don't enjoy this," she sighed. "But the concentration helps me improve control." She