The Lesser Repository Page 5

CHAPTER TWO

  A Day For Hunters

  Deadwisp in the lake, deadwisp in the river, go home, go home, you're making me shiver.

  Deadwisp in the well, deadwisp in the deep, go home, go home, don't steal me in my sleep.

  -Highland children's rhyme on Shard

  I don't believe you,” Dayn growled. He clenched Laman’s staff so hard his hands shook. That was the only thing keeping them from Joam's throat. “I was going to tell father everything today. Peace confound it all, you've ruined everything!”

  “Sure you were.” Joam had the gall to actually smile! He held up his hands defensively after a good look at Dayn's face. “But if I didn’t say something before tonight, you?”

  Milchamah cleared his throat loudly, his annoyance plain. Joam shut his mouth so fast, his teeth clicked. “No need for this fuss. I’ll talk to Laman. That doesn’t mean things will go easy.”

  “As easy as for Joam?” Dayn asked bitterly. Why didn't I speak to father when I had the chance?

  “Cinch up your tongue, boy. There's no call for that. Before a festival, no less.”

  “Yeah, Dayn,” Joam echoed with a wink.

  Before Dayn could throttle him, Milchamah's sparring staff descended smoothly between them. Irregular notches and slashes crisscrossed the honey-colored grain. Dayn might trounce Joam briefly, but Milchamah would ensure he paid dearly for it.

  “He already vouched for you, boy.” Milchamah withdrew his staff, giving Dayn an odd look. “There's nothing else to prove.”

  “Vouched for me?” Dayn blinked in confusion.

  Joam stepped forward hastily, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “You've been chosen for sparring camp! Why else would we be here so early?”

  “I...what?” Dayn felt so relieved he could not decide whether to laugh or weep. “Thank you, Elder!”

  “Don't call me Elder,” Milchamah said gruffly. Weaponmasters the Belt over chose the best fighters to represent their worlds in the Binder’s Cycle at Montollos. Joam’s father did not look the part, but he was the best weaponmaster on all of Shard.

  “Sorry. I didn't understand.”

  Milchamah nodded and spat, which was as good as a handshake from any other man. Dayn shifted his gaze to include Joam in the apology, too. His friend winked, and Dayn shook his head ruefully. Did he ever fool me. I should still throttle him, making me think his father knew about my coursing gear!

  “No worries, brother,” Joam said. “It’s a lot to take in.” The two friends were easily the best pranksters in Wia Wells. Years might pass before Dayn managed to get Joam back for this.

  “You caught my eye when you kept your wits at Sweetwater, even after that Sheercrest miner broke your staff,” Milchamah said. “He said you would’ve beat him if the fight weren't stopped.”

  “I remember.” Dayn kept his face smooth, but it took an effort. Fighters from Northforte to Greenshadow came to the Sweetwater tourney after harvest. Dayn distinctly recalled his last match there, for Milchamah happened to be the ringmaster who ended his fight. In fairness, or some such nonsense.

  “I like people who aren’t afraid to improvise,” Milchamah said.

  “It's not like Sweetwater at all, brother!” Joam broke in. He lived for the staff, which came as no surprise to anyone, considering his father's prowess. “Swordsmen from Ara, Badaian axe fists, Dervishi bladebreakers?the best fighters from all the World Belt. We'll face them all at Montollos!”

  Milchamah afforded his son a rare, approving grin. Dayn felt a twinge of envy. Would father be so proud of me for coursing?

  “You'd be going with us next year, boy,” Milchamah added. “Your very first Cycle, just like Joam here. But you hold back in your matches. Hesitation and victory may share a bed for the night, but one always leaves before dawn.” Dayn blinked uncertainly, and Milchamah sighed. “Never mind that. More practice is the best thing for you right now. I wouldn't be here at all, except...my boy tells me you actually beat him awhile back?”

  “I was lucky,” Dayn said, giving Joam a surprised look. “A lucky thrust, that's all.”

  “Well, is that a fact now.” Milchamah said dryly. Dayn instantly regretted his words. In truth, he had hounded Joam for three days straight before finally besting him, just to prove he could. Sometimes Joam's head gained pounds by the week?it was a wonder he held it up at all with his boasting. Admitting a defeat to his father would not have been easy. He deserved better than Dayn laying his victory to chance. “It was a fair fight, though.”

  “That much I'm sure about, at least. The day is short, boy,” Milchamah prodded. “What do you say? Practice begins in two weeks.”

  “Father will need help on the farm,” Dayn said reluctantly. There’s no way I can do this and practice coursing. The World Belt took the Cycle’s fighting competition quite seriously, some fighters were chosen from birth to bring a golden Victor's Sash home from Montollos. Training on the Shardian team did not ensure Dayn would also get to go offworld, like Joam. Accepting Milchamah’s offer would only doom his own dreams. “We’re farthest away from Wia Wells, with just one neighbor, really.”

  Joam's smile faltered. Milchamah's eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise, but he gave a ready response. “Already settled. The Elders agreed Laman's land can lie fallow for another year, once I give them the word. They know that sorry offworlder isn't much help out here.”

  “But my father couldn’t bear that. You know how the Village Council expects him to tend everything but his own crops. I shouldn’t leave him with only Grahm to help.”

  The words sounded noble enough, but tasted bitter on Dayn’s tongue. You wouldn’t worry so if this was for the Course of Blades, a small voice chided him. He pushed it away. “I cannot be in the camp. At least...not this year.”

  Joam's voice was incredulous. “But this is the Cycle. The Prevailer’s Gauntlet! In five years you could go to Montollos and?”

  Dayn cut him off. “I'm sorry you both came so far.”

  “As am I,” Milchamah said. He directed a look of complete disappointment not at Dayn, but at his son. Joam looked back and forth between them both, completely stricken. Dayn imagined how hard Joam pressed Milchamah for this, backed it with his own good word. He shifted on his feet guiltily as the silence stretched.

  “Happy Evensong!” Tela burst out of nowhere, already dressed in feastday clothes with red ribbons threaded through her tiny braids. From her golden eyes to her cheerful smile, she looked the perfect miniature of their mother, Hanalene. Tension sprouted among the men like kniferoot, but she did not sense it.

  “Peace, Tela?where have you been?” Dayn felt immense relief to see his little sister unharmed. For once, she could not have picked a better time to appear.

  “Helping mother with paintings. You came to help me with survey jars, didn't you? You are so sweet!” Tela gave Dayn a crushing hug, then favored the Ro'Gems with a merry laugh and skipped over to them, arms wide. They returned her festival greeting awkwardly, Joam not bothering to fix his scowl.

  “I've been looking for you. Have you seen anything...strange?” Dayn asked. Milchamah snorted.

  “No, but I smell something strange.” Tela wrinkled her nose and giggled. Dayn glanced toward the well at her words. Joam noticed, and rolled his eyes. “It’s all right, big brother. Mother had me stop home to fetch you this.”

  She extended the package beneath her arm. A quick pull of the string revealed a fine set of feastday clothes, pressed and folded. “She said we have a freeday after I take father the jars. Did he tell you this morning? Can you wait for Evensong? I can't wait. Can you wait, Joam? I wish we were in Wia Wells right now!”

  Milchamah cut in, clearly ready to be elsewhere. “Your dedication to the land is...admirable,” he said gruffly. “There will always be another season to plant, for as long as Shard shelters the Belt. A man’s gifted with ability enough to fill a river, but only a handful of days to use it.” Milchamah spat around his sweet tree twig, peering at Dayn from beneath his hat as i
f to see whether his words would take root. “Think it over, boy?but think fast. Peace willing, we'll begin training in two weeks.”

  “I'll talk to my father,” Dayn promised. Joam rolled his eyes again.

  “Fair enough. Happy Evensong. You better work that staff through some forms if you want it to dry, which I trust you do. Fast forms. I was there when your grandfather?peace shade his wreath?gave it to your father.”

  Dayn swallowed heavily and nodded.

  The weaponmaster turned to his son. “Be sure to remember what I said.” Joam nodded dutifully. Milchamah motioned to Tela, who looked at Dayn with a face full of questions. “Come, girl. I’ll help you. I swear your old withered root of a father would plant all the way to the edge of the Dreadfall if it were up to him. Lead the way.”

  “Father's not old, Elder! Isn’t your hair grayer than his?”

  Dayn and Joam watched them go, Tela cartwheeling and skipping around the farmer's steady gait. Joam's eyes glinted dangerously.

  “You know I mean to course,” Dayn began. “If I spend the summer collecting bruises so you can go to Montollos, how am I?”

  “I gave my word you were the best!” Joam shouted. “You, brother. Out of some twenty staffs from Wia Wells and Southforte. Father convinced the entire Council to lighten your field work. You think Laman will stand against sparring, after that? All you ever talk about is Montollos. This is your chance to go, and what do you do? Peace!”

  Dayn bristled. “I mean to enter the Cycle for coursing, not the staff—and you know it!”

  “No Shardian has entered the Course of Blades in two hundred years! Entered, Dayn! Let alone won a Victor’s Sash. Besides, you wouldn't know torrent if a rock fell from the sky and split open your fool head!”

  “Then I will just have to be the first to win, won't I?” Dayn snapped. Joam's words cut closer than he cared to admit.

  “I think a rock hit you on the head already! Not one pebble of Shard looks like the torrent, a one-tooth toddler knows that. Jumping your way through floating boulders that could smash you dead—since when is that supposed to be fun? Better to take a transport from the Ring. I’d bet coursers wouldn’t even exist if not for your stupid race. There’s no air to breathe in most of the torrent. The sun will melt away your skin, and the rock moves faster than you can even think! Tell me how you train for that!”

  “Coursers can do it, so why can’t I? I already have the right rope, and—don't you look at me like that!” The wonders that drew Dayn to the torrent were also the most compelling reasons for him to fail there. Joam echoed exactly what Dayn expected to hear from his own father. What was worse, Dayn could not argue. Joam spoke peace's own truth, and showed no sign of slowing.

  “What do you think the Elders will do if they find out you've been training—” Joam slathered the word with scorn “—in the Dreadfall?”

  “The cliffs aren’t as dangerous as they say,” Dayn retorted. “You just remember who helped filch the tools I needed.”

  Joam's eyes flashed. “You wouldn't?”

  “—do anything to get my friend in trouble.” Dayn pressed his advantage while Joam stammered. The two had earned their share of strappings when they were younger, but now any trouble that threatened Joam's staff work positively terrified him. “That's more than I can say for you! What were you thinking with that prank just now? I nearly gave myself away to your father!”

  “I should have done you the favor,” Joam muttered. A pleased expression abruptly broke through his scowl. “It was still a fine prank. If you had only seen your...oh, all right! Don't go giving me the stinkeye over a little fun. You owe me as much, with all the sneaking around we’ve done for your coursing. I don't know how you stand it.”

  “Me either. Just...never do that again,” Dayn said. “Your father is the last one I need poking around. It’s hard enough hiding everything from Tela.”

  “Why haven't you told Laman?” Joam gave a resigned sigh at Dayn's shrug.” He’ll say no, and that will be that. In five years, you can come to Montollos with me.”

  “Sparring would be just a hair more fun than watching the Village Council yammer for the whole summer.” Joam gave him an unreadable look. “Peace, Joam. I didn't mean it like that. You'll go to Montollos next year and every Binder's Cycle after until you drop. I don't love the staff like you do, and I'm not half as good.”

  “Peace knows that for truth.” Joam rubbed his chin. “You still didn't answer my question.”

  “I'll tell him tonight at Evensong,” Dayn said. Joam's eyebrows rose doubtfully. “No more sneaking around.”

  “Sure you will,” Joam said with a smirk. “Just remember, I gave you a chance.”

  Dayn knew they would argue no more. Angry spells with Joam never lasted more than a day, their friendship had always been that way. Dayn trusted no one more, especially with his dreams to course. Joam's eyes shifted to Dayn's bundled feastday clothes.

  “Well at least you have a freeday. Are you going to wash up so we can go?”

  “No,” Dayn said quickly. He could stand a quick wash, but his skin squealed at the thought of touching that water.

  “A drowned man, really?” Joam took Laman's staff and twirled it through forms at Dayn’s consenting nod. Silverpine resisted rot well, Shard’s mist would topple any tree that could not.

  “He scared me, brother. And he wasn’t drowned. He almost pulled me back in with him, that’s how I lost father’s staff. See?” Dayn held up his hands to show where the well’s flagstone had dug into his palms.

  Joam took in his proof with open doubt. “Well, something has people acting odd this morning, I’ll give you that. Some even as foolish as you.” Dayn carefully buttoned his shirt. Joam continued somewhat grumpily once it became clear that Dayn refused to be baited. “Your crazy offworlder neighbor is one of them. We saw him creeping around his fields on the way here, holding a scythe like it was a sword! He looked awful. I'll bet you a moondrop he slept in those clothes for at least a week.”

  “No bet. That's nothing strange,” Dayn said, slightly disappointed. “Father said Grahm saw a gravespinner near their farm. He's probably never seen one before. And him being a new father, too? I was small when Tela was born, but I couldn't imagine watching three of her. That’s all?”

  “I wasn’t finished,” Joam said as Dayn smoothed his clothes. Hanalene’s bundle included a wooden comb and a small vial of smellgoods made from herbs in her garden. His mother thought of everything. “The Southforte folk say they saw an amber light in the sky two nights ago. Like a falling star, but bigger.” Joam traced his finger from west to east.

  “That couldn’t be the skytear, right?” Dayn asked as they started toward his home. When the skytear appeared in the skies, it came with a long tail behind it, but Elders never mentioned it being any color or lasting just one night.

  “Exactly what I said. The next morning, half the Southforte herds and flocks had broken out of their pens. There's not a hen in Southforte can find its own coop?they all pecked each other's eyes out.” Dayn's eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Sheep and goats are scattered all over the swamp. Nobody knows what scared them so bad.”

  “I know what scared them,” Dayn breathed. He could imagine a herd going into a frenzy around the man he saw. “The man I saw scared enough cave crabs out of our well to feed Wia Wells for a week!”

  Joam gave a derisive snort. “Oh, so now there were crabs, too?”

  “Milchamah wasn’t going to hear anything I said, not after seeing my father’s staff in the water.” They neared the Ro'Halan home, a sturdy dwelling of more white flagstone with wooden slats for roofing. Dayn opened the window to his room just wide enough to toss in his clothes. Joam returned Laman’s staff, and the two started down the road to the village. “What does he mean to keep quiet?”

  “Joam hesitated. Well…you remember Urlan Ro'Lett's family? His little brother, Yonas?”

  “Sure I do. Urlan always looks like he just ate a bad berrycake when h
e sees me, because I beat him so bad at Sweetwater. Yonas plays with Tela on the tangletoy.”

  “He said he saw a man made of smoke jump out of their well and run into the woods.”

  Dayn stopped twirling the silverpine. “You might have mentioned that when your father was all but naming me a liar!” he spluttered.

  “I meant to, if you don't remember,” Joam replied. “Not that he would listen. You haven't been to Wia Wells yet, you don't understand. The Elders are all frothing at the mouth with worry over the Misthaveners enjoying Evensong. And my father decides what I'm thinking before I do, most times.”

  “So does mine,” Dayn admitted. He started twirling Laman's staff again, but Joam still noticed his hands were shaking again and smirked. “I saw a man, and I felt weak as a hatchling that couldn't peck open its own egg. We need to tell the Elders. I don’t know what that man was doing, but he’s not here just to go swimming in the well.”

  “That may be, but keep it quiet, or we'll never see an Evensong here again.” Joam pressed on before Dayn could retort. “Peace, I mean it! What do you think the Misthaveners will make of you? If you frighten off capital folk by asking after drowned smoke men, the whole of Wia Wells will never forgive you.”

  “You're right,” Dayn said grudgingly.

  A tension left Joam’s eyes. “I would believe you brother, but who ever saw such a thing?”

  A fresh thought stopped Dayn in his tracks. “I know who might.”

  “Dayn, wait…” Joam groaned as Dayn veered north, toward their neighbor Grahm’s fields. “Come on. We'll get there faster bounding. I'll bet you an ember-eye I can bound higher than you!”

  “Fine.” Surprisingly, Joam agreed. He might place in Sweetwater every year for the staff, but Dayn could bound circles around him. It was the closest thing to coursing on Shard. Dayn took two gathering steps and leaped powerfully into the air. The ground pulled away beneath him smoothly as he rose three spans high. “Let's see you top that, brother!” he shouted.

  Dayn held out his arms to steady himself as he descended, enjoying a cooling breeze that blew from the north. A familiar, rancid odor tickled his nose. Just like inside the well. He landed heavily, crashing to the ground in a spray of dirt. Laman's staff flew from his grasp.

  “Ha! The courser who cannot land!” Joam hooted, skipping easily back to the ground beside him. Dayn grimaced, his friend had not even broken Grahm's careful furrows.

  “Stow it, will you?” Dayn looked his festival clothes in dismay, now filthy with dirt.

  “No balance! They’ll come for miles to see! Why bother with the journey to Montollos? Dayn Ro'Halan, the great?peace, what is that smell?”

  “It's the same as?hey, wait. Where are you going?” Dayn asked in alarm. Joam strode purposefully to the north, further into Grahm’s fields. Laman had become fast friends with his offworlder neighbor over the past two seasons. Grahm and Dayn often learned the land side by side from his father, and Dayn knew Grahm’s fields just as well as Laman’s. Joam was walking straight toward Grahm's well.

  Joam called back over his shoulder. “We've got to find out what that is. It smells like...rot. Elder Buril said that’s what a gravespinner cave smells like.” Mischievous as Joam could be, he still took his farm work as seriously as any good Shardian. “Grahm can barely tell one end of a spade from the other. Peace, the spinners could spread to your land, too!”

  “Grahm's learned a lot! Leave off him. Besides...I know it's not gravespinners.” Dayn’s stomach churned. As much as he did not want Joam ridiculing him, he could not take a step further.

  “Then what, Dayn? Are you telling me—”

  “Not gravespinners,” called a gruff voice. The two jumped as Grahm descended from a bound to land right beside them. “Wreathweaver. You boys lost?”

  Grahm was the first offworlder anyone knew of to settle in the Mistlands and take a Shardian wife. Rumor said he had stepped off a transport in Misthaven with nothing but a few possessions from his native world of Cutremur, and asked to be pointed to Wia Wells. He wore plain brown field linens and kept his black hair cut oddly short. It steeped at his temples although he was quite young. Freckles touched his fair skin as though the sun played tag with his face, instead of merely shining upon it.

  “Wreathweavers!” Joam blurted. “This far from the Dreadfall, are you sure?”

  “Yes, lad, I can tell what one looks like,” Grahm said wryly.

  Dayn’s relief over avoiding the well proved to be short-lived. Tension shone on Grahm’s face, his green eyes were bloodshot and held none of their usual warmth. Dayn's heart jumped as he examined the offworlder further. “Why are you all wet?” he asked.

  Grahm glanced at him sharply. “I didn't stumble on the snake itself, peace be praised. But from the size of the clutch, I would say it was twelve hands long, at least. Pretty young.” Joam gawked and Dayn felt his own jaw drop, too. “I managed to burn out all the eggs. The smell was so bad, I took a dunk in the well to get it off.” Grahm offered a dry laugh. It did not reach his eyes, which never left Dayn the whole time he spoke. “Not sure it worked all that great, though.”

  “That’s something. The same as at Southforte.” Joam rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but with the threat gone he was already looking back to the road.

  “It’s not like a wreathweaver to leave its nest,” Dayn said. “What do you think scared it away?”

  “No worry to me, so long as it’s gone.” Grahm frowned openly at him now.

  “Us, either,” Joam interjected with a warning look for Dayn. “We should get going. Happy Evensong, Grahm. Are you headed to the village soon?”

  “After I finish up. My wife already left with your mother. Is this festival really as important as they say? I missed it last year.”

  “Well, more if you aren't married,” Dayn said.

  “Ah, one of those,” Grahm said, noting Joam's eager grin. “A day for hunters. Happy Evensong, boys.” Grahm clapped Dayn on the shoulder. The smell emanating from his clothes made Dayn want to retch. “I better go clean up. Can you tell Kajalynn that I'll be there soon?”

  “We will,” Joam said, practically dragging Dayn away. Once they were out of earshot, he gave Dayn a sideways look. “What was that all about? There’s no deadwisps hiding in his well. He would have said so.”

  “He’s hiding something,” Dayn said. “Did you see any smoke, or smell it at all this morning? He didn’t burn anything out. He saw one of those men, too.”

  “Maybe it’s just one of his offworld cousins here for Evensong?” Joam sighed when Dayn did not smile. “We’re not Elders, Dayn, and neither is Grahm. Let them see to it, they’ll do what’s best.”

  “I’m still going to talk with them. Yonas, too, and anyone else I can find.” They made their way to the road and headed west.

  “You are set on making a mess of Evensong, aren’t you?” Joam leaped into a bound before Dayn could respond. Back on the road, Joam soon began chattering about the girls he planned to dance with, and which ones would be best to steal a kiss from. Then again, he was the Sweetwater King, wouldn't that mean they all wanted a kiss? Dayn only half listened.

  Grahm must be lying, but why? Usually friendly and easygoing, he seemed more like a rope ready to snap under some hidden strain. Did he see one of the men, too? Is he keeping it quiet because of Evensong?

  Dayn wanted answers so his friend would not think him crazy, or a liar. But most of all to make sure his family was safe. The man in the well was dangerous, that much he knew. Anything that drove the animals into a frenzy did not bode well for the village. Dayn turned for one more look as Grahm's fields fell behind them. The offworlder still stood there, watching the boys bound away toward Wia Wells and Evensong.