Hell skin, p.26
Hell Skin, page 26
part #3 of Tales of the Wanderer Series
At first, his appointment seemed to have little effect on the town or Mag. Business was good for Duana, in both the brewery and the tavern, and it did not change much from year to year. But Duana had begun to get old. No longer could her aging body keep up with the pace of the work. She entertained the idea of letting Mag run the tavern, and even broached the subject once or twice, but Mag had little interest. She loved brewing more, as did Duana, and they both wanted to spend their time at their craft.
So when someone in the town offered to buy the tavern for a good price, Duana gratefully accepted. It seemed the perfect arrangement. She and Mag could brew in peace. And the security of their livelihood seemed assured. There was no one else in Shuiniu foolish enough to try competing with Duana’s skill, and the tavern would always need ale. They would have more than enough custom to live on.
But almost as soon as the tavern had changed hands, the new owner stopped purchasing Duana’s ale. Instead, they began to ship it in from more distant towns, and even some cities.
At first, Duana and Mag could not understand it. It cost far more to transport the ale such a long way. And yet the tavern’s new master did not charge any more for his drinks than he had done in the past. It did not seem possible to continue the practice. Not even the cost of rooms and board would make up the difference. And when they tried to find out why the tavern master had stopped buying Duana’s ale, they were met with sullen silence, if he would see them at all. Nor could they sell their ale to the townsfolk. Most people cannot afford to purchase kegs at a time, nor do they have the means to store them.
There were, of course, any number of things they could have done. If nothing else, Mag could have built a small bar beside the brewery, and I am sure the folk of Shuiniu would have come to drink at the new bar as they had from the old one.
But while they were trying to determine their course, the truth came out. The tavern’s new master was in Ciaran’s pocket. Ciaran had arranged the purchase, paying the greater part of the price. That gave him power over the tavern, and so he ordered it to stop purchasing Duana’s ale. He also paid a subsidy to the tavern’s owner to keep prices the same despite the cost of shipping ale in. Ciaran had spent his whole life hoarding whatever wealth he could, and he was good at it. This new scheme was no more trouble to him than remembering to get dressed in the morning.
Mag was furious when she heard the news, and she immediately went to confront Ciaran, without telling Duana. She accused him of undermining Duana for petty revenge.
Ciaran gave her an ugly grin. “This is simply good business,” he insisted. “After all, the town elected me, in part, for my skill at earning coin. Certainly, I have acquired more of it than you and your master, and so the people trust me more in these matters than you. Can you not see that trade with the broader world is the only way to prosperity? If some in Shuiniu, such as yourselves, must fall by the wayside, well … that is the price that must be paid, for the good of the many.”
“You give them piss and insist they be grateful,” said Mag. “And if anyone gave your ledger half a glance, they would see that you are not even earning more coin for the town.”
Her hands clenched to fists, which made Ciaran somewhat nervous. But his grin widened, and he spread his hands.
“Any cunning merchant knows that sometimes you must lose coin today to gain more tomorrow. After all, those who travel here to bring their ale bring coin with them, and they spend it in the town.”
“At your smithy and the tavern you own, mostly,” said Mag.
Ciaran licked his lips. “And why not? I pay the subsidy for the ale. I am risking the coin, and I should reap the benefit. I have to look after Shuiniu’s best interests, even if it is harder on my coin in the short term.”
Mag barely kept herself from striking him. “How does this serve the town’s best interests?”
His eyes flashed, and his mouth twisted in an ugly sneer. “It seems unwise,” he said slowly, “to continue purchasing anything from someone like Duana, who would employ a girl as violent as you.”
Now, there are countless ways that Mag could have responded. She could have withdrawn, and together with Duana, made some other arrangement. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have seen that Ciaran was trying to goad her.
But Mag was not thinking clearly at all, not at that moment. In fact, as she described it to me, the world had turned a peculiar shade of red.
“Violent?” she snarled. “I will show you violence.”
And she did. Her eyes went blank, and her expression dead. It was the battle-trance, and Ciaran recognized it, and his whole body quaked in fear.
She trounced Ciaran, right there in his home. She slammed his head on his desk, scattering parchments and missives he was in the middle of, and then she threw him into a bookshelf that fell over onto him. She dragged him out from under the mess, and then she drove her knee into his gut and struck him across the face, splitting his lip. Then she let him fall helpless at her feet.
Ciaran was stunned for a moment. But as he regained his senses, he gave her a savage grin from the ground, blood staining his teeth.
“How dismayed I am to learn I was right about you,” he said. “Assaulting the mayor is a grave crime. I could have our constables take you away to jail you in a city. But I think I shall be merciful. I shall merely levy a fine upon you—and your master. It will be substantial, of course, commensurate with your wrongdoing. How I hope you and Duana will have the coin to pay it.”
Mag’s eyes went wide, and her hands went slack. What could she do now? She could hardly kill Ciaran. His actions might be base and treacherous, but they were hardly worthy of murder. He was not truly evil, like Kaita, but only an up-jumped snake who enjoyed power and dominance over others.
And in this moment, he had won.
Ciaran watched all these thoughts play across her expression, and his face grew crafty.
“Of course, such a fine could be hard to lay upon you,” he said. “If you were to flee from Shuiniu forever, for example. I wager you could get away with it. It might take me time to summon a constable. And it would hardly serve the town to fine Duana if you were no longer here to share in the punishment. The tavern master might even see fit to purchase from her again if you were no longer in her employ.”
The message could not have been more clear if he had written it into a contract. Mag was to leave and never return. All Ciaran wanted was for her to be gone. He had no grudge against Duana except through Mag. If Mag left, forever, then Shuiniu would return to business as usual.
At least for a time. For peace never lasts, with men like him. They are always hungry for another victim. Anyone weaker than they are, to give them a false feeling of strength.
But Mag did not know that, and she had little choice. So she took a step back from Ciaran, who was still on the floor, propped up on his elbows. He knew he had won, and slowly he levered himself to his feet. He wiped his bloody mouth on the back of his sleeve.
“You will never see me again,” said Mag, her voice shaking. “At least not here. I do hope that we meet each other somewhere far away from Shuiniu. It will be my pleasure to teach you another lesson then, though you will be too stupid to learn it.”
Ciaran spat. “Get out. Before I rescind my mercy.”
Mag left, never giving a backward glance to Ciaran or his house. She took her time wandering through the streets of the town, for she knew this would be the last time she would see them. In too short a time, she found herself back in Duana’s brewery. Duana was drinking a mug of her own brew, drawn from the last batch she had made before the purchase of the tavern.
She looked up, and she must have seen the dismay on Mag’s face. Quickly she tried to stand from her stool, but she slowed halfway up, wincing at a pain in her leg.
“Mag?” she said. “What is wrong?”
“I … I have to go,” said Mag.
Duana’s face fell, even as her eyes filled with understanding. “You went to see Ciaran, you dark-damned—”
“Too late for chastisement,” said Mag. She swiped at a sudden mist in her eyes, though she tried to make it look like she was only wiping sweat from her brow. “And too late to warn me not to do it. Ciaran has banished me. If I try to stay, he will levy a fine against us that we cannot hope to pay.”
Duana slammed her mug on the table, sloshing some of the ale over the side. “Dark take it, Mag! You should have known better—”
“I know,” said Mag. She said it quietly, but still, it cut Duana off as if she had shouted. And as she looked upon her master, Mag could no longer hold back the tears, and they poured steadily down her cheeks. But she managed to hold her voice steady. “I am sorry. I could have … I do not know, but we could have thought of … of something.”
That was as much as she could safely say without breaking down, and so she stopped. And seeing her distress, Duana sighed. She went behind the table and poured another mug of ale, which she placed in Mag’s hand. Mag drained it before Duana could sit back down, but she went to fill it on her own, and Duana settled into her chair.
“Well, never mind any of that,” said Duana. “As you said, it is too late to chastise you or to urge another course. What is done is done. And … and in the end, this is likely for the best.”
Mag’s head whipped towards her, a hurt look on her face. “You … want me to go?”
“I do not want it,” said Duana. “But what we want, and what is best, are not always the same thing. You know you are unusual, Mag. Everyone in town knows it. It is one reason Ciaran has always hated you—for he is petty and trivial, and so utterly unremarkable, and he sees the chasm of difference between the two of you.”
“You are more skilled than I am,” said Mag. “You cannot say I am remarkable when you can do this.” She hefted her mug, which was already half gone.
“That is not what I mean, and you know it,” said Duana. She turned her gaze east, and suddenly it was as if she saw across a great distance, through the walls of the brewery and into a far land beyond. “You and I both know you are not like most people. I saw it when first I found you in those woods, and I have seen it ever since you came to live with me. I saw it again when you trounced Ciaran the first time. Selfishness made me keep you here as long as I have. But I think you are meant for other things, Mag. Things far beyond the meaningless bounds of this unimportant town.”
Again Mag’s throat had grown thick, and words were hard to come by. “It was important to me.”
“I know it,” said Duana softly. She swiped at her eyes, as Mag had done before, and stood. “But we have both already said how looking back is worthless. Come. I will give you what I can spare. I only wish I still had the tavern, so that I could give you a horse.”
They gathered Mag’s things, such as they were, and soon she was ready. They shared one last mug—so far as Mag knew, she would never have another cup of Duana’s ale again—and then they said their farewells. Mag never told me exactly what they said to each other then, but some things it is better not to know.
And when it was done, Mag set off into the wilderness of the Dorsean forest, alone and penniless. She did not know it was the start of a road that would lead her to me, and one day to Sten. But it would also take her to Northwood, and to that night in the Greenfrost when all hope seemed lost.
“I HATE THIS STORY,” DECLARED Sun.
Albern arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you now?”
“I do,” said Sun. “Most every story I ever heard of Mag was a happy tale, an adventure from which she emerged victorious. Yet now you are only telling me of what seem to be her very worst sorrows. And you are hammering me with them, as if they were nails and I were a stubborn plank, again and again. It is as though you want to be absolutely sure I understand how abjectly miserable she was.”
“Well,” said Albern, “what did you expect when you asked to hear how she died?”
Sun’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Are you telling me that story now? When I asked you to tell me, you did not say you were going to do it!”
Albern snorted. “I did not say I would not, either.”
Sun snatched handfuls of her hair, for she had a sudden urge to rip it all out. “But Albern, this is all wrong. This is not anything like how I heard Mag died. I thought it had to do with …” She swallowed through a dry throat. “With that other matter.”
Maddeningly, Albern only shrugged. “And not for the first time, I must ask you, Sun: who do you believe? Skalds from your home, or the man who was there?”
Sun folded her arms in a huff. “And yet you will not even say it. Tell me the truth: is this the story of how Mag died?”
Albern stopped beside her in the street. He turned and looked her straight in the eye. Sun felt transfixed by him, by the sorrow she saw in his dark expression.
“Yes,” he said. “This is how she died.”
They stood there for a long, silent moment in the middle of the street. Passersby moved around them with muttered complaints. The lowering sun cast heavy lines of black shadow across Albern’s eyes and cheeks, and his unmoving face bore down into Sun. She felt dumbstruck.
“But … so this is the end of the tale?”
“Were you not eager to hear it?” said Albern. “You wanted to get here. Why do you object now?”
“Because … because I … I do not know why!” said Sun. “But what kind of storyteller lets his listener know how the tale will end?”
“Sun,” said Albern slowly, “you know Mag dies. You have always known that. One of the first things you ever asked me was how she died. So how can it ruin the tale for you, if you have always known that would be the ending? Any tale would end with the hero’s death if talespinners did not cut themselves off at a happier moment of victory. And how many stories have you asked your family’s skalds to tell you again and again, no matter how many times you had already heard them? Why did you want to hear those stories after the first time, if you already knew what would happen?”
“That is different,” said Sun. But she said it quietly, and she was not sure she believed it. “I felt like … those stories had a point, or they seemed to. Whether they ended well or poorly, there was a reason for it all. But I can see no reason for Mag’s suffering in the Greenfrost, no greater purpose served at all.”
“Well, neither did we at the time,” said Albern. “But you have struck on something there. Even in a tale’s darkest moments, it is the storyteller’s job to make the audience feel as though their time is not being wasted—that there might be some hope at the end of a weary road, or at least some greater purpose. I am sorry you feel otherwise now. But stay with me a little longer, and when I am done, then you can tell me if you are still disappointed.”
Sun sighed. “That prospect holds little hope for me, either. This tale is why we started traveling together. If you finish the story, does that mean we are done?”
Albern’s expression, which had been stern and craggy, softened at once. He clucked his tongue for his horse, and together they started walking down the street again. “No,” he said. “No, of course not. I will not abandon you, Sun, not if you do not wish me to—and mayhap not even if you do, depending on the circumstance. And if it is any consolation, after this tale is done, I may have others, and you may wish to hear them. But because you have asked me so many times for the end of the story, I wanted you to find out—the way Mag needed to find out—that the end is not something we should rush. We should let it come in its own time. If we rush it, we may regret it.”
He fell silent then, and they walked together for a short while without speaking. But even as Sun was pondering his words, a hand clapped down on her shoulder from behind.
“Mistress,” came a rumbling, familiar voice. “The Lord and Lady Valgun command you to attend them at once.”
Sun felt as though the whole world had fallen in on her in an instant, as if all the buildings along the street had collapsed on her head. She looked up into the face of Niall, one of her mother’s bodyguards. He stood a good head taller than she was, and his dark eyes squinted heavily down at her from his nut-brown face.
Dimly, her mind took in other details. There was Ursa, Niall’s right hand, and Frida, diminutive and quiet, but lightning fast in a fight. The women stood on the other side of Albern, one of them with a hand on his horse’s reins. Albern himself stood stock-still, his gaze darting everywhere. Sun’s mind raced in circles until she felt ready to faint.
“Mistress,” repeated Niall.
Ursa had fixed a steely glare on Sun, while Frida’s look was almost pleading. She was one of the kinder warriors in her parents’ employ, but Sun knew she would not hesitate to bring Sun back home by force if that was what was required.
“I am fairly certain she does not wish to come with you,” said Albern.
“You are not involved in this, old man,” snapped Niall.
“I am feeling rather involved,” said Albern.
And then he drove one heavy boot straight into Niall’s groin.
Niall collapsed as though struck with a sledgehammer. Even as Frida reached for her weapon, Albern brought his hand into a vicious chop at her throat. She fell back, gasping and hacking, while Albern slammed the top of his head straight into Ursa’s nose. Sun heard a crunch, and then Albern seized her, and she was following him down the nearest alley, both of them dragging their horses along.
“Sky above!” cried Sun. “Sky above, what have we done?”
“Strictly speaking, you have done nothing,” said Albern. He was breathing heavily—his burst of motion seemed to have taken a toll. “Those three are used to getting their way. None of them expected resistance. But they will not be stunned long. Well, not the women, anyway.” His hand fumbled in a pouch at his belt.
