The seed from forsaken s.., p.10
The Seed from Forsaken Soil, page 10
“Isn’t there something else you want to say?” Hagane crossed her arms and tapped her hindpaw.
Risu bit the inside of her cheek. “I wasn’t going to punch you, and I’m sorry I yelled.” But the apology was only partially true. She never had the words she needed. “I have anger issues.” She didn’t deserve any friends, the way she treated them.
Gwrth tossed his head, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “And now I have anxiety. Thanks.”
“I’m sorry. This island has me on edge.” Risu walked past them. “Marsvin, please check on Itansha.”
Marsvin cocked his head. “Why not come with me? He’d want to see you”
Her heart and stomach switched places inside her and morphed to rocks. “I don’t want to overwhelm him. Trevlig and I tied him up so he won’t hurt anybody. Or himself. He’s sleeping now.”
Nobody needed to know she couldn’t face Itansha again. Not like this. She’d already lost a twin, and now her older brother had disappeared. She cleared her throat and turned her back so they wouldn’t see the tear forming.
Risu huffed. “I need to check the crops. Can you please come with me, Gwrth?”
Marsvin lowered his gaze and turned toward the house. Gwrth mumbled something and followed.
Hanging her head, Risu trudged toward Trevlig’s dry field, where a few of the older Mausfjorders and Llygodeners sat talking.
Once she saw them, Risu stomped over. “Why aren’t they working?”
Gwrth sighed. “Good thing you asked me, since I can be in two places at once and read minds.”
The words stung—she remembered how she’d treated Itansha and Marsvin like dirt back home. That was the exact sarcasm she would’ve given them. “Can you ask them why they aren’t working?”
“Whatever.” Gwrth called out in Mausfjorder. Risu only caught the words for “dirt” and “girl.”
After some back-and-forth, Gwrth translated, “They said they have some bad news and wanted to tell you in person.”
Risu inched toward Trevlig, who hung his head and stretched out a closed paw. He closed his eyes, shook his head, and breathed a “sorry.” He placed his paw over hers and put something gnarled and wiry in it. A root. Her heart forgot how to beat.
It was brittle. Dry, despite their attempts at watering.
This wasn’t one, but a collection of dead roots, too thin to survive even in good soil. The plant she’d tended—dry except for Risu’s fallen tear.
She’d traveled the Great Sea to plant this thing, now dead in her paw. She clenched her fist, and the fragile roots crumpled. Her failure felt dusty and parched, matching the roots’ odor.
Appropriate. The Mausfjorders would starve and join it in death unless they invaded her island and took her people’s food.
Risu curled her tail up like a scorpion. She scanned the rodents in front of her, the students she’d failed, and dropped the dead roots. They hit the ground in a dusty puff.
She’d thought this had been her fault, but the stupid culprits were in front of her.
Stiff, she pointed her finger at the group, piercing them with her glare. “Gwrth, tell them this is their fault. If they hadn’t ruined this stupid island, we wouldn’t be in this mess. And if they hadn’t been so stupid and lazy, they would have followed all my directions and this wouldn’t have died!”
“No.”
The urge to rearrange his teeth surfaced. “Why?”
“Frustrating when the slave won’t do what you say, huh?” Gwrth tossed the hair out of his eyes.
After exhaling through clenched teeth, she said, “Do I need to say please?”
“You should say sorry. You’re an awful teacher. They don’t know what they’re doing, and you’re off adventuring or daydreaming about grand plans.”
Risu stared at her paws. “Maybe I don’t want to be a stupid teacher.”
“I guess that’s good, because if you don’t change, your farming students will die of starvation and your spy student will die sick in bed.”
Risu slowly scanned the rodents around her. Inhaling, she silently counted to ten, the way Grandma told her to when she felt overwhelmed. She closed her eyes and spoke in slow, broken Mausfjorder. “Sorry, friends. Try new time again.” The idea of staying here one minute longer than needed made her want to scream. “New moon soon.”
Smiles broke out on the aging rodents’ faces. Trevlig spoke. “We will save Mausfjord.”
Exhaling, Risu nodded. She would save the starving innocents. Somehow. Maybe she could slow down the phases of the moon or turn the dirt into rice. Grandma had told her that the best way to learn was to teach. She would just have to try again; they could try irrigating or something else this time.
Being a failure was acceptable, but being a quitter wasn’t.
19
When your enemy calls you a goblin, become an ogre. He’ll rue the day.
- Rattonaga’s Maxims
Scraping her hindpaws against the hard dirt, Meiyo steadied her sword. Her attacker, a moaning dormouse with a single green eye, slashed at her.
Behind her, Dannedd shouted, begging the dormouse to stop.
As Meiyo defended herself, she paid attention to her attacker’s face. No recognition flickered. This rodent was clearly alive but had lost all capacity for rationality.
Just like the first one after they landed here.
“Kill the foul creature!” Haisha shouted. The old gopher defeated his own attacker and ran toward Meiyo.
The dormouse lunged for Meiyo—she rotated her sword and severed the attacker’s paw. No flicker of pain. No watching the paw as it slapped the ground.
Instead, the moaner slashed at her with the other paw.
“Go for the neck,” Haisha hissed.
Meiyo stepped backward as her master plunged his sword into her attacker’s gut.
Dannedd shouted a single word in his language as the dormouse fell. Haisha spun around and finished his own attacker in a similar way.
Dannedd sunk to his knees and spoke in Kinoumese. “Look at his clothes. That was a fisherman. You killed a fisherman.”
Haisha yanked his kerchief from his belt and wiped the blood off his blade. “Invent any backstory you want. These rodents are corrupted by some dark magic. I bet it’s the Ghost.”
Wiping her own blade, Meiyo fought the urge to shake her head. She couldn’t believe adults fell for the propaganda and fairy tales about the Ghosts. They were really only sneaky warriors, not sorcerers. If he believed these conspiracies, no wonder one defeated Haisha back on Kinoumi. Meiyo exhaled. She hadn’t wanted to kill her attacker. She just wanted to protect herself. For Brightness’s sake, she only came here to stop the Ghost who stole her brother and bring him back home.
But Haisha?
He wouldn’t be satisfied until he killed the Ghost himself. He’d probably kill Itansha if given the chance. Looking back at the dead fisherrodent, Meiyo shuddered at what she might become under his tutelage. She’d considered killing her own brother. Meiyo would not become Haisha. Back home, Itansha had defeated her without causing serious injury. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from him.
A rustle in the nearby bushes stole her attention.
Both Meiyo and Haisha unsheathed their swords and wheeled around to face the offending shrub.
“You’re both so jumpy,” Dannedd moaned. “Does murder do that to you?”
Meiyo wondered if Dannedd’s attitude was how he dealt with the trauma of watching his countryrodents go rabid.
The bushes rustled again.
“Translator, convey a message,” Haisha began.
“I have a name,” Dannedd replied.
“Inconsequential. Speak in both the local language and your own, and say that whoever is there must show themselves or they will taste iron.”
A response came from the bushes. “No need.” Kinoumese. Not a refined accent, but even a bumpkin from Kinoumi was suspicious; there were few reasons for one of her countryrodents to be in this desolate place.
“Show yourself,” Meiyo called.
Out from the bushes, a tall figure emerged. Brown fur. Flat, bushy tail. Folded, stretchy skin under the armpits—a flying squirrel, probably Meiyo’s age by the look of him. His muscles suggested he could be a laborer. He looked sideways at Meiyo as if he knew her.
“What’re you doing here?” Haisha asked.
But Meiyo knew. Only one possible explanation sufficed. “You came here with Itansha of the Gray Squirrel Clan. Where is he?”
The flying squirrel teen gulped.
Haisha advanced on him. “So you also came with the Ghost. I’ll have her head.”
Eyes bulging, the flying squirrel stepped back, waving open palms. “I don’t know anything.”
“You recognized me,” Meiyo said, “because you know my brother. We need to take him home.”
“I could kill you now,” Haisha said, “or you can cooperate. We’re Ironhearts. We can slash you to ribbons.”
Meiyo glared at him. Haisha was cruel, and she hated how she’d wanted to be like him. No more. Something about this flying squirrel stirred Meiyo’s insides, but she couldn’t see another way to find her brother. “Do what he says. Join us. I promise you he isn’t bluffing.”
“I’ll cooperate,” their new prisoner said. “If you’re hunting the Ghost, I can tell you this much: fighting them is pointless. They use dark magic. You can only kill one permanently by purifying them with blessed salt and then cremating their body.” His eyes flitted between Meiyo and Haisha, fixating on their swords.
Meiyo clenched her teeth. How convenient they didn’t have any blessed salt on hand. There was something he wasn’t telling them.
20
Fateful afternoon
A great, pale sickness shambles
Whilst watching the friend
Noka’s Moon Chart: 3 days left to plant
Crouched over the cot in Trevlig’s house, Risu dabbed sweat from Itansha’s brow. Marsvin hovered near the door, paw on the handle. Since Risu had the speed to escape if Itansha turned wild, she volunteered to tend to him. Marsvin’s job was to lock them in together if that happened.
Itansha moaned, yet it was unlike what she’d heard from Gwrth’s father a few days ago.
“How do you feel?” Risu asked.
Itansha trembled with a shaky exhale. “Thirsty.”
Trevlig hobbled over with some water, but Risu waved him off before replying to Itansha. “You coughed up the last water I gave you. I have to look at your eye. Maybe it changed back.”
Itansha opened his good eye. “No. It hurts. I don’t even know where I am.”
Marsvin stepped into the room as if approaching a coiled snake. “Don’t make him show you, Risu.”
Risu fished through her pouch. “After some experimenting, I made something for you. This might help with the vomiting. Remember when we first left my village with Marsvin? I gave you emergency provisions?” She held up a chunky ball wrapped in dry seaweed.
Marsvin gagged. “They tasted like wood.”
Over her shoulder, Risu glared at Marsvin. “Bark, rice, and ginseng, actually. The food balls were enough to prevent starvation, but these prevented dehydration.” She pulled out a sticky, purple-tinted lump. “These work. They don’t taste good, though.”
Itansha grunted and his whiskers drooped. “Who are you?”
Frowning, Marsvin turned away from their friend.
Risu exhaled and gently massaged Itansha’s paw. “I’m your teacher.”
“You’re younger than me.” His words cut like a noble’s sword.
A retort about who won in their fights bubbled in her mind, but Risu scrunched her whiskers and forced it down. “And you’re sick and forgetting things. Please eat this. We’ll let you rest.”
Heavy pounding snapped their attention to the shaking door.
Bambambam! Gwrth’s muffled voice came from the other side. “You need to get out here.”
“Emotion from him?” Risu asked.
Mumbling, Itansha asked, “Who was that?”
“A sad sack who can’t say anything nice,” Risu muttered, rising.
“Risu doesn’t like him because he talks to her like she talks to everyone else.” Marsvin sighed. “We’ll be back for you soon.”
Bambambam—
Risu opened the door. “Have you lost your mind, huskbrain?”
Gwrth’s eyes were wide beneath his sideswept hair. “Peek out the window.”
They left the room, and Trevlig waved them over to the window by the fireplace. Outside, a gerbil without his tail crept on all four paws like some kind of dirty beast—leashed, like a pet. Holding the leash was a scowling Blodtorstig, flanked by Forstor. The leashed gerbil thrashed about on the ground, and a crowd of Brekkatown villagers formed.
Risu squinted at the scene. Green eye. Husks…
Blodtorstig bellowed something, and Risu only understood the muffled word “Kinooms,” the slur he used for her kin.
When Blodtorstig finished his rant, several Mausfjorders raised their fists and tools in the air, cheering on their Snarl. Marsvin tugged on Risu’s elbow, signaling her to hide below the windowsill.
“What’d he say?” she asked.
“That Itansha brought the sickness,” Marsvin said. “That the gerbil out there was Itansha’s caretaker in my uncle’s hall. Itansha attacked him, he said. He also said you and Futoi poisoned the soil and this sickness is your fault.”
Risu fought the urge to rise from her crouch. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I…” Marsvin sighed. “No. I don’t know how Itansha is connected to this, but my uncle and Forstor have some kind of plan, and they want to blame everything they do on you. I wonder if this was why he agreed to bring you all over here in the first place.”
Risu ground her teeth. “He wants war, Marsvin. He’s using this as an excuse to get all your clansrodents angry.”
Marsvin pressed his ear against the window. “My uncle offered a reward for finding Itansha. But if they’re blaming this on him…” His voice dropped. “You’re not safe here, anymore. Neither is Hagane. We have to get you out of here.”
“No! She has to learn how to craft their steel. We won’t have a chance to keep working the soil.”
“She already made me a carving tool. She knows.”
Risu crept away from the window. “Getting it right once isn’t mastering it.”
Marsvin advanced toward her. “We’re not putting Hagane in danger. You all can escape, and I’ll stay here and learn how to make it.”
“You’re not a blacksmith.”
“I’ll learn if it means protecting Hagane.”
Risu gripped her knife. “I’ll protect her.”
“How?” Marsvin stomped his hindpaw. “If they think you’re carrying the green eye disease, they’ll kill you all.”
Trevlig stepped aside from the window and tutted. “You two stop arguing. Figure out your next move.”
Mean words formed to tell Marsvin he didn’t know anything, but Risu choked them back. “The gerbil out there. His tail is gone.”
Trevlig nodded. “Gerbils can detach their tails. He lost it in a fight, most likely.”
“Why has he turned and Itansha hasn’t?”
Marsvin absently touched Trevlig’s fireplace, eyes a million miles away, and his breathing slowed. “Maybe Itansha is healthier?”
“Very possible,” Trevlig said. “Sickness often follows hunger, which most of us are suffering from.”
“No, I don’t know if that’s it.” Risu peered out the window again, watching the gerbil’s movements. He frothed at the mouth and snarled at anyone who inched too close. “Maybe Blodtorstig is lying about Itansha attacking that guy.”
“Maybe your friend has some immunity?” Trevlig mused.
“Or maybe the gerbil was already sick.” Risu curled her tail tight and ground her teeth. “This sickness could be a cover for something else, something more sinister. Remember Gwrth’s dad and those other Llygodeners who turned? Blodtorstig and Forstor had some way to change them. Itansha escaped before Blodtorstig could do anything else to him.” Risu needed to find that missing piece. Maybe then the other Mausfjorders would stop listening to him, and she could prevent the war after all.
21
I don’t think these smiths really know how to make steel. I think they just get lucky and throw away what doesn’t work. How can I learn from them if they don’t even know?
- Hagane’s Diary, day eighteen
Hagane struck the glowing-hot blade, flipped it, and brought down her hammer again. This wasn’t the first tool she’d ever made for Risu, but this would be the first steel one.
Flip, strike. Flip, strike-strike.
For years, Dad fashioned the tools and weapons for both Risu’s brothers and Risu’s father, back when they were the Ghosts, and Granddad did for Risu’s grandma. At home, smithing was fun and exciting. But here?
Flip, strike-strike. Flip, strike.
Hagane carried an anvil of responsibility on her back. Nothing could succeed without Hagane understanding steel well enough to make it back at home. Kinoumese warriors with iron weapons and armor would fail against Mausfjord raiders with steel.
Strike, strike, flip, strike-strike.
Plunging the trowel-knife into the water, Hagane let the steam hiss for a few seconds before removal. She held Risu’s primary weapon, which masqueraded as a tool. Not too unlike what she’d been making this whole time under Grimsmyth.
Hagane smiled. Maybe she’d make one of these trowel-knives for Itansha, and one day show her children how to forge these same weapons. Through a sigh, she wondered if these would ever be used as tools only, in some far-off future where rodents didn’t need the Ghost. Their island’s history boasted its fair share of cruel rulers to spy on or rebel against. But maybe if someone better than that jerk Lord Castyr sat on the throne, spying and sabotage could be relegated to history.
Risu bit the inside of her cheek. “I wasn’t going to punch you, and I’m sorry I yelled.” But the apology was only partially true. She never had the words she needed. “I have anger issues.” She didn’t deserve any friends, the way she treated them.
Gwrth tossed his head, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “And now I have anxiety. Thanks.”
“I’m sorry. This island has me on edge.” Risu walked past them. “Marsvin, please check on Itansha.”
Marsvin cocked his head. “Why not come with me? He’d want to see you”
Her heart and stomach switched places inside her and morphed to rocks. “I don’t want to overwhelm him. Trevlig and I tied him up so he won’t hurt anybody. Or himself. He’s sleeping now.”
Nobody needed to know she couldn’t face Itansha again. Not like this. She’d already lost a twin, and now her older brother had disappeared. She cleared her throat and turned her back so they wouldn’t see the tear forming.
Risu huffed. “I need to check the crops. Can you please come with me, Gwrth?”
Marsvin lowered his gaze and turned toward the house. Gwrth mumbled something and followed.
Hanging her head, Risu trudged toward Trevlig’s dry field, where a few of the older Mausfjorders and Llygodeners sat talking.
Once she saw them, Risu stomped over. “Why aren’t they working?”
Gwrth sighed. “Good thing you asked me, since I can be in two places at once and read minds.”
The words stung—she remembered how she’d treated Itansha and Marsvin like dirt back home. That was the exact sarcasm she would’ve given them. “Can you ask them why they aren’t working?”
“Whatever.” Gwrth called out in Mausfjorder. Risu only caught the words for “dirt” and “girl.”
After some back-and-forth, Gwrth translated, “They said they have some bad news and wanted to tell you in person.”
Risu inched toward Trevlig, who hung his head and stretched out a closed paw. He closed his eyes, shook his head, and breathed a “sorry.” He placed his paw over hers and put something gnarled and wiry in it. A root. Her heart forgot how to beat.
It was brittle. Dry, despite their attempts at watering.
This wasn’t one, but a collection of dead roots, too thin to survive even in good soil. The plant she’d tended—dry except for Risu’s fallen tear.
She’d traveled the Great Sea to plant this thing, now dead in her paw. She clenched her fist, and the fragile roots crumpled. Her failure felt dusty and parched, matching the roots’ odor.
Appropriate. The Mausfjorders would starve and join it in death unless they invaded her island and took her people’s food.
Risu curled her tail up like a scorpion. She scanned the rodents in front of her, the students she’d failed, and dropped the dead roots. They hit the ground in a dusty puff.
She’d thought this had been her fault, but the stupid culprits were in front of her.
Stiff, she pointed her finger at the group, piercing them with her glare. “Gwrth, tell them this is their fault. If they hadn’t ruined this stupid island, we wouldn’t be in this mess. And if they hadn’t been so stupid and lazy, they would have followed all my directions and this wouldn’t have died!”
“No.”
The urge to rearrange his teeth surfaced. “Why?”
“Frustrating when the slave won’t do what you say, huh?” Gwrth tossed the hair out of his eyes.
After exhaling through clenched teeth, she said, “Do I need to say please?”
“You should say sorry. You’re an awful teacher. They don’t know what they’re doing, and you’re off adventuring or daydreaming about grand plans.”
Risu stared at her paws. “Maybe I don’t want to be a stupid teacher.”
“I guess that’s good, because if you don’t change, your farming students will die of starvation and your spy student will die sick in bed.”
Risu slowly scanned the rodents around her. Inhaling, she silently counted to ten, the way Grandma told her to when she felt overwhelmed. She closed her eyes and spoke in slow, broken Mausfjorder. “Sorry, friends. Try new time again.” The idea of staying here one minute longer than needed made her want to scream. “New moon soon.”
Smiles broke out on the aging rodents’ faces. Trevlig spoke. “We will save Mausfjord.”
Exhaling, Risu nodded. She would save the starving innocents. Somehow. Maybe she could slow down the phases of the moon or turn the dirt into rice. Grandma had told her that the best way to learn was to teach. She would just have to try again; they could try irrigating or something else this time.
Being a failure was acceptable, but being a quitter wasn’t.
19
When your enemy calls you a goblin, become an ogre. He’ll rue the day.
- Rattonaga’s Maxims
Scraping her hindpaws against the hard dirt, Meiyo steadied her sword. Her attacker, a moaning dormouse with a single green eye, slashed at her.
Behind her, Dannedd shouted, begging the dormouse to stop.
As Meiyo defended herself, she paid attention to her attacker’s face. No recognition flickered. This rodent was clearly alive but had lost all capacity for rationality.
Just like the first one after they landed here.
“Kill the foul creature!” Haisha shouted. The old gopher defeated his own attacker and ran toward Meiyo.
The dormouse lunged for Meiyo—she rotated her sword and severed the attacker’s paw. No flicker of pain. No watching the paw as it slapped the ground.
Instead, the moaner slashed at her with the other paw.
“Go for the neck,” Haisha hissed.
Meiyo stepped backward as her master plunged his sword into her attacker’s gut.
Dannedd shouted a single word in his language as the dormouse fell. Haisha spun around and finished his own attacker in a similar way.
Dannedd sunk to his knees and spoke in Kinoumese. “Look at his clothes. That was a fisherman. You killed a fisherman.”
Haisha yanked his kerchief from his belt and wiped the blood off his blade. “Invent any backstory you want. These rodents are corrupted by some dark magic. I bet it’s the Ghost.”
Wiping her own blade, Meiyo fought the urge to shake her head. She couldn’t believe adults fell for the propaganda and fairy tales about the Ghosts. They were really only sneaky warriors, not sorcerers. If he believed these conspiracies, no wonder one defeated Haisha back on Kinoumi. Meiyo exhaled. She hadn’t wanted to kill her attacker. She just wanted to protect herself. For Brightness’s sake, she only came here to stop the Ghost who stole her brother and bring him back home.
But Haisha?
He wouldn’t be satisfied until he killed the Ghost himself. He’d probably kill Itansha if given the chance. Looking back at the dead fisherrodent, Meiyo shuddered at what she might become under his tutelage. She’d considered killing her own brother. Meiyo would not become Haisha. Back home, Itansha had defeated her without causing serious injury. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from him.
A rustle in the nearby bushes stole her attention.
Both Meiyo and Haisha unsheathed their swords and wheeled around to face the offending shrub.
“You’re both so jumpy,” Dannedd moaned. “Does murder do that to you?”
Meiyo wondered if Dannedd’s attitude was how he dealt with the trauma of watching his countryrodents go rabid.
The bushes rustled again.
“Translator, convey a message,” Haisha began.
“I have a name,” Dannedd replied.
“Inconsequential. Speak in both the local language and your own, and say that whoever is there must show themselves or they will taste iron.”
A response came from the bushes. “No need.” Kinoumese. Not a refined accent, but even a bumpkin from Kinoumi was suspicious; there were few reasons for one of her countryrodents to be in this desolate place.
“Show yourself,” Meiyo called.
Out from the bushes, a tall figure emerged. Brown fur. Flat, bushy tail. Folded, stretchy skin under the armpits—a flying squirrel, probably Meiyo’s age by the look of him. His muscles suggested he could be a laborer. He looked sideways at Meiyo as if he knew her.
“What’re you doing here?” Haisha asked.
But Meiyo knew. Only one possible explanation sufficed. “You came here with Itansha of the Gray Squirrel Clan. Where is he?”
The flying squirrel teen gulped.
Haisha advanced on him. “So you also came with the Ghost. I’ll have her head.”
Eyes bulging, the flying squirrel stepped back, waving open palms. “I don’t know anything.”
“You recognized me,” Meiyo said, “because you know my brother. We need to take him home.”
“I could kill you now,” Haisha said, “or you can cooperate. We’re Ironhearts. We can slash you to ribbons.”
Meiyo glared at him. Haisha was cruel, and she hated how she’d wanted to be like him. No more. Something about this flying squirrel stirred Meiyo’s insides, but she couldn’t see another way to find her brother. “Do what he says. Join us. I promise you he isn’t bluffing.”
“I’ll cooperate,” their new prisoner said. “If you’re hunting the Ghost, I can tell you this much: fighting them is pointless. They use dark magic. You can only kill one permanently by purifying them with blessed salt and then cremating their body.” His eyes flitted between Meiyo and Haisha, fixating on their swords.
Meiyo clenched her teeth. How convenient they didn’t have any blessed salt on hand. There was something he wasn’t telling them.
20
Fateful afternoon
A great, pale sickness shambles
Whilst watching the friend
Noka’s Moon Chart: 3 days left to plant
Crouched over the cot in Trevlig’s house, Risu dabbed sweat from Itansha’s brow. Marsvin hovered near the door, paw on the handle. Since Risu had the speed to escape if Itansha turned wild, she volunteered to tend to him. Marsvin’s job was to lock them in together if that happened.
Itansha moaned, yet it was unlike what she’d heard from Gwrth’s father a few days ago.
“How do you feel?” Risu asked.
Itansha trembled with a shaky exhale. “Thirsty.”
Trevlig hobbled over with some water, but Risu waved him off before replying to Itansha. “You coughed up the last water I gave you. I have to look at your eye. Maybe it changed back.”
Itansha opened his good eye. “No. It hurts. I don’t even know where I am.”
Marsvin stepped into the room as if approaching a coiled snake. “Don’t make him show you, Risu.”
Risu fished through her pouch. “After some experimenting, I made something for you. This might help with the vomiting. Remember when we first left my village with Marsvin? I gave you emergency provisions?” She held up a chunky ball wrapped in dry seaweed.
Marsvin gagged. “They tasted like wood.”
Over her shoulder, Risu glared at Marsvin. “Bark, rice, and ginseng, actually. The food balls were enough to prevent starvation, but these prevented dehydration.” She pulled out a sticky, purple-tinted lump. “These work. They don’t taste good, though.”
Itansha grunted and his whiskers drooped. “Who are you?”
Frowning, Marsvin turned away from their friend.
Risu exhaled and gently massaged Itansha’s paw. “I’m your teacher.”
“You’re younger than me.” His words cut like a noble’s sword.
A retort about who won in their fights bubbled in her mind, but Risu scrunched her whiskers and forced it down. “And you’re sick and forgetting things. Please eat this. We’ll let you rest.”
Heavy pounding snapped their attention to the shaking door.
Bambambam! Gwrth’s muffled voice came from the other side. “You need to get out here.”
“Emotion from him?” Risu asked.
Mumbling, Itansha asked, “Who was that?”
“A sad sack who can’t say anything nice,” Risu muttered, rising.
“Risu doesn’t like him because he talks to her like she talks to everyone else.” Marsvin sighed. “We’ll be back for you soon.”
Bambambam—
Risu opened the door. “Have you lost your mind, huskbrain?”
Gwrth’s eyes were wide beneath his sideswept hair. “Peek out the window.”
They left the room, and Trevlig waved them over to the window by the fireplace. Outside, a gerbil without his tail crept on all four paws like some kind of dirty beast—leashed, like a pet. Holding the leash was a scowling Blodtorstig, flanked by Forstor. The leashed gerbil thrashed about on the ground, and a crowd of Brekkatown villagers formed.
Risu squinted at the scene. Green eye. Husks…
Blodtorstig bellowed something, and Risu only understood the muffled word “Kinooms,” the slur he used for her kin.
When Blodtorstig finished his rant, several Mausfjorders raised their fists and tools in the air, cheering on their Snarl. Marsvin tugged on Risu’s elbow, signaling her to hide below the windowsill.
“What’d he say?” she asked.
“That Itansha brought the sickness,” Marsvin said. “That the gerbil out there was Itansha’s caretaker in my uncle’s hall. Itansha attacked him, he said. He also said you and Futoi poisoned the soil and this sickness is your fault.”
Risu fought the urge to rise from her crouch. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I…” Marsvin sighed. “No. I don’t know how Itansha is connected to this, but my uncle and Forstor have some kind of plan, and they want to blame everything they do on you. I wonder if this was why he agreed to bring you all over here in the first place.”
Risu ground her teeth. “He wants war, Marsvin. He’s using this as an excuse to get all your clansrodents angry.”
Marsvin pressed his ear against the window. “My uncle offered a reward for finding Itansha. But if they’re blaming this on him…” His voice dropped. “You’re not safe here, anymore. Neither is Hagane. We have to get you out of here.”
“No! She has to learn how to craft their steel. We won’t have a chance to keep working the soil.”
“She already made me a carving tool. She knows.”
Risu crept away from the window. “Getting it right once isn’t mastering it.”
Marsvin advanced toward her. “We’re not putting Hagane in danger. You all can escape, and I’ll stay here and learn how to make it.”
“You’re not a blacksmith.”
“I’ll learn if it means protecting Hagane.”
Risu gripped her knife. “I’ll protect her.”
“How?” Marsvin stomped his hindpaw. “If they think you’re carrying the green eye disease, they’ll kill you all.”
Trevlig stepped aside from the window and tutted. “You two stop arguing. Figure out your next move.”
Mean words formed to tell Marsvin he didn’t know anything, but Risu choked them back. “The gerbil out there. His tail is gone.”
Trevlig nodded. “Gerbils can detach their tails. He lost it in a fight, most likely.”
“Why has he turned and Itansha hasn’t?”
Marsvin absently touched Trevlig’s fireplace, eyes a million miles away, and his breathing slowed. “Maybe Itansha is healthier?”
“Very possible,” Trevlig said. “Sickness often follows hunger, which most of us are suffering from.”
“No, I don’t know if that’s it.” Risu peered out the window again, watching the gerbil’s movements. He frothed at the mouth and snarled at anyone who inched too close. “Maybe Blodtorstig is lying about Itansha attacking that guy.”
“Maybe your friend has some immunity?” Trevlig mused.
“Or maybe the gerbil was already sick.” Risu curled her tail tight and ground her teeth. “This sickness could be a cover for something else, something more sinister. Remember Gwrth’s dad and those other Llygodeners who turned? Blodtorstig and Forstor had some way to change them. Itansha escaped before Blodtorstig could do anything else to him.” Risu needed to find that missing piece. Maybe then the other Mausfjorders would stop listening to him, and she could prevent the war after all.
21
I don’t think these smiths really know how to make steel. I think they just get lucky and throw away what doesn’t work. How can I learn from them if they don’t even know?
- Hagane’s Diary, day eighteen
Hagane struck the glowing-hot blade, flipped it, and brought down her hammer again. This wasn’t the first tool she’d ever made for Risu, but this would be the first steel one.
Flip, strike. Flip, strike-strike.
For years, Dad fashioned the tools and weapons for both Risu’s brothers and Risu’s father, back when they were the Ghosts, and Granddad did for Risu’s grandma. At home, smithing was fun and exciting. But here?
Flip, strike-strike. Flip, strike.
Hagane carried an anvil of responsibility on her back. Nothing could succeed without Hagane understanding steel well enough to make it back at home. Kinoumese warriors with iron weapons and armor would fail against Mausfjord raiders with steel.
Strike, strike, flip, strike-strike.
Plunging the trowel-knife into the water, Hagane let the steam hiss for a few seconds before removal. She held Risu’s primary weapon, which masqueraded as a tool. Not too unlike what she’d been making this whole time under Grimsmyth.
Hagane smiled. Maybe she’d make one of these trowel-knives for Itansha, and one day show her children how to forge these same weapons. Through a sigh, she wondered if these would ever be used as tools only, in some far-off future where rodents didn’t need the Ghost. Their island’s history boasted its fair share of cruel rulers to spy on or rebel against. But maybe if someone better than that jerk Lord Castyr sat on the throne, spying and sabotage could be relegated to history.
