Talus and the Frozen King (17 page)

Cabarrath turned back. 'Ask it, bard.'

'Why was your affair with Alayin forbidden?'

'Well, for a start, she came from Sleeth.'

'But there was more to it than that?'

'Oh yes. If she'd just been an ordinary Sleeth woman—a weaver, or a gatherer like Lethriel - my father might have learned to accept her.'

'So what was different about Alayin?' said Bran.

'Didn't I tell you? Alayin is Farrum's daughter.'

When Fethan arrived, he wasn't alone: five woman came with him. He stopped at the threshold and whispered a few words to each of them. Only then did he enter the house, leaving the women outside with their heads bowed. All wore small hoods of white stoat fur splashed with red dye—a sign of mourning, Bran assumed. One of them was heavily pregnant.

Fethan went straight to the fire to warm his hands. His long hair was matted, his face haggard. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't look at either Talus or Bran, just stared deep into the flames.

'Are you going to sit down?' said Bran.

'I will stand,' said Fethan.

'Very well,' said Talus. 'Thank you for coming.'

'Tharn gave me no choice.'

'I see you have brought friends.'

'The women will tell you what I say is true.'

'Then you have nothing to fear. Will you begin by telling us about the night the king died? I understand you found the body.'

At last Fethan looked Talus in the eye. 'Who told you that?'

'Surely everyone must know it was you who raised the alarm.'

'Look, I'm tired. I haven't slept since ...'

'Then you really should sit down,' said Bran. Fethan's abrupt manner was making the hairs on his back prickle. He hadn't forgotten how this man had held a bonespike to his throat.

'I will stand,' Fethan repeated.

'Stand then,' said Talus. 'And speak. Will you tell us what happened?'

Fethan swept his tangled hair away from his face. 'I will not tell you that I found the dead king frozen in the snow.' 

'Oh? Why not?' said Bran. Fethan's petulance was beginning to annoy him. 'Are you going to tell us you were somewhere else at the time?'

'I was not somewhere else. I was right there. But I didn't find my father. I killed him!'

'What?!'

'You were right to suspect me all along. It was me. I struck the deadly blow. I am the man you seek. I killed my father. I killed the king!'

Outside, three of the women turned away with audible sobs. The other two just watched, their fur-wrapped bodies like ghosts in the swirling fog.

'I knew it!' Bran jumped to his feet. 'I knew there was something wrong with you all along!'

Talus's finger went up. The tiny movement stilled Bran's anger - and made him marvel. How was the bard able to wield such power with a single gesture?

'Will each of these women confirm that what you have just told us is true?' Talus said.

'Yes,' said Fethan. There was defiance in his voice.

'Because they love you?'

'Because it's the truth.'

'Hmm.' Talus diverted his raised finger to the tip of his nose. 'Let us put aside this truth of yours for a moment. These women interest me. What is your relationship with them?'

Fethan's jaw hung open for a moment. 'What are you talking about? I just told you I'm the killer. What else is there to talk about?'

The bard's finger left his nose and traced a slow circle through the air. He said nothing.

'Just tell him,' said Bran.

Fethan shook his head. 'I don't understand what you mean.'

'These women are not your wives?' said Talus.

'Of course not.'

'You have never married?'

'No.'

'Nor do any of your brothers have wives?'

'That is not our way.'

Talus leaned forward. 'I suggest you sit down, Fethan,' he said sharply. 'And tell us exactly what is your way.'

Fethan sat with a thud. He looked around, confused, as if he couldn't work out how he'd suddenly ended up on the floor.

Bran joined him. For the first time, he felt a trace of sympathy for Fethan, despite the crime he'd just confessed to. The man looked ... lost. 'It's simpler if you just tell him,' Bran said. 'He won't give up until you do.'

For a long time Fethan said nothing. The only sound was the crackle and hiss of the flames as they steadily consumed the peat in the hearth. Bran wanted to shake him, but Talus's patience scolded him to stillness.

Finally, Fethan spoke.

'The ordinary men of Creyak are allowed to take wives. The sons of the king are not. Only the eldest son, when he becomes king, may marry.'

'But you may ... be with women?' said Talus.

'We have to be ...' Fethan frowned, searching for the word.

'Discrete?' said Talus.

'I suppose so.'

'Is that your idea of "discrete"?' said Bran, nodding towards the women outside. Fethan said nothing.

'What of babies?' Talus pointed at the pregnant woman. 'Is this one yours?'

Fethan hesitated before nodding. 'It happens. The mother and child will be taken to another village. They'll be forgotten.' He straightened his back. 'This time, the father will go too.'

'You're going to make a run for it,' said Bran. His feelings of sympathy had evaporated as quickly as they'd come. 'I suppose that's easier than paying for what you've done.'

'I don't know what you mean. My father is dead. That's the end of it, in this world at least.'

'What about your brothers? The rest of the village? If you run now, you'll leave them wondering what really happened. Don't you think they deserve to know the truth?'

Fethan's puzzled expression looked genuine. 'I've told you what happened. You in turn will tell the others. Now there's no reason for me to stay. I will leave today and live out my life. As for my punishment—I'll face that when I finally step into the afterdream.' He looked at Talus. 'You're a bard. You understand tales.'

'I am,' said Talus. 'I do.'

'Then you'll understand this: now that I've told you the truth, the tale of the dead king has come to an end.'

In the fire, a peat brick that was nearly burned through collapsed with a sigh. Bran watched sparks like fireflies shower up and out through the hole in the roof, then turned his attention back to Fethan.

There was every reason to dislike this man. His manner was surly, bordering on rude. And the bonespike incident still rankled—although, on reflection, Bran supposed he'd deserved it.

So why did Bran believe Fethan was lying?

'The customs of Creyak are strange,' Bran said. 'Talus and I have journeyed far, but I don't think we've ever come across a settlement where a king controls his sons so completely.'

Fethan shrugged. 'It was my father's way.'

'Didn't you resent him for it?'

'How can you resent a man you love?'

'You loved him so much that you killed him?' Even as he said it, Bran recalled what Talus had said about violence being driven by passion. Was this the perfect example? 'I told you what I did.' Fethan stood. 'Now it is time for me to go.'

'Sit down,' said Talus. 'I am not satisfied.'

'Satisfied of what?' said Fethan.

'That what you have told us is the truth.'

Fethan barked out a short, humourless laugh. 'I will leave you to your stories, bard.' He backed towards the door, executing a mock bow as he did so.

Before Fethan could reach the exit, Bran ran behind him. He clamped his left forearm around the young man's throat and snatched the axe from his own waist with his good right hand.

He pressed the sharp flint blade to Fethan's neck, just as Fethan had earlier pressed the bonespike to his.

The pregnant woman darted forward, crying out. Her companions grabbed her before she could intervene.

Fethan struggled, but Bran was strong. 'Let me go or kill me,' Fethan snarled. 'I don't care which you choose.'

'Escape by any means?' said Bran. 'Is that it? Well, do you know what? I think my friend Talus is right. I don't believe you had anything to do with the king's murder.'

'I know the truth, and I have told it.'

'Ah-ha!' Now Talus was on his feet. He stalked up to Fethan on long heron-legs until the two men were practically nose to nose. 'I believe exactly half of what you just said.'

Fethan tried to wrestle his way out of Bran's grip. Bran kicked the backs of his legs, forcing him down to his knees. Now all his weight was on Fethan. He pressed harder with the axe blade, drawing blood. Fethan's struggles stopped abruptly.

'I believe you know the truth,' said Talus, staring down at the subdued man. 'But what you have said is nothing but lies.'

'Believe what you want.'

'I will. You say you killed the king? Prove it.'

'What?'

'Tell me something only the killer could know.'

'I don't understand.'

'Tell me something about the murder—some small detail that will prove your guilt.'

'I can't think of anything.'

Talus crouched. Little popping sounds came from his knees. Again he was face to face with Fethan.

'Then I will ask a question. What was the expression on your father's face when he died?'

Bran could feel Fethan's body shaking beneath him.

'How dare you ask such a thing?'

'Tell me!' Even Bran was shocked by the sudden force in Talus's voice.

'He was surprised,' Fethan blurted. 'That was all. I came at him quickly. I saw his eyes grow wide. He had no time to speak. He just looked ... surprised.'

'You saw this in his face?'

'I looked right into his eyes.'

'Very well. Bran—please describe the expression on Fethan's face.'

The question took Bran by surprise. 'Uh, I'm standing behind him, Talus. I can't see his face at all.'

Talus's voice softened. 'We know that whoever killed your father, Fethan, struck the blow from behind. That is how I know you are lying. Well done. You have just proved your innocence. Let him go, Bran.'

Bran relaxed his grip and stepped away. He remained alert, however, just in case Fethan turned on him. But the young man remained on his knees. The onlooking women whispered to each other.

'You must believe me,' Fethan said at last.

Talus laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Give me a reason to. Tell me why you chose to take the blame.'

Fethan raised his head. 'I will say no more.'

'You know who the real killer is, Fethan. Why do you want to protect him?'

'If you know, you must tell us,' said Bran.

'I will say no more.'

'Then you may go.' Talus retreated several paces, giving Fethan room to stand. 'But, if you change your mind, please come to me again. My ears are always ready to hear a man's tale. Just as long as it is true.'

'Talus,' said Bran, 'you can't just ...'

'Let him go,' said the bard.

'Go where?' said Fethan. 'I have no place here now.' Shoulders slumped, he stumbled towards the door.

'Tell me, Fethan,' said Talus. 'When Tharn becomes king, will the ways of Creyak change?'

'What do you mean?'

'Hashath, your father, cast a long shadow over this island when he was alive. Now that shadow is gone. Who knows, Fethan, perhaps your children may yet be able to play in the sun.'

A tremor crossed Fethan's face. Bran thought he was going to cry. Then his back stiffened and he walked out through the door. The women gathered round him. He kissed each of them on the brow and the pregnant woman on the mouth. Arms tangled around each other, the strange group wandered away into the fog.

'Why did you let him go?' said Bran.

'He had said all he was going to say,' Talus replied. He looked strangely sad. 'His loyalty to the real killer closed his mouth.'

'Then the killer is one of his brothers. It has to be.'

'Perhaps. Regardless, we have learned from Fethan everything we are going to learn.'

'Precious little, in the end.'

'On the contrary, Bran. On the contrary.'

They sat again before the fire.

'Thank you for stepping in.'

'What? Oh, that. You're welcome.'

'Even I must admit that muscles can be useful. I fear the mind is not always enough.'

'That's quite an admission from you, Talus.'

'There was a night, Bran, nearly two years ago, when it was your strength alone that saved my life. This happened at considerable cost to yourself. I have never forgotten that night, and never shall.'

'Why are you bringing this up now?'

'Because time is short. If I do not say these things now, by the time I think of them again it may be too late.'

Bran couldn't understand why his friend had turned suddenly so melancholy. 'What's wrong?'

'It is a long road to travel.'

'We've come this far. I daresay we can make it a little further.' The words caught in Bran's throat.

'I was not referring to the road we share, my friend. I was referring to the one I walk alone.

Sometimes, Bran, it feels like the longest road of all.'

Two more figures loomed out of the mist. They resolved themselves into the contrasting forms of the youngest brothers in the king's family: Sigathon and Arak.

Only a few breaths had passed since Fethan and his women had disappeared; the parade of suspects was so orderly that Talus wondered if Tharn was standing just out of sight, directing the whole affair. If so, that was good: Talus could hear distant drums and the beginnings of a mourning song fed by many voices; Creyak was preparing to honour its dead. Soon all would be confusion, and his work would be that much more difficult to complete.

Was it even near completion? Talus couldn't tell. It was as if the fog creeping through Creyak had invaded his mind as well. He should have been concentrating on the king's sons, but suddenly all he could think about was Mishina.

Until now, Talus had never met anyone else who'd seen the great cairns of the desert.

Mishina's sketch had taken his mind back to those long-gone times, the long trek across the hot white sand, the ripple of the far horizon, the way he'd teetered at the edge of death.