Witchsign. Den Patrick

pushed back against the door and Steiner felt the faint sting of disappointment as he realized there’d be no kiss after all.

      The tavern was full of old salts, fresh-faced youngsters and all ages in between. Bright lanterns hung from the beams and the smells of stale beer and pipe smoke teased Steiner’s senses, not unkindly.

      ‘He’s over here,’ said Kristofine, beckoning to him. They emerged through a knot of fishermen to find his Uncle Verner sitting alone in a corner, away from the hustle of the main bar.

      ‘Hoy there, young Steiner!’ Verner had his boots up on the table and was cleaning his nails with a short knife. He was a blond man with a face lined deep by wind and rain, and he wore his beard short, unlike many of the Cinderfell men.

      ‘The wanderer returns,’ replied Steiner.

      ‘You going to sit down or fall down? You look shattered. Isn’t Marek feeding you?’

      ‘Money is tight, there’s not much food. You know how it is.’

      Verner rose from his seat and caught him in a rough embrace. ‘Kristofine, a beer for my nephew and a bowl of stew with some bread to go with it. We need to get some meat on these bones.’

      Kristofine paused to look Steiner over. ‘That we do.’ She slipped away through the crowd, Steiner’s eyes searching for her even as she was lost from view.

      ‘Frøya’s tits!’ said Verner. ‘I’m out of town for a week and you’re all but courting Kristofine there. Not that I blame you.’

      ‘Keep your voice down. We’re not courting,’ said Steiner. He leaned in closer. ‘We’ve missed you, I’ve missed you. Where have you been?’

      ‘Ah, it was nothing.’ Verner took a sip from his tankard. ‘Nothing important. I just took some smoked fish to market in Helwick.’

      ‘Helwick? The local market not good enough for you any more?’

      Verner smiled but said nothing. The chance to ask further questions slipped away as Kristofine arrived at the table with a battered wooden tray bearing equally battered tankards.

      ‘Thanks,’ said Steiner.

      ‘Your stew will be over shortly.’ And then she was gone again.

      ‘You look like you’ve all the world on your shoulders,’ said Verner.

      ‘Just worried about Kjellrunn is all. There’ll be an Invigilation any day now. I know she doesn’t have any of the arcane about her, but the way she talks about goddesses and portents … It makes people uneasy.’ Steiner stared into his tankard. ‘It makes me uneasy.’

      ‘Be nice if they could let us alone for just one year,’ said Verner, voice close to a growl. ‘It’s not as if Nordvlast is part of the Empire, is it?’

      ‘And when has that stopped them?’

      The Synod scoured every town and village on the continent of Vinterkveld, and even the neighbouring Scorched Republics were not spared: Svingettevei, Vannerånd, Drakefjord and Nordvlast all acquiesced, yet all resented surrendering their children to the belligerent Empire.

      ‘Why do we let them come here?’ said Steiner. ‘Why do we let them take our children year after year? Couldn’t we stand up to them? I’ve asked Marek but he refuses to speak of it. I’m a man now, don’t I deserve a few straight answers?’

      ‘Straight answers, is it?’ said Verner. ‘The Scorched Republics may not be part of the Empire, but this is the price they pay so the Empire remains on their side of the border. None of the Scorched Republics would last longer than a month or two if the Empire invaded.’

      They sipped their pints and stared at the dancing flames of the hearth, each imagining the terror of war and sack of every town and farmstead. Steiner’s thoughts found their way back to Kjellrunn.

      ‘She’s so … strange, with her driftwood charms and crow feathers. I think she looks like a witch, and I’m her own kin.’

      ‘Her own kin might want to keep his voice down when using the word “witch”.’

      ‘Sorry.’ Steiner glanced about the room but the many fishermen and townsfolk were intent on their own conversations.

      ‘It will turn out fine,’ said Verner, and Steiner wanted to believe him.

      ‘We’ve not had witchsign here for two decades,’ said Steiner, but even as he said the words he thought of Kjellrunn, the tousle-haired girl with a faraway look in her eye. He thought of how subdued she’d been watching the red ship in the bay. The dire feeling she’d fail the Synod’s inspection plucked at him like icy fingers. The Vigilant would sniff around her, declare her corrupted by the power of dragons, and they’d never see her again.

      ‘It’s the same every year,’ said Verner. ‘Cinderfell is the last stop on the Synod’s route to Vladibogdan’.

      ‘Vladibogdan?’ Steiner frowned. ‘Where is Vladibogdan?’

      ‘Ah, Frejna.’ Verner squeezed his eyes shut, then released a sigh. ‘Keep it to yourself. I know you will.’ He leaned in closer and looked over his shoulder to check none of the fishermen were listening.

      ‘The island of Vladibogdan lies twenty miles off the coast of Nordvlast, to the north-west.’

      ‘I’ve never heard of it.’ Steiner leaned closer, his voice a whisper.

      ‘Of course you haven’t. It’s the largest of the Nordscale islands and the Solmindre Empire’s dirty secret. It’s where they take children with witchsign for cleansing.’ Verner’s face creased with torment and Steiner thought he saw the glimmer of tears at the corners of his uncle’s eyes.

      Steiner didn’t need to ask what cleansing entailed. Witchsign wasn’t tolerated in Vinterkveld, and those with witchsign were expunged, though none truly knew how. Some said fire, some said beheading.

      ‘How is it you know of this mystery island then?’ whispered Steiner.

      ‘I’m a fisherman.’ Verner didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Sometimes we go out to sea further than we intend.’

      ‘Twenty miles out?’

      Verner forced a grin. ‘Perhaps I used to raid Imperial vessels. Perhaps I used to be a pirate?’ He downed the last of his beer and stood up, fetching his coat.

      ‘And they take the children to Vladibogdan?’ asked Steiner, keen to know more, but Verner held a finger up to his lips. ‘I have business elsewhere.’

      ‘At this time of night?’

      ‘Aye, no rest for the wicked and all that. Keep your sister safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ The blond man crossed the room, exchanging handshakes and slapping shoulders in farewell as he left.

      ‘You look as if you lost an axe and found a knife,’ said Kristofine.

      ‘I’m not sure I even found the knife to be honest.’

      Kristofine set down two bowls of stew and a plate of bread, then to Steiner’s surprise sat down and began to eat.’

      ‘I don’t have long,’ she said, ‘but I’m famished and you looked like you needed a dining companion.’

      Steiner laughed. ‘Dining companion? You make me sound like a merchant.’

      ‘You’re a blacksmith, aren’t you?’

      Steiner smiled and began to eat. ‘What’s got into Verner tonight? He’s not himself.’

      ‘Worried for Kjellrunn, I expect,’ replied Kristofine. ‘They’re close, aren’t they?’

      ‘She’s always pressing him for stories of Frøya and Frejna, mysterious crows and the old wars. Children’s tales really. You wouldn’t guess she’s sixteen summers.’