39: Madness.

Shep was talking. He had his back to Isiri and was leaning heavily on a balcony, staring out over Riverend. Night had fallen and the port-city was aglow with the soft collective presence of a thousand-thousand candles, torches and lanterns.

“The hunter will find the boy and he will fall. The boy shall fight the king. With a crown of ice above their head. The blade will mark one. Blood shall bind the other. The hunter will seal the prison when the battle is won. And the dead will make peace when it is done.” Shep chanted into the warm, heavy air.

“That’s what they told you?” Isiri approached him, gripping the railing.

“That’s what he told me. The others would not share it. Or their own words on their vision.” Shep shrugged.

“Why you, though?” Isiri frowned. “They’ve always spoken to the guild in the north. Why ask you up there? What makes you so special now.”

“We’ve known each other a long time, maybe he trusts me more. He came to me first, long before they talked to the guild.” Shep said, eyes going unfocused as he remembered something distant. “Years ago, I met him in Threeroad. He took the form of a beggar. We were friends for a while. Or as close as someone like that can be with someone like me. After a while, I grew tired of his preaching. I told him to take it up with the guild and never saw him again. Until a few months ago.”

Isiri frowned deeper. “You never mentioned that. You said he only talked with the northern branches.”

Shep shook his head. “I never said that. You just assumed. Anyway, you’re getting caught on irrelevant details.” He waved a hand at her, cutting off any further words. He spoke in that dismissing tone that he often took when Isiri began any line of questioning into his past. The perfect inflexion of voice that irritated Isiri. It had the intended effect of silencing her for a few seconds as her irritation festered inside her.

It was some time before she spoke again. “Alright then, that aside, what in the gods’ names ever possessed you to go up there in the first place?” Isiri said, patching up her composure with fresh anger. with a little too much venom in her words. “What? Did he come back and say ‘go north’ so you do? You tag along with the back end of a failing crusade and almost die horribly with the rest of them? And then you disappear for half a year.” Isiri growled at him. “We thought you were dead!” She said each word slowly, punctuated with a sharp jab of her finger. She moved to finally strike him but he stepped to the side. “All for what? The mutterings of one the five, not all of them, just one of them.”

Shep opened his mouth to say something and thought better of it, closing his mouth and nodding, “more or less.” He shrugged. “But he says it was worth it. Those words are important.”

“Okay? Important to whom?” Isiri raised an eyebrow. “Why can’t these damned seers ever give you any names?”

“Well, I think the hunter is rather easy. Don’t you?” Shep nodded downward, indicating to himself. “It has to be me, of course. Why else would they give the message to me?”

“Okay, assuming that’s correct. And the boy? This king? Are you going to commit regicide? It says one of you will fall. Is it metaphorical or literal? And which one?” Isiri’s voice grew in volume as she spoke.

“I guess we’ll see.” Shep sighed. “For someone who styles them self ‘grand seer’, his predictions seem to be frustratingly vague.” Shep smiled slightly, his humour masking his unease. He turned and sat against the near wall, exhausted.

Isiri stood above him, contemplating whether to kick him or sit down next to him. She begrudgingly decided on the latter. After a long silence, she spoke. The words were startlingly hard to form but they eventually broke through her anger. “We missed you.”

“I know.” Came Shep’s irritatingly stoic answer.

“I missed you.” Isiri tried again, turning to look at him.

He returned her gaze, slowly saying: “I know.” Once again. The tone was different this time, sadder. “I missed you too.” He said after a long time.

Isiri closed her eyes, smiling slightly. He was back, all those months of mourning his death melted in an instant. She sighed as a weight lifted off of her.

* * *

Isiri opened her eyes and groaned. She was cold again. The blanket had slipped off of her, exposing her to the chill air of the north. She moved to pull it back up to her chin, frowning at how slow her movements were.

She had to move slowly though. Her injuries had not yet healed fully. Many tiny cuts re-opened at the slightest tug and many of the larger ones, while mostly healed with magic, were not fully closed up.

The other part of her slowness was the strange drugs she had been spoon-fed by the northern crones. The bitter one that kept her from going septic, the sweet flowers for the pain, the strange root to help her sleep. Each took their toll on her mind as well as her body. Between the medicine that addled her mind and the feverish dreams that sucked her into false-sleep, she could barely string together sentences. She couldn’t trust her mind anymore.

This had to be another dream though, everything was too slow. The world moved through some sort of clear molasses. She saw Ayrin, his steps glacial. Even in her fever dreams, he annoyed her.

Isiri yawned for a hundred years and settled back down. She could feel a deeper sleep crawling up on her and she surrendered to it, learning long ago how futile resistance to it was.

* * *

Isiri was young. Or short. Or both. the world was five inches too tall for her. Definitely a child. Familiar walls surrounded her, plastered and rolled with patterned wallpaper of green, brown and gold. Tall glass windows looked out over dark brick walls, crenulations and towers. Beyond, in the distance, the dark treetops of the edge of the Eldegren Forest were just visible. The air smelled like home.

Keep Birdel was a soft-summer-breeze-cool, perfect temperature to be outside in the sun. And yet Isiri wasn’t.

She was inside, walking with a purpose. She passed many doors on her journey. She wondered why she didn’t simply step into those rooms, they seemed important. But her tiny feet had a destination in mind and they carried her along stubbornly. Finally, they stopped in front of a door and Isiri pushed her way in.

The walls of this room were plastered with a dry sort of red, an autumn red. The gold and brown of outside carried on dancing around the walls in swirling patterns. There was an impressively large bed occupying most of the room and a fireplace that was cracklings despite the day’s warmth. Wardrobes covered the back wall, breaking twice to allow daylight through two large, arched windows. The view on this side of the house was of a frozen lake. Isiri preferred the forest.

“You need to eat something.” The kid’s voice found its way into the room, followed by the kid. Though he seemed less kid-like than Isiri had remembered. There was no wonder in his eyes, just a hard expression. He frowned so hard it was carved onto his face. He wore too many layers of fir for such a warm day.

Isiri shook her head. She was a child; she could afford to play the part. “I’m not hungry.” She frowned.

Ayrin sighed. “You will be soon if you don’t eat.” He said firmly, the frayed edges of his patience showing.

Isiri relented and Ayrin disappeared, leaving through the door he came in through. Isiri turned away from the door, back into the room. She saw the bed and yawned again, tired. The four-post bed sprawled across the room invitingly and Isiri crawled into the covers, too tired to wonder whose bed it was.

* * *

Isiri opened her eyes a crack. The four-poster bed was different. The canopy was no longer crimson red but a murky brown, the cloth now old and tattered. The four ornate posts had become three ordinary sticks. The feather mattress felt like stones and soil. The blanket smelled of sweat. Her pillow was somebody else’s shoulder.

Isiri frowned and rolled over the other way, coming face-to-face with something hairy and warm. Dark and light patches of fir and a leathery black nose rubbed against her forehead. Foul, moist breath rolled across her face. She turned, preferring whoever’s shoulder to a hound’s breath.

She leaned in for warmth and the shoulder’s owner leaned back instinctively, sharing. Isiri set her head back down and found sleep once again. She closed her eyes and let it take her.

When she woke, it was dusk. She was on the sledge, wondering how she got there. She frowned and rubbed her aching eyes, cursing the strange mixture of northern medicines. She didn’t know what day it was anymore. She had no idea where she was. She vaguely remembered that the northerners were friendly, but she didn’t ever remember meeting them.

The northerners were talking but Isiri couldn’t muster the energy to translate their words. Their words were panicked and quiet, full of fear. Ayrin was nowhere to be found. She moved to look around but felt the numb darkness of unconsciousness creep up to claim her once again. She fought it this time, her mind clawing desperately at the darkening world around her. Her eyes widened fearfully, searching for the boy somewhere nearby. Finding nothing.

She plunged into the normally peaceful confines of sleep with animal fury, fighting to resurface like a drowning swimmer clawing for air. Her progress up was slow, hampered by panic. She surfaced abruptly, finding consciousness, drinking it in as she would air into needy lungs.

Isiri looked around for him frantically, where was he? She looked, finding nothing but white snow and northerners. Ayrin was nowhere to be found.