Guy Gavriel Kay - The Last Light of the Sun

He heard the horse before he saw it. Wolves might eat the moons, heralding the end of days and the death of gods, but they hadn’t found Halldr’s grey horse yet. Bern spoke softly, that the animal might know his voice as he approached. He rubbed Gyllir’s mane, untied the rope from the tree, led him back out into the field. The blue moon was high now, waning, the night past its deepest point, turning towards dawn. He would have to move quickly.

“What did she tell you to do?”

Bern wheeled. Sharpened perceptions or not, he hadn’t heard anyone approach. If he’d had a sword he’d have drawn it, but he didn’t even have a dagger. It was a woman’s voice, though, and he recognized it.

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving your life,” she said. “Perhaps. It may not be possible.”

She limped forward from the trees. He hadn’t heard her approach because she’d been waiting for him, he realized.

“What do you mean?”

“Answer my question. What did she tell you to do?”

Bern hesitated. Gyllir snorted, swung his head, restive now. “Do this, tell me that, stand here, go there,” Bern said. “Why do all of you enjoy giving orders so much?”

“I can leave,” the young woman said mildly. Though she was still hooded, he saw her shrug. “And I certainly haven’t ordered you to undress and get into bed for me.”

Bern went crimson. He was desperately glad of the darkness, suddenly. She waited. It was true, he thought, she could walk away and he’d be … exactly where he’d been a moment ago. He had no idea what she was doing here, but that ignorance was of a piece with everything else tonight. He could almost have found it amusing, if it hadn’t been so thickly trammelled in … woman things.

“She made a spell,” he said, finally, “up on that chair, in the blue cloak. For magic.”

“I know about the chair and cloak,” the girl said impatiently. “Where is she sending you?”

“Back to town. She’s made me invisible to them. I can ride right down the street and no one will see me.” He heard the note of triumph enter his voice. Well, why not? It was astonishing. “I’m to go onto the southerners’ ship—there’s a ramp out, by law, it is open for inspection— and go straight down into the hold.”

“With a horse?”

He nodded. “They have animals. There’s a ramp down, too.”

“And then?”

“Stay there till they leave, and get off at their next port of call. Ferrieres, probably.”

He could see she was staring straight at him. “Invisible? With a horse? On a ship?”

He nodded again.

She began to laugh. Bern felt himself flushing again. “You find this amusing? Your own volur ’s power? Women’s magic?”

She was trying to collect herself, a hand to her mouth. “Tell me,” she asked, finally, “if you can’t be seen, how am I looking at you?”

Bern’s heart knocked hard against his ribs. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. Found that he couldn’t speak for a moment.

“You, ah, are one of them. Part of, ah, the seithr ?”

She took a step towards him. He saw her shake her head within the hooded robe. She wasn’t laughing now. “Bern Thorkellson, I see you because you aren’t under any spell. You will be taken as soon as you enter the town. Captured like a child. She lied to you.”

He took a deep breath. Looked up at the sky. Ghost moon, early spring stars. His hands were trembling, holding the horse’s reins.

“Why would … she said she hated Halldr as much as I did!”

“That’s true. He was no friend to us. Thinshank’s dead, though. She can use the goodwill of whoever becomes governor now. Her capturing you—and they will be told before midday that she put you under a spell and forced you to ride back to them—is a way to achieve that, isn’t it?”

He didn’t feel guarded any more.

“We need food and labour out here,” she went on calmly. “We need the fear and assistance of the town, both. All volurs require this, wherever they are. You become her way of starting again after the long quarrel with Halldr. Your coming here tonight was a gift to her.”

He thought of the woman above him in the bed, lit only by the fire.

“In more ways than one,” the girl added, as if reading his thoughts.

“She has no power, no seithr ?”

“I didn’t say that. Although I don’t think she does.”

“There’s no magic? Nothing to make a man invisible?”

She laughed again. “If one spearman can’t hit a target when he throws, do you decide that spears are useless?” It was too dark to make out any expression on her face. He realized something.

“You hate her,” he said. “That’s why you are here. Because … because she had the snake bite you!”

He could see she was surprised, hesitating for the first time. “I don’t love her, no,” she agreed. “But I wouldn’t be here because of that.”

“Why then?” Bern asked, a little desperately.

Again a pause. He wished, now, that there were light. He still hadn’t seen her face.

She said, “We are kin, Bern Thorkellson. I’m here because of that.”

“What?” He was stunned.

“Your sister married my brother, on the mainland.”

“Siv married …?”

“No, Athira wedded my brother Gevin.”

He felt abruptly angry, couldn’t have said why. “That doesn’t make us kin, woman.”

Even in darkness he could see that he had wounded her.

The horse moved again, whickered, impatient with standing.

The woman said, “I am a long way from home. Your family is the closest I have on this island, I suppose. Forgive me for presuming.”

His family was landless, his father exiled. He was a servant, compelled to sleep in a barn on straw for two more years.

“What presumption?” Bern said roughly. “That isn’t what I meant.” He wasn’t sure what he’d meant.

There was a silence. He was thinking hard. “You were sent to the volur ? They reported you had a gift?”

The hood moved up and down. “Curious, how often unwed youngest daughters have a gift, isn’t it?”

“Why did I never hear of you?”

“We are meant to be unattached, to be the more dependent. That’s why they bring girls from distant villages and farms. All the seers do that. I’ve spoken to your mother, though.”

“You have? What? Why …?”

The shrug again. “Frigga’s a woman. Athira gave me a message for her.”

“You all have your tricks, don’t you?” He felt bitter, suddenly.

“Swords and axes are so much better, aren’t they?” she said sharply. She was staring at him again, though he knew the darkness hid his face, too. “We’re all trying to make ourselves a life, Bern Thorkellson. Men and women both. Why else are you out here now?”

Bitterness still. “Because my father is a fool who killed a man.”

“And his son is what?”

“A fool about to die before the next moon rises. A good way to … make a life, isn’t it? Useful kin for you to have.”

She said nothing, looked away. He heard the horse again. Felt the wind, a change in it, as though the night had indeed turned, moving now towards dawn.

“The snake,” he said awkwardly. “Is it …?”

“I’m not poisoned. It hurts.”

“You … walked out here a long way.”

“There’s one of us out all night on watch. We take turns, the younger ones. People come in the dark. That’s how I saw you on the horse and told her.”

“No, I meant … just now. To warn me.”

“Oh.” She paused. “You believe me, then?”

For the first time, a note of doubt, wistfulness. She was betraying the volur for him.