Ruled by Shadows (Light and Darkness Book 1) Page 4

  A few feet away, a man dressed as a Nightgenga leered at her. Naked, save for a loin cloth to preserve his modesty, he wore white body paint and a bedraggled-looking wig that hung in lank strands over his face. The night was chill, but he didn’t appear to notice.

  Lilia suppressed a shudder at the sight of him. She knew he was merely parodying a shadow creature, yet the guised man brought back another unwelcome memory from her childhood.

  Alone in a dark forest. Tied to a tree.

  Whimpering as something snuffled in the undergrowth—something that had smelled her fear.

  The Nightgenga lunged toward her and made a grab for her arm. “Come on, lass—how about a dance?”

  Lilia dodged out of reach, heart pounding. “No thank you.”

  The excited crowd jostled her; revelers packed the wide square before the quay. During the day, a market presided over this open space, but this evening Port Square was the site of dancing and music.

  Men dressed as black-pelted wolves sat near the water, pounding on calf-skin drums, while folk danced around the Altar of Umbra in the center of the square, leaping and clapping in time with the drums.

  Lilia paused, a still figure amongst the swirling crowd, and watched the revelers. The costumes in Port Needle were far more impressive than in her village. Some of them were so realistic that Lilia felt the back of her neck prickle. She wouldn’t like to meet any of them in daylight, let alone on a dark night.

  Her gaze shifted to the altar. She’d heard it said that every settlement, no matter how small, upon the Isle of Orin and within the Four Kingdoms of Serran beyond, had an Altar of Umbra. Shingle Ford’s altar loomed over its market square. Here too, the towering obsidian obelisk with ancient runes carved into its gleaming sides cast a long shadow. The altar was a reminder of darker times, of five-hundred years earlier when Valgarth The Shadow King had ruled Serran. In those days, folk made regular sacrifices to him. They left criminals, the old and the sick tied to the altar at night to keep his servants—creatures of his making that stalked the night—at bay.

  Things were different these days. Winter Blood was a night of fun and feasting. Still the obelisk, its black smooth-surfaced bulk out of place amongst the yellow-hued stone of Port Needle, made Lilia feel uneasy.

  After the fall of The Shadow King, folk had tried to pull the altars down, but had discovered them rooted to the earth. Since then, many believed that to try and harm the obelisks would bring doom upon them. Meanwhile, Valgarth’s shadow creatures—on which the Winter Blood costumes were based—were sometimes spotted in remote woodland, but caused few problems these days.

  Weaving her way through the dancers, Lilia removed the cloth bag she carried from her shoulder and approached the altar. Folk had already started laying out offerings: jugs of mead, breads, cheeses and flagons of apple brandy. Next to these, Lilia placed seven Moon Cakes. This was her contribution to Winter Blood, a tradition she had brought from home. Her mother made the best Moon Cakes; this was her recipe.

  In the center of the square, the Nightgenga howled and rushed, hands grasping, at two girls who had dressed up as pricked-eared brownies. They ran squealing while the crowd roared with laughter.

  Lilia didn’t share their merriment; she’d never liked this aspect of Winter Blood. She didn’t think it was wise to poke fun at creatures that still stalked the woods and quiet places of the isle.

  Shivering, Lilia pulled her mantle close about her and turned away from the Altar of Umbra. It was time to go.

  An excited crowd piled into The Grey Anchor. Lilia entered the inn to find men and women shrugging off heavy cloaks and warming their hands before the roaring hearth, their faces flushed with cold. Neasa had decorated the common room, hanging sprigs of holly and ivy from the smoke-blackened beams. The scent of clove candles hung heavily in the air. Ailin welcomed patrons into his inn, and then took orders for mulled cider, ale and supper.

  Inside the kitchen, Lilia shrugged off her fur mantle and hung it up on its hook by the scullery door. The aroma of mutton pies she and Dain had finished baking earlier lay heavy in the air. Pots, platters and baskets of food covered every work surface. It gave her a sense of satisfaction to see all of it waiting for her. With Dain’s help, she’d managed to get everything done.

  Lilia rolled up her sleeves and put on her apron—she had cider to mull. Dain entered the kitchen after her, greeting Lilia cheerfully before disappearing into the cellar to fetch another barrel of cider.

  Meanwhile, Lilia set to heating honey and spices in a huge cast-iron pot.

  Then, in the common room beyond, a woman began singing. Her voice, deep and sultry, echoed across the inn. The song was familiar, but the beauty of her voice caused the fine hair on Lilia’s arms to prickle. Abandoning her pot, she crossed to the kitchen door and peered out.

  A woman stood upon a podium in the far corner of the common room. Tall, with proud bearing, the scop wasn’t dressed like a local woman—in layers of skirts and a fitted bodice—but in a long belted tunic, leggings, and leather hunting boots that molded to her calves. On her hands she wore leather, fingerless gloves; and her thick blonde hair was unbound, falling over her broad shoulders in untamed waves.

  She looked around a decade older than Lilia—in her early thirties—her strong features composed as she sang.

  On Winter Blood

  The mist does flood

  In from the silent sea

  Folk all meet

  While shadows creep

  Yet, not a soul does flee.

  The Gods look down

  Upon the darkening town

  In wait for gifts we bestow

  Please them we must

  Or we shall lose their trust

  And into the darkness we’ll go.

  The woman’s voice died away, and Lilia exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath during the song. Around her, the feasters applauded, their cheers and clapping deafening in the confined space.

  “Quite a voice, isn’t it?”

  Lilia started as she realized Dain was standing at her side. She had been so entranced by the singing she had not even noticed he was there.

  She nodded, her gaze returning to where the scop was taking a deep draft from her tankard. She’d never seen a woman like her. She exuded the kind of confidence Lilia had always lacked.

  4

  By the Fireside

  “Who is she?”

  “Her name’s Ryana,” Dain replied. “I can introduce you, if you like?”

  Sudden shyness swamped Lilia. “Maybe later,” she mumbled.

  Ignoring Dain’s look of amusement she turned and hurried back into the kitchen. She couldn’t let her employers catch her standing around or they’d think she was lazy.

  The scop began another song as Lilia got to work mulling cider. This one was a melancholy lament, of two lovers, a great battle, and of loss. Lilia’s eyes misted over when the scop sang of the woman’s grief as she cradled her lover’s body in her arms. When the last strains of the song died away, Lilia quickly blinked back tears and sniffed. Songs always made tragic love sound so beautiful.

  Neasa appeared in the kitchen doorway then, her round face flushed and her expression irritated. “Lilia—you’re making folk wait. Is that mulled cider nearly ready?”

  Lilia gave her a quick smile. “Aye—it’s on its way.”

  Deftly, she began ladling out steaming amber liquid into the tray of empty clay cups next to her. Enough distractions; she needed to focus.

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. A steady stream of pies, stews, roast meat and vegetables flowed from the kitchen to the common room. Finally, Neasa and Dain carried out the Moon Cakes—soft, eggy and scented with orange—to the delight of the feasters.

  Inside the kitchen, Lilia listened to their chorus of approval. She allowed herself a tired smile. It felt as if wet sand filled her legs, and her back ached. Cooking had quickly become a chore, yet it was good to know the cakes were appre
ciated. She’d be sure to mention that to her mother on her first visit home.

  Now that the food had all been served, it was time for her to start cleaning. She was stacking pots to carry out to the scullery when Dain poked his head into the kitchen.

  “Stop that,” he said, beckoning to her. “I’ll help you clean up later. Come sit down, have a cup of cider and some food.”

  “I really should tidy up first.”

  He made an impatient noise. “The pots can wait. Come on.”

  Reluctantly, she removed her apron and did as bid. Dain had returned to the fireside, his booted feet up on a settle. The scop, Ryana, sat opposite him, her long legs stretched out in front of her. She cast Lilia a curious look as she approached.

  It was late, and the common room had emptied out, save two old men who were playing at dice in the corner. Ailin was standing at the bar washing cups in a bucket of warm, soapy water, while Neasa perched on a stool next to him, sipping at a tankard of ale. The couple chatted together, ignoring Lilia while she took a seat on a stool near the glowing hearth.

  A tray of food and drink sat on the low table before her. Truthfully, tiredness had robbed her of appetite, although she was thirsty. She picked up a cup of ale and took a large gulp.

  Dain leaned forward, his gaze catching hers. “Lilia, may I introduce you to Ryana—the mysterious scop who occasionally graces The Grey Anchor with her haunting voice.”

  The blonde woman’s mouth quirked at Dain’s flamboyant introduction. “Pleased to meet you, Lilia. Dain tells me you enjoyed my singing.”

  “Aye,” Lilia replied shyly. “You have a beautiful voice, so full of emotion.”

  Ryana gave a half-smile, acknowledging the compliment with a slight nod. Despite that her voice was raw and moving, the woman herself bordered on aloof. Her eyes were a cool grey-blue, giving nothing of her thoughts away. Lilia envied that; she’d always been so transparent. She knew every thought she had was mirrored on her face for all to see.

  “I always enjoy the crowd at The Grey Anchor,” Ryana said finally.

  Dain leaned back in his chair and surveyed Ryana with interest. “It’s been a while since your last visit. Where have you been?”

  “Travelling the island,” she replied. “Although I stayed in Woody End for most of the autumn—the village has always welcomed me.”

  Dain raised an eyebrow. “And other villages don’t?”

  Ryana took a sip of mulled cider and pulled a face. “Some Orin folk aren’t given to trusting mainlanders.”

  “Where are you from on the mainland?” Lilia asked, curious. She hadn’t met many folk from across The Wash.

  “Rithmar.” Came the woman’s blunt, one-word reply.

  “Have you ever visited Shingle Ford on your travels of Orin? I’m from there.”

  The scop’s mouth thinned slightly. “Yes, once. A few years ago. I didn’t get a warm welcome so I’ve never been back.”

  This news didn’t surprise Lilia, although she felt embarrassed that a stranger hadn’t been made to feel welcome in her village. “Folk can be small-minded,” she mumbled, staring down at her ale. She glanced up to see Ryana was observing her. The scop smiled. “Aye—but it’s good to see some folk leave your village. How long have you been working here?”

  “A week.”

  Ryana cast a mischievous look in Dain’s direction. “I hope this one hasn’t been making a pest of himself. You’re just his type.”

  Lilia’s cheeks caught fire at this, while Dain cast the scop a dark look.

  Ryana ignored his glare and laughed, the sound as musical as her singing. “With his face looking like that I’m not surprised you’re not keen,” she added, her eyes twinkling. She then turned her attention to Dain. “What happened? Did you lose your last fight?”

  “You should have seen him a few days ago,” Lilia added. “His nose resembled a blood sausage.”

  Dain smirked. “Don’t worry, my opponent looked far worse when I’d finished with him.”

  Lilia, who was just taking a sip from her cup, snorted into her ale. “I don’t understand it,” she blurted out, unable to hold her tongue. “What fun can you possibly have beating another man to a pulp?”

  Dain met her eye. “It’s not about that, it’s the physical challenge, about testing your limits.”

  “But surely there are other ways that don’t include getting your nose broken?”

  Dain gave her an incredulous look. “On this rock?”

  A sigh from Ryana caused both of them to look her way. “You shouldn’t lament the peace and quiet of this isle,” she said quietly. “For some of us, it’s a haven.”

  Lilia gave the scop a searching look, her irritation at Dain forgotten. “Why are you here?” she asked. She was aware the question was blunt but tiredness had emboldened her.

  Ryana held her gaze for a moment, before her mouth curved into a wistful half-smile. “I came here seeking peace,” she replied gently, although the look in her eyes told Lilia she would get no more from her, “and I found it.”

  It was late when Lilia finally bid Ryana and Dain goodnight. The hearth had burned down to embers and a chill had settled on the air. Not put off by the lateness of the hour, or the ebbing warmth, her companions poured themselves some more ale and wished her a good sleep.

  Yawning, Lilia left the common room, her feet crunching under fresh rushes and padded down the network of hallways that led to her chamber. It had been her longest day yet in her new job, and she was bone-weary. She didn’t understand how Ryana and Dain weren’t falling asleep in their chairs. Her eyelids felt as if they had weights attached to them.

  Inside her room, her breath steamed in the chill air. It was too late to bother lighting the lump of peat in the hearth so Lilia braved the cold. Shivering, she stepped out of her skirts and unlaced her bodice. She then shrugged on her linen nightshirt before diving under the mound of blankets on her sleeping pallet. She usually folded her clothes neatly before bed, but she would make an exception tonight.

  Huddled there, waiting for her body heat to warm her blankets, Lilia listened to the stillness of the surrounding night. The folk of Port Needle had finished their reveling and would be sleeping off a surfeit of good food and drink. There would be a slow start the following morning.

  Lilia gave another yawn and felt sleep tug at her, drawing her down into its clutches.

  I survived my first week, she thought. Maybe I’ll cope after all.

  Warmth suffused her, a sense of achievement. She thought then of her parents. This was the only Winter Blood she’d spent away from them. She imagined their cottage, lit up with lanterns. Her father mulling his pear cider over the hearth while her mother prepared Moon Cakes for the Guising. They’d be tucked up asleep now. Her parents worked hard in the fields, tending the vegetable plots that ran up the hill behind their home—they rose with the dawn and retired early.

  A pang of homesickness brought tears to her eyes. She missed them both, but she was glad she had left, proud that she had insisted even when they’d begged her to stay. Compared to Ryana, who was thousands of leagues from home, she had achieved little. Yet she wasn’t intrepid and confident like the scop. This move had taken every ounce of courage she possessed.

  Dain drained his tankard and placed it down on the low table next to him. “Alright, I admit it,” he slurred. “You can out-drink me.”

  Opposite him, Ryana laughed. She leaned back against the wall and stretched. Dain cast an appreciative eye down her long legs. Ryana was comely, although her height and force of character intimidated most men. Her piercing gaze could pin you to the spot. He’d seen her quell admirers with just one look. Ardan went red-faced and tongue-tied in the scop’s company; Dain was one of the few younger men who conversed with her easily.

  “I already knew that,” she said with a yawn, “although you did your best—as always.”

  Dain snorted before rising to his feet and stifling a yawn. “Shadows, I’ll sleep like a badger toni
ght.” He rubbed a hand over his face, in an effort to sober himself up, and turned to Ryana. “Ma’s made up the same room you had in the summer. How long are you staying this time?”

  She shrugged. “As long as the mood strikes me. I think cold weather’s on its way so I might remain a few days this time.”

  Dain grinned. “Lilia will like that—you’ve got a devotee there.”

  He thought his comment would make Ryana smile, but it didn’t. Instead she held his gaze, her own unnervingly clear for one who had consumed so much cider. “She’s fragile, Dain—be gentle with her.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh. “You make me sound like a brute,” he scoffed. “Anyway, she’s tougher you think. She’s survived my mother’s rule so far.”

  Ryana made an irritated sound and shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I can tell she’s been hurt at some point.”

  Dain’s smile faded. “How do you know that?”

  “Call it a woman’s instinct. Just try not to tease her so much. Try looking out for her instead.”

  Dain gave her a searching look. It was unlike Ryana to act as if she was his elder sister. However, he was too tired to argue with her about it. “Alright, I will,” he replied.

  “Good.” Ryana rose to her feet and made toward the door. “See you in the morning.”

  Dain watched her go with a frown. Ever since he’d known her, the scop always got the last word.

  5

  The Dark Stranger

  The inn’s heavy oaken front door swung open, bringing with it a swirling cloud of snow. A tall, cloaked figure entered.

  Dain straightened up from wiping tables, his gaze settling upon the stranger. He stood taller than most Orin folk and wore a travel-stained leather cloak with fur edging. The man, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, pushed back his hood, revealing long dark hair, a lean tanned face, aquiline features and a sharp, dark gaze.