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Aethren sat slumped in a chair at the back of the moothall, wishing they could melt through the floor. Laethen was straight-backed but relaxed at their side. Aethren clamped both hands down on their knees to stifle the urge to tap their feet, and wished they had Laethen’s composure. Her confidence.
Natta, standing over a map-board on the table, looked haggard and exhausted. Snarls of escaped hair hung around her face, and she kept brushing them away as one might bloodflies during late Bloom.
“You’ve covered the Cracklands?” Natta tapped a spot on the map that lay between Whiterift and Eahalr. “She’s walked there before, in her sleep. There’s plenty of crags and hollows she might’ve fallen into.”
“We’ve searched there,” Hrall said patiently.
“And I’ve scoured everywhere from the Merrows up to Whiterift’s mouth, but the truth’s clear – Rost-Skelda didn’t come this side of Whiterift,” Ethy added. She looked over to Aethren and Laethen.
“I split our group,” Laethen said. Although her mild voice was better for whispering over traps than addressing a group, confidence rang in every word. “Aethren took half over Whiterift while the rest of us covered the last section of tundra.”
“You split up?” Natta raised her eyebrows. “Why not comb each area in sections, as a group? You could have missed something.”
Aethren wanted to shrink under that gaze, but Laethen just looked steadily back. “We haven’t the resources to sustain an elongated search mission, Nat-Hrenna. Far better to divide our people and cover as much ground as we can.” She lifted one shoulder, and Aethren caught a touch of defensiveness beneath her exterior. That made them feel a little better. “’Sides, with that wolf or whatever it is still out there, we can’t leave any of our number exposed.”
Apparently mollified by this, Natta looked at Aethren. “So, what did your group find?”
“Uh, the report—” Aethren cleared their throat and stood up. “I took a group over the river. We found some footprints, set by the other night’s frost. They pointed north for a while, and then . . . they hit the edge of the Wyccmarshes.”
Natta closed her eyes. Exhaled slowly. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” Natta said. She sat down and folded her hands on the tabletop. Her expression was unreadable. “Laethen, how many can we spare?”
“Spare?” Laethen blinked at her.
“To venture into the Wyccmarshes,” Natta said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll not see our security compromised, so we need to think carefully about who we send. You will be needed here, but Aethren – you’ve proven yourself a good leader, and we already know you’re an accomplished tracker—”
“Natta,” Marken said. “Stop. Rost is – gone.” His voice caught and the pain was clear in his eyes.
“We have to keep going forwards,” Hrall said, his voice dull. “Appoint a temporary Dannaskeld, just to fill in ‘til we can organise a Casting.”
Aethren tried to catch Marken’s eye, but he was frowning down at the table. Natta seemed to have forgotten that Aethren was in the room, Urdven hadn’t said a word all meeting, and Laethen, Hrall and Ethy were watching Natta. Sweat prickled Aethren’s armpits. Now that their report was done, they had to go – but they couldn’t just leave.
“Aethren,” Ethy said. Aethren stood up straighter.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think?”
Aethren went stiff as everyone turned to look at them. “Well, um. Hrall, obviously.”
“I’m old, cub, and there’s no whetstone to sharpen my mind.” Hrall shook his head. “No, my time as Dannaskeld passed years ago.”
“Laethen?” Aethren’s voice was small. To their relief, this suggestion seemed to sit better with the council members.
“Yes,” Hrall said. Urdven nodded.
“Indeed, Laethen is good at what she does. A fine candidate.” Ethy nodded. “But with all due respect, Laethen, you wouldn’t be my first choice.”
That gave Aethren pause. Ethy was the obvious choice, wasn’t she? She was skilled in hunt and combat, an excellent tracker, and a warden of Erdansten since she was only ten winters old (or so the story went). But Ethy, who always had something to say, seemed content to give the role over to someone else.
“And who would you choose, Ethy?” Natta asked coolly. Aethren could practically taste the anger seething beneath Natta’s cold exterior: she didn’t want this to be necessary.
“Aethren, of course,” Ethy said.
Aethren’s world slammed to a halt. Their heart leapt, then froze in the back of their throat. Blood rumbled in their ears.
“Aethren?” Urdven spoke up for the first time, eyes wide. “But they’re so young.”
“Rost-Skelda was only a year older when she was cast in. Nat-Hrenna, you were Aethren’s age when you became Dannhren.” Ethy stood and smiled at Aethren. Perhaps she thought the expression was encouraging, but it just made Aethren want to throw up. Or run away. Or both. “Age isn’t everything. If it was, I’d’ve been made to retire properly years ago. So would Hrall. Aethren has done excellently these past few days, and Rost-Skelda had been talking with me ‘n Laethen about assigning command of the first Bloom hunt to them. As a trial.”
“That’s true,” Laethen agreed slowly, thin eyebrows knitted into a perplexed expression. “But I don’t think it’s fair to thrust this on them, Yrl Ethy.”
“No,” Aethren could barely choke the word out. “No, a hunt is one thing. I – I could do that, I think. Maybe. But I can’t – I don’t want to – Pa, this is ridiculous.”
“Ethy, there’s a mountain-high leap from leading to hunt to being Dannaskeld,” Marken said.
“Aethren has dedication, courage and skill.” Hrall had a distant look on his face and he spoke about Aethren as if they weren’t there. “In a few years I might have suggested they take a place in the Casting. I wouldn’t put them first in line today, but they are near the front by my reckoning. Laethen has my vote.”
“Please, if I could speak for myself?” Laethen stepped forward, hands raised. Her mouth contorted as if she didn’t know whether to smile or grimace. “I’ve never minded stepping in for Rost-Skelda when it’s been needed, but I have three little’uns at home now and . . . well, I may have another on the way. So.”
“Who else do we have?” Natta asked. If she was annoyed or disappointed, she didn’t show it. She didn’t show much of anything, actually – her face was still tired and worn, but the gates behind it were fastened shut. Impenetrable.
Hrall scratched his chin. “Vasta entered the last Casting, but I don’t know how they’re doing after that wall collapse.”
“No, we can’t put this on Vasta,” Marken said. “They’ve a good mind for security and maintenance and it’s as sharp as ever, but they’ll need more time to recover. Losing a limb isn’t something you can move on from in a snap.”
Aethren waited for Ethy to put herself forwards. Surely now she would speak up . . .
“Stop this,” Natta said, “We haven’t time for this debate, so I’m invoking my right as Dannhren to overrule or forgo official votes.”
“But that’s for times of emergency,” Hrall said with a frown.
“I’d say we’re nearing an emergency now, Yrl Hrall,” Natta replied dryly. “Laethen, you’re now on this council. You may of course decline, but it will be known to all that you walked away from the needs of your people.” When Laethen made as if to interrupt, Natta lifted one finger and pinned her under a ruthless gaze. “I’ll not force the responsibility of Dannaskeld upon you – or anyone else, for that matter. But the people need to see someone as holding the role, at the very least. Laethen, will you do it?”
Laethen remained silent for a time, but eventually nodded.
“Good,” Natta said. “Then you, Aethren, are now Laethen’s second. You’ll speak on the council and help her carry her duties. We need people who are close in order for this council to hold strong, and as Marken’s child and one of Rost’s foremost hunters, you fit that need.”
Aethren wanted to laugh in derision. To ask if they got to have a choice. To bolt from the hall and vanish into the tundra. But they couldn’t do any of those things. All they managed was a soft, strangled sound in the back of their throat.
“Aethren?” Marken asked, shifting his weight as if to come to them. Aethren dug their fingers into their upper thighs and stood straighter.
“If there’s nobody else, then, fine.” They winced inwardly. Those weren’t the words they had intended to say, and certainly not in such a blunt tone. Would Natta take it as defiance? Aethren glanced at her warily, heart pounding.
Natta’s face was still unreadable. “Call a peoplesmoot,” she said and looked away from Aethren to survey the council as a whole. “Rostfar is – lost – and so we must continue on. If any here disagree with my choices, walk away. I’ll not stop you.”
Nobody left. Natta sat down, and the conversation turned smoothly to the usual organisational matters of running a town. Aethren tried to listen, but they couldn’t concentrate. Their legs felt weak, even though they were seated again, and anxiety continued to beat in their chest.
It should have been a relief, to have been saved from true responsibility, but Aethren felt chilled to the marrow. Ethy’s face was branded inside their eyelids, gnawing at their conscience with needle-sharp teeth. She wasn’t dangerous, was she? Nosy and cunning, yes, but she was just . . . Ethy.
But still. Aethren remembered being ten years old, caught alone in the biting quiet of a Starve’s night. Sylvrast’s pearlescent light had shone down over three stuffed dummies, each with an arrow in the centre of its forehead. Ethy’s fingers had seemed to cut where they dug into Aethren’s narrow shoulders. You’d best be careful with this sort of talent, cub, or someone might think you’ve the wyrdness in you. They take your head for that, you know?
Aethren snuck a glance at Ethy. She clearly thought she wasn’t being observed, because her glittering eyes were fixed on Natta – and they looked just like the eyes of a raven about to catch a plump, unsuspecting mouse.
