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Aethren was helping their pa refill the water store in the moothall, glad to be doing something useful, when Urdven burst in. He looked frantic and out of breath, but his eyes calmed when they found Aethren.
“Kristan needs you,” he said.
Aethren looked sharply at Marken. “I thought Kristan was preparing salves?”
“So did I.” Marken shrugged. Aethren’s stomach cramped with anxiety.
“Well – where does he need me? Couldn’t you help?”
Urdven looked sheepish. “Oh, he didn’t get me. Little Ana ran into me, said Kristan had asked her to find Yrl Aethren and say to go to the south gate, but she didn’t want to come in here.”
“I should—” Aethren gestured to the door and put down the bucket of water they had drawn from the well.
“Go,” Marken agreed, a grim turn to his mouth.
Aethren thanked Urdven and left. They walked as fast as they could without running, only breaking into a sprint when there was nobody around to question it. Most people were either finishing the roe traps, or were meeting with Natta for the seasonal stock-taking. What Kristan wanted outside of the walls, Aethren couldn’t understand.
There was no sign of him when they reached the southern gate. Aethren looked around, frantic.
“Aethren! I’m up here!”
Kristan was perhaps halfway up the crumbling wall, one of the leather tree-climbing harnesses secured around his waist.
“Are you . . . stuck?”
“Oi.” Kristan frowned down at them. “What makes you ask that?”
“Well . . . Urdven said that Ana said you said you needed me?”
“Oh!” Kristan laughed, leaning back so far that Aethren’s heart tried to burst out of their chest. “No, no! I’ve found something. Come up here.”
Aethren sighed. Climbing the walls was a common pastime for children, despite parent’s countless warnings against it. Their fingers and toes remembered where to go, and it didn’t take much effort to get up to where Kristan was.
“If it’s a bloody bird’s nest . . .” Aethren muttered, inching along a slight ledge created by some outcropping slabs.
The wall here was overgrown with climbing shrubbery and dangerously crumbly, but Aethren knew better than to point this out to Kristan. He was already well aware, and he’d made his own decision to climb for whatever gods-cursed reason. He had attached several sturdy hooks to the harness and was using these to keep himself steady in place of another arm. His hand gripped a jut of rock hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
“I think I know what’s made the other children sick.”
Aethren’s heart dropped like a stone. “Kristan, it’s just the usual sicknesses that go around when the Starve’s over. Maybe it’s not quite the same, but Pa says sicknesses can change over time—”
“Ren,” Kristan’s voice was quiet and serious. “I found these in Varnir’s pockets when her mam brought her in last night.” He released his handhold, making Aethren’s heart clamour in protest, and withdrew something from the pouch in his shirt. His fist opened to reveal two white, pearly berries, each no bigger than a cloudberry but perfectly round and plump with juice.
“I . . . don’t recognise those,” Aethren admitted. They really wanted to taste one and find out if they were as succulent as they appeared, despite years of training screaming that it was a bad idea. Their hand twitched towards them.
“Don’t.” Kristan withdrew his hand and quickly put the berries back in the pouch. Aethren shook their head.
“So, why’re we up a wall?”
“Look.” Kristan pointed to an alcove in the wall’s face, big enough for a couple of children to fit inside. There, resplendent and shining, was a single plant. Its leaves were a lush green and its branches dripped with berries.
Aethren’s mouth started watering again.
“We should climb down,” Kristan said. Aethren hastily agreed.
Back on solid ground, Aethren and Kristan sat with their backs to the wall. Kristan sucked a graze on his palm, staring thoughtfully into the middle distance.
“It’s like the story of Erdan and Almr,” he said at last. Aethren frowned.
“It is?”
“When Erdan made berries and flowers grow for the children.”
“You don’t think this has something to do with a mythical god?” Aethren regarded Kristan narrowly, caught between pride and surprise.
“No.” Kristan shrugged his shoulder. “But I think it has everything to do with magic.”
Sweat prickled under Aethren’s arms. “You’re sure?”
“You wanted to eat them, didn’t you?” Kristan raised one eyebrow. Aethren had to nod. “Yeah, and so did I. So, I spoke to Anrid – they said their cousin and her friends were playing here, by the wall, and that’s where the berries came from. She brought some home for Anrid to have, too.”
“And every child who’s sick was there when they found the berries?” Aethren didn’t want to hear Kristan’s answer.
Kristan nodded, his expression grim. “Either that, or a friend brought them some berries to try. I figured that no adults have gotten sick because the children aren’t supposed to be coming here, so they’d be keeping it secret.”
Aethren stood up and craned their neck. They couldn’t see the alcove from where they were on the ground. “I don’t think you should tell anyone else yet.”
Kristan didn’t say anything. Aethren glanced at him sharply; he looked away.
“Kristan . . .”
“I told Ethy,” Kristan said. His voice was quiet, but defiant. “I said I suspected – not for sure, but I showed her the berries I found. I figured if anyone might recognise them it’d be her. But she didn’t.”
Aethren pinched the bridge of their nose. “Dammit, Krist.”
“What?” His defiance turned to indignation, bordering on anger. “What have you got against her?”
“You know what!” Aethren clenched their fists. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten what Pa said. Ethy would be after my head if she knew what I could do – and something like this?” They flicked a hand towards the alcove above their heads. “It’d just convince her she’s right.”
“She is right.” Kristan lifted his chin and clenched his jaw. “Those berries are magic. The wolves that killed Astvald and Arketh were magic; they must have been. You said it yourself – the mist wasn’t natural. So, yes! Ethy’s right to want to go after it.”
“Oh.” Aethren dropped their voice, regarding Kristan with a flat, cold stare. “So, you think that because I’ve got some strange ability I don’t understand and didn’t ask for, Ethy’d be right to hunt me?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. We’re not even talking about that.”
“Aren’t we?”
Both Aethren and Kristan were on their feet now. Kristan was trembling. “No, we’re not,” he said, but he didn’t sound so sure anymore.
“Has it occurred to you that if what Faren says about Rost is true, then your own aunt’d be at the end of Ethy’s spear?”
Kristan’s mouth gaped. He stepped back and shook his head, as if that might dislodge Aethren’s words from his ears. The colour drained from his face.
“Just think about that,” Aethren snapped, and turned away.
They hadn’t gone more than a few steps, however, before a dark shape swooped out of the sky. They raised their arm to meet the raven and it proffered them one of its legs. A flat, circular token with three concentric circles carved into its surface was tied there. The back of the token bore a small etching of a spear, marking it as being from Ethy.
“What is it?”
“Ethy’s summoned the council,” they said.
“Ethy? Not mam or Laeth-Skelda?” Kristan frowned, his anger momentarily forgotten in confusion. “I didn’t think she could do that.”
Aethren closed their clammy hand around the token as the raven flew off. “That’s because she can’t.”
