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The months passed. Winter came. Snow fell lightly on the hills outside Giserre’s window and never stuck. Inside, the stone-wrought chill remained the same.
Ossdonc’s return was the only change.
Coming home early one day with a new spell to show his mother, Reiffen found her sitting in the front room with a large man dressed foppishly in a frilly black ruff and vest. Reiffen recognized Ossdonc at once, despite the Wizard’s transformation to human size.
“Cuhurran has come to pay his respects,” said Giserre.
“That’s not Cuhurran, Mother. That’s Ossdonc.”
“He prefers to be addressed as Cuhurran when human-sized. As guests in Ussene, it becomes us to address him in the manner he prefers.”
“Thank you, milady.”
The Black Wizard inclined his head in the most respectful of small bows. Even man-sized he looked far more dangerous than anyone Reiffen had ever met, despite his ruffles and the ornate, obsidian brooch nestled among his frills like an egg of polished stone. His dark eyes, sporting white around the pupil while he masqueraded as human, gleamed.
“Your mother was a child when last I saw her,” said the Wizard. “It is most delightful to see her again in the fullness of mature beauty.”
He bowed again, deeply this time, his face dropping to Giserre’s. Reiffen found himself wishing his mother had the sense to slide further down the couch. Instead she bent forward to retrieve her knitting from the table. Ossdonc stepped back to avoid being knocked in the face by the top of her head and retreated to the hearth, his graciousness exceeded only by the mockery in his mouth and eyes.
“I would not wish to keep you from your duties, sir,” she said as Reiffen came to stand at her side. “I am a mother now, and nothing like the young girl you once danced with at the Queen’s ball.”
“We danced more than once, milady.” The Wizard’s rich, deep voice filled the room like dark wine. “You were a stunning girl. Well do I recall it, the gardens of the New Palace ablaze with lamps, Loellin’s Hall glittering. Baronesses scarcely less lovely than yourself advanced in ranks across the polished floor. Banking was a noble land when it was ruled by its own.”
“Perhaps it shall be so again, sir.”
Ossdonc threw back his head and laughed. Reiffen winced, but at least he didn’t feel the need to cover his ears now the Wizard wasn’t so large. And he was glad to learn his mother knew to play up to the Wizard’s vanity. Mindrell had taught him that trick, on a green hillside deep in the High Bavadars. He supposed his mother had learned it on her own as a girl in Malmoret.
“Plainly, milady, your son gets his spirit from you.”
“Reiffen is much like his father.”
“But more alike to his mother, some would say.”
The Wizard’s eyes glittered, relentless as rain, but the uncomfortable audience was brought to an end when Spit arrived with the laundry. Humming a happy song, she stopped mid-note at the sight of Ossdonc by the fire. Her hamper spilled to the floor.
“It has been kind of you to visit,” Giserre told the Wizard, “but I have some domestic affairs to see to with Spit, now she has returned. I do hope you will excuse us.”
“Of course, milady. I should not think to intrude, charming though your company may be. I look forward to the day the two of us ride with your son down the Street of Kings. No doubt the cheering shall be magnificent.”
With his deepest bow yet, his right leg stretched well forward and his left arm tucked behind his back, the Wizard took his leave. Deferent he appeared, but his insolence remained bright as a rat’s eye.
The son turned to his mother as soon as the Wizard left. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you? You know Ossdonc is the worst of the Three.”
Giserre’s tension wound out of her in a long, heavy breath. “I am fine, my son. As he said, he came to renew old acquaintance. Spit, if you think you can manage it now the Wizard has gone, you might pick up those things you dropped on the floor. We can put them away later. I think the sight of the Black Wizard was worse for you than it was for Reiffen or me.”
Nodding, the serving woman got on her knees on the hard stone to pick up the scattered garments.
“You shouldn’t trust him,” said Reiffen, dropping onto the couch beside his mother.
“I would not dream of trusting him,” she answered, returning to her knitting.
“Was he here a long time?”
“Long enough.”
“What did he say?”
“You heard most of it.”
“His insolence is intolerable. I almost struck him.”
Spit gasped.
“I am glad you did not,” said Giserre.
“I know. But I wanted to.”
They sat quietly for a while, allowing the Wizard’s presence to drift away. Spit laid her basket beside the couch and found a sock to darn. Now that she lived with them, her hair was clean and her face washed. She had found a cat to bring with her as well, a scrawny scrap of dirty gray like the sleeve of a torn sweater. It wandered in from Giserre’s bedroom to lick its paws at the edge of the fire.
Giserre’s needles clicked softly in the silence. For a moment, even in Ussene, it was almost a drowsy afternoon.
“Here, Mother.” Reiffen remembered why he had come back early from the Library in the first place. “I want to show you something.”
The fire cast bright ribbons across Giserre’s dark hair as she looked up. “What is it, dear? Did you find something interesting in the Library? A new book?”
“It’s not a book, Mother.”
Dropping her work to her lap, Giserre frowned. The small lines slanting above her eyes met at the bridge of her nose. “You know how I feel about magic, Reiffen.”
“You’ll have to give in eventually, Mother. It’s all I do now. And I think you’ll like this spell.”
Lifting her work from his mother’s hands, Reiffen spread the needles and yarn flat on the low table. Spit scooted out of the way around the side of the couch; the cat stalked across the ruddy glow of the fire.
Reiffen took a step back. “What are you making?”
“A sweater.”
“A sweater? You already made me a sweater.”
“I am not making it for you, Reiffen. This one is for the child Spit and I discussed the other day.”
“The one in the kitchens whose mother died?”
“Yes.”
Reiffen refocused on the needles and readied his rhyme. Spit peered over the top of the couch behind Giserre, her face flush with fear and interest. But Giserre’s eyes scarcely flickered as Reiffen intoned, in a voice slightly deeper than usual,
“Simple spell for simple task,
Needles dance to what I ask:
From this yarn please knit and purl,
A garment warm to please a girl.”
Like sparks popping from a log, the needles hopped straight into the air. Hovering impossibly, they began knitting swiftly, clicking and clacking like a box of tacks spilled down a stair. A new row of stitching appeared almost immediately above the first.
Spit clapped her hands and laughed. Giserre’s mouth tightened. The slack yarn drew taut as new rows were added, until the skein rolled off the side of the couch and across the floor. The cat pounced at once, toying with the skittering thread. Finished fabric spilled across the table.
“When did you learn how to knit?” Giserre plucked a snag free from where it had caught beneath a book. “And I told you I was making a sweater. Where are the arms?”
“I can’t manage sweaters.” Reiffen, his face crumpled in concentration, spoke from the side of his mouth. “Only scarves. You could make a sweater. Once I teach you the spell.”
“I am not letting you teach me the spell. Besides, your way does not seem relaxing at all.”
“It’s not supposed to be...relaxing.” The boy struggled to speak, his eyes never leaving the needles. “It’s supposed...to help...you do it...quicker.”
“I am not a drudge, Reiffen. I have no wish to knit more quickly.”
“You could make more sweaters...for more children.”
Giserre sighed patiently. “There is certainly much more I could do for Ussene’s poor slaves, were I to devote my life to them. But I suspect eventually I should reach a point of lessened returns. Knitting is about more than the finished work, my dear.”
“Maybe I’ll teach Spit then.”
Spit gripped the back of the couch tightly.
Giserre frowned. A fresh fold of black yarn tumbled to the floor. “Yes, the Three would like that. A slave knowing magic. Really, Reiffen, I know you want to show me what you have learned, but I do think you could find a more appropriate manner. And how long do you intend to make your scarf? Already there is enough for three.”
Reiffen raised his hand; the needles collapsed in the fluffy pile. The cat continued batting the skein across the rug, hoping the yarn would start wriggling once more.
Giserre retrieved her needles. “Now I shall have to start again from the beginning.”
Reiffen bowed, a little put out that his mother had neither accepted his gift nor admired his growing talent. “I trust you shall at least find it relaxing.”
“Now you are being ridiculous. And you behaved so well toward Cuhurran. Do stop sulking. It is unbecoming.”
“I am not sulking. I am thinking of what I will do to Cuhurran once I know enough magic to challenge him.”
Spit shrank back behind the couch, as if expecting the Wizard’s fist to burst out of the ceiling and smash them.
“Spit, please get up. Reiffen has no intention of fighting Wizards.” Giserre scowled at her son. “Really, you should not say such things in front of her. Do you want to frighten her to death?”
Spit looked suspiciously over her shoulders before she rose. “You can’t hurt Wizards,” she said. “You shouldn’t even talk about it.”
“That is not true,” Giserre replied. “Wizards can be harmed, though not easily. Why, even Areft was killed. It stands to reason his children can be killed as well.”
Spit’s eyes went wide. “His children?”
“Do you not know the Wizards are Areft’s children?”
The poor servant shook her head, overcome with amazement.
“Well then, it is time you learned the tale. Reiffen, please fetch the small red book from my bedside. I have been meaning to read this story to you and Spit since I first came across it several days ago.”
“I already know The Tale of Areft, Mother.”
“This version is different from the one you learned at school.”
Returning from his mother’s room, Reiffen handed her a thin volume. The spine of the old, dry book crackled as she opened it; small edges of yellowed paper fluttered to the ground. Settling back against the couch, Giserre began to read.
“’I, Andiss, here set forth the true tale of the world, as I have learned it from Redburr himself, and others among the Oeinnen. I write these words knowing the College in Malmoret has chosen to ignore the truth; but some record of that truth must be preserved and, for that reason, and that reason alone, I here set out the true wisdom of the past, and the true nature of the world as it has been given forth. For Areft did not make the world for humankind, but for himself...’”
Reiffen allowed himself to be caught up in a tale he had heard many times before, though perhaps never with such a tone of presumed authority. How Areft had separated himself from his fellow Ina to fashion the world; how he had raised the mountains and dug the deeps. How some among the Ina took pity on the humans he made from sand and clay, once Areft began to hunt them across his barren world.
“...Then did Issing thrust herself into Areft’s world. And she did collect those of his children nearest her, and gather them from the rocks to keep them safe. And they cowered from her, though she had made herself different from Areft, until they felt her gentle touch, and the softness in her hands. And Issing carried them far away, across the deep places of the world.
“Then did Areft, after he had killed all the children about him, look up and search for more. But there was nothing that could hide from Areft within his world, and he saw the trace of Issing’s footsteps in the stone. Great was his rage as he realized he was no longer alone and that another had dared enter his world. And Issing hid his children from his approach, and met Areft at the edge of the deep, with the land sloping up behind her.
“‘Do not kill your children!’ she cried. ‘Know that they think and feel. For I have taught them words, and they want only your honor and praise.’
“And Areft frowned, for this new thing was not of his devising. Now his children might speak among themselves, and carry tales beyond his knowing. And so Areft came upon Issing and smote her. And Issing fought back against him, but the world was his, not hers. And as he struck her she fell upon her knees and wept. And her tears swelled out across the emptiness, filling the bottom of the world. And behind her the children looked on in wonder as the waters rose and the seas formed. And Areft grew yet angrier, and struck her great blows from his fists, until finally Issing sank beneath the surface and was lost. And Areft, thinking she had escaped him, searched wildly through the water, and great storms rose up, and rain poured down upon the land and across the upturned faces of his children.
“The watching Ina wept, for Issing was no more. Her spirit washed only in the waters, rain and storms the spoil of her sorrow and Areft’s wrath. And never can the sea be still; always must it roll from tide to tide, seeking peace. But even so, there were among the Ina three who saw the truth in Issing’s fate: that Areft’s world was not his alone, and that it could yet be changed. And though they pitied Issing and feared for themselves, still did they follow her into the world and leave all Ina behind.
“Bavadar, Oeina, and Brydds: these were the names of the Ina who came into Areft’s world. And they came separately, in different ways, that Areft might not catch them all at once. And Bavadar rose up from the ground, and brought with him the green of grass and trees, watered with Issing’s tears. And Oeina came forth from the waters, washed in the spirit of Issing, and brought forth with her all the birds and fish and beasts. But Brydds burst out in great light in the sky above, and for the first time all the world perceived the beauty of the sun.
“And when Areft saw that new challengers had come to his world, his rage increased. And the tops fell off the mountains and the oceans quivered in their beds. Nor was his wrath lessened by the golden light that showed new creatures flying and running and swimming around him. The cold and emptiness were gone, and in their place the bursting of warmth and light and life. And Areft reached up to drag the sun from the sky and smash it on the rocks below, but Brydds was too quick for him, and spun his creation beyond Areft’s grasp. Then did Brydds drop down to the land below and hide himself among the jumbled caves.
“In his anger Areft pulled great swaths of grass up from the earth to feel the dead stone. And he chased Bavadar and Oeina across the world, but Bavadar was too quick, and escaped among the mountains. But Oeina was not so lucky and Areft fell upon her and thrust her beneath the sea. And a second great storm rose around the world, and the land was flooded, and great streams poured down through the caverns of the earth. And many children drowned.
“Then did Bavadar, seeing the danger to his companion, rush back across the world. And the storm grew fiercer, and the rain beat down upon the earth until the birds were washed from the sky and fish swam across the land. And Areft reached up and took Bavadar with his right hand, and forced him down beneath the ocean beside Oeina. Great was the struggle between the three of them, with the sky as wet as the sea and the winds carrying waves across the world. But Areft’s strength was too great even for Bavadar and Oeina together, and their struggling soon grew weak as Areft sought to quench their lives in Issing’s sea.
“Then did Brydds spring out from his hiding place brandishing a great sword of stone fashioned with his own hands from the rock of Areft’s world. And into the sword he had given something of himself as well, so that the blade would be hard enough to pierce the spirit of Areft. And Brydds ran out across the water to the heart of the storm, where the mist and fog rose thickest.
“But Brydds had never held a sword before and his first stroke was unsure. He cut a great gash across Areft’s back, but that was all. Bavadar and Oeina sprang away as Areft howled in anguish, then Areft, quickened in his agony, struck Brydds. Blade and Ina spun across the ocean to the shore, but Brydds lost the sword in the surging mist and fled.
“Then did Areft come ashore and decide that, rather than share his creation, he would destroy it. For he could always build anew, while the others were lost in the darkness. With a laugh he raised his foot and stamped upon the ground. Great cracks opened across the world, shattering the earth like a bowl broken on the floor. And the Abyss opened up and the world began to fall.
“Areft’s laughter was overwhelmed by the crash of rock and stone. He danced lightly from block to block until he came to Brydds, who clung to a falling boulder in despair. And the Ina wept again as Areft seized Brydds and thrust him through the world and into the Abyss. And then Areft turned to Oeina.
“But Bavadar did not despair. He crawled down among the falling rocks and reached out with all his strength to join the stone together. And Bavadar became one with the stone, though the work was Areft’s, and added his strength to the strength of the stone. And his heart beat for the stone, and his blood boiled in pockets of fire through it. And his bones stretched out and became the stone’s bones. And the world stopped falling.
“Then did a great shudder pass through the earth, and Areft and Oeina were cast upon the ground. And both were overwhelmed by their struggle. And after a time the children who were still alive came down from their mountain tops and out of their caves and crept back across the world. And the storm ceased and the birds dried their feathers and the fish returned to the sea.
“And this is what they saw. For Oeina and Areft had fallen close together, and the world lay jumbled around them. And mountains grew from the sea, and lakes had grown among the mountains. And near to Oeina lay the sword.
“But before the children could reach it, Areft awoke. And he shook his mighty head and looked about, and saw Oeina close beside him. And the children shrank back among the rocks as Areft came upon Oeina by the shores of the sea and thrust his last enemy’s face deep within the water. And the sea bubbled and boiled as the last of Oeina’s breath departed and the children were left alone.
“But there was one among them who threw aside his fear. Nor is it remembered whom he was, no matter how many kings claim his kinship. And he came up behind Areft as Oeina’s life was ending and seized the sword from where it had fallen among the rocks. And the power of the sword was such that, even though it had been fashioned by Brydds for the shape of Brydds’ own hand, so did it also fit the hand of the nameless hero who took it. Light as the air it was, yet hard as stone and sharp as coldness as well. And braving all things, the human came up behind Areft and swung the sword in a great arc against him. More fortunate than Brydds before him, or perhaps because he could see clearly now that the storms and fog were gone, the human’s blow when it descended cleft Areft at the waist and severed him in two. And Areft howled, and his blood boiled on the ground, blackening the sword, even as his slayer brought the weapon down upon Areft’s neck in a second blow. Then did Areft lie in three parts upon the earth, and black mist rose up around them. And the hero stood resting on the pommel of the sword as Areft’s head erupted in pale lights that laced across the sky. And Areft’s body glowed, and melted into the ground. And a great chittering rose up out of the world as a swarm of vermin skittered and fluttered out of the blackened earth and away. And three shadows followed, racing across the sea.
“Then did the rest of the children come out of their hiding places and look in awe at the mark where their enemy had lain. And they laughed and sang, as Issing had taught them, and danced upon the ground. And they cheered their hero and asked him to be their king. But he said there could be no kings after Areft and walked away. And some of the people went with him, while others remained in celebration on the shore. And great was their astonishment as Oeina, whom they had thought dead, rolled over upon her back, gasping in the air, and called to them, and told them she would leave them with one last gift before she followed Areft beyond the world. And as she spoke she fell back into the ocean, and her body fell apart, and the Oeinnen emerged, crawling and running, leaping and jumping, flying and soaring across the land. And they taught the children of Areft many things. And among them was Redburr, who himself told me this tale. And to him I dedicate this work, and to Oeina, and Brydds, and Bavadar, who have rescued us from the hand of our maker, who meant for us no joy. And the sun set and the stars rose, and the world went on as it never had before, for the love of all the creatures in it, and not he who thought to rule them.”
Giserre finished and closed the book; the cat looked up from the ball of yarn.
“I like that Brydds was the one who made the sun,” said Reiffen. “I never heard that before.”
“There is much about Brydds we never knew before the coming of the Bryddin.” Giserre turned toward Spit, who had completely forgotten to finish her folding, so enthralled was she by the tale. “Tell us, Spit, what do you think of the Wizards now? You see, they are Areft’s children, and can be harmed just as he was, if one has the proper tools.”
“Begging your pardon, milady, but I must have missed the part about the children. Sounded to me like he got killed before he had a chance to sire children. And a good thing for us, too, or we’d be even worse off.”
Then Giserre explained to the poor woman how the three shadows that had fled Areft’s corpse were each one of the Wizards: Usseis from the head; Fornoch from the torso; and Ossdonc from the waist down. But Spit just shook her head stubbornly and said she didn’t see that at all.
“It’s the same story as my old gran used to tell me, milady. Only she said it was Pittin slew Areft, and that’s why there’s been feudin’ ever since.”
“That’s how we learned it in Valing, too.” Reiffen tossed a few fresh lumps of firestone on the hearth. “Except for the part about the feuding.”
The cat pawed at the whispering yarn as Giserre began to rewind the skein. “It is said, Spit, that Reiffen and I are descended from Pittin.”
“Redburr says the first kings of Banking just claimed that, to strengthen their hold on the throne.”
“Redburr?” Spit’s eyes went nearly as wide as her mouth. “Is that the same Redburr as in the story?”
“It is,” Giserre acknowledged.
“And you talked to him?” Worry crept into the poor woman’s face. “Is he...a spirit?”
Reiffen smiled. The idea of an insubstantial Redburr was a good one, even in gloomy Ussene. “He’s alive.”
“Redburr is old, Spit,” said Giserre. “Like the Bryddin.”
“And the Wizards,” added Reiffen.
“What’s a Bryddin?”
“Spit, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Dwarves?”
“Spit has been in Ussene a long time, Reiffen.” Giserre pulled the last of the yarn away from the cat and dropped the skein in the basket on the table. “Longer than Dwarves have lived on the surface of the world.”
The slave looked down at the floor. “If you hadn’t come along, milady, I’d still be Downstairs, muckin’ out after the stinky, slippy bats.”
Gathering the folds of Reiffen’s long black scarf, Giserre added it to Spit’s basket. “You are safe with us, Spit. Or as safe as anyone can be who spends too much time with Wizards. Now, what would you like me to tell you about the Bryddin?”