Chapter 46 - The Storm

It occurred to Cadryn, as he was driven to his knees for the third time by the gale and sleet tearing across the roof of the Redoubt, that this storm was unusual. The sheer amount of sleet and snow alone would be enough to worry anyone with sense. The green lightning that occasionally split the sky, firing up the underside of the racing clouds above like bright canopy of some titanic forest fed his suspicions that this weather front was supernatural. A hand, small but strong grabbed the back of his cloak for balance.

“This is some fae shit,” Mareth growled, as if sensing the path of this thoughts. Her feet grinding as they slid about for purchase she sheltered against his back. “I’m going to thrash Nine so bad.”

“This one, might be on me,” Cadryn replied. “On the bright side, I doubt the Midnight Ruya will survive it.”

Only a dissatisfied groan answered, and the two of them pressed onward into the storm. Eventually, after many long minutes, they arrived at the toll house to find Bahsa in the office, already working on paperwork. The shutters cracked loudly against their latches with each driving gust. The fire was high in the hearth, and a puddle of steaming water flowed from the heavy cloak on the hook beside it. They added theirs and held out numbed fingers to the flames in supplication to the warmth. They seemed to draw closer to Mareth’s hands.

“What an unseasonable blizzard,” Bahsa said, her quill scratching. “Almost like somebody conjured it up, eh Mareth?”

“Somebody did,” she replied, nudging Cadryn with her shoulder.

“The fae work in mysterious ways,” Cadryn said, holding up his hands. “How was I to know this would happen!”

Bahsa and Mareth exchanged a knowing look, then shook their heads.

“Well, what’s done is done,” Bahsa said, it looks like we’ll be snowed in if it keeps up.”

“Suits me fine,” Mareth said, picking up the kettle on the table and pouring tea for her and Cadryn. “I’m getting tired of watching stone melt. Besides, my scars are chaffing.”

“Silence probably has something for that,” Bahsa observed, not looking up from her work.

“She did,” Mareth said, doing her best to resist scratching. “But we ran out a week ago. Sefton has more on order, but-”

The door to the courtyard shook on its hinges beneath three heavy blows. They all looked, unsure if maybe it was the start of some hail. Boom. Boom. Boom. It was not hail. Cadryn moved over slowly, his hand resting on the pommel of his short sword. He slid the arrow slit open, was promptly stabbed in the eyes with a spray of sleet.

“Hello?” he yelled.

The lightning flared, and a slight figure stood backlit on the landing of the stairs, cloaked and hooded.

“Hello there,” replied a woman’s voice, raised over the din of the storm. “I’m Ida Slim, of the Slim Clan, we’re farmers from the Veld. My daughter went missing when the storm hit . . . has she come this way?”

Cadryn turned to Mareth, her face a reflection of his own doubtlessly incredulous look. There was no way a kid walked here from the north side of town, he wondered how Ida Slim herself managed it.

“No one has come by tonight,” Bahsa called from the table, her eyes fixed on the door. She signaled them it was to remain shut. “You’re free to stay across the courtyard in the traveler’s haven under the guard post.”

Despite the storm’s roar, the woman replied, as if neither the storm nor door proved any hindrance to her hearing. “Oh, that’s quite alright . . . I really must be off to find my little girl.”

With that, the woman turned, descending down the steps before being swallowed by the storm.

The next few hours passed as time usually did with a storm of this sort: in waiting. The night shift filtered in, taking tea and the breakfast Bahsa put out in the dining room. Most nights they only saw one another in passing or at meals, so it served as a fine time to catch up on the events of the past few weeks. Captain Vaast’s recovery came up, and the news was mostly good from Silence, by way of her reports at least. Encara, apparently out of the Midnight Ruya haze, joined them at last, looking hung over. She took her tea unspiced and plopped down in the spot nearest the fire.

By midnight, the worst of the wind halted its shrieking at the blinds and thunder of the lightning from another world died out to the occasionally rumbling protest. Felina, always the first to go stir crazy, shoved open the door to the courtyard with effort. Snow sluiced off the steps to crunch down into the waiting mass piled against the wall of the toll house.

The spotted moonlight through the breaking clouds of the storm cast the courtyard in waves of silver and ink. They all huddled around the door peeking out like children. Felina was the first to act, leaping off the steps into the deep pile beside, disappearing completely before exploding out the side into a roll with a thrilled whoop. The snow came up to the knee in a lot of places, but concealed the sheet of ice from the earlier sleet.

Soon everyone was slipping and sliding their way around the courtyard, balling up the fresh fallen snow and hurling it at one another. In the pristine after-storm air, the sounds of similar activities down in Kellen’s Veld filtered up to them as they made at least an effort to clear out a passage through the courtyard. The autumn harvest was done nearly a month ago, and the winter planting had yet to kick off, so the snow could be enjoyed for what it was, instead of cursed for a burden.

Eventually, after a hushed conversation between them, Mareth and Bahsa called the others back into the toll house.

“Alright, this will be good practice for winter,” Bahsa said, pointing to Felina and Encara, “You two take watch, clear out the rest of the courtyard. I’ll check the pantry, make sure we’re good on supplies.”

“And you,” Mareth said, tapping Caryn’s foot with her own. “You’re with me, we’ll be checking out the winter supplies in the storerooms.”

“Not where we found that blob of skulls and jelly I hope,” Cadryn said, suddenly worried.

“No, no, we keep all the out of season stuff in the old storerooms of the Redoubt, much less spooky.”

Relaxing, he tightened his coat’s collar, bowed deeply to the doorway, “lead on, then.”

Cadryn knew storerooms. When well built, they were always dry and cool, the air stirring to life as you entered, bringing the smells of whatever lay waiting for your return. His father’s inn had fine storeroom, in fact, it was the sturdiest part of the old building he grew up in. Cadryn spent countless hours coming or going, or organizing root vegetables, dry goods, and bottles of every kind of spirit. It was a second home, of sorts, free from the noise and bustle of the Inn’s drinking room.

So when he pushed through the tall, domineering steel doors of the Redoubt’s storeroom, he felt a rush of nostalgia at the way the dust swirled past his boots. There, the similarities ended. The room before him towered three stories high, with a double-backed stair case leading up to a walkway ringing the cathedral like space. Instead of darkness, the room was nearly painful to look at for all the light radiating down from long lines of arcane lamps, all opened wide. The air was dry, but warmer than he expected, given the wintery hall they had just left.

“Not your father’s storehouse, eh?” Mareth whispered, brushing past him on her way to the wide lane between two towering stacks of crates.

“No, no it is not,” Cadryn managed, his head craning back to count the number of crates in the nearest stack. “How, exactly are we supposed to know what is, and isn’t, in here?”

“Everything’s in here,” Mareth replied, pulling a heavy wood-clad ledger off a dusty table. “That is everything that was in the Neeft when the Empire seized the place.”

“The engineers we’re thorough, it seems.”

“Aye, but most of it junk that was too heavy to be worth carting back to the interior. Come on,” she said, pointing down the far right side row. “The smaller items are in a room off the main hall here.”

They walked together between the stacks, the air glittering with the dust motes of their passage. Cadryn examined the labels on the boxes and indeed, most of it was junk. The previous occupant of the Neeft, Pentross, was a paranoid judging by the amount of barricades and rusting man traps. Other, stranger objects sat between the more evenly crated goods looking like hulking monsters in a forest waiting for prey.

The side chamber felt more familiar as it had some items one might expect of a traditional storehouse: Tools, utensils, spare clothing, and even some shelves with jars of pickled fruits. Two arcane lamps hung on either side of the door and they each took one, the light summoning new objects into being as the pair moved into the room. Along the back of the stone wall were open boxes of winter-weight clothing, and several fur throws, bear and deer, hanging on racks. Setting down the ledger and shirking out of her overcoat, Mareth headed for a narrow row of shelves.

“Start checking off the things we need here, there’s something Bahsa told me to find back here.”

“Right,” Cadryn replied, and watched her go before setting down his lamp and checking the list. They had spent more and more time together in the past weeks since she had temporarily taken over the night shift. That proximity made it hard to avoid thinking about the starless night, about nearly dying, and about her kiss. Cadryn knew it was more than just excitement for having lived, despite both of them dancing around the subject since. Rummaging through a box he removed four sets of snow shoes and began tying them into a stack, yanking the knots a little tighter than was strictly necessary.

That’s when the music started. It came skipping off the low ceiling of the room, and echoed from wall to wall. The melody was comprised of gentle strings, a single instrument, perhaps a lute or dulcimer. The tone was beautiful and lifelike, and he was about to ask if Mareth was playing it when she stepped out of the rows. In the lantern glow he was reminded how much she had changed: gone was the timid stance she once held when they had first met, instead she stood upright and alert. Her pale eyes bright in the lantern light. The white, golden-edged robes were the same color, but no longer hid her scarred arms. In one hand she held an intricate gilded box.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked while slowly walking over to the table, as if afraid to disturb some tiny musician with her steps. She placed it down gently. “I’m glad it was here . . . might make being snowed in this winter more enjoyable.”

“Agreed,” Cadryn said, as the tune shifted, a second, deeper string joining the first. He became aware of how close Mareth was beside him, she smelled of wood smoke and mulled wine. A thick strand of her hair fell loose from her hood as she leaned over the box, brushing the edge of her dark lips. The room felt suddenly warmer, and Cadryn took a step to the side, pretending to look at the ledger.

“Hey, Cad,” Mareth said, her voice low beside the music, “I’ve been thinking about that night.”

“Me too,” he said quickly, and felt foolish, his head swimming for no good reason.

“I think you should kiss me, this time.”

Cadryn Bence turned then, and found Mareth staring into his eyes with an intensity he had never seen before. Her face was flushed, and her breathing shallow, her mouth slightly parted in anticipation. He swept her into him, feeling the heat of her arms around his neck. They kissed, and quickly became one, lips and hands exploring greedily . . .

It would be nearly dawn before they would report back on the condition of the winter supplies, but Bahsa expected as much.

After all, Mareth had told her they would be gone all night.