The Windsingers

The wooden floor was strewn with rushes and fragrant grasses. Low trough tables of warmed sand were scattered about the room. T’cherian diners crouched around them. Several eye stalks swiveled in her direction, then politely swerved away. Pincerlike fingers on jointed limbs resumed the conveying of food to mandibles.

Ki ducked in and stood up, savoring the muted light, the cleanliness, and the relative quiet of the place. From the common room behind her, she heard the tinker bellow out, ‘Blood-sucking Windsingers!’ and follow it with muted curses. But here there was only the chink of pincers against the round-bottomed vessels of food snugged in the sand-troughs.

The sole Human inhabitant of the room sat with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out beneath a sand table. One booted foot rested comfortably on the ankle of the other. His head was tilted back, his eyes rolled up as, with one hand, he groped on a shelf above him. His fingertips teased a bottle to the edge, and caught it just as it began to tip into a fall. A light shower of sand came with it, dusting his hair. With a practiced twist of the wrist, he nested the round-bottomed bottle into the table before him. Two hemispherical glasses waited there, one clean and one tinged with dregs.

The man pushed the sleeves of his cream-colored tunic back to his elbows, exposing finely muscled forearms, and bent over the bottle to work off the seal. Curly dark hair fell over his forehead, partially obscuring the scar that divided his face.

Ki moved softly across the room, placing her boots with such care that she stood over him before he was aware of her. Dark eyes swept up to meet her green ones. She gave his boots a light kick. ‘I should have known,’ she grumbled. ‘It would be the Kerugi inn with a T’cherian serving room.’ She dropped to the floor and settled in beside him, her booted ankles crossed comfortably atop his.

‘It was so obvious, I never thought to mention it,’ Vandien conceded. ‘How was your haul?’

Ki leaned back against the wall behind them and let herself relax. ‘Bad roads, hot weather, unfriendly towns, and ungrateful recipients on this end. They claimed the top sacks of beans were spoiled from exposure to the weather. I thought they always smelled like that. We argued a bit, and I cut my fee a little, and we parted amiably. At least, the Kerugi’s Olo seemed friendly enough when I left. Who knows what a Kerugi really thinks about anything? All you hear is the carefully edited reply from its Olo…’

‘Um,’ Vandien agreed. He had resumed picking at the bottle’s seal, flicking away scraps of greenish wax to expose a fibrous stopper. He reached under the table to draw a small knife from a sheath on his belt and dug it into the stopper. ‘I hope you’re not too tired,’ he said casually. Amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. He smoothed his small moustache to cover it, but Ki was alerted.

‘Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.’

‘Think we could be in False Harbor ten nights from now?’

‘False Harbor?’

‘About a day’s ride beyond Bitters by horse; maybe two for the wagon. The road is narrow and rutted.’

‘But why would I want to be in False Harbor then?’

Vandien glanced up at the T’cherian server making her way to their table laden with two steaming bowls. He timed his reply perfectly, speaking as he poured a dark purple liqueur into their glasses. The T’cherian nested their bowls into the sand before them. ‘I’ve contracted us a job there.’

Ki was speechless in the double amazement of Vandien actually seeking for gainful employment, and daring to commit her wagon and team without her permission. He looked up from the liqueur and laughed aloud at her wide eyes, her gaping mouth. As her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath for speech, he raised both hands in supplication. ‘Before you tell me your current opinion of your dearest friend, let me tell you the details of the deal. You decide if even a stubborn Romni teamster would have walked away from it.’

Ki picked up her glass and leaned back against the wall, regarding him skeptically. She took a slow sip of the liqueur. He grinned at her engagingly, already sure of himself, and shifted to feel the companionable warmth of her shoulder and hip against his.

‘Three nights ago, I was sitting here, at this very table, when the strangest woman I’ve ever seen came in.’

As Vandien began his story, a length of white string appeared from his pouch as if by magic. It settled in a loop on his fingers, and as he spoke, he twisted and wove the string into the story symbols of his people. Ki’s eyes went from his fingers to his face and back again.

‘She stood in the doorway and looked slowly about. She was dressed in a coarse brown smock and trousers, like a field farmer. By her body and face, she could have been grandmother to a dozen children. Our eyes met. She smiled. She’d a bottle in one hand, and yellow flowers woven into her black, black hair. All in all, a strange sight, but not an eye turned to her but mine. Straight to my table she came, and twisted her bottle into the sand. She sat down across from me as if we were the oldest of friends. And, strangely, I knew we were.’

Vandien paused to take a sip from his glass and risked a look at Ki. He knew well that she could not resist a tale, especially as he told them, but he had not won her. Yet. He cleared his throat and went on.

‘Well, she just sat there, smiling at me and working a cork out of her bottle. When she had it open, she took a glass from one of her sleeves, and then another, and set them in the sand between us, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When she had filled both glasses, what should it be but Alys! Ki, I had tried earlier in the day to buy Alys in four different taverns in this town. No one in Dyal had ever heard of it, let alone stocked it. But there she was, pouring me a glass of it. And still not a word had she spoken, and me half-wondering if I’m dreaming the whole thing.

‘Well, then she lifted her glass to me and said in a voice sweet as a bird’s call, “Here’s to your strong right arm and the scar between your eyes!” And she drained off her glass.’

‘So, of course, you had to do the same,’ Ki murmured. She was into the spirit of the tale now, and enjoying it as much as Vandien enjoyed the telling.

He took a sip of his dark liqueur. With a fingertip, he traced the scar that began at the inside corner of one eye and ran across the bridge of his nose and down his cheek to the angle of his jaw. He gave a grave nod and resumed his story.

‘When we had drunk, she told me her name, Srolan. I told her mine. She wasted no words. She said that she was seeking a strong Human with a dependable team for a very special task. She would not say who had steered her to me. I told her that while I knew of a very dependable team, they were not mine to commit…’

Ki sat up slightly, her muscles tensing as she began to speak, but Vandien spoke more quickly.

‘She told me what she needed done, and it seemed simple enough, even intriguing. But again I told her that I could not commit a team that was not mine. She took it to mean that I wanted a higher fee. She raised her offer. Again, I told her I must first propose it to you. Again, she raised her offer! Ki, it had reached an embarrassing level. But once more, I refused, telling her she must wait until you arrived, and ask you herself. Then Srolan sat back, and her shoulders sagged; her eyes lost their sparkle, and her years looked out at me.’

Vandien mimed her movements, becoming for an instant a downcast old woman. He held forth an appealing hand to Ki.

‘She could not stay in Dyal. Her daughter in Bitters was soon to give birth, and she must go to midwife her. No one but herself would do, for the girl had had three breech births, and none of the babes survived. This time Srolan was determined to be there herself and not trust to some other midwife’s fumbling. She was convinced that her touch alone could bring forth her daughter’s child alive.’

‘How could you deny the urgency of such a mission?’ Ki murmured. Vandien flashed her a self-righteous scowl at the underlying note of amusement in her voice.

‘How indeed, Ki? Especially when the final offer she made was so ridiculously high for such a simple task. In money alone, she was offering, for a task that would take us at most a day, indeed, must be completed in a day, the extravagant sum of six tallies. Six!’ he said proudly.

The number was lost on Ki. She had a grin on her face as she twisted slightly to face Vandien. ‘You didn’t?’

He gave a quick shrug of his shoulders, taken aback by her sudden humor. ‘But I did. I thought that, just this once, you might not mind if I committed your team on your behalf, especially for so good a price. And besides the money, there was…’

‘Vandien.’ Ki choked on a laugh, and tried to pull her face to order. ‘Let me guess the task, and the terms. She will pay you only after you have successfully completed it, correct? It must be done in one day, and the task is in False Harbor.’ At each of Vandien’s cautious nods, Ki gave a bubble of laughter. ‘Vandien, did you agree to take a team into that sunken Windsinger temple and haul out a secret long-lost chest?’

Vandien’s face fell as Ki leaned against his shoulder and shook with helpless laughter. Several of the T’cherian diners swiveled eye stalks in their direction and regarded them with disgust. Rude and raucous Humans, profaning the art of consumption with their noisy chattering, while good food grew cold in the sand before them.

‘What’s funny?’ he demanded, his face twisting as he tried not to join in Ki’s laughter. ‘Ki, you should have heard the tale she told me. How since the land beneath the temple sank, folk can hear the ringing of the temple’s great bronze bell, under the sea, swung by the tides. During storms it swells to such a clamor that even animals stabled safe in barns are moved to panic by its tolling.’

‘Deep within that sunken temple,’ Ki took up the tale, making her husky voice deep with solemnity, ‘is a great metal box, containing one of the twelve secrets of the Windsingers. If it could be brought to light and put in the hands of honest folk, they could prove how the Windsingers have forsaken their sacred trust, how they have become greedy tyrants instead of the selfless servants of the world. Think of the honor that would fall to the hero who could bring such a restoration to the world. Long would the name of that teamster be remembered, heralded as the savior of…’

‘Enough, enough,’ Vandien conceded, smiling ruefully. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, and then smoothed his moustache. ‘So I was taken in by some kind of a game. But what has she to gain from it? Or is she just an old crazy who approaches strangers?’

‘Oh, no.’ Ki sipped at her liqueur, and touched a finger to the edge of the bowl before her. She snatched it back. ‘Still boiling hot. It’ll be a while yet before we can eat. You may as well hear the whole tale. It isn’t entirely a joke. There is an ancient Windsinger temple, and during an earthquake that part of the coast did sink, taking the temple with it. The moon knows how long ago that was. The temple may have had a bell, and some claim to have heard it ring during a storm. There may even be a metal chest hidden in the temple. The people of False Harbor seem quite sincere in believing it is there. And every four or five years, a month comes that offers an exceptionally low tide. They can predict its coming, and they do their best to hire a teamster. Some night this month the temple will be partially exposed by the sea. At least what’s left of it will be. And some fool teamster will be out there butt deep in cold water, trying to raise that metal chest.’

Ki sipped from her glass. The liqueur had a sweet fruity flavor, with an aftertang that stung her nostrils, not unpleasantly. ‘What are we drinking, anyway?’

‘Burgoon.’ Vandien leaned forward to refill his own glass. ‘That’s what it sounded like when the T’cherian server told me, anyway. She wanted to heat it up to a boil for me, but I told her I’d try it cold. She’s referred to me as a barbarian ever since.’

‘I wonder how much heat it would take to scald a T’cherian palate?’

‘Why hasn’t anyone ever managed to haul the chest out?’ Vandien demanded suddenly.

‘Damned if I know.’ Ki shrugged. ‘That part of the story I’ve heard a number of ways. One, that the chest isn’t there at all. Two, that the chest is there, but cleverly hidden. Three, that even if you find it, it’s too damn heavy to haul out. Four, and most likely to me, is that the Windsingers don’t want it found or hauled out. About the time that the tide goes all the way out, a big storm hits, with a freezing wind. Makes it very unpleasant to work out there, but some fool always tries. I understand that False Harbor has made the event a sort of festival time. The teamster never gets a coin out of it, of course, but if he gives it an honest try, the village treats him well enough. A good room and decent meals, that sort of thing.’

Vandien tested his food with a fingertip. ‘Well, at least it won’t be a complete loss. We should be able to work it for a couple of days of room and board.’

Ki snorted. ‘Vandien, I’m not going to drive my wagon clear to False Harbor for the sake of a room and a meal. And I am definitely not going to make a fool of myself by wading around hip deep in salt water on a stormy day. I still can’t figure out why they would approach you with the offer. Unless…since you’ve been here, have you seen any other Romni?’

‘I saw Rifa, and that dancing bear she consorts with…Ki,’ he continued in a different voice. ‘It wasn’t just the money she offered. There was another matter.’

‘Rifa. Of course. She’d find this funny. I bet they asked her to use her team, and she refused, but set them onto you, to put you in a spot. She’d guess that you wouldn’t know a thing about False Harbor.’

‘It wasn’t just the money.’ Vandien mumbled it this time, with a quick sideways glance at Ki. But she was not paying attention. The drunken tinker in the other room seemed to have switched tables, for his voice, raised in an obscenity, came from just outside the room. Ki glanced at the doorway in disgust. She had moved to this room to be away from the tinker and his diatribe agaisnt the Windsingers; she did not wish to hear it. His tales of woe would be usual ones: the rain taxes were too high for a small merchant like himself; the taxes burdened the farmers until they couldn’t afford even his simple wares; the Windsingers were bleeding the farmers of their hard-won crops. They were old tales and familiar. Ki could not think of any place her travels had ever taken her that she had not heard the same groans. But usually the complainer had the good sense to whisper them quietly to close friends, not bellow them out in public like a stricken bullock.

She glanced back to a silent Vandien. He had drawn his belt knife and was slowly stirring his food with it. T’cheria used no eating implements, and furnished none in their dining places. Ki drew her own short blade and speared a chunk of the food in her bowl. Steam wavered up from the greenish cube, and she blew on it cautiously before putting it in her mouth. She instantly wished she hadn’t. Whatever it was, it tasted like low tide smelled. She swallowed it whole to get it out of her mouth. Not even a gulp of Burgoon could cleanse her mouth of the taste. She turned with a tart comment for Vandien on his food choice, only to find him still staring into his bowl, and stirring it moodily with his blade.