The Riddle of the Wren, page 1
v1.0
November 24, 2006
The Riddle of the Wren
Charles de Lint
LET ME TELL YOU A STORY…
…of Minda the Wren, traveler between worlds, and Jan of the erls, imprisoned in a stone. Of Ildran the Dream-master, eater of souls, and Huorn the Hunter, with eyes of blazing gold. Of Grimbold the Wizard and Markj'n the Tinker; of Taneh the Loremistress and Sian of the High Erls, of Cabber of the Wild Folk, and of others past numbering…
Of the many worlds tied together by the Gates we call Standing Stones; of the ones who pass from world to world, and of the battle that spread across them like fire.
It is a story of riddles and magic and the sound of soft piping. Listen.
* * *
contents
Part One: The Heart of the Moors
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
Part Two: Towers of Stone
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
Part Three: The Way to Weir
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
Part Four: The Secret Hill
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
Epilogue
Glossary
THE RIDDLE OF THE WREN
An Ace Fantasy Book/published by arrangement with the author and his agent, Valerie Smith
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace Original/June 1984
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1984 by Charles de Lint
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
ISBN: 0-441-72229-6
Ace Fantasy Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
* * *
for my mother Geradina
The Riddle of the Wren
"as we perceive our dreams at centrifugal spin
so green leaves grow
the rowan bears the crown.…"
—Robin Williamson
Part One: The Heart of the Moors
* * *
chapter one
^ »
The town of Fernwillow was the picturesque consequence of centuries of unplanned and disordered growth. Situated in the lower northwest corner of the Penwolds, it straddled the Keeping River in a pleasing sprawl of stone and timber-framed buildings all clustered around Fernwillow House, the original manor from which the town took its name. Its streets were narrow, twisting haphazardly from the outlying farms to empty into the town squares on either side of the Keeping. A stone bridge connected the two—Marketsquare south of the river, Craftsquare on the north.
Weekdays and Saturdays, both squares bustled with activity. In Craftsquare, every manner of craft was represented. Tinker stalls stood elbow to elbow with pottery and weaving booths; there were portrait painters, dressmakers, candlemakers, leather workers, metal workers, ink and paper sellers, furriers, timekeepers and instrument makers. Every sort of manufactured goods was on display, from bolts of cloth to carved wooden "catch-the-mouse" games.
In Marketsquare, the butchers cut lamb, beef and pork to the direction of their customers. Geese, ducks and chickens raised a cacophony from their wicker cages. Farm wives and their daughters boasted the quality of their vegetables, each raising her voice to be heard above the cries of her competitors. There were baked goods, tobacco, herbs for stewing and salads and sauces, cob nuts and almonds, apples, quinces and grapes, hops, scouring materials, tallow and flax.
Fernwillow was the trade center of the Penwolds, situated as it was south of the hills that grew progressively more rugged as they marched into the Hinterlands, yet lying just north of the patchwork farmland and forest that swept in ever more cultivated leagues south to the Lakelands. Low barges travelled from the north and south along the Keeping so that their drovers and badgers might sell goods in Fernwillow and buy others to dispatch elsewhere. From the east and west, traders came in wagons from as far way as Bentyn on the coast and Cranstock in the Midlands, travelling the King's Road.
Sitting on a low stone wall on the Craftsquare side of the river, Minda Sealy watched one such wagon creak its way up Elding Street, the horseshoes of the big Kimblyn draught horse clopping on the cobblestones, the wagoner crying, "Make way! Make way!" to a crowd which was slow to take heed of his cries, and slower still to obey. Minda was a small, slender girl of seventeen, with shoulder-length brown hair framing an oval face, and dark otter-brown eyes. There was a wicker basket by her foot, topped full of cabbages, carrots and leeks. She wore an oak-green dress with flounced sleeves, a cream-colored smock overtop, and leather shoes that were more like slippers than the sturdy footgear a countrywoman might wear. She tapped the heels of her shoes against the wall, letting her gaze drift and her attention wander. Though the sun was warm, she shivered. Her eyes had a hollow look about them, with dark circles underneath.
"Silly Sealy!"
Minda turned with a frown. The nickname had followed her all through school. But the girl who joined her on the wall wore a gentle, teasing smile and meant no harm by it.
"Hello, Janey," Minda said.
"My, don't you look glum. What some licorice?" Janey dug in her pocket and gave Minda a piece. Her father owned Darby's Bakery farther down Elding Street, and she always had a bit of sweet tucked away in one pocket or another. She was a month older than Minda, twig-thin for all the sweets and pastries she put away, with skin dark as a tinker's, black hair all a tumble of ringlets, and eyes darker still.
"What's the matter, Minda?" she asked. "I haven't seen you for a half week or better. Have you been sick? You don't look at all well."
"I can't sleep," Minda said. Because when she slept, she dreamed, and when she dreamed…
"Well, you should see Mother Tarns, then. She'll have something hid away in the back of her shop that can set you right. A pinch of her herbal tea, or some bitter root of one sort or another."
Minda sighed. "It's not that I can't get to sleep; it's that I don't want to."
Janey cupped Minda's chin with a small hand and regarded her with mock seriousness. "You're not in love, are you?" she asked.
That woke the first smile to touch Minda's lips in many days. "Not likely."
"Well, what is it? I'm all ears."
"I…no. It's nothing that makes sense."
"Now I must know."
"It's not something I want gabbed up and down Elding Street."
"Come on, Minda. Tell."
She leaned closer, elbows on her knees, chin propped on the palms of her hands. Minda sighed again.
"It's… I've been having these dreams," she began.
"Of Tim Tantupper, I'll wager!"
"No. This is serious, Janey. These are dreams so strange they make my skin crawl just to think of them. I… they're the same, every night. I've been having them for two weeks now. I think… I'm afraid I'm going mad."
"Oh, Minda," Janey said. She clasped her friend's hand and squeezed the fingers tightly. "How horrible. But it's not true. They're just nightmares… terrible nightmares. They're not real."
Minda bit at her lower lip, determined not to cry, not here in the middle of Craftsquare with everyone to see. 'They seem so real, Janey."
Her friend nodded. For a moment she shared Minda's chill, felt the afternoon sunshine go cold. She blinked quickly and stood up, drawing Minda to her feet. "Let's go see if we can beg an ice from my dad," she said with determined cheerfulness.
"I can't…"
"It'll cheer you up."
Minda shook her head and tapped her basket with the toe of her shoe. "I've been two hours getting these as it is."
"I shouldn't wonder if your dad's not to blame for these nightmares you're having," Janey said. "The way he treats you would shame a tinker. I don't know how you can stand it."
"I've nowhere else to go. My uncle's asked me to live with him, but Hadon won't allow it, and if I ever tried to run away he'd be after me so quick I'd be lucky to get a half mile before he took me by the ear and dragged me off back home."
Janey regarded her friend, hands on her hips, uncertain of what to do.
"Let me come home with you, then," she said. "I can help you with your chores and maybe your dad'll give you the rest of the afternoon off."
"I don't think you should," Minda said. "He's been in a foul mood all day long and I don't want him yelling at you."
"He doesn't scare me."
Minda looked steadily at her until she shrugged.
"Well, not a whole lot," Janey said. "Besides, if he ever tried to lay a hand on me, my dad'd whack him for a loop!"
Minda smiled. "Thanks for listening, Janey. Are you working tomorrow?"
"Only in the morning."
"I'll try to get away after the noon meal."
"Where shall we meet?"
"At Biddy's corner," Minda decided.
/> Janey lifted her eyebrows. "Are you going to have your fortune read?"
Minda shook her head. "We could go visit Rabbert."
"Or Wooly Lengershin. He's promised to teach me how to juggle."
"Does he want his payment in kisses or sweets?"
"Both!" Janey said with a laugh.
Minda picked up her basket. "I have to go."
"All right. Try not to dream, Minda. And if you do—try to remember that a dream's all it is. Don't be a Silly Sealy."
"Janey Jump-up!"
"Minda Miggins loves Tom Higgins!"
Giggling like the schoolgirls they'd been only a few years before, they went their separate ways.
Minda was still smiling when she returned to the courtyard of her father's inn. It was a two-story timber frame building with a stone foundation that stood at the corner of Cob's Turn and the King's Walk, which was the name the King's Road bore as it wound through Fernwillow. Hadon Sealy, recently widowed and with his two-year-old daughter in tow, had bought it fifteen years ago when the previous owner retired. It was called The Wandering Piper—a name Hadon kept both because of the goodwill that was already associated with it and the fact that he didn't have enough imagination to give it a better. There'd been no great increase in trade since the change in ownership, but there'd been no noticeable drop in business either, a fact that had kept the local gossips' tongues wagging all through the first winter, considering what a dour face Hadon turned to the world in general, and to his young daughter and help in particular.
Minda winked at Pin the stableboy as she hurried through the yard to the kitchen. Slipping through the door, she prayed her absence had gone unnoticed, but no sooner had she set her basket on the long counter that ran the full length of the kitchen's west wall than her father entered from the common room, his bulk filling doorway. Hadon was black-haired where she was brown, heavy-set where she was slim. His eyes were a pale blue—the sort that flickered dangerously for no discernable reason and were quick to anger.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.
Minda swallowed dryly and pointed to the basket.
"Two hours it took you to buy a couple of cabbages?"
"I met a… a friend… and we talked a bit."
For all his bulk, Hadon could move quickly. He crossed the room in three strides and struck Minda open-handedly across the side of her head. The blow made her teeth jar together and brought tears to her eyes, but no sound escaped from between her lips.
"You've no time for friends," Hadon said. "Not with the work there's to be done about here."
"It wasn't busy," she said, "and Kate was here—"
She broke off as he lifted his hand again and quickly dropped her gaze to the floor. "I… I'm sorry," she mumbled.
Hadon let his hand fall to his side.
"See that you are." He looked about the kitchen. "Place needs sweeping—and there's soup to make for dinner."
"I'll start right away."
"I won't have you slutting about the marketplace like the rest of those girls you know."
"They're not—"
He glared at her.
"I wasn't doing anything like that," she protested.
"Not much, you weren't. Think I don't know what goes on there? Think I haven't seen you gawking at the farmlads flexing their muscles as they're unloading their carts, or those damn tinkers with their greasy hair?" He shook his head and stomped to the door. "Don't know why I bother with the likes of you," he muttered as he left the room.
Minda leaned weakly against the counter, lifted a hand to her burning cheek. Tears shone in her eyes and she blinked them furiously away. He had no right to treat her this way, to talk about her friends as though they were nothing but trollops! He had no… She sighed bitterly. No right? So long as he was her father and he kept her here, he had every right.
Kate came in as she was starting to chop cabbage for the soup. A buxom woman in her late twenties, Kate Dillgan had been at the inn for five years now. She had dark red hair, a broad, cheerful face, and Minda had yet to see her lose her temper. Stacking dishes in the sink, she glanced at Minda, then went about her business, filling the sink with a pailful of water drawn from the big storage barrel by the door.
"He's in a rare mood today, that one is," Kate remarked.
Minda nodded, chopping the cabbage with quick angry motions.
"Never you mind him," Kate continued. "You won't always be here. A pretty thing like you—you'll be off and married in no time."
"I hate him," Minda said, "but I don't want to get married just for a change of masters."
"Well, there's that," Kate agreed. "Never married myself for much the same reason—though my dad never once lost his temper with me. I just couldn't see myself spending day after day looking after some oaf with never a good word given in return." She laughed. "And look at me now: working for your dad. La, but the world's a funny place."
"Why do you stay on?" Minda asked.
"Well, it's a job—and they're scarce enough at the best of times. The only worry I have—when your dad gives me the time to even think of such things—is where I'll be in another twenty years. There's a certain security in marriage, I'm thinking. Where else can you find somebody to keep you company when you've gone all old and wrinkled and flabby? So one day I might marry—a widower, perhaps, with a nice big farm, or a craftsman. But never an innkeeper. Working here, I've had my fill of innkeepers."
She glanced at Minda again as she worked, washing down a plate and setting it aside, reaching for another, all with the mechanical movements of a task known too well.
"You're looking somewhat pale of late, Minda," she said.
"I've not been sleeping well."
"At your age you need your sleep. Try a tot of hot milk and rum—I'll pinch you a splash when his lordship's not looking. You'll be sleeping like a babe in its swaddling in no time, mark my words."
"I don't think I'll need it," Minda said, "but thanks all the same."
"Suit yourself. But I'll tell you, I have the odd nip myself, from time to time, whether I'm sleeping well or not. Does no harm, my dad used to say."
Minda paused in midstroke. "Not from Hadon's… ?"
Kate grinned. "The very same. That lovely cask of Welan brandywine he keeps hid under his bed. I have a little flask that I fill with a drop or three whenever I'm in there sweeping up."
Minda laughed. "Well, good for you."
That night she sat up in her bed and lit a candle to help keep sleep at bay. Her room was just above the kitchen. Its door opened onto the landing at the top of the back stairs and its window overlooked the courtyard and stables. Her bed was against the west wall, with the window to her right. On the left her clothes hung from hooks on the wall, or were stored in the oakwood chest set underneath. There was a narrow table in front of the window on which she kept various knick-knacks—from a small carved stag that her uncle Tomalin had given her, to her pebble collection and a foot-high painted vase that Janey had made for her. Beside the table was a small shelf where she kept what few books, penny sheets and chapbooks she'd managed to collect over the years. Her friend Rabbert owned a bookstore on Elding Street, and it was there that she'd bought most of them.
Except for the sound of her own breathing, her room was still. The whole inn was quiet. There were no guests staying tonight—only the locals had been in, the last of whom had staggered out just before closing. Pin would be asleep in the loft above the stable, Kate in her room, two doors down. Hadon had long since tramped up from the kitchen to slam the door of his own room behind him. By now he was deep in slumber.
Huddled in her bed, with the blankets pulled up to her chin, she stared at her reflection in the mirror at the far end of the room. The reflection was little more than a shadow. She was shivering again, though the night was not cold. Her whole body cried for the sleep it was being denied and she knew she couldn't stay awake much longer. Already her eyelids were drooping.
She forced herself to stay awake. The candle banished the darkness from around her bed, but it awoke shadows that danced around the room, shadows that reminded her of the dark thing that stalked her dreams. Frowning, she leaned over and blew out the candle with a force that surprised her. Clutching her knees, she rocked back and forth, striving to stay awake, trying not to remember the dreams. It was a bitter lesson in futility, for awake or asleep, they would not let her be.
