The Forgotten Sisters (15 page)

Miri looked at the ragged cloth Fat Hofer always kept over his legs. She tilted her head, asking permission. Hofer nodded. She lifted the cloth. One foot was round and swollen; the other leg ended at the ankle. She lowered the cloth.

“My talent is hearing things,” he said, “and I heard in your voice that your mountain is your feet. That's where you need to stand.”

“Thank you, Hofer,” she said. “That was a very good trade.”

She leaned her head against his arm as she used to do with her father. After a moment, Fat Hofer rested his head on her own. Out on the water, a pair of geese escorted newly hatched goslings. They paddled about, disturbing thin lines in the water, and Miri marveled that
they dared venture in the open at all for fear of caimans and snakes. She supposed there were always dangers, but the threat of death could never keep geese from the water.

A loud noise, some shouts from across the island. Miri stood, squinting against the glare of sunlight on water.

Two soldiers were dragging a Lesser Alvan man out of a boat. One struck him in the gut, and he doubled over. A third soldier turned to face the island and shouted.

“We warned you! All boats now belong to Stora. What did the marshal say would happen to anyone caught in a boat without permission?”

Another soldier answered, “Execution, sir.”

“That's correct. So we'll waste no time about it.”

Miri started forward.

“Miri, don't,” said Fat Hofer.

“I have to—”

“Don't!” he said, reaching for her arm, but she ran.

They could not be allowed to just kill someone like that, and for taking a boat that was probably his anyway. Why wasn't anyone fighting back?

The soldier was removing a large flat stone from a fire circle. He placed it on the edge of the island. A woman began wailing.

“No,” Miri said. The dried reeds underfoot felt as slippery as mud, and she seemed to move excruciatingly slowly, as if running through deep water.

Another soldier shoved the man down.

“No,” she tried to shout. She could not make her voice any louder. “No. No.”

The soldier pushed the man's back till his neck touched the stone.

“No!”

The soldier lifted his sword. Miri sprang.

She grabbed his arm. His other arm was already slicing the sword down. Something splashed into the water.

The soldier twisted and grabbed her, holding her tight, his sword beneath her neck. There was blood on the blade.

“What should I do with her? She's just a little girl.”

“Wait till the marshal comes back from river patrol,” said the other soldier. “See how he wants us to make an example of her.”

From across the island she saw Fat Hofer watching. He would not shout no. He could not rush the soldiers. He knew, as Miri should have, that it would be useless anyway. The man was dead. And now Miri might be too.

The soldiers bound her wrists and ankles so tightly her fingers and toes tingled. She was so much smaller than the soldier that he simply threw her over his shoulder, carried her to an empty reed hut, and tossed her in. He stood outside, apparently keeping watch till the marshal arrived.

Miri leaned down, trying to reach the bonds on her ankles with her teeth, but she could not bite through. Her hands were bound against her back. She felt wave after wave of tightness in her chest, and she could not seem to breathe.

Behind her, a knife point thrust through the woven reed wall.

Miri scooted away as the long, jagged edge sawed through the reed mat. She was holding on to a frantic hope that she was being rescued when large hands pulled wide the opening and Dogface stepped through.

Miri bolted onto her bound feet and dived forward, trying to slam her head into his gut, a wrestling move Astrid had taught her. But Dogface simply grabbed her by her tied wrists and held her up.

“I know you,” he whispered.

With all the fight in her, she could not even budge his hand. She kicked at his shins, but he did not so much as blink.

“I know you, girl,” he whispered again. The skin around his long face scar was puckered, his left eye white. “I've known you all along. From the mountain. You killed Dan.”

She shook her head, but there was no doubt in his expression. He was not waiting for her to confirm his
suspicion. So what was he waiting for, an even more perfect moment to kill her quietly?

She stopped struggling and took deep breaths, looking out the door for someone to save her, knowing there would be no one. A scream would just bring the Storan guard.

Dogface had lifted her wrists so high, she was dangling. He set her down, bare feet to reed ground, and lifted his knife. She flinched as he leaned over and swiped. Her ankles were free.

Her heart was pounding louder than a swamp night.

“I like it here,” he whispered. He was missing several teeth, and the tip of his beard was pale with dried mud.

“You like it here?” Miri whispered back, trying to understand his words. She'd been expecting something more like “I'm going to kill you now,” or “Need me some stabbing practice.”

“The widow Lussi likes me, I think,” he whispered.

“The widow Lussi?” Miri repeated. Her head felt light as thistledown and nothing was making sense.

He nodded. “I want to stay here. Fat Hofer says you're a plotter. Always thinking. I want you to think of some way to fix this. Get rid of Stora, give us Lesser Alva back. Lussi loves the way it was, fishing all day, sitting with her feet in the water, singing as the sun goes down.”

Miri nodded, her whole body shaking.

He cut through her wrist bonds. Then he took off his tunic and shoved it over her head. The mud brown cloth covered her dirty silk and hung like a dress.

Another tug and a swipe. Her braid lay in his fist. She looked at it and shuddered, thinking of a beheaded snake. Her now-shoulder-length hair fell loose, tickling her face.

“You're short, they probably thought you were a young child,” he said. “And now you don't look like the same child who rushed the soldier. Don't run when you leave. And when you're safe—fix this.”

He swiped some mud off the bottoms of his leggings, rubbed his hands together, and wiped them over her face. Without another word, he disappeared through the slit in the house.

Miri sputtered on mud. She stood there for a few breaths, feeling as beat-up and small as she ever had in her life.

You're a Mount Eskel girl
, she told herself.
And down here, you're
the
Mount Eskel girl. So fix this
.

She slipped through the break in the wall and without looking around began to walk. She was tempted to scurry like a mouse, hang her head, dodge from shadow to shadow. But she kept her head straight and tried to
walk with purpose—her stride long and confident, shoulders back, as in the lessons in Poise from the academy. A girl who walks like that has nothing to hide. A girl who walks like that is someone no one would dare harass.

Miri took the long route off the reed island, as if she were in no hurry whatsoever. Leaping off the island and into hip-deep water, she splashed through to drier ground. She did not head straight to the linder house but traveled through the tall reed beds to hide from village view. Caimans were rare around the busy reed islands, but the farther she walked, the more dangerous the turf. The sound of every slosh sent chills down her arms. Alone and knee-deep, she was easy prey for caiman or soldier.

She could no longer bear to walk casually. Tension was tight and singing inside her. She ran.

Felissa and Astrid were doing the washing outside the house when Miri stumbled past.

“What happened to your hair?” Felissa asked.

Miri threw herself inside, crouching low in the center of the house, out of view of the windows. The moment Felissa entered, her mouth opened, frightened by what she sensed from Miri.

“It's not safe here,” said Miri. “And somehow I have to fix everything and I don't know what to—”

She started to cry, sitting there in Dogface's dirty
tunic and dripping mud onto the white floor. Felissa sat, put her arms around Miri, and cried with her, as if she could not help it.

Astrid brought Miri water to wash her face. Each time Miri pulled her hand through her hair, the abrupt end shocked her. Her first haircut, delivered by a bandit.

They stayed inside all day and ate cold bread. Sus asked Miri questions like “How far is it to Greater Alva by water?” and “Explain the tides to me.” Miri could see no escape route. The road was watched, and the Storans had taken possession of every boat.

Miri did not think she could sleep, intending to stay up and keep watch. But the events of the day exhausted her and she fell unconscious moments after lying down.

She was in the middle of a feverish dream about running when a shout roused her. Miri stumbled to her feet, clutching the caiman pole she'd fallen asleep holding.

A figure was standing in the threshold, all shadow in the moonless night. Had Jeffers returned?

In a practiced maneuver, the sisters tossed pole loops over the person's head, binding his arms to his body. He struggled and called out, and Miri knew his voice.

“Wait!” said Miri.

It was Peder.

Take your time, sundown

Take your slow, sweet time

I'm not ready to say farewell

This day has been too fine

So wait around, sundown

And give me a bit more time

Miri tore the caiman loops off Peder and checked his face for lash marks and his shirt for rips. She wanted to just grab him and hold him and rest her head against his chest and smell his closeness. His warmness. His Peder-ness.

“You're safe,” he said, gripping her arms as if he could not believe she was there unless he was touching her.

His pants were dripping muddy water, his shirt was stained, and his curly hair was stuck with bits of plants. She laughed and pressed his hand between her own and wished she had him alone where they could talk for hours and tell each other everything, everything.

But there was a panic pulsing around him. And soldiers on the islands. Dogface telling her to fix it, her braid in his hand. A sword stained with blood.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“A ship,” he said. “Stora seized almost all Danlandian boats. Some merchant ships that escaped have kept running trade.”

“I imagine wartime trade pays well,” Miri said.

“Exactly. The risk is high but so are the prices. So I found one of the black market merchant ships and persuaded it to bring me here.”

Miri was about to ask how, but from his tone she suspected it was a long story.

“We had to travel from Asland close to shore,” said Peder. “Nearly ran aground a couple of times, but we made it.”

“I haven't heard from almost anyone since coming here,” said Miri. “I tried to send letters.”

“I didn't stay long on Mount Eskel. I was only home for a week before I went crazy with worry and told my parents I was going after you. I walked down the mountain.”

“You did what?”

“Well, waiting for the traders would take too long. I was on my own for a few days before I found a cart man headed to Asland. You survived out here all right?”

Miri ignored the question. “You
walked
down the mountain. To find me.”

“Well … yes,” he said. “Wait—your hair! How did I not notice your hair?”

“Because there wasn't much left to notice,” she said.

He fingered the shoulder-length ends. “When this is all over and you go back to Asland, those noble girls will see your hair, decide it's the new fashion, and cut theirs off too.”

Miri laughed. “Ah yes, I've always been the height of fashion—and a fashionable height. The noble girls would cut off their tallness to match my shortness too if they could.”

“They probably would.”

Miri's eyes stung, and she realized she'd barely blinked, not wanting to miss his face for an instant. Peder was here.

“You two are sweet on each other,” Felissa said. She was resting her chin on her hands, a smile on her face.

Miri blushed and took a step back.

“I can feel it, so strong,” said Felissa. “Keep talking. Watching you two is like hearing those stories you make up—”

“Felissa,” Miri said, warning in her voice.

“—about the boy who is sweet on the girl, only she doesn't know—”

“Felissa—”

“—because she's too busy learning at an academy, but he carves her a hawk out of linder. And they go walking together. And he holds her hand—oh! I love that story!”

Peder raised one eyebrow.

Miri's face felt so hot she was certain she was bright red. She gave Peder a stern look—a warning not to betray her.

Peder took her hand again. Then he put his arms around her. And then they were kissing. She felt her bare toes curl, her hand grip the back of his shirt. For a few moments, Miri conveniently forgot that they were not alone. When she peeked, all three girls were watching, mouths open.

“Are you two … betrothed?” Sus asked.

“Um … almost,” said Miri. “As soon as we get home to our families.”

“People fall in love in the tales,” Sus said. “I didn't think it happened in real life.”

Miri glanced at Astrid and caught the stricken expression on her face. Miri let go of Peder.

“Sorry … um, what happened when you got to Asland?”

“I went to the palace, but I made the mistake of meeting with the chief delegate before seeking out Britta and
Steffan. The chief delegate said your task was too important for distractions, forbade me from coming to you, and escorted me out of the palace. I tried to get a message to Britta and Steffan, hoping they would pay my passage, but I think the chief delegate ordered the royal guard to keep me out. So I stayed in Asland all winter working at Gus's shop, carving stone to earn my passage. I'd nearly enough saved when Stora came by ship.”