Through the Darkness

Ealstan still didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he thrust a sheet of paper at her. She hadn’t even noticed he was holding it. Of themselves, her eyes went down to it. The Forthwegian script was exceptionally clear, but she hadn’t read more than a couple of lines before it seemed to blur. “Your brother,” she whispered.

“Aye. My brother. Dead.” The phrases jerked from Ealstan one by one, as if from a clockwork toy that was running down. But then, unlike such a toy,

Ealstan somehow found the energy to say more: “My stinking cousin killed him. Beat him to death the way you’d beat... you’d beat... I don’t know what.” Tears started running down his cheeks and into his beard. Vanai didn’t think he knew he was crying.

She made herself keep reading the letter Ealstan’s father had sent. “They didn’t do anything to him,” she said in disbelief. “They didn’t do anything to him at all.”

“To Sidroc, you mean?” Ealstan asked, and Vanai foolishly nodded, as if she might have meant someone else. Ealstan went on, “Why should they do anything to him? Leofsig was just a Forthwegian, and Sidroc’s in Plegmund’s Brigade. They’ll probably pin a medal on him for it.”

“Didn’t you tell me Plegmund’s Brigade was training outside of Eoforwic?” Vanai answered her own question: “Of course you did. That singer you like went out with his band and performed for them.”

“Ethelhelm.” Ealstan sounded amazed he’d come up with anything so mundane as the musician’s name. “Aye, the Brigade is here--or some of it’s here. Some of it’s gone off to train somewhere else. I found out about that from him.”

“But. .. won’t the soldiers do something to your cousin?” Vanai was faltering, and she knew it. “They can’t want somebody who’s nothing but a murderer . . . can they?”

“What do you think soldiers are?” Ealstan answered bleakly. “Especially soldiers who fight for King Mezentio. But it doesn’t matter anyhow. Look at the date on the letter.”

Vanai hadn’t. Now she did. “That’s--three weeks ago,” she said. “And it just got here now?”

Another foolish question. Ealstan, fortunately, took it as a matter of course. He said, “Aye. What do the Algarvians care about how the post runs in Forthweg, or even if the post runs in Forthweg? We’re lucky it got here at all-- if you call that luck. But you’re right, or I hope you’re right--I want to go out and see if I can get the Algarvians to do something about Sidroc. If he’s still here, I mean. He’s liable not to be.”

“Don’t do that!” Vanai exclaimed.

“Huh? Why not?” Ealstan asked, as if he intended heading for the encampment of Plegmund’s Brigade that very moment. Shock had to have dulled his wits.

Patiently, Vanai answered, “Because you still might be wanted in Gromheort, that’s why. Do you plan to show up there and have them arrest you?”

“Oh.” Ealstan sounded astonished. No, that hadn’t crossed his mind at all. When it did, he nodded. “You’re right, curse it. Well, he might not even be there. Powers above, I hope he’s not there. I hope he goes out and the Unkerlanters kill him first thing. I wish I could do it myself. I wish I had done, it, back there in Gromheort. A million Sidrocs aren’t worth one of my brother.”

“I’m sorry.” Vanai went to him and held him. They clung to each other for a while. Vanai hoped that did Ealstan some good. She doubted it would do much. But maybe if he thought she thought he felt better, he really would feel a little better. She shook her head. She wasn’t used to needing such convoluted thoughts.

“Oh,” Ealstan said again, this time as if remembering something. “There’s a piece of the letter right at the end that’s meant for you.”

“There is?” Vanai hadn’t read the whole thing; the crushing bad news that headed it had been enough. Now she pulled back so she could look at the rest. Sure enough, Ealstan’s father wrote, Your friend’s grandfather has been asking after her. We have said that, so far as we know, she is well. We shall say nothing more without your leave and hers. Vanai said, “I don’t want him knowing any more than that. I don’t even want him knowing that much, but it can’t be helped.”

“Don’t worry,” Ealstan told her. “My father knows how to keep his mouth shut--a bookkeeper has to. And my mother and sister won’t blab, either.” Thinking about her kept him from thinking about the rest of the news--but only for a moment. Then his face crumpled, for he went on, “Leofsig won’t say anything. Leofsig ca-ca-can’t say anything, not any more he can’t.” He started to weep again.

Vanai went into the kitchen, took down a bottle of spirits, and poured a full glass for Ealstan and half a glass for herself. “Here,” she said, handing him his. “Drink this.”