Page 39 of Court of Treachery

HARPER

“Come closer, child.” The female’s voice was an aged croak. The dwarf’s wispy, braided hair was so pale as to be almost transparent, and her eyes were as milky as the stone.

She is blind… How does she know I am here?Unease rose within Harper. Her legs were leaden and did not want to move.

“Come, Harper of Caledan.”

Harper’s eyes widened as she drifted forward, torn between apprehension and curiosity, forcing her unwilling legs to move past the rising fear gnawing in her belly.

“Sit with me.”

Harper silently perched opposite her on a fallen tooth of rock.

“You may call me Vanir.”

“H-Hello, Vanir,” Harper whispered, feeling painfully awkward.

Vanir’s wrinkled, weathered face split into a kindly grin at the tremor in her voice. “You need not fear me. I see all, and you are no threat to me, and therefore I am no threat to you. But you intrigue me. You hold visions of dark things and carry a token Ihave not seen in many centuries. I will see it before we are done here.”

How old is she?Harper wondered.

“Older than you might believe,” Vanir answered.

Harper startled.She can read minds?

“Only when you shout your thoughts for all to hear.”

Harper blushed, resolving to think of nothing private whilst in the Mother’s presence.

“I will verify your vision now. The könig must not be kept waiting.” Vanir reached out her tanned, age-spotted hands to grasp Harper’s. Somehow, she did not need to see to find them at once. Her skin was surprisingly warm and smooth, and a strange comfort to Harper. The Mother took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Instinctively, Harper did the same.

An instant later, she was suddenly no longer in the cold, milky caves, but the dark depths of Afnirheim. Her hands shook in Vanir’s as she relived her vision. It was exactly like the first time, except she now knew what to expect. Nausea roiled in her stomach as she beheld the destruction once more. The vision slowly faded, and the chill swept in once more. Harper shivered, wishing the weak sunlight at the edge of the cave carried warmth. As if in answer, a flurry of snow danced into the mouth of the cavern.

“Your vision is the truth of Afnirheim at this very moment,” Vanir said gravely. “I wish it were not so.”

“What does that mean?” Harper dared to ask.

“It means that a dark power rises once more. One who ought to be long dead and banished. One who is in league with our gravest enemies.”

“The goblins?”

“Yes.” For the first time, Vanir’s voice turned menacing. She cursed in her own tongue. “Yet there is one thing I must see before you leave me. I see you hold a talisman of significance. Idid not realise it spoke ofhim.” Suddenly, Vanir’s grip was iron as she flipped over Harper’s hand and pushed her sleeve up, exposing her leather bracelet and the silver bead upon it. The crone’s thumb and forefinger rubbed over the stamped symbol. “Why do you have Saradon’s Mark upon your person, Harper of Caledan?”

“I—I don’t know,” Harper stuttered. A familiar panic rose in her. The same panic of being utterly out of her depth and as helpless as she had felt in Tournai.

To her surprise, the crone dropped her hands, placing them in her own lap once more. Harper realised the woman held smooth, rounded, white stones of varying sizes in her lap, for she started to twiddle with them again, picking one up and running it between her fingers, caressing the worn surface. As they flowed through Vanir’s fingers, Harper saw strange runes inscribed upon them.

“Your past is as interesting as your future,” Vanir said with a sly smile that unnerved Harper. She shifted in her seat and clasped her hands in her own lap. Vanir cackled. “You will know what I mean. Eventually. Ah, if only you knew where you came from.” She cocked her head. “I wonder how different your life might have been.”

Harper fought a rising tide of curiosity—unsuccessfully. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know deep down, I wonder?” Vanir squinted at her and leaned closer, as if her blind eyes could see.

“Knowwhat?”

Vanir sat back, looking at Harper with her head cocked, as if wondering whether or not to answer. “That charm you carry is hundreds of years old.”

Harper looked at the innocuous bead with surprise.

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