Frieda's Tale

Chapter 1

Frieda woke, alone.

The tent felt hot and uncomfortable, a faint light shimmering through the canvas reminding her it was shortly after dawn. She sat up, taking a deep shuddering breath as she gathered herself. She’d slept in worse places — the floor of her family’s hovel, the dorms of Mountaintop — but there was something about the small tent that unsettled her. It felt both solid and flimsy, mocking her as she tried to catch a good night’s sleep. The wards crackled around her as she reached out with her fingertips, carefully dismantling the spells that had protected her during the night. She’d never felt comfortable sleeping without them, or the pistol Emily had gifted to her last year. The tent was big enough for two, if they were close, but she’d flatly refused to share. She couldn’t sleep properly if she wasn’t alone.

At least Hoban understood, she thought, brushing dark hair out of her eyes. And Emily …

The thought gnawed at her mind. She liked Hoban, not least because he let her sleep in a single tent. It was odd, she was sure, to his mind. She’d have sex, but not sleep — literally sleep—with him. Emily was about the only person Frieda had ever managed to sleep close to, and even she had been difficult, in those early days. And the less said about the dorms of Mountaintop and the rooms of Whitehall the better. She just preferred to have space to herself when she was asleep and vulnerable. The wards just didn’t feel like enough.

She crawled out of the bedroll and reached for her clothes, pulling trousers and shirt over her sleepwear. It felt grimy but compared to her childhood it was heaven. She scowled to herself — if she’d realised where they were going, she might have had second thoughts about spending much of the summer with her boyfriend — and tied her hair back in a long ponytail before clambering out of the tent. The campsite was remarkably active… she told herself she was being silly. Whitehall had spoilt her. Her old family had risen when the sun rose and gone to bed when it fell behind the distant peaks.

The air tasted fresh and pure, the faint scent of wild magic brushing against her nostrils. The campsite, nearly ten miles from the nearest major town, was surrounded by trees and — in the distance — mountains rising so high their peaks vanished in the clouds. She shivered, despite herself, as she looked at the trees. The clearing felt a little too clear for her peace of mind. It was hard not to fear unseen eyes. She’d grown up in the Cairngorms, before she’d been sold to Mountaintop, and she’d never quite managed to rid herself of the habits she’d learnt as a child. Her tutors had called them superstitions. She wanted to believe they’d been right. And yet…

She took a long breath, her eyes peering into the pools of shadow, then forced herself to walk on stiff legs towards the fire. Hoban was standing by the flames, brewing a pot of something the archaeologists — the diggers, they were nicknamed — considered stronger than kava. He smiled as she appeared, then picked up a mug and poured for her. Frieda took a moment to study him — he was tall and muscular, with hair cut close to his scalp and a nasty-looking set of scars that ran under his shirt — and then took the mug, sipping it gratefully. It tasted foul, and set her teeth on edge, but it woke her up. Hoban nodded politely — he was a man of few words — as the rest of the team appeared. He handed round the drinks without a hint of hesitation, or suggestion someone else should do the work. It was one of the things she liked about him. The men in her childhood had always passed such jobs to the women.

Her heart twisted as she looked at the distant mountains. She’d grown up only a few short miles from their destination, a nameless village — they were all nameless — hidden within the forests, their mere existences rarely acknowledged on any map. She felt her hands begin to shake as she remembered her childhood, remembered how close she’d come to dying time and time again before a passing magician had purchased her as one might purchase a sow or a lamb. No, he’d shown even less consideration for her as a young girl. And yet, he’d probably saved her life. The villages were permanently on the brink of starvation. She’d known it was only a matter of time before she was cast out to die.

Or someone killed me in a drunken fury, she thought, numbly. She’d thought she’d buried that part of her, but the memories had returned when she’d returned to the Cairngorms. The scent in the air was a mocking reminder of a time when life was nasty, brutish and short. It still was, for the hundreds of thousands of people within the region. Or I had an accident and they left me to die.

She carried her mug to the nearest stream and washed it quickly — no staff to do the washing, not here — and then made her way back to the tent. The interior looked surprisingly inviting, despite the brew, but she forced herself to start dismantling the tent instead of trying to go back to sleep. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Hoban had told her she had to pull her weight as part of the team, to use her strong back and her magic to help them complete their mission. Frieda didn’t mind. Hoban, bless him, had been embarrassed when he’d told her. He didn’t realise how hard she’d had to work as a young girl. She’d been put to work from the moment she’d been able to walk.

A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped and spun around, a hex forming on her fingertips before she realised it was Hoban. He raised his hands in surrender… Frieda flushed, embarrassed, as she banished the spell. She was doing her best to overcome the scars of her childhood — Emily had called it a fight-or-flight reflex — but it wasn’t easy. She’d spent too much of her life in a place where an unexpected touch meant a beating, or worse. Hoban didn’t understand. How could he? The Great Families — and her boyfriend’s family was amongst the greatest, as they made sure to tell everyone who crossed their path — had their problems, but they didn’t treat their children as servants and slaves. They had no comprehension of just how lucky they were.

“Sorry,” Hoban said. He kept his distance, a sign of understanding. Frieda loved him for that, too. He was a powerful sorcerer, used to taking what he wanted. And yet, he gave her space whenever needed. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just about,” Frieda said. She leaned forward and gave him a quick hug, as far as she could go in public. “You?”

“Ready.” Hoban watched as she finished stowing the tent in her rucksack, then slung it over her shoulders. “We’ll be on the way in a moment.”

Frieda nodded and followed him back to the campsite. It was practically melting away in front of her as tents were dismantled, the fire stamped out, and everything either buried or packed away. The diggers showed a surprising amount of respect for the land, unlike most outsiders who visited the region, something that had puzzled Frieda until she’d realised they didn’t want to anger the Other Folk. Or the Awful Folk. Or… she frowned inwardly as the team formed up, ready to resume the climb. There were all sorts of legends about things lurking in the shadows, ready to snare unwary passers-by. The team couldn’t afford not to take them seriously.

And they’ll be here for quite some time, she thought. She was going back to Whitehall at the end of the summer, to take her final year of schooling before she went on to an apprenticeship or… or what? They don’t want to anger the local spirits.

“All ready?” Hoban’s eyes swept the team. “Let’s go.”

The team shambled forward in a rough parody of a route march. Frieda had been shocked when she’d first seen it — Sergeant Miles would have castigated the lot of them — but the team wasn’t a military unit. It didn’t need to maintain strict discipline, not when everyone knew and trusted everyone else. Frieda flushed at the thought. She was the only stranger on the team, a newcomer who’d only been allowed to join because she was dating the team leader. It was galling… sure, Hoban had told her another magician was always welcome, but she had her doubts. It had taken a while for the rest of the team to even speak to her.

Sweat beaded on her back as they left the clearing behind, making their way along a rocky — and muddy — path that was barely visible, even to her. The wind blew hot and cold, the scent of wild magic pulsing around them… she gritted her teeth, understanding why so many outsiders were so ill at ease here. The Cairngorms were beautiful, but so was a Death Viper. A man who climbed the mountains might never come down again. She glanced at Hoban, who winked. She was mildly surprised the team wasn’t grumbling like martial magic students on a forced march. But then, they’d all volunteered for the team.

The hours wore on. Her arms and legs began to ache. It felt as though they’d walked and walked and yet made no progress, as if they were walking in circles. She told herself it wasn’t possible — Hoban and his team were skilled navigators, and someone would have spoken up if they’d thought they were going in the wrong direction — but it was hard to escape the sense they were lost. The landscape didn’t seem to change at all. It was nothing but endless trees and dark shadows.

Frieda ground her teeth. She’d gotten soft. She hadn’t felt so… unfit… when she’d been a child, when she’d gathered mushrooms and herbs for her family and… her heart twisted as she remembered finding a dead rabbit, only to have the carcass stolen from her by an older boy before she could get it home. The bastard had smacked her down… hatred pulsed through her, numbed by the grim awareness life was a constant struggle for survival. There were stories of villages that had resorted to cannibalism, when the snow came. She wanted to tell herself they weren’t true, that no one would break the taboo on eating human flesh, but she’d never cared to lie to herself. The villagers would do everything in their power to survive.

“Nearly there,” Hoban said, quietly. “Are you looking forward to seeing your family again?”

Frieda had no answer. She’d been fourteen when she’d been sold and yet… she barely remembered her parents. She wasn’t even sure the people she remembered were her true parents. Family relationships were a tangled tree in the Cairngorms, where it was rare for someone who’d lost their partner not to remarry as quickly as possible. A father needed a wife to care for his brood, a mother needed a husband to bring home the bacon… not, she reflected, that there’d been much bacon. For all she knew, her parents were dead. She’d had no contact with them since she’d been sold. She had to think to remember their names.

Hoban frowned. “Frieda?”

“No,” she said, finally. “I’m not looking forward to seeing them again.”

She put the thought aside as the road reached a peak, then fell down into a valley. It felt wrong, in more ways than one. The remnants of a village lay in front of them, blackened and burnt by… something. She shivered as she remembered the stories the old women had told, while they’d been bossing the younger girls around. The village had been caught in a firestorm and destroyed, the entire population burnt to ash and the earth beneath their feet cursed. She’d been cautioned never to enter the valley, not for anything. The one time she’d wandered too close, she’d found herself unable to cross the old boundaryline. The village wasn’t a human place any longer.

And something happened to reveal an ancient structure below the village, she thought. The stories hadn’t made much sense, but apparently that was fairly common. A team of preliminary explorers had been dispatched at once, when word reached the White Council, while Hoban had been ordered to prepare a follow-up expedition. They think it might predate recorded history.

The thought made her smile. She’d never been that interested in history — she’d grown up in a world where nothing ever changed, where her family lived as their ancestors had done for thousands of years — but Emily loved it. Frieda had heard her grumbling about how recorded history wasn’t as recorded as everyone claimed, about inconsistencies in the records and confused dating systems making it impossible to be sure what had happened a few hundred years ago. Hoban agreed, from what he’d said. He’d told her that digging up the past was the only way to find out what had happened for sure. It was a dangerous task — old tombs tended to be cursed, old magical settlements tended to be infused with tainted magic — but he loved it. And Frieda wanted to make Emily proud.

Hoban tensed, one hand dropping to his sword. “Hold,” he said, his voice quiet yet urgent. “Where are they?”

Frieda nodded, reaching for her magic as the rest of the team spread out. The ruined village was completely deserted. There were no visible humans… her eyes narrowed as she realised she couldn’t hear birds, or small animals rustling through the undergrowth. She took a breath and grimaced as she tasted the lingering scent of wet smoke and burnt human flesh. The stench should have vanished long ago, along with the remains of the village. The nearby villages should have salvaged what they could, before nature reoccupied the valley and erased all traces of human settlement. Instead, it felt as if the village was suspended in a single moment of time.

“They should be here,” Garth said. He was a dark-skinned man, with a bearing that suggested he’d been a solider or a mercenary before joining the diggers. “They wouldn’t all have gone to the nearest village.”

“No,” Hoban agreed. “They’d know better.”

Frieda nodded in agreement. The nameless villages weren’t friendly to outsiders. There’d been no inn in her village, when she’d been a child, and she doubted there was one there now. There wasn’t even a proper pub. She doubted the diggers had been able to buy alcohol or find any of the pleasures of Dragon’s Den, not here. The villages were just too small and too tight-knit. Outside money was no good in the mountains.

She kept the thought to herself as they searched the village with practiced ease. The advance party had had tents — they wouldn’t have risked sleeping in the ruined buildings — but there was no sign of them. There was no hint anyone had entered the village, save for a number of trees that had been knocked down by a landslide or chopped down by human hands. Frieda sensed the wild magic growing stronger as she peered through the ruined trees. There was something there, half-hidden below the earth. It was so… alien … she had trouble looking at it.

“Interesting,” Hoban said. “What is it?”

“Dangerous,” Esther said. She was the only other woman on the team, with short red hair, green eyes, and a prickly disposition that suggested she knew she’d paid her dues long ago. “It isn’t a tomb, that’s for sure.”

Frieda swallowed as she tried to place the thing in proper context. It had been buried until the landslide had revealed it… she thought, suddenly, of an iceberg, only the tip visible above the waves. The thought chilled and excited her in equal measure. What was it? She felt her head start to pound as she looked closer, trying to make out details. The… the thing was just too different. Her eyes seemed to skip over it, as if her mind refused to accept its existence. Every time she thought she knew what it looked like, she realised she was wrong. The only thing she could say for sure was that there was a lot more under the ground.

“We need to do more digging,” Hoban said. “Whatever it is, we need to know. Quickly.”

“We need more manpower,” Garth said. “You want to teleport home and ask for help?”

Hoban scowled. “There’s too much wild magic in the air to teleport safely,” he said, after a moment. “And it would take them some time to put together a second team.”

Frieda barely heard him. She was torn, unsure what to do. She wanted to make Emily and Hoban proud, by helping to dig up the… the whatever … and figuring out what it actually was, but — at the same time — her instincts were insisting they should bury the whatever and swear blind they’d never seen it. It felt dangerous. The currents of magic flowing around it were just too eerie. And they really didn’t have the slightest idea what it was.

“Frieda and I will go to the nearest village and recruit help,” Hoban said. “There should be enough young men to help us dig it up, if we pay through the nose. If they refuse… we have authority to conscript labour.”

“Really?” Esther scowled at him. “Aren’t you the slightest bit concerned about what happened to the first team? They should be here, waiting for us!”

“Yes,” Hoban said, sharply. “But we also need to make a start on figuring out what we’ve found before someone else gets wind of it.”

Frieda shuddered. He’d told her, bitterly, of tombs that had been looted decades — perhaps centuries — before the diggers had arrived, of priceless artefacts and records stolen or destroyed by people who didn’t have the slightest idea what they were doing. She understood his thinking. They needed to know what they were dealing with before other parties figured out what was going on and started to interfere…

… And yet, as they started to walk, she couldn’t help feeling they were making a terrible mistake.