Charles de Lint - The Riddle of the Wren

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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

contentscontents

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

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

chapter onechapter one

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.

At length she found herself losing the battle. Her eyes closed and a

certain measure of calmness came to her. She was so tired, and it felt good

to just lean her head back, to close her eyes. Drifting in a state somewhere

between drowsy wakefulness and full sleep, the fear began to slip away and

suddenly she was indeed asleep.

Then she felt that touch again, the touch that heralded the nightmares.

The dawn took forever to arrive.

chapter two

chapter twochapter two

chapter two

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v1.0November24,2006TheRiddleoftheWrenCharlesdeLint LETMETELLYOUASTORY……ofMindatheWren,travelerbetweenworlds,andJanoftheerls,imprisonedinastone.OfIldrantheDream-master,eaterofsouls,andHuorntheHunter,witheyesofblazinggold.OfGrimboldtheWizardandMarkj'ntheTinker;ofTanehtheLoremistressandSianoftheHighErl...

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