After he had gone Karis also dressed. The room was warm now, the fire blazing. She moved to the small window and tried to open it, but the hinges were rusted and it would not budge.
Not waiting for him to return, Karis made her way down the stairs and out into the night.
Vint was still asleep when she returned, but she had no wish to climb in beside him.
Stretching out on a couch, she dreamt of a green-eyed giant with a forked red beard.
Tarantio rose with the dawn and moved through the silent house, as always enjoying the solitude, these brief moments without Dace. The kitchen was bitterly cold, the remains of yesterday’s milk frozen in the jug. With a saw-edged knife he cut two thick slices of bread from a loaf, and carried them through to the living room. He had banked up the fire the night before, and the coals were still glowing. Tarantio toasted the bread and covered it with thick, creamy butter.
I ought to be making plans, he thought. Corduin will not resist the Daroth. But where to go? The islands? What would I do there? He ate the toast and, still hungry, went back to the kitchen to cut more bread. The loaf was gone.
Puzzled, Tarantio walked to the rear of the house, opening the door to Brune’s bedroom. The bed was empty, and there was no sign of the young man. Retracing his steps he returned to the kitchen. The back door was still locked from the inside, the windows shuttered. Pulling back the bolts Tarantio opened the door. A blast of icy air struck him as he stepped out into the garden.
Brune was sitting, naked, on the wooden bench. All around him birds were fluttering, landing on his arms,
and head and hands, pecking at the bread he offered them. A wide circle of grass was all around the bench, without a flake of snow upon it, though the rest of the garden still lay beneath a thick white blanket. Tarantio pulled on his boots and walked out across the garden. The birds ignored him, continuing to fly around Brune. As Tarantio sat down he felt suddenly warm, as if Brune was radiating heat in defiance of the elements.
The golden-skinned young man continued to feed the birds until all the bread was gone. Most of them flew away but several remained, sitting on his shoulders or on the back of the bench. They were, as was Tarantio, enjoying the warmth.
Reaching out, Tarantio laid his hand on Brune’s shoulder. ‘You should come in,’ he said softly.
‘I heard them call to me,’ said Brune, his voice melodic and low.
‘Who called you?’
‘The birds. Up to two-thirds of their body weight can be lost on a cold night. They die in their thousands in the winter.’
Suddenly Brune shivered and the cold swept in, bitter and deadly. He cried out, and the birds around him panicked and flew away. Tarantio helped him back into the house, taking him to the fire. ‘What is happening to me?’ came the true voice of Brune. ‘Why was I in the garden?’
‘You were feeding the birds,’ Tarantio told him.
‘I am really frightened. I can’t think. It’s like there’s someone else in me.’ He was shivering, and Tarantio fetched a blanket which he wrapped around Brune’s shoulders. ‘I feel like I’m dying,’ said Brune.
‘You are not dying. It’s the magic that cured your eye. It’s spreading somehow.’
‘I don’t want this any more, Tarantio. I want to be what I was. Can’t we get the magic taken out?’
‘I don’t know. Tell me what you remember about feeding the birds.’
‘I don’t remember nothing. I was asleep, and I had this dream. Can’t remember much now. But I was in a forest, and there were lots of people – no, not people. They were all golden-skinned; they were . . . dying. Oh yes . . . there was Daroth there. Killing them. It was horrible. And then .. . there was nothing until I was sitting in the garden.’
‘How are you feeling now? Is there any pain?’ asked Tarantio.