The Steward and the Sorcerer

by James Peart

  “Then let me offer you an incentive, one that you can’t refuse. I have magic at my disposal. With it, I can achieve almost anything.” Simon and Christopher looked at each other as they heard this but they said nothing. “This power was formed in the birthing fire of the Druids of old, forged by the Brightsphere, a relic of the age they once lived in. The fire comes in different colours, one for each purpose. The grey fire is transformative: it can render almost complete change in whoever it is directed against. Permanently. Insect into fish, fish into animal, animal into human being.” He paused, looking hard at Mereka. “Man into woman.”

  Mereka stared back at Daaynan, saying nothing. He turned then to Simon and Christopher. “Did you know this? Why has he brought you here?”

  Simon didn’t answer, addressing the Druid instead. “I thought your magic was all finished. You told us as much not five minutes ago when we asked you to return us home.”

  “It seems that people are always misunderstanding me,” Daaynan answered. “What I said when you asked me to return you to your England was that my magic would not work. The green flame, as you know from using it, draws you back to your world of origin from another world, but because you passed through the temple, that became your world of origin. Therefore, you cannot return home that way.

  “But there are other means at my disposal. Although the magic in me has admittedly grown weak, I still have use of the grey fire. It will effect the kind of permanent change you have been looking for all of your life, Mereka. To live out the rest of your days as a woman and not have to switch between one gender and the other. To express yourself as one sex like everyone else and not have others question your identity, forcing you to live on the margins of society.”

  Mereka seemed to look past the Druid, his eyes black, lost in thought. “I need time to think about this,” he said finally.

  “Of course. We are leaving in under an hour. I expect your answer then.”

  Simon looked outraged at the sorcerer’s demand, although ultimatum would be a better way of putting it, he thought. He wondered if he should say something but, as before, he kept silent. This was a decision only Mereka could make for himself, he reasoned. When Mereka left them alone, he turned on the Druid. “You can twist your words to mean anything you like, but the fact remains that you deceived us both into thinking you were stripped of your power. When were you going to tell us your magic had come back?”

  Daaynan lifted his hand in a warding gesture. “When it became relevant, as it just did. I still can’t return you to England- there is no other fire I can summon which can achieve this- though there is hope. Allow me to explain. My power is as of this moment uncertain. It is mixing with that of the King, has been doing so ever since he grabbed hold of me back in Fein Mor. As such I am wary of exploring its full range though I can tell you it has been enhanced in some indeterminate way.”

  “Maybe,” Simon interrupted, frowning, “the grey fire is a result of the combination of your two magics. If it can transform Mereka from man to woman, something you did not tell us you could do before, perhaps it can also send us home.”

  “No, Englishman, it is not that. The grey fire can merely transform others’ appearance, not transport them to another reality.”

  “Have you tried it before?”

  The Druid shook his head.

  “Then how do you know it can’t be done?”

  “Because I feel it. I feel its strength and sense of purpose deep within me, seeking direction and focus. This is so with all the others. What has changed and what I am trying to tell you is that Iridis’s magic has somehow extended this strength and range. It started in Fein Mor and the process- this change- is not yet complete. It may be that, given enough time, the green flame will become so powerful that it can take you past the temple to your world. I can feel the King inside me. His magic dwarfs my own. It transforms everything it touches.”

  “Well, what about the grey fire? If it can transform shape and looks, as you say, surely you don’t need Christopher to impersonate Longfellow when we reach Brinemore, fool him that way? You can use the fire on yourself, just as you would on Mereka.”

  “The grey fire cannot replicate form, only approximate form. I can’t control what looks Mereka will have or what shape.”

  “Does Mereka know this?” Simon studied the Druid’s face. “Of course he doesn’t. You’ll simply change him into God knows what and he’ll be forced to live with the consequences the rest of his days. You really are a piece of work, Daaynan.” He looked away.

  “This piece of work might be your only chance of getting back home,” the Druid answered in a low voice, almost a hiss, as Mereka appeared before them once again. The Shiftling looked sombre, withdrawn, his mind someplace else. He regarded everyone in turn then spoke quietly. “I have decided,” he told the assembled company. “I wish to undergo the transformation.”

  “Are you sure?” Daaynan asked, already reading the answer in the other’s expression. Mereka just nodded. “Then tell us how to find this Carrion bird.”

  “There is a man in Carasan known as Drett Peers. He lives near to here. He works in a tavern in the town of Dhu Nor which is four hours journey from Carasan and it is from there that he deals in rare items, including animals that are hard to source in the Northern Earth. He trades them for money or services, depending on his needs at any given time. He can locate a Carrion bird for you but you must have something to trade. Before you mention it, Druid, magic does not interest him.”

  “Then we’re lost,” Simon said.

  “No.” Mereka was holding a small leather pouch in one hand. He emptied its content into the other. It looked like a diamond of some description, immaculately cut save for a single red flaw in its centre. It reflected the light provided by the window of the room in a dazzling array of colours, the red flaw pulsing, perhaps in reaction to the heat in Mereka’s hand.

  “What is it?” Daaynan asked him.

  “It is a Meta Crystal. A remnant of the old world when the Northern Earth was not separated from the lands that used to surround it. It protects the wearer against any form of sorcery. That, and the fact that it is relic of an old age and is thus priceless. I’m giving it to you to trade with Drett Peers for the bird.” He handed it over to the Druid. Simon and Christopher thanked him while Daaynan nodded his gratitude and understanding. “You must tell us where this Drett Peers is now,” he said to Mereka.

  “Come, I will take you to his home.”

  They gathered their sparse belongings and Mereka led them outside. They walked back in the direction they had come, negotiating the maze of narrow, crowded streets, turning right and left, sometimes turning onto larger roads, avoiding those that tapered into lanes that stopped at a dead end. The buildings seemed to lean inward, their facades grimed with dirt, towering and forbidding, cutting off their view of the sky. They crossed yet another street which took them into a park and Simon noticed the pagoda and garden at its centre that he had seen on his way to Mereka’s house. The arrangement of flowers in it was stunning: Orchids, mixed with Lilies and Dahlias and a collection of wild plants of every conceivable design scattered around the perimeter of the various beds. The homes surrounding the park were bright and clean, and made of expensive stone. Mereka stopped in front of one of them and rapped briefly on a large panel in the door.

  While they waited Simon asked him who the houses belonged to. “The town elders, for the most part,” Mereka answered. “They built Carasan, transformed it from a few huts around the Tun (that’s the river south of here) to a busy working town with merchants and traders operating all over the Northern Territories. When the town prospered, the elders moved here from the river and had this square built. Pretty, isn’t it? Drett Peers bought this home a number of years ago. They tried to stop the sale at first, then later tried to have him evicted.”

  “Why was that?” Simon asked.

  “Because his money is new, because he sometimes earns his living from illicit tra
de. Mostly I think it is because he works in Dhu Nor.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Oh, the town itself, really. I can see Daaynan hasn’t told you about it.” Simon and Christopher both looked at the Druid yet the other made no effort to respond. “It’s a vile place, filled with the worst kind of lowlifes you could imagine. Thieves and cutthroats, for the most part, and that’s what passes for the respectable sort in Dhu Nor. There are individuals there who traffic young women from the south; in fact, a lot of the wealth of the town comes from this kind of trade. When you compare the value of goods there with other towns, it is really a small city.”

  The door before them opened slightly. A small, wiry looking individual of indeterminate age peeked out at them from the interior of the house. “Mereka?” he said upon noticing the crossling. “None other, old friend,” Mereka said in greeting. The two men embraced, holding each other for a long moment. When he finally released his grip, Mereka gestured at the sorcerer and his company. “These are friends of mine from long back.” “Daaynan, Simon, Christopher: this is Crank. He works for Drett in various capacities: healer, minder, cleaner...” “And general dogsbody, don’t forget,” Crank grinned. “Come in, come in, or can’t you stay long?” He glanced apprehensively at the tall form of the Druid. “We would like to. We’re looking for Drett. Can we find him here?”

  “Not today. He is in Dhu Nor and won’t be back until the end of the week. Will I arrange to have a message sent to him?”

  “That’s not necessary. Daaynan has something to trade and wants to meet him in person. He’s in Dhu Nor?”

  “Yes,” Crank said, looking at the Druid with curiosity and something else. Fear, Simon thought, reflecting on how the man that led them inspired little else in people on short acquaintance. “It’s about four hours on foot,” Mereka was saying. “Half an hour if you’ve got horses. Drett can be found in the Axe and Stump.”

  “We don’t,” Daaynan said, “but we shall still reach the town before nightfall.” Crank nodded. “You’re welcome to come in, rest yourselves a little before you set out.”

  Mereka shook his head. “They need to be away soon.”

  “I see. There’s food in the larder. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t spoiled yet. You’re welcome to take some.”

  “We will, and thank you,” Mereka said with heartfelt good grace. “And Crank? If I don’t see you again soon, I want to wish you the best and thank you for the many kindnesses you’ve shown me over the years.” Mereka hugged the man once more, a lingering embrace he was reluctant to finish. Crank reciprocated the gesture yet looked vaguely puzzled. Christopher whispered to Simon “is he going somewhere after this?” “I would say he is” Simon whispered back. “After his transformation he’ll probably be leaving Carasan for good. Can’t say I blame him. Even if Daaynan manages to change him successfully into a woman, the townspeople will still have a memory of what he once was. That would be hard to live with.”

  They accepted gifts of dried fruit and bread and flasks of ale, then said their goodbyes on the doorstep of Drett Peers’ house. They set out for Dhu Nor, walking toward the river Tun that led them north to the outskirts of Carasan and into a lowland valley beyond it. It was Mereka’s idea that he should accompany them into this mountain cove where the Druid could employ his magic unseen. Unwilling to remain on the valley floor, he led them into a cove forest that climbed partway up one side of the mountain. They walked beneath a high canopy of trees, beneath great maples, birches, ash and hickory. Birds and small mammals darted and flew past them as they travelled, the occasional salamander skirting past their feet, lifting its blunt snout to sniff at the intruders before disappearing into the scrub. The forest bed was damp in the aftermath of the storm and rainwater sluiced off low hanging canopy leaves onto their hoods and cloaks. They stopped at a small, slanted clearing where Mereka turned to face the others, his features pinched tight, looking both frightened and exhilarated. “Do it now, Daaynan,” he said softly, “before I change my mind.”

  The Druid stepped toward him, motioning the others to stand back, batting his cloak at the same time to rid it of water. His eyes found Mereka’s, his dark, angular face conflicting with the compassionate look in his regard. “There is no reason to be afraid,” he told the other. “Just remain still.” He lifted his arms in a broad circle, keeping his gaze focused on Mereka, the other transfixed, rooted to the spot. For a long moment, nothing happened, the sorcerer and the crossling seemingly frozen in suspended time. Then an arc of flame, grey in colour, almost transparent, burst from the Druid’s fingers, streaming toward the other, coiling and twisting around Mereka’s form. It snapped around his face, obscuring it from vision, a fluid veil that appeared from the outside to siphon the bearer’s flesh. Pieces of what looked like skin filled the membranous veil that had attached itself to Mereka, pulsing greedily as it tore at the integrity of his face and he released a thin, high scream before falling silent. Simon and Christopher, watching on in horror, thought he must have fainted from the shock of it but they could see nothing beyond a mass of shifting tissue, cloth and what looked like fragments of bone. It continued for what seemed like minutes as it attacked the remainder of Mereka’s body, the Englishmen watching on, fascinated, as they saw his form begin to change, growing thinner and taller. The veil blackened. Then, as it discharged whatever lay inside, it grew transparent once more and lifted its hold on the shiftling.

  Standing in front of them was the tall, elegant figure of a woman.

  She looked at her surroundings as if for the first time, her frame stooped, her head tilting gently as if to catch the sounds of the forest. She was elegantly beautiful, with long, ash-blond hair that fell around a soft, oval face and jade-grey eyes. Her eyes closed under the gaze of the company, and she blushed slightly, as if she’d been caught in private repose. She lifted her arms, turning and flexing them, looking at herself anew. The others stared at her in amazement. They could see traces of the man-woman that had been the old Mereka: the faint lines around her eyes and mouth; the set of her jaw, though it was shorter now and smoothly round. She smiled, first at the Druid, then the two Englishmen. “I feel I ought to introduce myself.” Daaynan met her smile with one of his own. “There is no need. We know each other well enough, old friend.”

  “That we do.” She glanced at Simon and Christopher. “You- you look incredible,” Christopher said. “Incredible,” Simon reiterated, at a momentary loss for further words. He seemed on the verge of adding something, privately debating whether he should, then finally spoke. “So, the transformation is...complete?” Mereka looked downward and shifted her stance then glanced up at Simon. “It is.” Simon’s face flushed, looking apologetic for having asked the question. Christopher simply stared in admiration.

  The Druid nodded brusquely, confirming it. “I felt the change.” Simon glared at him, an expectant look drafted on his features.“For a brief moment,” Daaynan added, “the fire allowed me to become one with what was happening, to understand it. It is fixed. What you are now you are forever. You will not be able to cross back and forth as you once could.”

  Tears ran down Mereka’s face and she blinked them away as she held Daaynan’s regard. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.

  “You have told us where to find the Carrion bird,” he answered gently, “and with this we have a chance of reaching the Steward before the King does. Consider your debt to me repaid.”

  She stretched herself to her full height, which was considerable, yet she still had to lift her eyes to meet Daaynan’s. “That may be so but the matter is not yet settled.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  22.

  The Vice-Steward of Brinemore, Scrot Manch, came to a halt on a bluff overlooking the outskirts of the city. The clifftop, known as Dram’s Peak, gave the spectator a panoramic view of the barren and rugged hills that ringed the city, the scrub and grass on their slopes weather-torn
and sparse. The Atterpeak mountains lay beyond, framed magnificently by a cloudless blue mid-afternoon sky, their peaks and crags, crests and points delineated in glimpses of azure beneath the bright sun. Manch had climbed over channels and crevasses, gorges and ditches to get here, wearing robing suitable for the occasion. He looked out over the bluff now, deciding it had almost been worth it for the view alone. The surface of the river Nole reflected the sunlight in flashes of blue. He closed his eyes briefly and felt the warmth against his face.

  Karsin Longfellow had called him to this place to discuss an urgent matter. When pressed for more details, he had merely said it involved the illegal use of magic in the Northern Earth. Longfellow had spent much of his time in power in an attempt to abolish sorcery in the lands. This was a rare issue on which they held similar views. Manch’s father had been killed by a sorcerer when he was young. An assassination carried out in error, targeting the wrong victim. He had been unjustly accused of the illicit trade of outlawed goods between Brinemore and the Southern Territories. His son had never forgotten the accusation and in truth had never fully put his demons to rest over his father’s sudden demise. The fact that his father was innocent spurred the younger Manch to campaign against this kind of injustice and eventually led to a life in public service at which he excelled. He had climbed up the ranks of the ruling council to become Vice-Steward at the still relatively young age of thirty-six. Longfellow had chosen him to succeed him- on paper at least- because he espoused many of the qualities of a natural leader, such as confidence, integrity, accountability and vision. The fact that his Steward cared only for intelligence and longevity of power became clear early on and Manch knew that the other would never appoint him Steward while he was alive.