The Song Of The Lioness Quartet #1 - Alanna - The First Adventure

by Tamora Pierce

  Alanna stood beside the bed, looking down at Jonathan. He seemed so far away, so far from her. "He has traveled a long way," the terrible voice said. "Take his hands. Call him back."

  A small part of Alanna realized that the voice was female. "Thank you," she whispered.

  She took Jonathan's hands carefully. Her mind reached into his unseeing eyes.

  "Jonathan," Alanna called. "It's time to come home. Jon."

  Myles stared. He did not hear a boy-child calling the Prince. He heard a woman's voice, speaking from eternities away. Awed by a power he could not understand, the knight moved even farther away from the bed.

  Alanna fell into the blue depths of her friend's eyes. She was twisting in a black, writhing well. The alien place pulsed around her, enclosing her like a living thing. Shrieks and cackling and the screams of doomed souls sounded all around her. She was on the edge, between the world of the living and the Underworld. She drifted between Life and Death.

  "Jon," she called steadily, feeling the power in her shoving the ugliness back. "Jon." At last she could see him. He was far below her, near the bottom of the well, near Death. A huge, dark shadow shaped like a hooded man came between them. Even in her strange state Alanna was afraid. This must be the Dark God, the Master of all death.

  It was crazy to argue with a god, but he was between her and her friend. "Excuse me," she said politely. "But you can't have him. Not yet. He's going to come back with me."

  The shadowy hands reached for her. Alanna stood still, her mind sending up a shield of purple fire. "You can't have him," she said more firmly.

  The shadow hands passed through her shield and held her by the shoulders. Alanna felt as if unseen eyes were looking her over. The great dark head nodded—and the shadow was gone. The Dark God had vanished.

  Alanna reached out to Jonathan. Their hands clasped. "Come back," she told her friend. "This place isn't for us. Come home."

  Jonathan smiled. "I'm coming." His voice was that of the man he would be one day, deep and even, calm and commanding. Did he hear a woman when she spoke? Did he think it was her? "I'm with you, my friend. Time to leave."

  Their gripped hands glowed white-hot, melting the shadows around them. Their combined Gifts burned away the walls of that unreal place. At the end of the well, drawing nearer and nearer, was the room they had left so long before. Slowly the violet fire ebbed from Alanna's body. By the time they were in Jon's bedchamber, her skin was filled with nothing but Alanna—much to her relief.

  "Thank you," the man in him said. He released her hand. She was Alan the page, sitting on the bed beside Prince Jonathan. His eyes were clear. He sighed and closed them. "It's good to be back," he whispered, and slept.

  Swaying, Alanna stood. Myles finally dared to come close to her. He had watched the two boys burn with a steadily brighter purple light. He had heard a man's voice and a woman's voice coming from Jonathan and Alan. It was something he could never forget.

  "Alan?"

  She turned. "He's all right," she murmured, stumbling. "He'll sleep—" Her bones ached. Her head throbbed, and she could barely stand. "Myles?" she gasped, and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

  5: The Second Year

  BECAUSE she slept for three days, Alanna avoided most of the questions about her part in Jonathan's cure. When asked about it later, she gave all the credit to Sir Myles. Whenever the knight tried to discuss what had happened that night, Alanna always changed the subject. She knew Myles watched her, but she said nothing, knowing it would only bring the whole discussion up again.

  Prince Jonathan also watched her. Yet he never spoke of that night. The less said about the whole thing, the happier Alanna felt. She wondered sometimes if Jonathan even remembered the place between Life and Death. It was possible that he didn't—and he never brought the subject up.

  The chilly winter turned at last into spring. Alanna unpacked her light clothing once again. She dressed one morning in a fever of excitement. It was the day the pages were to go on the long-promised trip to Port Caynn, and Alanna was barely able to hold still. Suddenly she froze before her long mirror. Watching the glass closely, she bounced up and down.

  Her chest moved. It wasn't much, but she had definitely jiggled. Over the winter her breasts had gotten larger.

  "Coram!" she yelled, her eyes stinging with tears of fury.

  The man stumbled into her chamber, bleary-eyed. "What is it now?" he said with a yawn.

  Alanna stepped behind her dressing screen, tearing off her shirt. "Get to the healers, quick, and find some bandage for me—yards of it. Make any excuse you like, but get it!"

  The puzzled Coram returned within minutes and shoved a bundle of white linen over the top of the screen. Alanna grabbed it and wrapped it tight around her chest.

  "Ye're turnin' into a woman, aren't ye?" he asked from the other side of the screen.

  "No!" she exclaimed.

  "Lass, it's hardly somethin' ye c'n change. Ye're born with it—"

  Alanna stepped from behind the screen. Her eyes were red and swollen. If she had been crying, Coram knew better than to mention it. "Maybe I was born that way, but I don't have to put up with it!"

  He looked at her with alarm. "Lass, ye've got to accept who ye are," he protested. "Ye can be a woman and still be a warrior."

  "I hate it!" she yelled, losing her temper. "People will think I'm soft and silly!"

  "Ye're hardly soft," he replied sharply. "And th' only time ye're silly is when ye talk like this."

  Alanna took deep breaths. "I'm going to finish what I set out to do," she informed him quietly.

  He put a hand on her shoulder. "Alanna, child, ye'll be happy only when ye learn t'live with who ye are." She had no answer for this, but he didn't expect one. "I'll pick up more bandagin' when I go down t' the city today," he said. "Get along, now. Ye'll be late, else."

  IT WASN'T easy to live with the binding on her chest. For one thing, her growing breasts hurt, though luckily they remained quite small. She was twice as careful now about how far she opened her shirt, and that summer the boys tried their best to get her to take it off entirely. The best time for this was when they went swimming. All summer Alanna refused to go into the water, no matter what persuasion was used. Persuasion always stopped short of trying to physically force her—no one had forgotten Ralon of Malven.

  One day near the beginning of August Raoul tried his luck. "C'mon, Alan," he teased. "One small dip. Or are you afraid you'll wash off a protective coat of dirt?"

  Alanna had had enough. She jumped up, her face beet red. "I hate swimming!" she yelled. "And I'm cool enough—so lay off!"

  Someone giggled. Raoul was head and shoulders taller than the page who was glaring at him so fiercely.

  "Alan, he's only teasing," Alex called.

  "I'm tired of being teased!" she snapped. "All summer long I put up with this. Why can't I do what I want without being pestered all the time?"

  Raoul shrugged. Unlike Alanna, Raoul had no temper to speak of. Nothing seemed to make him angry. "Well, if you're going to be touchy, I won't bother you any more."

  "Fine!" She glared at the other boys. "And unless I stink, I don't want to hear about it ever again!"

  There was a heavy silence. At last Jonathan said, "Come back in the water, Raoul. You can't argue with Alan—he's crazy."

  Shaking slightly, Alanna returned to her shady tree. She felt more than a little ashamed of herself and wished—not for the first time—that she could keep a rein on her temper.

  The boys left her alone for the rest of the afternoon. As they rode home, Alanna trotted Chubby ahead so she could catch up with Raoul.

  "Raoul?" she asked softly. "A word with you?"

  They dropped to the back of the column. "Are you going to yell at me again?" Raoul asked frankly.

  Alanna blushed and looked at her saddle. "No. I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

  Raoul grinned. "I was teasing you," he admitted. "Sure, you got m
ad. You've a right to do as you want."

  She looked at him with shock. "I do?"

  Raoul frowned. "I hadn't meant to say anything, but since I have the chance—Alan, you seem to think we won't like you unless you do things just like everyone else. Have you ever thought we might like you because you're different?"

  Alanna stared at him. Was he teasing her again?

  Raoul smiled. "We're your friends, Alan. Stop thinking we're going to jump on you for the least little thing."

  "Hey, Raoul," someone called from up front. "Will you settle this bet?"

  Nodding to Alanna, the big squire urged his horse to the front of the column.

  "Did you patch that up?" Gary asked. Alanna turned. The other large squire was just behind her.

  "Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop?" she asked crossly.

  He grinned. "How would I learn anything if I didn't eavesdrop? Listen—I'm tired of all the arguments. I'll make sure no one asks you to swim again."

  Alanna hung her head. "I don't mean to be difficult," she muttered.

  Gary laughed. "Of course you do. It's one of your charms. Come on. We're lagging behind."

  She followed as he urged his horse through one of the many palace gates. Between Gary and Raoul, Alanna had much to think about. The idea that she might be liked because she was different was poppycock, of course. Being squires certainly made Gary and Raoul say strange things.

  She and Gary caught up with Jonathan after stabling their horses. There was a sizeable group of pack mules and horses in the stableyard, waiting to be fed and cared for.

  "Looks like we have an important guest," Jonathan noted. "Let's nip by the entry hall and see who's here."

  The three boys hurried through the palace corridors, coming at last to the entry hall. A huge pile of baggage stood there, growing smaller as an army of servants took pieces of it away. A big man, still wearing a dusty travelling cloak, directed the palace servants and his own people.

  Jonathan gave a glad cry. "Roger!" He ran to hug the newcomer while Alanna and Gary halted nearby.

  So this is Jon's cousin, Alanna thought, looking the newcomer over. Duke Roger of Conte was over six feet in height, with brown-black hair and a beard neatly trimmed to frame his handsome face. His eyes were a bright, riveting blue. He had a straight, perfectly carved nose; his mouth was red and full. His white, flashing smile was filled with charm and confidence. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with strong-looking hands. Very attractive, Alanna decided. So why am I not attracted to him? If anything, I think I dislike him!

  "So he's arrived at last," she murmured to Gary. She'd have to figure out why she didn't like Jonathan's cousin later.

  "I—er—'happened to overhear'—"

  "You eavesdropped again," Alanna said sternly.

  "As I was saying, I happened to overhear that he's to teach you Gifted ones sorcery," Gary went on. "Also, the King wants him to find out who sent us the Sweating Sickness—not that they'll try something like that again, not with Duke Roger here. Every sorcerer in the Eastern Lands would think twice before taking him on."

  "He's that good?" Alanna asked thoughtfully.

  "He's that good."

  Duke Roger was coming toward them, one arm around Jonathan's shoulders. "So you're going to train your Gift? I'll enjoy teaching you, Cousin!" He held a hand out to Gary. "Young Gareth of Naxen, isn't it? You've grown since I saw you last."

  Gary shook the older man's hand heartily. "Everyone says that, sir. Even my father says it, and he sees me nearly every day."

  Roger chuckled at this. "I don't doubt your father's right." His voice was a light tenor, the most musical voice Alanna had ever heard in her life. She was staring at the Duke without shame when he turned to her. "And this young one? I'd remember eyes—and hair—like yours, I'm sure."

  "Duke Roger of Conte, may I present Alan of Trebond?" Jonathan said formally.

  "Trebond?" the Duke smiled as Alanna bowed. "I've heard of your father. He's a noted scholar, is he not?"

  Alanna was quivering all over—like a nervous horse, she chided herself. She linked her hands behind her back before answering, "I believe so, your Grace."

  "Oh, please!" he protested. "Just 'Lord Roger' is fine, and I'd do away with that, if I didn't think it would shock Duke Gareth. 'Your Grace' makes me feel old."

  Jonathan expected one of Alan's pert answers and looked expectantly at his friend. To his surprise Alan looked thoughtful rather than charmed.

  "How long are you here, Cousin?" Jonathan asked, drawing attention away from Alan's odd silence.

  "My uncle says he wants me to stay here for a while," Roger replied, looking down at the Prince. " 'Make your home with us' was the phrase he used." The Duke shrugged his wide shoulders. "I think my wandering days are over."

  Jonathan grinned. "I can't see why you've been avoiding us, anyway."

  "Not avoiding you," Roger corrected him. "Educating myself. The difference is considerable. Now, would you be so kind as to take me to their Majesties? I think it's time I greeted them."

  Alanna watched the Prince and his cousin go, frowning. She shook herself, trying to shed a cloak of uneasiness.

  Gary looked at her. "Are you falling sick with something, youngster?"

  Alanna hunched her shoulders impatiently. "I've never been sick in my life."

  "Then what's wrong? He was being friendly, and if you were a dog your hackles would've been up."

  "I'm not a dog," she said crossly. "Why should he be friendly with me? I've never seen him before."

  "But he'll have heard of you. You helped heal Jon—now what?" There was a strange look in Alan's eyes. If Gary hadn't known his friend better, he'd have sworn that look was one of fear.

  "I don't like grownups taking an interest in me," Alanna replied. She was afraid. "I don't like people nosing in my affairs, especially sorcerers. Come on—we'll be late for dinner."

  Gary followed, more confused than ever by Alan's response. Was he hiding something? It was a question for him to ponder on a rainy day.

  SHORTLY after Roger's arrival, each page or squire was summoned to an interview with the King's nephew: he tested them all for the Gift. Gossip said he would find it even if a boy tried to hide it.

  Alanna was one of the last to be called. Clenching sweaty hands, she entered Duke Roger's study. The Duke of Conte was lazing in a tall-backed chair, turning a jewelled wizard's rod between his fingers. He glimmered in a many-colored tunic and red-purple hose; if Alanna admired anything about him, it was Roger's taste in clothes.

  He smiled. "Alan of Trebond." He gestured to the chair facing his desk. "Please, have a seat."

  Alanna sat carefully, folding her hands in her lap. Every nerve in her body was on the alert. She hadn't gotten this far to be caught.

  "I understand you used your Gift to heal my cousin of the Sweating Sickness."

  "Sir Myles directed me, sir."

  "It must have required a good deal of power on your part, though. You took a great risk."

  "My village healing woman had trained me, sir. And I was exhausted for days after." She watched his face. He seemed to accept that Myles had done the thinking and she had supplied the power, so Myles hadn't talked about that night. She liked that.

  "Well, at least I don't have to ask you any useless questions. We already know you have the Gift, and in abundance. And you learned from your village healing woman?"

  "Yes, sir. My father didn't know we were trained, though. He didn't want us learning any sorcery—he'd throw a fit if he thought I was learning it here."

  "Then we won't tell him. You say 'we.' Tell me about your brother. I understand you're twins?" Roger's bright eyes never left hers. Alanna frowned and rubbed her forehead. Suddenly she had a headache.

  "He's in the City of the Gods, sir. Father sent him to be a priest, but I think he plans to take up sorcery."

  Roger smiled. "A noteworthy ambition. What is his name?"

  "Thom, sir." Why was he starin
g at her so?

  The man looked at the jeweled rod in his hands. "My cousin speaks highly of you, Alan of Trebond."

  "We're friends, your Grace." She discovered she couldn't look away from him.

  "My uncle-in-law, Duke Gareth, also speaks highly of you. You are a most worthy young man by all accounts."

  Alanna blushed with shame. If they knew the truth, they wouldn't speak well of her. "Your Grace is very kind." She wished he would let her go. She had never had such a fierce headache.

  Roger sighed. Suddenly Alanna could look away from him, and the pain in her head lessened. "I am not often kind, Alan." He tapped his rod against his hand for a moment. Finally he said, "I think I learned what I needed to. Report to me in my solarium Monday after breakfast. You may go."

  Alanna bowed and left gratefully, her head still pounding. She felt exhausted and a little nauseous. Coram appeared at her side, a worried frown on his face.

  "Well?" he demanded.

  Alanna didn't ask how he knew. It was almost impossible to keep anything from the palace servants.

  She rubbed her temples. "Maybe I'm crazy—but why do I feel like more went on in there than just his asking me questions?"

  "Because maybe it did." Coram pulled her into an empty room. "I heard the Duke of Conte can catch yer will and make it his own," the man whispered. "They say he'll reach into yer mind, make ye say what he wants t'hear—unless ye're defended. Unless there's a wall in ye he can't reach over."

  "Well, I don't know that kind of magic," she snapped, the headache making her cross. "But he didn't learn anything from me I didn't want to tell him. I'm sure of it."

  "Then yer magic's stronger than his," Coram said. "Or ye're protected by the gods."

  This was too much for Alanna. She laughed and gave Coram a shove. "You've been nipping at Cook's wine! Protection from the gods! Making me say what I don't want to say! Go on with you!"

  Coram opened the door. "Laugh if ye want." He shrugged. "I'm only an ignorant old freeman, listenin' to stories by the fire. But if it's all so funny, why do ye look as if someone pulled ye through a currycomb?"