Silvermay

by James Moloney

  I stared at him, unable to spit out the bitter words. But if my mouth stayed silent, the rest of my face spoke of what I knew.

  He saw as much and immediately his own face grew solemn. ‘What has Nerigold told you?’

  ‘That you’re not Lucien’s father. That his real father is a Wyrdborn and you are the same man’s son.’ That was the easy part. The rest would tear my heart out of my chest. ‘You’re a Wyrdborn, aren’t you, Tamlyn? Like the two who came to our village when the religo stole our harvest.’

  He didn’t deny it. He turned away, though not before I’d seen the pain in his eyes and the thin clinch of his lips.

  I looked at Nerigold. She showed no surprise. She’d known from the beginning.

  I thought back to what my father had told me. Many children were born of a Wyrdborn father but a commonfolk mother. Some inherited their father’s powers, others didn’t, but if the mother was Wyrdborn …

  ‘Your mother is a Wyrdborn, too,’ I said more confidently. ‘Isn’t that the way it works? Two Wyrdborn parents always produce a child like themselves?’

  Tamlyn nodded. ‘Her name is Ezeldi. She is Coyle’s wife, his second wife. He murdered the first when she schemed against him. As for my fall yesterday, my Wyrdborn strength helped me. To me, it was no different from diving only a few feet into the water. I was able to push the tree trunk away and prevent it crushing me to a pulp.’ He looked down at his hands as though they didn’t belong to him. ‘All Wyrdborn possess such powers, whether we want them or not.’

  ‘You talk like they’re a curse.’

  ‘Oh, they are, Silvermay,’ he said.

  A curse that served them well, though. According to my father, Wyrdborn were almost impossible to kill, even in battle.

  ‘Is it true that you can only be harmed by something of your own?’ I asked.

  He nodded with the same sadness. ‘That’s why Wyrdborn aren’t interested in possessions in the way commonfolk seem to be. Many don’t even own a sword in case it’s used against them.’

  Instantly I remembered Tamlyn insisting he would return my father’s sword, even though it was offered as a gift. I felt ill through every inch of my body. I might as well die. All I’d ever heard of the Wyrdborn painted them as cruel and evil to the core. And now I’d fallen in love with one.

  But I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want to walk away into the mist surrounding us and never see him again. I knew that if he ever held me, like he’d done when he first climbed out of the ravine, I would still feel safe in his arms. It was because I felt the same affection in him, as strongly as ever; the same breathless longing that had made me push at his chest and made him wipe my chin so tenderly. None of the girlish dreams I’d shared with Hespa could compare to how alive I became when he was close to me. Even now my heart stirred just to look at him.

  I recalled our conversation of two nights ago, when he’d shown me a glimpse of someone caring and human. He’d been trying to tell me then that he was different. And he was! I knew now why he’d been so solemn and unsmiling when he’d first arrived in Haywode. Yet I had made him smile, hadn’t I? Just as I’d made little Lucien smile when my own mother had muttered about it being a waste of time trying. Tamlyn’s hadn’t been a cold and mocking smile, either, like I’d seen on the face of the grey-vested fiend who had worked his charms on Hespa. Hespa … of course! Tamlyn had saved her by breaking the Wyrdborn’s enchantment. Why would he have risked being discovered like that if he wasn’t good at heart? No, Tamlyn’s smiles had grown out of genuine pleasure and a warmth his kind weren’t supposed to have. He was different.

  While we talked, the mist began to lift on the strengthening breeze and the heat of the sun quickly burned away what remained. Our silver-grey surrounds were replaced by the green of the meadow and, suddenly aware of the wider world, I remembered the most important question that demanded an answer.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ I asked.

  Tamlyn stared across the ravine to where he had felled the tree. ‘Their horses have wandered off and ours with them. We have no food, and since I lost your father’s sword in the ravine, our only weapon now is your bow.’

  Nerigold sat listening but stayed silent, except for the chattering of her teeth. Even though she had eaten the mushrooms I’d found, she shivered uncontrollably.

  ‘We haven’t even got flint to make a fire,’ I told Tamlyn.

  He stood and looked about him briefly. ‘Silvermay, start gathering whatever will burn. I’ll try over this way.’

  ‘But I just told you, we have no flint.’

  He went off anyway without explanation and, with nothing better to do, I did the same. When I returned with an armful of brush and small sticks, he was already building a much larger pile ready to be lit.

  ‘That will make a fine cage for a family of mice,’ I said, nodding at his careful construction.

  He answered me by taking up two sticks he’d set aside, each about half an inch thick. Jamming one into the grass, he began to saw away at it with the other, like a minstrel on the strings of an instrument.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘If I’d known that was all you had in mind, I wouldn’t have bothered,’ I said, throwing down my haul.

  In a few strokes, he’d formed a groove and then his hand began to move faster than I could follow. He pressed down hard, bringing a noise I’d never heard before, as though the wood was screaming for mercy. Moments later a flame burst into life.

  ‘Quickly, get some of that brush alight,’ he said.

  This time I responded more gladly and within minutes a roaring blaze was warming Nerigold’s outstretched hands. I snuggled in next to her, with Lucien in my lap and his damp blanket exposed to the heat while we watched the steam rise.

  Having made the fire, Tamlyn didn’t seem to need its warmth, even though his clothing was still wet. While we enjoyed the dancing orange and gold of the flames, he stood a little way off, his back to us, exploring the sky.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ I called.

  He didn’t answer.

  Wyrdborn eyes must be far better than mine, I thought, because I didn’t catch sight of the bird until long after he had raised his arm in some kind of signal. ‘A hawk,’ I cried as soon as I recognised the shape of its wings, and I stood up quickly to join him.

  Tamlyn was taking off his vest in preparation, as I’d seen him do once before. But instead of wrapping the leather around his own arm, he passed it to me. ‘You told me once you weren’t afraid to hold a hawk on your arm.’

  ‘A tame one, no,’ I answered uncertainly.

  By then the bird was almost with us. Before I quite knew what was happening, a surge and flurry of its powerful wings turned my head away and I felt the grip of talons and the weight of its body on my arm. When I dared look at it, it was staring at me quizzically, as surprised by these events as I was, it seemed.

  ‘Command the bird to hunt, like your father showed you,’ said Tamlyn.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I protested. ‘This hawk is wild. It takes years to train a bird, usually from a hatchling.’

  ‘For commonfolk maybe,’ he said with a hint of arrogance, although I was sure I caught an impish gleam in his eye as he spoke it.

  He called the bird’s attention to himself and, without a sound, seemed to speak to it. Certainly the hawk appeared to be listening as intently as any human would to the instructions of his master. Would Tamlyn kill this proud bird, too?

  ‘It will hunt for you now,’ he said. ‘Set it working so we can feed Nerigold. And the two of us, for that matter. I’m famished.’

  Still doubtful, I braced myself and, with a powerful upward push of my arm, launched the hawk into the air. It beat its wings frantically to gain height and quickly settled to the job of flying. As far as I could see, it was deserting us, glad to escape an encounter with humans that it had no intention of repeating. I watched it go, marvelling all over again at the grace of its flight, recalling how my father had taught me
to appreciate such beauty like nothing else in the natural world.

  The hawk was beyond the ravine by now and above the tall pines on the other side. It dropped out of sight behind them, reappeared, then dived perilously close to some of the highest branches. A woodpigeon broke into the open sky, frightened by the close-swooping hawk most likely. But it was a poor way to escape. The hawk turned with astonishing agility and before the pigeon could find a new refuge among the trees, those talons closed on it in mid-air. Some distant specks tumbled from the collision, feathers jarred loose by the impact, I suspected.

  The hawk was already on its way back across the ravine with its prize clutched in its claws. It dropped the quarry neatly at my feet and Tamlyn grabbed it, already slipping the dagger from his belt in his eagerness to get the meat ready for the fire. The hawk, meanwhile, wheeled sharply above my head and headed off to work again.

  It returned many times with fresh prey, and in less than an hour had provided us with enough for two feasts.

  ‘My father would give anything for your power over this bird,’ I said as I stood with it poised on my arm one final time.

  ‘It’s unnatural,’ Tamlyn replied. ‘Your father’s way is more honest. This bird worked because of the enchantment I placed over its mind. To be honest, I would prefer to have Ossin’s skill.’

  He freed the bird from his magic and sent it back into the wild, but we couldn’t so easily release what remained caged between us. While the meat roasted over the coals, he saw me grappling with questions I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

  ‘You want to know why I killed the hawk in the forest that morning,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t say it’s one of the things you can’t reveal. We’re past that now.’

  He turned the carcasses on the spits that suspended them over the fire. ‘Yes, we’re beyond such excuses. The hawk had been sent to find me, by my mother.’

  ‘Ezeldi,’ I murmured, remembering.

  ‘Yes, it brought a message. Coyle’s men had given up watching the seaports and had begun searching villages. That’s why we left that same morning, even though Nerigold wasn’t ready to travel.’

  ‘But why did you kill the bird? Why not let it go, like you did just now?’

  ‘Because my father can entice birds into his service just as easily, and if that same hawk had fallen into his hands, he would have known where to search for Lucien. Worse than that, he’d have found out where Ezeldi had told me to go.’

  ‘She told you to hide in Nan Tocha! Tamlyn, I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve been inside one of those mines — they’re damp and cold and there’s no light. If we make a fire, we’ll choke ourselves with the smoke; or, worse, the smoke will let others know we’re hiding inside.’

  ‘We’re not going to hide,’ he said, looking across at Nerigold, who had stopped shivering at last and was now watching the fat drip from the plump birds with the anticipation of a hungry street urchin. With his eyes still focused on her, he explained, ‘We’re going to find out why Coyle Strongbow is so determined to get his hands on Nerigold’s baby. He’s fathered many common-born children over the years and never given a moment’s thought to any of them. Why does he want Lucien? According to my mother, the answer lies in Nan Tocha, at a place where ancient buildings are being dug free from the dirt. We have to hurry, too. Coyle will be on our tail again soon and this time he’ll know who’s helping Nerigold escape.’

  This didn’t make sense to me. ‘How will he know what happened here? It could be weeks before the bodies are discovered, and there’s no sign that you —’

  ‘He’ll know well before that, I’m afraid, and about me, too. The man who fought me so doggedly on the tree trunk was Wyrdborn. He survived the fall like I did, I’m sure of it. I searched for him, under the water and downstream. That’s why you couldn’t see me, Silvermay. But he was gone, and if he continues down the Great River, he’ll reach Vonne in three days at the most and tell my father …’

  ‘… that his own son is protecting Nerigold and her baby,’ I finished.

  Tamlyn nodded. ‘He’ll smile when he hears the news.’ He paused for a moment, seeing the man’s face in his mind, I guessed. ‘There’s nothing colder than my father’s smile.’

  He shuddered, and I wanted to press myself against him to remind him that the touch of another can be warm and comforting.

  ‘Coyle will be more determined than ever to find us now,’ he said. ‘No one is allowed to defy my father, yet he’s never happier than when someone tries.’

  12

  A Sleeping Squirrel

  Was it our feast or Tamlyn’s return from the dead that breathed the spirit back into Nerigold? She was up before me the next morning and, although she looked as frail as ever, insisted on carrying Lucien when we set out. As we walked, the mountains of Nan Tocha were visible in the distance, although a long way into the distance, unfortunately. Nerigold soon became tired and surrendered her heavy bundle to me. He was heavy, too. I swore he’d put on weight since we’d arrived at the ravine.

  ‘Would it be easier to carry him on your back?’ Tamlyn asked.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but he’s much too young to hold on himself, and we have no spare cloth to make a sling.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of a sling,’ Tamlyn said and began to slip out of his vest.

  I watched as he used his knife to cut strips of leather about an inch wide from the back of the vest. With the knife tip, he punched holes into the ends, then cut more strips, much thinner, which he threaded through the holes to tie the wider ones together. He worked quickly, glancing up at me so often that I began to feel self-conscious, especially when he asked me to turn around.

  ‘Why aren’t I allowed to see?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s not that,’ he replied. ‘I need to see how wide you are across the back.’

  ‘Charming,’ I sniffed. ‘Why don’t you say it: I’m fat as a fishwife and twice as broad.’

  ‘No, Silvermay, you have a very pretty shape,’ he said without a hint of mockery, ‘and I need to see how this will fit on it.’

  He stood up from the rock he’d used as a cutting surface and held out an odd-looking contraption, all loops and straps, which reminded me of an elaborate bridle.

  ‘What am I, a horse?’

  ‘In a way you are, with an important burden to carry a long way. Now turn around again and slip this on.’

  I began to understand what it was. The parts of the vest that remained intact fitted over my shoulders and fastened at the front.

  ‘Comfortable?’ he asked.

  I nodded but he hadn’t waited for my answer. He’d gone off towards Nerigold, returning quickly with Lucien. ‘In you go,’ he said tenderly, and I immediately felt the weight of the baby on my back. Yes, he was still heavy, but much easier to carry like this than in my aching arms.

  We walked for an entire day, sometimes with Nerigold riding on Tamlyn’s back. Then, as the sun faded, we stopped and feasted until we couldn’t eat any more. The nourishment hadn’t had time to revive Nerigold before Lucien was demanding his own dinner and her body could offer him little. Instead of settling contentedly after the feed, he grizzled and cried, even when his mother had fallen deeply asleep from sheer exhaustion. I did my best to entertain him, playing our smiling games, but he kept up his crying much longer than I had patience for. My eyelids were drooping. I lay down beside him, surrounded by the fires Tamlyn had set to keep us warm, and that was the last I remembered.

  Lucien must have cried himself to sleep because he was still dozing when I woke the next morning. It was then that I discovered the strangest thing. A squirrel lay sleeping next to him. I moved cautiously, expecting it to spring awake and scurry off to the nearest tree. But it didn’t move, not even when I reached across and tugged gently on its tail. It was dead.

  Tamlyn was stirring. When he saw me with the little creature in my hands, he moved quickly to join me. ‘An owl must have dropped it during the night. Broke its neck
when it hit the ground.’

  ‘Yes, most likely,’ I agreed, but the little head was sitting naturally on the creature’s shoulders and, when I examined it more closely, there were no punctures in its fur where an owl’s talons had gripped it. Most surprising of all, though, was the expression on its furry face. There was no sign of terror or pain, simply the peace of death.

  Tamlyn had moved off to wake Nerigold so I said no more about it. Lucien was awake now, too, and staring up at me.

  ‘You’ll start crying for your breakfast any moment, won’t you?’ I said.

  Instead, he smiled at me unprompted, as if to say, No, I’ve tricked you, Silvermay.

  In fact, he didn’t demand to be fed until I’d carried him through the forest for more than five miles behind Tamlyn and his mother. Nerigold now seemed revived by last night’s dinner and a long rest. She walked by herself and even had breath to talk, which was more than I had.

  When we stopped and Nerigold settled with the eager Lucien in her lap, I stayed with her rather than join Tamlyn, who kept his eyes turned away for modesty’s sake. Yesterday, the change in her had been a shock — one moment she was a lively soul with colour in her face, the next a ghost barely able to move. An idea was forming in my head; something I could scarcely believe, something I certainly didn’t want to believe, but there was too much to ignore.

  So I watched, and saw clearly for the first time how the blood drained from Nerigold’s cheeks as she fed her son and how the energy that had seen her talking happily as we’d walked through the trees slowly ebbed from her limbs. By the time Lucien had drunk his fill, poor Nerigold had to be lifted to her feet; and, after just half a mile, she collapsed on the trail between us. Tamlyn scooped her into his arms, and for the rest of the afternoon’s journey she remained there, drifting in and out of a fitful sleep.

  That night, after we’d put Nerigold to bed between the fires, I called Tamlyn aside. ‘I’m worried about the way she gets so tired.’