Silvermay

by James Moloney

  But what had really startled me was the sight of Lucien nestled against the goat. It was a nanny goat, with a large udder, and he was drinking from one of its teats.

  My shock eased to wonder. When he’d had as much milk as he wanted, I burped him as I’d done so many times before and set him on the bed to play.

  Nerigold was buried out in the wood and I would go on glimpsing her grave in my mind every hour of every day, but I wasn’t alone in caring for her son, after all. Today was new and I was ready for it in a way I couldn’t have imagined yesterday.

  Tamlyn and I talked again, but not simply of our grief this time.

  ‘We made a promise, you and I,’ he said. ‘To save Lucien from … from those horrors on the walls. I’ve been thinking about it while you were asleep. It’s one thing to grant a dying woman her last wish, but how are we going to do it?’

  ‘We have to keep Lucien out of your father’s clutches,’ I said plainly. There didn’t seem to be any other solution. Going back to Haywode would play into his hands — I could see that now, and said so.

  Tamlyn nodded. ‘Coyle will be relentless. There is too much at stake for him to give up. Where can we hide that we won’t be noticed or betrayed? How long before he discovers that Silvermay Hawker from Haywode is Lucien’s new mother?’

  I jumped a little in my chair when he said this. Lucien’s new mother! Nerigold had said the same with her dying breath. That meant more than simply caring for him.

  ‘What will you do, Silvermay, if Coyle threatens to kill your family, your friends, everyone you ever knew, unless you hand over one little boy? Could you remain faithful to your vow then?’

  ‘Don’t,’ I moaned. ‘I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing.’

  Tamlyn sat forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. ‘Silvermay, my father is the most feared Wyrdborn in Athlane. That’s why the king keeps him so close; for his skill at intimidating enemies, yes, but also to be sure his powers are never used against Chatiny himself. Believe me, if his search is frustrated for long, he won’t think twice about murdering every last person who helps us.’

  He sat back then to watch the effect of his plain speaking.

  ‘I’m beginning to see the price we’ll have to pay for our pledge,’ I said. ‘Do you regret making it?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘After what we nearly did to Lucien, I felt …’ He stopped, struggling for words. I wondered if he’d ever had to find such words before. ‘I felt sick in here,’ and he stabbed his hand sharply against his chest, not at the heart especially, but parts of him he couldn’t name. ‘Then we made our pledge and I felt a kind of release, if that makes sense, as if I’d been tumbling into a darkened pit and someone had tossed a rope to me at the last moment.’

  ‘That was how it made me feel,’ I said.

  ‘Then we need to know the worst of it if we’re going to come through. I’ve been thinking about that, too. Coyle is one threat; the other is Lucien himself.’

  I turned immediately to look down at the baby, who’d oozled his way to the edge of his new blanket and would soon fall off the bed if I didn’t catch him. ‘He tugs at your heartstrings, doesn’t he, Silvermay?’ said Tamlyn in the softest voice I’d ever heard him use. ‘Mine, too. I’ve always found it hard to see the beauty in things, people especially. You have shown me how.’

  He stopped, his eyes on me rather than Lucien, and, to my surprise, he blushed. Was he telling me I was beautiful? What a strange time he’d chosen. It wasn’t true, anyway. He was talking about Lucien, surely.

  ‘There’s no doubt about the Wyrdborn magic inside that little body,’ he said more seriously. ‘The squirrel, the fawn, his own mother are dead. In his innocence, he can’t be blamed, but that same magic is making him grow faster than a child should. At this rate, he’ll be playing among the ten year olds before we know it.’

  He’d chosen that age especially, I knew, because the mosaics had shown Lucien taking hold of a sword for the first time around the age of ten.

  ‘Days are like whole weeks to him and a week the same as a month,’ Tamlyn continued. ‘In a year, two at the most, he’ll be a young man with all the terrible powers shown in those pictures. You saw what he could do with them.’

  ‘No, I’ll raise him in love and that will balance out his nature. That’s what Lady Ezeldi is trying to do for you. I saw you weeping over Nerigold’s body; you’re not like the rest. He’ll take after you.’

  Tamlyn shook his head. ‘Lucien has none of my blood in his veins, nor my mother’s. He is Coyle’s son.’

  ‘And Nerigold’s,’ I shot back at him. ‘Do you know anyone who loved more than she did?’

  A knock at the door signalled the arrival of Arnou Dessar, who’d come with Ryall to offer his sympathies. He couldn’t help a worried peek at Lucien that gave away what he was thinking.

  ‘We’ve pledged ourselves to save him from your mosaics, Master Dessar,’ I told him.

  ‘My mosaics,’ he said wistfully. ‘I wish that’s all they were. You’re a brave pair, then, and I admire you both for it. I’m glad, too, for the boy’s sake. Prophecy is a sinister thing, no matter what magic it springs from. Scholars like me have debated for years whether it is truly a vision of an unchangeable future or simply the spur that prompts men to make it happen so.’

  ‘And what did you all decide?’ Tamlyn asked.

  Arnou Dessar sighed and took a moment before replying. When he did, a wry grin curled his lips. ‘We scholars are marvellous talkers, but finding an answer that stops all argument is a rare thing.’ He shrugged to show that he had no better answer than that. ‘Still, I’d like to help you. If there’s anything I can do …?’

  ‘Can you tell us more about what you’ve discovered here?’ I asked.

  He held his hands wide in regret. ‘But I’ll study my books for anything useful. I had Gabbet bring as many as he could carry from Vonne,’ he said, pointing to a shelf above the bed. ‘There might be something among the ancient legends that I’ve missed.’

  He took a volume from the shelf and stood browsing until Tamlyn broke the silence.

  ‘The ancient legends,’ he said tentatively, then straightened in his chair and spoke again, more forcefully this time. ‘When I was a boy, I heard a story told to my father, about a far-off land where there were sorcerers stronger than the Wyrdborn. Many used their powers to help others, which made no sense to my father or the Wyrdborn who was telling the story. Have you heard such stories, too?’

  ‘Oh yes, there are many legends about such lands,’ he replied brightly. ‘In fact, we’re fairly sure such a land exists. Sailors blown off course claim to have landed there. That’s if they’re to be believed, of course.’

  What did this faraway land have to do with our pledge, I wondered.

  Master Dessar had a warning for Tamlyn, too. ‘Wyrdborn are not welcome among those sorcerers. According to the legends, they are killed on sight, without mercy or even a moment to speak in their own defence.’

  ‘It sounds like a terrible place. Why would anyone want to go there?’ I said, and hoped that would be the end of the matter.

  But Tamlyn ignored me and spoke again to Arnou Dessar. ‘One of the stories told of a Wyrdborn who ventured to that land hoping to steal whatever he could. Instead, he was captured and would have been killed immediately, but on this occasion the sorcerers spared him. The storytellers couldn’t explain why. It’s even said that this man returned to Athlane, which is how the story is known.’

  ‘I’ve heard the story you’re talking about,’ said Arnou Dessar.

  Tamlyn held up his hand so that he could finish. He was speaking quickly now, excited by what he had to say. ‘What I remember, as much as the story itself, is the contempt in the voice of the Wyrdborn who told this tale, contempt for the man who returned. He never said why, but I lived in my father’s house long enough to know the greatest reason to laugh at another Wyrdborn is because he can no longer take whatever he wants
, or, worse, he can no longer defend what is his.’

  I still didn’t know why Tamlyn was so excited, but his enthusiasm and the story itself were starting to draw me in. ‘Who was this man? Could we find out more from him?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ said Tamlyn. ‘He’s dead. That was part of the story, too.’

  His swift reply and the sudden glum look on his face made me think there was more to this man than Tamlyn was telling us. But it was Master Dessar who responded most vigorously. He jumped out of his chair and, putting the book he’d already taken back on the shelf, he reached for a different one.

  ‘Yes, you’re right, Tamlyn, the man’s dead. But his story doesn’t come from the ancient tales. It happened not so long ago. Before he died, one of my teachers took down his story and if I’m not mistaken …’ He selected a book and began to flip through its pages. ‘Yes, here it is.’

  Tamlyn rose to read the page over his shoulder. I joined the men, as curious as they were, but when the room fell silent I had to beg helplessly, ‘Please, I’ve never been taught any letters.’

  They broke off from their reading and we all returned to our chairs.

  ‘Then I’ll read it aloud,’ he said. ‘It starts here with a little explanation.’ His voice took on the tone of someone telling another’s story and he began:

  Recently, when talk began of a Wyrdborn who claimed to have returned alive from far across the oceans, the College of Scholars became concerned. Each time the tale was told, the details were altered. It was impossible to separate truth from the embellishments added by others as the story was passed on. So it was decided, with the permission of the king, that I would travel to Ledaris and hear the man’s story from his own lips.

  This I have done and here I record his tale.

  The man’s name is Haylan Redwing. He had earned a living by guarding the warehouses of merchant traders for many years and had become intrigued by their tales of distant lands said to lie through the fog that no sailors willingly enter. With two Wyrdborn companions, he travelled to the sea coast where he commandeered a ship and sailed northward. He would not say how long the journey took.

  Upon reaching a land called Erebis Felan by its inhabitants, he and his companions easily fought their way inland against the commonfolk and loaded their stolen horses with whatever riches caught their eye. They cared nothing for what they stole. It was the power such wealth could buy them they were after. Then they fell to arguing over who was due the largest share, a common-enough practice among the Wyrdborn, it must be said. While distracted by such squabbles, they were attacked, not by commonfolk but wizards. Each of the three fought to save himself, but the sorcerers of Erebis Felan worked together, taking on one at a time. In this way, Redwing’s two colleagues were soon overwhelmed.

  Before the sorcerers could turn their attention to him, Redwing escaped out of sight behind some rocks. From there, he looked on in horror as the two Wyrdborn were hacked to pieces with their own swords.

  He fled immediately, and kept on through the countryside until even his Wyrdborn strength waned. Then he slept, too exhausted to care that he wasn’t well hidden.

  Many hours later, he was awoken by a young woman who lived on a nearby farm. He wondered why she hadn’t simply raised the alarm without waking him, until he saw how taken she was with his good looks. She led him to a stone hut her family used to store vegetables through the winter and later brought him food and drink.

  This interlude gave Redwing time to work his enchantments on her and the girl was soon infatuated with him. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being killed, and on the third day she brought him a special gift that surprised him, but she would not explain why she was so keen for him to have it.

  He would not tell me what this strange gift was and when I enquired further, asking whether it was a pendant or a ring for his finger, he only laughed and said I would never guess.

  Redwing’s story now became even more curious. To his great consternation, the young woman brought the wizards to his hiding place and, before he could conjure a spell or even swing his sword, he was overpowered. Redwing expected to die there and then, and when they seized him roughly and held him down, he thought every breath would be his last. But then, for no reason that he could see, they suddenly released their grip and let him up.

  The girl came to his side and spoke into his ear. ‘Tell them you want to live here with me as my husband and tend the land as a farmer,’ she whispered.

  Bewildered and afraid for his life, he did as she asked.

  The wizards complained that Wyrdborn came from across the seas only to plunder and kill. They didn’t trust him and would have to watch him every minute because his powers were too dangerous to be left unchecked.

  The young woman had an answer for them. ‘The circle has magic that can change him,’ she said, and made a show of displaying the gift she had given him. He knew now what had saved him, though what special powers it held, he couldn’t tell.

  The wizards spoke formally to him. Was it truly his wish to marry the woman and live in peace? Of course Redwing agreed, since he would surely die if he said no. He was blindfolded and taken a long distance. When the blindfold was removed, he found himself in the courtyard of a grand building surrounded by more than a dozen wizards, with hundreds of commonfolk looking on from behind them. He feared he’d been tricked and they’d brought him here for a more public execution.

  Everyone, wizards and commonfolk alike, stared at him, though not at his face. They were all searching out the gift that had saved his life once already.

  Again, I pressed him to describe this special talisman, but he refused.

  Returning to his story, he told how he made it easier for them to see this gift that held such significance for them. The move seemed to work against him, because it prompted the wizards to turn their magic upon him until he began to weaken and finally collapsed to the floor unconscious.

  When he awoke, he was lying on a bed in a small room. With time alone to reflect, he remembered asking to become a farmer. He wondered what such a life would be like, since all he’d ever known was slitting throats and chasing thieves away from traders’ warehouses.

  Late in the day, the woman who’d protected him entered the room accompanied by an ageing wizard.

  ‘You are free to join this woman’s family on their farm,’ the wizard told him.

  As he spoke, the woman shifted uncomfortably beside the bed. Redwing sat up, still a little unsteady, and rather than help him, as a caring lover would, she took a step back. He saw that she no longer looked upon him with affectionate eyes, so he concentrated his mind to renew his enchantments.

  ‘You are wasting your time,’ said the wizard. ‘Your powers have been stripped from you by the circle. That was the only way we could let you stay among us, as you asked.’

  Then the young woman spoke. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said, her face filled with revulsion. ‘I don’t want to marry this man. I don’t want anything to do with him,’ and she quickly fled the room.

  The grey-haired wizard remained, staring down at Haylan Redwing, who was once again sure he would die. Strangely, despite his fear, he felt something he’d never known before. Holding the wizard’s eyes, he said, ‘Will you tell the people I robbed that … that I regret the suffering I brought them?’ He said this not in the hope that they would spare him, but out of a need he didn’t yet understand.

  The wizard left him without a word and, for the rest of the day and the night that followed, every time Redwing heard footsteps approaching, he worried it was the executioner come to finish him. In the morning, when a blindfold was once again placed around his eyes, he resigned himself to death with an odd peace he had never expected to feel. But, to his utter surprise and relief, he was taken back to the shore where he had landed. His ship was waiting and he was placed aboard then magic was used to push him out to sea.

  Without the unnatural strength of Wyrdborn magic, he couldn’t sail the boat alone
and suffered greatly from thirst and hunger and the cold sea winds before he was rescued by mariners blown from their usual trade route, who brought him back to Athlane.

  Arnou Dessar stopped reading and looked up to see what we made of the story.

  ‘I was right, then,’ said Tamlyn. ‘My father and his companions laughed at the fellow because he’d given up his powers.’

  I could hardly contain myself and wondered why the others weren’t jumping out of their skin, too. ‘If this story is true, then there’s a way to save Lucien. In this far-off land — what’s it called? Ere …’ It was such a strange name it hadn’t stuck in my memory.

  ‘Erebis Felan,’ said Master Dessar. ‘As for the story itself, my old teacher was both honest and meticulous, so the only question is whether this Haylan Redwing was telling the truth.’

  ‘Can we trust him?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘If he’d remained a Wyrdborn, I would doubt his word.’ He stopped and glanced towards Tamlyn. ‘I’m sorry, that must sound like an insult.’

  Tamlyn shook his head grimly. ‘Finish what you were going to say, Master Dessar.’

  ‘If he’d still been a Wyrdborn when he returned, I’d fear he was lying to gain some advantage or cover his crimes, but there’s no doubt he was stripped of his powers as he claimed. He was an ordinary man when he spoke to my old teacher, with no reason to deceive. I think we can trust his story.’

  ‘Then we must take Lucien to Erebis Felan,’ I said. ‘That’s where we can fulfil our pledge.’

  ‘It’s where Lucien will die, Silvermay. You heard the story. Without the talisman Redwing spoke about, Wyrdborn are killed without hesitation.’

  ‘But surely not a baby,’ I gasped.

  ‘This baby especially,’ said Arnou Dessar. ‘The more I study this ancient city, the more I’m convinced the magic that built it matches what I’ve heard of Erebis Felan. That means their ancestors created that chamber of nightmares; and if the story has been retained in their own legends, then a Wyrdborn baby would be what they fear the most. It may well be why they abandoned this city and Athlane itself.’