The Thorn Boy

by Storm Constantine

  The gaunt man bowed, stiffly, smiling widely. ‘Oh, forgive me!’ he exclaimed. ‘It was understood your father would have explained all this to you; the circumstances of your being here.’

  Jadrin remained silent, numb with the horror of betrayal.

  ‘Obviously not,’ Floom continued with a sigh. He stepped over the threshold and pushed the door to a little. ‘Several nights ago, your father was involved in a... little wager. He played the king in a game of dice, making outrageous claims concerning his luck, which sadly for him, proved to be unfounded. The stakes were high. King Ashalan does not play for trinkets.Debts were incurred and subsequently, agreements reached. Your father lost everything, even the mill itself. But Ashalan is not a harsh man. They came to an arrangement between them. The agreement was that you should come to Ashbrilim to meet your father’s debts.’

  ‘He was drunk,’ Jadrin said bitterly.

  Floom shrugged. ‘Wine had flowed, I believe. Don’t look so forlorn, boy.I must say, the first thing your father said about you is true; you are one of the loveliest creatures on God’s earth. The other, well, that remains to be seen doesn’t it!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jadrin cried. ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘No idea at all, my lad?’

  Jadrin shook his head fiercely, sick with fear at what his drunken father might have come out with.

  ‘He thinks you can clear his debt for him. He says you have magical powers, so great, so potent, that you can even spin straw into gold.’

  Jadrin could not stifle a surprised bark of laughter. ‘What?’

  ‘Use your magic, boy! Spin your father’s way out of debt, as he claims you can. Spin this, all this, to gold!’ His face creased into a caustic grin, Galbion Floom gestured eloquently at the straw by their feet.

  To spin straw into gold? Jadrin was left alone, the door firmly locked behind him. How could his father do this to him? he wondered with helpless dismay. Was this the education he had promised? Did Skimblaze really think his son was the possessor of supernatural powers? No, Jadrin decided. He suspected that Skimblaze had merely sent him to the king, hoping (perhaps sure?) that Ashalan would be content with his beauty alone.Surely, all this business with the straw and the spinning wheel was some dark joke on Ashalan’s part, so that when Jadrin could not complete the task some other, more tangible, form of payment would be demanded. This much was obvious to Jadrin, who had little knowledge of the ways of men and their desires. The spinning wheel stood in a diminishing pool of sunlight, its wheel gently rocking as if moved by an unseen hand. Jadrin reached out and touched it. He shook his head and sat down on the bed to wait.

  Night fell. Nobody came to his door and silver fronds of moonlight came to replace those of the sinking sun, falling over the floor, over the skeletal form of the spinning wheel, onto Jadrin’s bed. The boy sighed, stood up and walked around the room. In a corner, he found bread and cheese laid upon a low table, next to a jug of red wine. He found a lamp and a tinderbox. Lighting the lamp, he took some wine and began to eat the bread and cheese. For comfort, he removed from its bag the quartz Amberina had given to him and stared at the sharp lilac points of it, the hollow in its centre that shivered with the brightest threads. ‘Straw into gold indeed!’ he thought. ‘No-one, nothing, can do that. Oh Amberina, if only you were here now.’ Dismally, he breathed on the stone, thinking of Amberina prancing, colt-like, beside the Fleercut; free as freedom itself. He felt so alone. Straw into gold...

  A shadow fell over him. Something obscured the moonlight from the window, something that also caused the lamplight to flicker and dim. Jadrin looked up.

  ‘Faithless boy! I can do that!’ said a voice.

  Jadrin squinted at the cobwebby ledge. A spirit was crouching there, almost featureless within a smoky veil. It hopped from the window ledge to the floor, leaving a trail of sparkling dust in the air behind it.

  Jadrin had seen spirits before. He was not afraid. ‘You can spin straw into gold?’ He indicated the forlorn-looking spinning wheel across the room.

  ‘But of course... For a price.’

  Jadrin inspected the quartz warily. Had his contemplation of it summoned the spirit? He knew the potential power of crystals. Obviously, this particular one possessed powers he and his sister had been unaware of. ‘A price. Such as?’

  The spirit cavorted around in front of him for a moment, emitting blushes of colour that made Jadrin’s eyes ache. ‘Something precious,’ it said.

  Jadrin held out the quartz. ‘This is all I have.’

  The spirit glowed pink. ‘No! Something more precious that that.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘I want a kiss. A kiss from your warm, warm lips. A taste of life.’ The spirit chittered and glowed and spun until the whole room was lit up like a firework display.

  ‘Oh, is that all?’ Jadrin replied guardedly, well aware of how the very life could be sucked from a person under the guise of a kiss.

  ‘Just that. Nothing more. Oh, you think badly of me. You fear I will harm you. I won’t! I won’t!’ Its voice took on a sly tone. ‘The king will ask for more, believe me.’

  Jadrin considered for a moment, looking from the quartz to the wavering form of the spirit. He felt he had little to lose. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Maybe, if you can do this thing, the king will be content with gold alone, and I can go home again. It will be a fine joke, in fact. Go ahead.’

  ‘After you sleep,’ the spirit said.

  ‘As you wish.’ Still suspicious, Jadrin went over to the narrow bed and lay down upon it. After a few moments, his eyes became heavy and sleep crept upon him, but not before it seemed, behind his closed lids, the whole room became radiant as if with the lustre of gold.

  In the grey before the dawn, the spirit woke him up. Beyond its pale, gauzy body, Jadrin could see a glittering, unbelievable heap of coins piled upon the floor around the spinning wheel. ‘Now for my price,’ said the spirit, in a low, chilling voice.

  Jadrin offered up his mouth for the cold, cold touch of bodiless lips, dry as paper yet wet as grave-slime. He gasped, fighting for breath. In a moment, the spirit leapt, triumphant, into the air, whirled around a few times and vanished with a pop. Jadrin lay dazed upon the bed until the morning truly came.

  First, it was Galbion Floom who looked in at the peephole of the door. Jadrin heard a gasp, then running footsteps. Soon, there was a babble beyond the door and it was thrown wide, many brightly dressed people bursting into the room, all talking at once. Jadrin sat up on the bed yawning. A tall young man with golden hair shouldered his way through the chattering crowd and stared, wide-eyed, at the heaps of gold. ‘What is this?’ he demanded.

  ‘Look sire!’ Floom spluttered. ‘The scoundrel Skimblaze spoke the truth for once. The boy can spin straw into gold!’

  Ashalan, king of Ashbrilim, reluctantly tore his gaze away from the shining heaps of coins and saw, for the first, the shining thing upon the narrow bed, whose radiance easily eclipsed that of the treasure.

  ‘Indeed he did,’ the king agreed, but in a strange and guarded tone. He strode forward. ‘Miller’s son, I am most impressed by what I have seen. Surprised too, for I thought it was you yourself that Skimblaze had in mind to pay the debt he owed me. I did not, for one moment, really believe you could accomplish this magic.’

  Jadrin thought, ‘And neither did I’ but considered it wiser to remain silent.

  Ashalan eyed the gold once more. ‘However,’ he said. ‘Beauty does not deceive me, neither do I always trust the evidence of my own eyes. This may well be a fairy gold that turns to leaves within hours, or perhaps a single spell that you and your father have worked out between you. No, I must have more proof.’ He strode to the door. His cronies shrank back, allowing him to speak with his secretary. ‘Bring more straw!’ Ashalan ordered and left the room without a backward glance.

  Jadrin was in despair. Now the lonely chamber was piled high with bursting bales of straw, the spinning wheel nearly lost amon
gst it. All day, he sat on the bed with his chin in his hands, staring miserably at the straw. At nightfall, he took out the quartz from its bag, but without hope that he could be so fortunate twice. However, within an instant of his forming the thought, the spirit returned, once more nonchalant about the task in hand. ‘And what price this time?’ Jadrin enquired wearily.

  ‘Well, that is simple. Merely this: to sleep in your arms,’ it replied.

  ‘Just that?’ Jadrin asked.

  ‘Just that,’ the spirit answered.

  By morning, the room was full of gold once more and Jadrin awoke feeling as drugged and chilled as if he’d spent the night under several feet of snow. He had not sensed the spirit beside him, neither did he see it leave.

  To Jadrin, it seemed that Ashalan’s greed was only whipped into further frenzy when he caught sight of the supposed fruits of the boy’s night’s work. ‘Once more,’ he decided (without much consideration) ‘One more night of this and, I promise you, you shall never see this room again. No more spinning. It is too incredible, this talent of yours. Tomorrow, I shall make you a gentleman of the court. You shall have apartments of your own within the palace, whatever you require...’

  Jadrin thought Ashalan had already had ten times as much gold as Skimblaze could have owed him. No doubt he wants to keep me around to make further use of my magical abilities later on, he thought cynically, for not once while he was speaking did Ashalan’s eyes stray from the gold to Jadrin himself.

  By dusk, hardly even able to find a space within the room in which to sit, Jadrin was desperate to call up the spirit again. Punctual, it materialised upon the windowsill as usual, preening its slim, glowing features with languid paws.

  ‘Well, as you see,’ Jadrin began, gesturing round the room, ‘I begin to doubt whether you could ever spin enough gold to satisfy him.’

  The spirit made a nonchalant gesture. ‘Hmm. It would seem that way... Do you want to remain here at court, Jadrin?’

  Jadrin shook his head. ‘No, not really, but I can hardly go against the wishes of the king, can I?’

  ‘Even after he has used you in this way?’

  Jadrin paused for a moment to think. ‘I have no choice. I doubt if my father would welcome me back if I ran away and where else could I go?’

  ‘Oh, you are a foolish boy!’ the spirit cried, as if glad of the fact, hopping to the floor, dancing in the pale rays of the moon. ‘And do you wish for me to spin?’

  ‘If you will first tell me the price this time.’

  For a moment, poised as if at the brink of ultimate triumph, the shivery being glided from bale to bale, appearing to be seriously contemplating the matter.

  ‘Mmm,’ it murmured at length. ‘I predict that, should I complete this task for you, the king will make you a celebrity of the court...’

  ‘This much has been promised me, yes,’ Jadrin interrupted, somewhat impatiently.

  ‘After a while,’ the spirit continued, unperturbed, ‘Ashalan shall actually let himself see you. He is not a great lover of women. Perhaps this was why your father sent you here instead of your sister.’

  ‘She is too young,’ Jadrin said, wondering at the same time how the spirit knew so much of his circumstances.

  The spirit shook its head. ‘You are wrong. Where the lusts of the powerful are concerned, no creature is too young!’

  Jadrin could sense in the spirit’s words its great scorn of humankind, Ashalankind in particular.

  ‘What is your price, then?’ he asked irritably.

  ‘The king will come to desire you,’ it answered. ‘I expect he will fight it for he is afraid of love and mistrusts beautiful things, but my price is that should do your best to encourage him and, when the time comes, submit to his desires. On the night that you go to his bed, you will allow me to enter your soul...’

  ‘For what purpose?’ Jadrin cried, aghast at all he had heard.

  ‘That is not your concern.’

  ‘But what will happen to me?’

  ‘You will not be harmed. You will remember nothing. Agree now: yes or no? I can hear my brethren calling me from the starshine. I have little time to linger here.’

  ‘One thing you must tell me,’ Jadrin said quickly, half standing up. ‘Do you intend to do the king harm?’

  The spirit glowed a bright, aching white, intense as the heart of a star. ‘And what do you care of that?’ it asked.

  Jadrin shrugged. ‘I don’t feel I can be part of a plot to harm anyone. It is wrong.’

  The spirit spat out a stream of green sparks, which made the air smell of sulphur. ‘Jadrin, he will have you and use you, as he does with all whom he desires. You are nothing to him. He would kill you as soon as look at you if you displease him. My purpose is not your concern and you must put it from your mind. I dare say, when the time comes, you’ll welcome what will happen. If you are afraid that I will kill him, then fear no more. I will not, but there are things that must be done and you will help me do them.’

  Then the spinning wheel began to turn, throwing off sparks of a hundred colours, like fireworks, and thundering like a galloping horse. ‘Yes or no, miller’s son? In the morning, if there is no more gold, you risk Ashalan taking your life to sate his monstrous greed. His moods change like clouds. He is mad and you are at risk.’ The wheel spun and sang. ‘Yes or no?’

  Jadrin hung his head. His eyes felt hot with shame. ‘Yes,’ he said, and, looking up, added, ‘Do it. Make the gold. I will do as you ask.’

  In the morning, the great heavy door to the room was flung wide and golden coins spilled out around Ashalan’s feet as he stood at the threshold. Golden light suffused his face, his long, braided hair and Jadrin, sitting on his bed, considered that there was a certain innocence playing around the king’s features. He is like a child presented with a new toy, Jadrin thought.

  ‘Boy, you are a true magician!’ Ashalan exclaimed, and ordered that all the gold should be taken to his treasury, which lay deep beneath the palace. As for Jadrin, he was led bewildered into the sunlit courtyard, where all the colourful ladies and gentlemen of the court cheered him and threw down petals to land on his hair and clothes. Jadrin held the piece of quartz tightly in its velvet bag and could not speak. He could only think of the bargain he had made and when it must come to fruition.

  He was given rooms with marble floors, where curtains of heavy silk fell to the floor before the windows, and beyond them, terraces of patterned tiles overlooked the gardens and lake. He was given servants of his own to tend him, who quietly awoke him in the morning and led him to a cool bathroom to douse his skin with fragrant water, spiced with cleansing herbs. A large bird with feathers the colour of green metal lived in a cage hanging from the ceiling of his living-room and sang to him in a lilting, almost human voice.

  For the first week, Jadrin was utterly dazed by all this. The food his servants brought him was richer than anything he’d ever tasted, but he could not eat. One mouthful of wine sent his senses reeling, so he lived for that time on mineral water flavoured with fruit juice, taking a small glass of warmed ewe’s milk at bedtime. He did not leave his suite of rooms at all. However, this only served to aggravate the curiosity of the court, so that Jadrin was visited daily by the arrogant and elegant, the softly-spoken and seductive, all seeking to court his favour, to add him to their list of satellites. Shining people with shining names, who brought him presents, who squeezed his limbs with sharp fingers and calculating eyes, praising his talent and beauty. Of Ashalan and his immediate staff, Jadrin saw nothing. People spoke of the king, dropping his name to impress, speaking of the soirees and musical evenings in Ashalan’s apartments to which only the most fashionable could hope for an invitation. Silent and in awe, Jadrin could only watch these tall, affected beings strut or lounge around his rooms, feeling that he could never hope to emulate their sophistication. It seemed to him that the spirit’s price would never have to be paid. He would never be drawn into the elite, exclusive circle of King Ashalan’s in
timate companions.

  Eventually, thinking Jadrin a true adept, several ladies of the court came to ask him whether he would weave spells for them. They spoke behind concealing hands of ineffable slimness and languor, complaining of lovesickness or being the victims of envy. Some gentlemen came also, begging Jadrin to scry their futures, worried about their incomes, their wives, lovers and rivals. But, if Jadrin knew magic at all, he knew only the magic of the earth, the water, the forest. The courtiers’ troubles meant little to him and he knew no spells to deal with them. However, willing to help in whatever way he could, Jadrin sat and listened, made soothing noises, and at the end of it, offered the only advice he knew. Something that had always worked for him and which he considered ample medicine for any injured soul. He spoke of the quietness of the forest, where all mundane problems lose their sting, even their form. ‘Go into the trees,’ he said, ‘And take off your finery. Crawl down amongst the great roots and smell the earth there. Lie down beside the forest pools. Forget the city, forget who you are and breathe in the freshness. In the peace that follows, the solution to your problems may come to you.’

  The palace folk were usually somewhat taken aback by this advice, but those of them who were not too lazy to take heed of it, did as he told them. Unfortunately, the forest is a dangerous place for pampered souls who are not used to it: dangerous to the body and the mind. Of the ten people who sought Jadrin’s advice, three came back to talk to him again, eager to share their enlightenment, five came back to the city angry and bedraggled, having experienced nothing except discomfort, and in one case a severe chill, whilst two, a particularly dizzy pair of ladies, never came back at all. It all caused rather a controversy. Inevitably, because of this, Jadrin acquired a staunch following of supporters on the one hand and a bitterly venomous gang of enemies on the other. Rumours sprang up like fire. Jadrin was a necromancer. Jadrin was a devil. Jadrin was a saint. It could all have got ridiculously out of hand. Jadrin himself knew nothing of these rumours, locked as he was without friend or confidante in his rooms. Eventually, Ashalan himself was forced to investigate the matter.