The Thorn Boy

by Storm Constantine

  On their way back to their rooms, Tatters told Mussy about the goose girl. ‘She is very strange. Her music showed me many peculiar things.’

  Mussy gave him a shrewd glance. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you stayed away from her. Remember you mother got mixed up with an enchanting traveller, and look what happened to her!’

  ‘But I have no friends,’ Tatters said, stung. ‘I like her. She doesn’t frighten me. I can hardly get into the same kind of trouble as my mother, can I?’

  ‘Just keep your wits about you, that’s all,’ Mussy advised. ‘Come now, lad, there’s no room for a dour look like that on your bonny face.’

  He smiled at her and she mussed his hair. Together, they walked into the castle.

  Much to everyone’s surprise, Thaldocred, far from flinging the gilded invitation from him in disgust, seem actually nudged from his apathy by it. As if throwing wide the windows of his soul, long unaired, he ordered that a fine new suit of clothes be made for him. Some vestige of happiness appeared to have been kindled in his heart. He occasionally smiled at people.

  Encouraged by what she thought might be a change of heart in her master, Mussy summoned her courage and one evening as Thaldocred ate his dinner alone, she crept up to his seat and made a brave request. Her heart was pounding, she could barely speak. ‘Could you not take the boy Brackeny with you to the Occasion, milord? He is such a fine young lad and will do you credit.’

  Thaldocred dabbed at his mouth fastidiously with a napkin. ‘I have no living relatives,’ he said stiffly. ‘And have no reason to take a servant with me to the house of Duke Orvember.’

  Mussy backed away, aggrieved by his cold tone. She did not tell Tatters what she had done.

  Every day now, Tatters sought out Charlaise’s company. Very soon they became fast friends. He found her easy to talk to and much of what she told him was full of mystery and magic. Whenever he danced to her music, it was as if his mind filled up and overflowed with happiness and a strange, earthy wisdom. He learned many things, such that cannot easily be put into words. Now, she would dance with him often. Together, they travelled to distant places in their minds, and the music was their vehicle. ‘You must go to the Great Event at Duke Orvember’s castle, Charlaise said.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Tatters replied, but Charlaise did not laugh.

  Tatters had never spoken to his grandfather. He had caught sight of him on occasion, but always in the distance. Thaldocred did not come to the part of the castle where the servants lived. Tatters never thought of the lord as his relative, and did not even want to.

  Some days after her first request of Thaldocred, Mussy felt she must try again. Surely, there must be some way of reconciling the lord with his grandson? Life was far too short to create such misery. Mussy was sure that in Tatters Thaldocred could find happy memories of his wife and daughter. She sought him out in the stable-yard one afternoon, and asked again. ‘Could you not take Brackeny with you to Duke Orvember’s, my lord?’

  ‘No. Leave me alone.’ He mounted his horse.

  Mussy realised the futility of pressing the point and departed.

  The whole countryside was filled with the bustle and excitement of the coming Event. People came from afar, all flocking to the town, Skylander, where Duke Orvember’s castle reared proud and glittering above the River Musk. Often, colourful strangers could be seen upon the road, which passed the castle Emiraldra, riding in outlandish carriages and accompanied by slaves in silk. Merchants, gypsies and fortune-tellers were drawn to the area.

  It all unnerved Tatters a little, who was used to calm and tranquillity in the air of the land.

  Charlaise mocked his feelings. ‘Change, it is the wine of life.’ She played sharp, sweet notes on her flute.

  Tatters shook his head. ‘I, for one, will be glad when they all go home again,’ he said glumly.

  Charlaise laughed. ‘You must go to Skylander, Brackeny.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of your nature, your true self.’

  ‘And what is that, Charlaise?’

  The girl pulled a wry face and blew a series of low notes on the flute. ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘Do you?’

  She laughed. ‘I know everything. I know justice when I see it, especially of the most apt and poignant kind.’

  Tatters often misunderstood, or did not understand at all, a lot of what Charlaise said. Sometimes he thought she was teasing him, pretending to know so much about himself that he did not.

  One day, as Tatters danced to Charlaise’s music, beneath the hanging willows on the banks of the river, he became convinced he was being watched. Charlaise stopped playing, and the only sounds were the murmur of the water and the occasional call of a bird. Tatters saw a tall, shiny horse standing among the trees. ‘Someone is there!’ he cried, pointing.

  ‘Indeed there is,’ Charlaise agreed, without looking. She looked at her flute with a smile and then played a low, tuneless melody.

  The hidden rider urged his horse forward and Charlaise said, ‘Have you lost your way, traveller?’

  Tatters saw a well-dressed young man, who smelled of pampered living.

  ‘I am on my way to the castle at Skylander,’ said the traveller.

  ‘Then you must be going to the Great Event,’ Tatters said, walking forward. He touched the velvet nose of the nervous horse, who snorted into his palm.

  ‘I suppose I am,’ the young man said.

  ‘Break your journey,’ Charlaise suggested. ‘Take food and wine with us.’

  Tatters turned to her quickly, for they had no food or wine, but there, to his astonishment, on the grass was a white cloth, heaped with tempting country fare.

  ‘Why, thank you,’ the young man said, and jumped down from his horse.

  Tatters pursed his lips. Clearly, Charlaise had some interest in this person.

  The traveller asked their names.

  ‘This is Brackeny,’ Charlaise said and raised the flute to her lips once more.

  As she played, Tatters said, ‘And she is Charlaise. She is a witch.’

  ‘Is she?’The young man laughed. ‘Call me... Willow.’ He was looking at the trees. Tatters wondered if that was his real name. Willow took off his hat. Beneath it, his hair was the colour of green-gold. Tatters was impressed by Willow’s appearance. Previously, he had considered Charlaise and himself to be the only beautiful people in the entire world.

  ‘Offer our guest some refreshment, Brackeny,’ Charlaise said, breaking off her tune for a moment.

  Tatters did so. As Willow chewed the food and swallowed the wine, he looked from one to the other of them. ‘Are you related?’

  ‘No,’ Tatters said.

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Charlaise interrupted. ‘I am his cousin once removed.’

  Tatters smiled. What else would she come out with?

  ‘And where do you live?’ Willow asked.

  ‘In the...’ Tatters began, but again Charlaise interrupted him.

  ‘That is not your affair, stranger. It is most discourteous of you to ask.’

  Willow smiled ruefully and raised an eyebrow. ‘Forgive me, my lady!’

  Charlaise inclined her head. ‘You are forgiven, Master Willow.’

  ‘Well!’ Willow leaned back upon the grass and crossed his feet. ‘I could not have wished for a better outcome to my day! There I was, hopelessly lost, and I come upon by accident two radiant beings of the fields, who are clearly both witches!’ He sat up. ‘I must say I’ve never come across people like you before in these parts. Are you travellers?’

  ‘We are all travellers upon the road of life,’ Charlaise said. She had been playing a series of monotonous notes, but now the tune picked up, first lilting, then sharp and shrill, then drifting once more. Tatters ate one of her illusory cakes and found it very satisfying. Willow’s eyes were glazed. He was listening to the music.

  ‘It is very hot,’ he said. ‘I feel... light-headed.’

  ‘Take our guest into the
shade of the trees, Brackeny,’ Charlaise said, and it seemed that even as she spoke the music did not falter at all. ‘Take him beneath the hill.’

  Tatters helped the young man to his feet and led him beneath the branches of the willows. Now they could not see Charlaise at all, but her music still reached them, clear and strong. Willow put his head in Tatters’ lap; his eyes were closed. Tatters could not help but take a lock of the green-gold hair in his fingers.

  ‘I am very tired,’ Willow said. ‘I have travelled a long way upon the road of life, perhaps, or upon the road of stone. It is all one to me. I am tired, yet strangely I cannot sleep. Perhaps if you could stroke my brow?’

  Tatters complied without pause, thinking, how strange that we can do this. How strange to touch another’s flesh and want to do it. This person is alive. He breathes as I breathe, he thinks as I think, yet we are worlds apart. I cannot know his thoughts, and yet our skins are touching. How strange.

  The music was deeper now; it felt as if dark clouds had drawn across the sun. It was as if Tatters and the man were in a dark green room, closed away from the world. A cool breeze shifted the leaves.

  ‘Lie down beside me, Brackeny,’ Willow murmured. ‘I am cold now and need your warmth.’

  Tatters curled his arms around him.

  ‘You are a witch,’ Willow said, and began to kiss him.

  Tatters was intrigued. He did not find the experience unpleasant. In fact he was surprised to find his body responding in several unaccountable ways. As the music played beyond the leaves, Willow and the boy moved together to the rhythm, the heart-beat, of the earth, and the rich, dark smell of the earth rose, just as slowly, around them.

  Charlaise sat on the grass, gazing into the distance, her eyes smiling. Not until she heard Tatters cry out in delight and Willow’s answering moan, did she stop playing. In the silence that followed, a dim peal of thunder came from the south.

  ‘I must go now,’ Brackeny said, and sat up in the room of leaves.

  ‘I must see you again,’ Willow told him.

  Brackeny reached for his clothes. ‘There is no point. You are obviously a person of high rank, while I am... well, there is no point.’ He went out into the darkening sunlight. Charlaise smiled at him.

  Some moments later, Willow followed. ‘Come to the Occasion at Skylander,’ he said to Brackeny.

  ‘No, for one thing I have nothing suitable to wear.’ He indicated his ragged clothes and bare feet with a scornful gesture.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Come as you are. It is important.’

  ‘And make a fool of myself? No. Anyway, I’ll not be welcome, fine clothes or not. You know nothing about me.’

  ‘Don’t be bitter, Brackeny,’ Charlaise said. ‘He’ll be there, Master Willow. Have no fear.’

  ‘What?’ Brackeny blustered.

  Charlaise smiled at Willow. ‘Go in peace, sir. I promise he’ll be there.’

  Brackeny and Charlaise parted on rather bitter terms, or at least on Brackeny’s part. ‘With your magic, you will make a fool of me!’ he said angrily, but half his anger was deep and heartfelt sadness.

  ‘With my magic, I have made a lover of you - a loved one. You must trust me.’

  ‘What? When you lie so much? Are you really related to me, Charlaise?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied calmly. ‘I am your cousin once removed, as I told you. Your father sent me.’

  Brackeny was momentarily silenced by this, but still unsure whether or not to believe her. ‘What else have you made of me, Charlaise?’ he asked in a low, troubled voice.

  ‘I have given you your true self,’ she answered.

  Brackeny went back to the castle.

  At Emiraldra, the first servant who caught sight of him called, ‘Hey Tatters, clean the yard, you lazy numskull!’

  Totally out of character, Brackeny walked up to him and floored him with a single blow. ‘I am Brackeny,’ he said. ‘Brackeny. Don’t forget it.’ Then he cleaned the yard.

  That night, in the small mirror in his room, Brackeny examined his body for outward changes. What was I doing? He wondered. Was it just Charlaise’s music?

  He ran his hand down his lean, hard chest, his skinny flank. It brought an echo of gentler, more tender caresses that made his loins ache. He thought of Willow with a sad and wistful sigh. He thought of the slim body, the gentle mouth, the sensitive eyes that had smiled for him alone. He felt that all of it was beyond him, because he was only a servant. Out of reach; a bright star visible beyond the prison bars. At best, all he could be was a man like Willow’s whore; something to be kept hidden away, something to be ashamed of. He could not tell Mussy what had happened, but he knew that from now on he would no longer answer to the name of Tatters. He had gained an obscure kind of self-respect. He had made a statement against those who despised him.

  Unknown to Brackeny, that evening Mussy tried once more to change Lord Thaldocred’s mind. She was incensed enough to say, ‘You can’t go on living in the past, my lord. Brackeny is living, here and now. He is Shilalee’s flesh, her blood. By denying him, you deny not only yourself, but Shilalee as well.’

  Thaldocred thought about this. Then he could not help but think of Shilalee on the bed upstairs, writhing, legs spread, screaming like a slaughtered hog. He thought of her blood, her death that had been without dignity of any kind. He shook his head. ‘I am sorry. It may be that you are right and I am wrong, but I am getting too old for change. If I die wrong, then I die wrong. Please don’t mention this matter to me again. Now go.’

  She did so.

  The following day, Thaldocred rode away from Emiraldra towards Skylander. He took with him an armed escort of three men. The servants commented on his good mood. He had ordered that they hold a celebration of their own that evening. Now, a huge bonfire was being built in the yard. For once, nobody went out of their way to be unpleasant to Brackeny. Still feeling confused and dazed, he decided to go and find Charlaise. He was not sure whether she meant him ill or good, but she was still the only person he could talk to about this matter.

  He found her in he place he had first seen her, sitting on the grey stone, playing her flute. She smiled when she saw him. ‘Today, we go to Skylander,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Charlaise!’ Brackeny cried, horrified, thrilled, full of dismal hope. ‘Why?’

  ‘To watch all the grand ladies and gentlemen arriving at the gate of the castle, of course. Aren’t you inquisitive about which lovely girl will be chosen as the Bride?’

  ‘Not really. Are you sure that is the only reason we’re going?’ Brackeny’s question was scornful, but in his chest, his heart began to pound. Though he knew it would be wise never to see the man he knew as Willow again, he also knew that he would not be able to resist trying to.

  ‘That is all,’ Charlaise sang, and swinging her long, brown hair, she sprang from the rock and began to dance towards the road. Brackeny followed. Half of him knew he shouldn’t but he still went. Behind them, the geese called mournfully, although they did not leave the stone.

  ‘Are you really my kin?’ Brackeny asked as they walked.

  ‘I am,’ she answered. ‘You were named for your father, you know. Though he had to leave here, Brackeny did not forget you. He knew Shilalee was with child. He knew when you born and how you grew. He cares for you very much.’

  ‘If that is so, why doesn’t he come and take me away?’ Brackeny asked. ‘Why does he let me stay in Emiraldra with people who dislike me?’

  ‘It is not your destiny to be a traveller,’ Charlaise said, gravely.

  ‘You have not answered me. What is my destiny? To be a fool, an outcast? To be offered love serves merely to illustrate the shortcomings of my existence.’

  ‘What will be will be,’ Charlaise declared enigmatically. ‘Come now, Brackeny, lift your knees. We shall dance for fifty paces.’

  By the time they reached the town, evening had come. Skylander was lit by a thousand lamps and everywhere was music and activity. Charlai
se led the way to the gates of the castle, shouting lewd replies to those who called out her in the markets. She greeted strange people with slanting eyes and gaudy, beribboned clothes. Brackeny followed meekly. He scanned every face, looking for Willow. At the gates, a guard stepped out in front of them. ‘Hey, what do you two think you’re doing?’ he demanded roughly, barring their way with his pike.

  In reply, Charlaise merely lifted her flute to her lips and played a quick, merry tune. The guard’s face went strangely blank; he stepped back.

  Charlaise went first into the castle. ‘Where are we going?’ Brackeny asked, but his voice was slurred. He felt drowsy; everything around him looked indistinct. Charlaise was playing one of her most powerful musics. Brackeny followed her without question, blindly. They came at last to a great hall, approached through a black colonnade.The hall was filled with light and sound, and many richly-dressed people, who were all twittering and preening and drinking wine. Dozens of young ladies simpered together, looking coyly towards the three thrones at the end of the hall. There the Duke Orvember sat with his wife and eldest son. Perhaps he was already surveying the livestock that had gathered for his inspection. One to be the Bride.

  Charlaise knew that by the end of the evening, once more wine had flowed and the sense of competition had hotted up, the simpering would turn to sneers, the demure conversation to slander. ‘Shallow creatures!’ she announced, and took her flute from her lips.

  Until that moment, both she and Brackeny had been rendered invisible to other people; it was the magic of the flute, but the instant the music stopped, both of them materialised out of thin air, slowly, like a gossamer veil falling. There was a sudden hush around them, then a wave of gasps, followed by a wave of subdued laughter. Everyone gawped in surprise. Was this a joke? Glancing towards the Duke, some were not sure whether to laugh out loud or not. In the middle of the room, stood two unlikely figures. One a slim, boyish girl, dressed in man’s clothing, and the other a tatty ragamuffin, with bare feet and holes in his pants. Both of them appeared in need of a good wash and brush-up. Perhaps they were entertainers.