Oh fare thee well, we’ll meet again
Upon some starry night,
And we’ll sing and dance and sail to the moon
On a ship of pure delight,
Oh, this beautiful girl and I.”
It was my turn to blush when his song was done, and I gazed at him in enchantment. “Did you make up that song for me?”
He just grinned.
“I never had my own song before.”
“It’s just a goosey little song,” he said.
“I didn’t think it was goosey. I thought it was bang up.”
“I’ll think of a better one someday.”
I had no doubt that he would.
6
Rudne
The first snowfall of the season had just kissed the earth before Gwin returned to the wold. He shared a bay horse with a purple boy, broad and stout, with bronzed hair and deep-set golden eyes. They approached the wizard’s house at a steady walk and both their faces were somber.
Skile stood at the door and railed, shaking his fist, “What is this intrusion? Is there no place that a man can live in peace?”
“Let them be.” I told him. “They’ve come to see me.” Quickly, I tied my cap about my head. Had it only been Gwin, I wouldn’t have bothered, but I did not know this boy who accompanied him.
“Beware the small one, Elva,” Skile muttered. “He wears a dark shadow about him.”
“Yes. He is quite purple, isn’t he?”
Skile stared at me, cocking his eyebrows curiously. “Purple?”
I nodded. “It is the color he wears.”
“Not his clothing,” Skile said, more to himself than to me while stroking his beard. “Something else. What color is the other lad?”
“Oh, Gwin is pale sky blue. Why do you ask?”
“Do you see all people in colors?”
“Don’t you?”
“Shades,” he said. “I see shades of gray.” He gazed down on me and smiled. “What color am I?”
I laughed. “You are all colors. A rainbow. So pretty. I like it.”
“And, what color are you?”
All my mirth vanished. “I … am purple. I used to be blue, but now I am purple.”
“Interesting.” He excused himself and went back inside.
I looked long at Gwin’s companion as they drew near but could not see the shadow which Skile spoke of. He simply looked purple to me.
“She’s a wizard, Gwin,” the boy said, scowling.
“Did I forget to tell you that?” Gwin said.
The boy sneered and mocked, “Did I forget to tell you that?”
They dismounted and I gave Gwin a hug. “This is Rudne,” Gwin told me, motioning to his companion. “He is the captain’s nephew I told you of.”
“Good day, Rudne,” I said. He was a little smaller than Gwin and probably closer to me in age.
“You’re kind of small to want to be a warrior, aren’t you?” he said.
“Size has nothing to do with ability or desire,” I said in return. Already, I didn’t like his attitude and I supposed Skile might be right about him.
“That is true,” Rudne conceded. “A true warrior comes from inside. My uncle told me that. Do you think you really have what it takes?”
“If I didn’t think I could do it, I wouldn’t even try.”
“Foolish girl,” he shouted and shoved me to the ground. “You shouldn’t even bloody bother!”
How rude, I thought, glaring up in indignation. I picked myself up and he shoved me down again.
“You loutish cur,” I snarled, attempting to rise once more.
With a kick to the chest, he grounded me yet again and I clutched at my chest, gasping for breath.
“Stop it,” Gwin yelled, flailing at Rudne with his fist.
Rudne grabbed the fist and twisted Gwin’s arm around, then punched him in the stomach. “Stay out of this,” he snapped, releasing Gwin’s arm. “It’s none of your bloody business.”
Gwin groaned and doubled over to the ground.
He had hurt Gwin. How dare he hurt Gwin! I sprang at Rudne, jabbing his arms and stomach with my balled fists, kicking him in the shins, shouting, “You leave him alone.”
A smashing bright light and ear-splitting bang smote the air above, sending tiny sparkles showering down upon us.
“Enough,” Skile thundered, his jade-topped staff stretched to the sky.
Rudne and I froze, and Gwin hugged himself, staring up at the raining sparks in awe.
“If you children insist upon acting like a pack of mongrel dogs,” Skile roared, “then I shall see to it that you become such.” Then his voice softened and he waved his finger back and forth. “Be nice to one another and let me work in peace.” He shook his head and glanced to the sky before he turned to retreat back into the house.
Rudne began to laugh, but it held no mirth.
I glared at him.
“I was only testing you,” he said. “I’m not about to waste my time teaching you to be a warrior if you’re just going to whimper and cry if you get hurt. You’ve got spunk. You passed the test.”
I went and knelt beside Gwin, putting my arm around his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Are you?”
“Yes.” I looked back up at Rudne, wishing I could wipe that smirk off his face. “You will teach me then?”
“As my uncle teaches me, I will teach you. And when it’s time to join the King’s Service, I will make sure you get in.”
“How will you make sure?”
“You leave that to me. I am my uncle’s favorite. He will do anything I ask. Gwin, get on your feet and take the horse to the lake for a drink.”
Reluctantly, Gwin complied, stealing glances back over his shoulder at us as he led the horse to the lake’s edge.
Rudne grabbed my arm, pinching it hard. “I will do these things for you, Elva. That is your name, is it not?”
I nodded.
Rudne continued. “But I won’t bloody do them for nothing.”
“What do you want from me? I have no money.”
“But you have the power of magic. So you will give me yourself. You will swear bondage to me, Elva.” He thumped my chest with his finger. “You will be my own, personal wizard, and you will deny me nothing that I ever ask of you.”
I wrenched free of his hold. “I will do no such thing. I am a freewoman, and I will remain that way.”
“Then you will never be a warrior, and I have wasted a day coming out here.”
Who else would teach me the skill of sword mastery? Certainly not Skile. And Gwin could not. Rudne was my only hope. But could I bind myself over to him? Perhaps I could. But only for a time. Only until I needed him no more.
I stood tall with my chin jutted out. “I want to be a warrior, Rudne.”
“How badly do you want it?”
“Bad enough to swear bondage to you.”
Rudne gave a smug, crooked smile. “Raise your hand and swear in the name of the king.”
I raised my hand to the sky, speaking low. “In the name of King Tilla, I swear my bondage to you, Rudne, until such time—”
“No untils, Elva,” Rudne broke in, grabbing my fingers, squeezing them hard. “This is forever. Hah! I now have my very own wizard.”
Only until I become a warrior, you wart. Only until then.
“I’ll come back in the spring,” Rudne told me. “Until then, you need to build your strength. Run. Jump. Throw stones. Lift logs. Your arms are frail. You need muscle. Work on it. There’s no sense in starting before you’re capable of sustaining yourself throughout training.”
“Are you calling me weak?”
“I’m saying you need to put your bloody conjures and potions aside once in a while and strengthen your body. In the heat of battle you may not have time to cast a spell, wizard girl, so you’d better be strong enough to swing a sword.”
There was merit in his words, and throughout the winter I spent much time
outdoors, running through the woods or along the shore, climbing trees and heaving stones. Skile gave me an axe, suggesting that I put my wasted energy to use by cutting wood for the fire, which I did.
“I don’t understand why, if you can wield magic, you would want to wield a sword,” Skile said.
“If it takes both weapons to achieve one’s ends,” I tried to explain without revealing too much, “then both weapons must be mastered.”
“But do you intend to use these weapons for good, Elva?”
“I intend to use them for the good of my heart.”
“And your heart tells you that wielding a sword is what is best for it?”
“That is what it tells me, yes.”
He shook his head with a deep sigh of exasperation. “It is such a crude, common weapon, Elva. A weapon of crude, common men. It seems such a wasteful expense of your time and energies that could be put to more effective use.”
“My father was a warrior, Skile. I want to be like him.”
“You want to be dead? He is dead because he depended upon a sword, you know. Magic would’ve been of more use to him.”
“I will use magic. And I will use a sword. And I do not intend to die, but I will gain respect.”
“You will only gain respect if you use them with honor, Elva. There is honor in your heart. Sometimes you must ignore everything else and simply listen to the truth and honor within your own heart.”
True to his word, Rudne returned in the spring. He brought Gwin with him and Gwin patiently watched as Rudne gave me a small wooden sword with which to use for practice. He instructed me on proper thrusts and cuts, evasive footwork, and maintenance and care of the weapon. Throughout the day, we spent our time on the wold, practicing the fight, and after he and Gwin had to depart for home, I spent my free time strengthening my muscles and practicing with the wooden sword.
They returned several times that year and I found that truly, I did not care for Rudne at all. He was brutal and arrogant and treated Gwin like a lackey. Gwin never complained, but I could see the unrest it caused on his soul.
Rudne was a hard teacher who had no qualms about hurting me during our parries, and when he would leave, I’d bear the cuts and bruises of our lesson for days. Only the assurance of Gwin’s gentle presence made me anticipate their visits with any eagerness.
Much as I wanted to learn the use of the sword, I could have hoped for a teacher with more patience and compassion. With any compassion, for that matter, for it seemed Rudne had none. The day we came upon a fledgling chick that had fallen from its nest, Gwin suggested we try to put it back into the nest. Rudne promptly picked up the bird and twisted its head off, then tossed the pieces at Gwin, laughing his heartless laugh. Gwin said not a word. He simply knelt and buried the unfortunate thing.
But I truly believe I saw the dark shadow Skile insisted Rudne wore the day we came upon a newborn fawn for he had momentarily turned nearly black. The fawn’s mother was nowhere about, and Gwin and I watched in horror as Rudne took his dirk and proceeded to skin the poor creature alive! I tried unsuccessfully to block its death squeals from my mind as Gwin and I clung to one another in our mutual distress. I felt compelled to keep my tears in check, unwilling to allow Rudne to witness any weakness, but Gwin cried freely.
Rudne hooked the pelt to his belt and snarled at us in disgust. “Stow it. Animals don’t feel pain.”
I couldn’t agree with him, for I knew differently. I knew they could. I knew they could feel many of the very same things I myself felt and I wished I didn’t need him, but the hot spot inside my chest knew that I did. That burning ember knew that I could endure anything that would help me see it to its flaming completion.
It was during that winter that Gwin’s mother died, and when he returned with Rudne in the spring, he was sullen and withdrawn. Despite her cruelty, he had loved her, and I tried to console him, but Rudne refused to allow it.
“Death happens,” he said. “Get used to it.”
“How can you be so cold?” I snapped.
“A man can’t go around sniveling every time someone bloody dies,” Rudne said. “I certainly wouldn’t do it. But then,” he motioned toward Gwin, “this lank-sleeve isn’t a real man anyway.”
My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that. “That is a horrible thing to say, Rudne.”
“Truth can be a horrible thing, Elva. And if you don’t know that by now, then you’d better learn.”
It was a lesson I had already learned. Long ago in a hidden grotto.
“Do not argue because of me,” Gwin spoke. “Rudne is right, Elva.”
I stared at Gwin in disbelief while Rudne gave a triumphant laugh.
“He knows what he is,” Rudne said. “And what he is not. What he will never be.”
“How can you let him talk about you this way?” I shouted at Gwin, frustrated that he refused to defend himself.
“Because the truth is a horrible thing. Because death does happen, and because I grieve when death happens and was not born whole, that makes me less than a man.”
Oh, the anguish of his soul was lamenting so loudly it made my ears ring. Gwin turned and headed for the lakeshore.
“Gwin,” I cried, preparing to follow.
“Leave him be,” Rudne said, grasping my arm.
“No!” I wrenched free and raced to catch up to my friend.
“Leave me alone,” he said. “Go back to your sword play.”
“Those things Rudne said are not true,” I said. “You are twice the man he’ll ever be.”
He turned and gazed at me. “Go back and practice, Elva.” His voice was calm and unharried. He gave a quick wink and a smile. “Sometimes Rudne just needs to be appeased.”
Rudne and Gwin returned often over the following years, and each time Rudne left, I possessed a newfound skill or technique.
Between Rudne’s visits, Skile continued teaching me how to control and use the powers I possessed. With enough concentration, I could cause objects to move at my will. I could entice deer, birds, and squirrels to come to me, if I could but catch their eye. I would listen to what they had to say before setting them free, and wonder at their complexities, but such exercises exhausted me. No matter how proficient I became, it never ceased to tire me. It was a power I would have to use sparingly.
Before I knew it, I had entered my eighth year with Skile. The forest was ablaze with fiery autumn. Rudne and Gwin had come early in the day, and as usual, Gwin patiently watched as Rudne and I battled one another with our wooden blades throughout the better part of the day.
“You are doing well,” Rudne praised me when we finished. Such praise was rare and I soaked it in. Ordinarily, he only pointed out my failings.
“Come, Gwin,” he called. “We need to go now.”
“Can you stay just a bit longer?” I asked. “I’d like to speak with Gwin alone for a time.” Seldom did Rudne allow the two of us any time to ourselves and I was feeling an incredible urge to be with Gwin and only Gwin.
He must have been feeling generous, for after he gauged the sun’s position in the sky, he heaved a disgusted sigh. “Take a few minutes. But not very long.” He glared at Gwin. “We still have a long ride home.”
With a smile on my face, I clasped Gwin’s hand, leaving Rudne alone with his horse as I escorted my friend to the lakeshore. Sandpipers fled before us in the late afternoon chill.
“What did you want to talk about?” Gwin asked.
“Nothing in particular,” I told him. “I just wanted to spend some time alone with you. Away from him.”
We both glanced back. Rudne stood beside his horse, staring at us.
“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Gwin said. “He only puts up with me because of you.”
“I don’t think he likes anyone very much. Except perhaps himself. Come. Let’s go behind these rocks where he can’t see us. Even though we’re alone, we’re not. Not with him watching us like that.”
Han
d in hand we walked toward the mound of stones upon the shore. Gwin’s hand was warm and strong and his touch made my heart flutter. He was looking and sounding more like a man every time I saw him and it made me feel bubbly and flushed, though not an uncomfortable feeling. It was more just an odd desire to spend more time alone with him.
We reached the rocks and with Rudne’s view obscured, it finally felt as if we were truly alone.
“This is better, isn’t it?” I asked.
Gwin nodded.
“I wish you could live out here with me, Gwin. Then I could see you all the time and I wouldn’t have to miss you.”
“Skile wouldn’t like that very much, would he?”
“No. He prefers to be alone. He only took me in because I have a power that fascinates him.”
Gwin was smiling, and that dimpled grin held the promise of a secret.
“What is it that makes you smile so?” I asked.
He chuckled. “You have a power that fascinates a lot of people, Elva.”
“Is that good, or bad?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you know what fascinates me?”
“What?”
“You.”
“Me?”
I nodded.
“Why?” he asked.
I shrugged and leaned against the cool gray granite behind me, absently curling my hair about my finger. “Because you’re handsome. And kind. And … I don’t know. Just because.”
He reached over and gently stroked my hair. “Do you remember the song I made for you?”
“How could I forget?”
“I made you another. Would you like to hear it?”
I lightly punched him in the arm. “Don’t be a wag, Gwin. Of course I want to hear it.”
He bent and plucked a single flower from the cluster of blue succory that grew beside the stones, offering it to me in a shy, yet definite manner. As I took the blossom from his hand, he clasped my hand and his voice began whispering through the air like the velvety touch of the wind in a soulful, enchanting melody that spun my heart like a whirly:
“A gentle soul enraptures me
A wandering spirit free.
Entwine me with your fiery love
The Legacy of Skur: Volume One Page 33
