Betrayal

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he replied curtly and, without looking back, he returned to the table where he picked up his sword and cloak and disappeared into the street.

  An almost audible sigh of relief swept through the inn.

  ‘How did you know?’ Alyssa had finally found her voice.

  ‘Know what, child?’

  ‘That I needed your help. He was…he was about to—’ She choked back a sob.

  ‘Hush, Alyssa. Not here. Let’s go now…it’s safe outside,’ said Sorrel tenderly.

  They walked in silence towards the Green, both shaken. People were strolling in small bunches towards the circus tent. All around them was excited conversation and eruptions of happy laughter but the women’s earlier buoyant mood had burst with the incident at the inn; neither knew quite what to say.

  Just before reaching the entrance to Cirq Zorros Alyssa stopped, puzzlement creasing her forehead. ‘You didn’t answer me. How did you know I needed saving from that…that monster? How is it that he did not scry me out the instant I cast? Why am I not already bridled?’

  Sorrel knew she would have to be careful. ‘We must talk, Alyssa, but not now. People are watching and this is a conversation best had in private.’

  So…talk to me privately, Alyssa thumped into Sorrel’s head. Her eyes blazed their anger and Sorrel was caught unguarded by the strong cast.

  They moved in awkward silence to an empty bench beneath one of Fragglesham’s elms and sat down. It would not have mattered if anyone else had shared it for no one could hear their conversation.

  How long have you known? Alyssa demanded.

  There was no point in trying to appease her anger, Sorrel decided. It was easier to allow it to spend itself.

  Since the beginning, she answered.

  Why the secrecy?

  Well…I was afraid at first, she lied.

  Alyssa snapped at her. Of what?

  Of discovering someone else empowered. I have avoided the few sentients I’ve met in my life…we don’t last long in Goth’s society if we admit what we are. Better to remain anonymous. But you were different. You…well, you touched something in me. The daughter I’ve never had, perhaps. I sensed your pain. The careful way you’ve hidden your power all your life. Your need for someone to love you.

  Sorrel reached out and touched Alyssa’s face. You looked so forlorn and helpless that day I stopped by your cottage, my heart just melted for a child I knew I could help. She stopped talking and dropped her hand back into her lap, despising her ability to lie so easily.

  Alyssa did not try to hide the tears. Why did you come to my cottage?

  One of the folk in the town mentioned you dabbled with the potions and as I was low on my stores I thought I might be able to replenish some of my staple herbs.

  She hated herself for hoodwinking the girl so effortlessly.

  Alyssa sniffed. And so we’re going to this…this…Academie because we are sentient?

  Ah, so she was listening, Sorrel thought to herself. Clever girl.

  We’re going there to protect you, my child. You are strong with this power. I have not felt you use it until that moment when you screamed. I too am shocked as to why that butcher Goth cannot detect your or my skills but we have to be careful. In the Academie we can be safe for a while and you can find the peace you want.

  Alyssa stood and looked out across the colourful pennants, watching excited Fragglesham folk filing in through the theatrical awnings. Why are you doing this for me? Her tone was no longer aggressive.

  Sorrel paused. She took a noticeable breath. Because I once had a son. I will not discuss him with you apart from now. He was found to be sentient. Powerful. He was punished at the start of his life for it. I lost a son I worshipped, a husband I adored and the happy life I led. Now I roam Tallinor, nothing more than a gypsy myself, offering cures for people’s ailments but not getting involved with their lives. I grow older and ever emptier. Perhaps before I die I can put an end to my bitterness and open up my heart once more to someone. Maybe the gods chose you for me, Alyssa.

  The girl shivered. She recalled a saying her father had quoted whenever he shivered unexpectedly—that the gods were walking on his grave. She understood that sentiment now as she listened to the old woman’s serious words.

  She turned towards Sorrel and bent to clasp her hands. She kissed the woman softly on the cheek and whispered Thank you.

  Sorrel smiled, her sharp eyes softening. Now let’s get you to this circus, child, before we become too maudlin. We beat Goth today—there are few, if any, who could claim that. We must celebrate!

  The famous horns of Cirq Zorros which had been calling its audience to order suddenly blasted even louder, as if in answer to Sorrel’s cry for a celebration. This time both women laughed as they picked up their skirts and made their way to the large tent. They pushed through the theatrically draped curtains to the main arena and squeezed into a small space still available. Sorrel silently cursed the hardness of the bench but Alyssa barely noticed it.

  Her sense of the girl’s power, and knowledge that her magic was undetectable by the vile Goth, confirmed in Sorrel’s mind that they were doing the right thing. She fought her anxiety at blindly following Merkhud’s orders as he orchestrated the capture of these two bright young people. Deep down she detested herself for manipulating the girl so adeptly, and she knew Merkhud would have toyed with the young scribe with even greater subtlety. But their purpose was far bigger than the lives of these two youngsters; far bigger than all of them. And she trusted Merkhud. They had suffered so much to come this far. He was totally committed to his quest and Sorrel believed that while his carefully plotted plans to ‘own’ these two people might appear cruel and calculating, his efforts were true to his cause of finding the One.

  Sorrel grasped that Alyssa was important to that cause but she would have to be patient before she found out why. This girl, who was on the verge of blossoming into an astonishingly beautiful woman, would have her part to play when the time came, of that Sorrel was now sure. What that was and when it would be, no one yet knew.

  She was dragged from her thoughts when the horns stopped blaring and a hush smothered the loud voices. The sconces were doused and only a few well-placed lanterns remained lit, throwing the vaulted tent into a broody dimness. Music struck up—all of it discordant which suited the first act. A troupe of oddly dressed dwarves scuttled into the arena, tumbling and twisting and throwing things at one another. They attempted to dance gracefully but it soon fell into buffoonery and their balancing acts ended just as unsuccessfully. Running through the audience they knocked off hats, stole food, sat on people’s laps and made the children squeal.

  As fast as it had begun, it stopped. This time all the lanterns were doused and the arena plunged into darkness. A single candle flame revealed the gleeful, painted face of one of the dwarves. Then another was lit to show the leering face of a second dwarf standing on the shoulders of the first. And so it went until ten candles were flickering and a column of eerily lit, ugly faces punctuated the dark. The audience showed its appreciation.

  The dwarves, as one, put their stubby fingers to their mouths to quiet everyone and they were obeyed. A voice boomed into the darkness and six torches were lit in unison to reveal the Kingdom’s tallest man, higher than the column of dwarves and balancing expertly upon enormous stilts.

  He began to take great strides as he bellowed loudly: ‘Welcome, good folk of Fragglesham, and our thanks for coming to our humble show.’

  Ringmaster Zorros paused and was rewarded with the applause he knew would come. He resumed his striding, waving his arms and explaining what strange and colourful sights they would behold this evening.

  They would see brangos, painfully shy, cave-dwelling creatures that had been tamed and taught an elegant dance routine; fearsome, horned jubbas from the north with women riding their backs; posturers who would contort their bodies into impossible positions; and strong men who could support weights
that no single man should be capable of lifting.

  The audience thrilled at the woman whose piercing scream could shatter a looking glass; a pair of men who, blindfolded and balanced on a spinning wheel, hurled knives at a third, their blades barely missing him. But it was the snake swallower, a young lad, who brought the most applause as he allowed the creature to slither deep into his throat.

  Finally, Zorros introduced the act which most had heard about and come to witness. The Flying Foxes were a family of acrobats and trapeze artists, ranging from a scrawny five-year-old girl through to a stunning man, Saxon, who looked like the father of the troupe.

  Alyssa fancied that whenever Saxon cast his eye over the audience he appeared to look directly at her…into her. She watched him run gracefully along a tightrope while balancing three of the smaller children on his shoulders and head. The audience loved it. He was certainly a fine-looking man with golden hair that touched his broad, powerful shoulders. His body was lean and oiled to make his muscles all the more impressive. He wore only black pantaloons, pulled in at his waist by a gold plait, and soft gold slippers.

  The Flying Foxes’ feats became more and more dangerous and occurred at higher and higher levels. Alyssa held her breath each time any one of the family leapt into the air, trusting that Saxon would catch them. He was deft and confident. He never missed. To Alyssa they looked like angels flying around in their sparkling costumes with their wild blond hair streaming behind them.

  The music changed to become more dramatic and the elder members of the family began to climb a scaffold high into the peak of the tent. There came a drum roll as Saxon swung strongly on a swing. He launched himself into the air, turning somersaults before catching his colleague who came flying from the opposite side of the tent in a huge arc. The three males performed a number of death-defying passes, their movements becoming more complex and frightening. Then Zorros reappeared in the arena’s centre.

  ‘And now we require someone from our audience tonight to fly with the Foxes,’ he invited.

  Hands flew eagerly into the air, desperately trying to catch the maestro’s attention, while parents desperately tried to ensure they went unnoticed.

  ‘I think we should ask Master Saxon to choose, don’t you?’ asked Zorros.

  ‘I wish he would choose me, Sorrel,’ Alyssa yelled, recklessly throwing her own arms into the air with all the other would-be trapeze novices.

  ‘Sit down, child, I beg you. Truly that’s the last thing we need. I don’t think my heart could bear any more excitement today.’

  Saxon descended, graceful and strong, down the ropes which his wife—as Alyssa guessed she must be—began to spin harder and harder from the ground. In doing so the woman moved him in an ever-widening arc around the tent until he was circling wide and low above the audience.

  ‘Choose!’ commanded Zorros.

  The audience picked up the chant. ‘Choose…choose…choose…’ they chorused.

  Alyssa was yelling along with everyone; she dug Sorrel with her elbow to encourage her to join in, and drummed her feet on the boards.

  Saxon Fox continued to fly through the noise. With almost imperceptible adjustments the woman slowed the rotation of the ropes until he skimmed just above the audience’s heads. Just when it seemed unthinkable that he could slow down any more without falling out of the air Saxon made one final, impossibly low pass and grabbed Alyssa’s outstretched hand, lifting her smoothly with him. Alyssa knew it was Sorrel shrieking below.

  ‘He chose!’ bellowed Zorros and the audience roared its approval.

  Alyssa looked down and almost gagged.

  ‘Don’t look down. Look ahead, or at least at me,’ Saxon said. And when she turned to look at her captor’s handsomely lined face with its dark violet eyes, he smiled widely and whispered across a link he sliced open in her mind. Don’t be scared.

  Then they were climbing into the highest reaches of the tent. Alyssa was disorientated by the height and the fact that Saxon had slung her over his back like a sack of flour. She must be mistaken. Surely he had not spoken using a link? She must have imagined it in all the excitement.

  Saxon plonked her next to his two strapping lads and then swung off towards a distant platform. Trust me! he called into her head.

  She was not mistaken. Fox had linked with her. Goth was sitting in an inn five hundred steps away and this madman was using magic on her.

  ‘Don’t look down!’ Oris, the eldest, repeated, steadying her as she swayed.

  His brother Milt, who looked disarmingly like his father, squeezed her arm. ‘He won’t drop you. Just make your body go slack and look forward to wild applause.’

  Alyssa’s fear caught up with her. ‘Are you all mad?’

  Both boys laughed. Just like their father, she thought.

  ‘We do this in every town. There’s always one empty-headed victim like you who wants to fly. Just don’t panic and he…’ Oris pointed to Saxon, who was some way below them now and swinging furiously on his beam, ‘…will catch you.’

  ‘Catch me?’ Her voice had become squeaky. ‘You’re going to throw me to him?’

  ‘What did you think we were going to do?’ they said in unison, each grabbing one of her arms and jumping off their platform on a large swing.

  Alyssa screamed her protest. Below, the audience echoed her terror. The drums were rolling loudly and she could smell the wax of the candles and soot from the sconces. She dangled from the boys’ arms, feeling them pulling her hard and forcing her body to swing to precisely the right momentum.

  ‘Get ready!’ Milt called to her ominously.

  Come, Alyssa, whispered Saxon oh so gently in her head. Trust me, I’ve been sent to protect you.

  Alyssa wondered in that sharply held second what he meant but before she could reply Oris and Milt swung her hard, upwards and outwards. They let go. Her body began to spin into helpless somersaults and so she tumbled, shrieking and plummeting to certain death she was sure.

  Tor! She cast out wildly but the noise of the audience lifted towards her, she felt strong arms plucking her from the air and cradling her, then she and Saxon were swinging back and then forwards together.

  He was upside down, hanging onto his beam by bent legs. She had no idea which way up she was but she looked into his eyes and the terror stopped.

  Who are you? she pressed into his mind.

  I’m yours, he replied, deliberately vague. Now take your applause, my lady.

  Miraculously Alyssa found she had been lowered to the ground and watched Saxon being pulled back upwards, hanging now by his feet.

  Curtsy for the people, he reminded as he drew away.

  It was true, the crowd had gone wild. Even Sorrel was on her feet and clapping. Alyssa curtsied but when she looked up all she saw was Goth’s ruined face twisted into a scowl. He knew she had seen him so he licked his lips deliberately. She felt a chill crawl across her body and all the excitement shrivelled in her stomach.

  She cast, no longer afraid of him scrying her out. Goth’s here, Sorrel!

  Sorrel was careful not to whip her head around too quickly. We’ll be careful to get lost in the crowd. Calmly come back here now, she said.

  Alyssa nodded. As she turned to watch the family taking its applause, Saxon caught her look and winked, making her blush. In her embarrassment she did not notice the three people pushing into spaces behind Sorrel, eyeing Alyssa rather than the entertainment.

  ‘Let’s steal out now,’ Alyssa whispered as she found Sorrel again.

  ‘Once we’re through the curtains put this on,’ the old girl said, handing Alyssa a large shawl. It was drab and brown. ‘Cover up as much of that dress as you can and hide your hair with this.’ She gave Alyssa a thick leather thong and a bonnet.

  ‘Where did you have all these hidden?’

  ‘In my bag of tricks.’ Sorrel patted the battered cloth bag she habitually carried. ‘Now, let’s go.’

  Alyssa felt less nervous once her hair was safely
hidden beneath the bonnet and the surprisingly large shawl was draped to disguise her yellow skirt. She stopped trying to glimpse that terrifying face and allowed herself to relax and walk amongst the crowd, even chatting to strangers about the evening’s entertainment.

  Sorrel too began to feel less threatened now that they were anonymous in the crowd. At the yell of ‘Fire!’ though she felt a claw of fear grab her. She turned to see the sumptuous awnings of the circus tent, just steps behind them, licked by flames. People began to scream and those still trooping out from the tent began to panic, and then they all began to run, shoving and trampling those in front. In seconds the southern entrance was ablaze and in the space of a heartbeat Alyssa’s hand was torn from Sorrel’s grip and the girl was pushed sideways in a surge of people.

  Get to the inn! was all Sorrel could think to say across the link in the panic, though she realised that Alyssa’s retreating back was being carried away from the town as people desperately tried to escape the fire which was eating its way ferociously towards the tent’s peak and across its ropes. The crying of terrified animals joined the panicked screams of people. Sorrel saw a child fall; when she tried to grab the small girl she was pushed over herself. Feet trampled her.

  Light preserve you, Alyssa was her last thought before something hit her head and she plunged into darkness.

  Sorrel awoke groggy. She looked around and could not place where she was. It took a moment or two before she recognised the concerned face of Saxon Fox peering into hers.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he said gently. There was no bright grin on his face any more.

  She sat up as quickly as her old bones would allow and was rewarded with pain. She winced.

  ‘Easy, old woman. I’m Saxon Fox, from Cirq Zorros. What’s left of it anyway.’

  ‘I know who you are,’ she croaked. ‘Where’s my granddaughter?’

  ‘I hoped you’d tell me.’

  She shook her head gingerly. ‘We became separated in the panic. What happened?’

  The performer sighed. ‘Who knows? One minute we were taking our bows, the next the tent was on fire.’ He shrugged in the distinctive manner which could belong to only one race of people.