by Terry Brooks
He straightened but did not flinch. “I didn’t like him talking about you that way. I didn’t like him period. How can you trust people like that?”
She was so mad she could have spit. Imric might have powerful gifts, but his ability to navigate certain social situations was sorely lacking. Couldn’t he see what she had been doing? Couldn’t he understand that letting Closteralt brag a bit about their relationship was harmless rhetoric and might even have resulted in getting them more information? But instead, he had bulled in and turned her negotiation with the other man adversarial. Could Imric really not understand that she knew how to handle herself in these situations?
But then, abruptly, she realized that he couldn’t. He didn’t understand any of it. Shut away at Paranor with no companions and no experience in the ways of men and women, he was woefully ignorant. He reacted the way a child would—coming to her defense, championing her virtue, standing up for her character. He saw himself as her protector in all things, and not just the physical.
She was suddenly ashamed, for she could see the hurt in his face and hear the pain in his explanation. It was as if she had kicked a puppy. She stepped back quickly, giving herself space and a moment’s time in which to recover.
Her apology came slowly. “I overreacted. You couldn’t have known what I was thinking. Forgive me.”
He shook his head, not looking at her. “There is nothing to forgive. I should have done as you say. I should have stayed out of it. I keep thinking that you’re vulnerable, but I have to remember how strong and capable you are. I wish I were better at remembering, but I don’t know that I ever will be.”
“Yes, you will,” she said, reaching for his arm, linking it with her own, and tugging hard on it. “I’ll make sure of it.”
They began walking again, side by side, heads lowered as they put one foot in front of the other and tried to think of something to say. “You don’t think he will betray us later?” Imric asked finally.
She shook her head. “It would come back to haunt him if he does. You heard what he said about the witch. And my father isn’t much better.”
“It’s up to this boy, then, to tell us what we need to know?”
“It looks that way. We have to find him first, and then see if he actually has anything to tell us. And it would help if he were sober when we found him, too.”
They were in luck. They found the Weathervane not far ahead, a shabby building badly in need of repair. It was another tavern, of course, a darkened and unwelcoming gathering place for those who most likely could afford no better. There were windows with the glass broken out, windows boarded over, and windows with the shutters closed against the outside world. A pair of doors opened to the interior, and within the bar and serving area—a dim and dingy space half the size of the Burning Man—smoke clung to the ceiling in a thick, airless fog.
Wasting no time, Leofur walked over to a worn-down serving girl standing at one end of the bar and pressed some credits into her hand. “Olin?”
The girl looked at the credits, then at Leofur and Imric. “You don’t intend to hurt him, do you?” she asked.
Leofur couldn’t believe it made any difference to this sad-faced girl, but she shook her head anyway. “We just want to talk to him.”
The girl nodded hopefully. “Upstairs, second door on the left.” She glanced around, as if someone might be watching. “But maybe you should knock first. He’s not alone.”
Leofur nodded and walked over to the stairway the girl had indicated, a very steep, narrow set of steps that made her wonder how anyone could make it up after more than one drink. But she supposed that the promise of even momentary passion gave you sufficient strength.
“Stay close,” she whispered over her shoulder, wanting Imric to feel his protective presence was needed.
And maybe it was. Who knew what was up there?
They climbed to the second floor and found a darkened hallway only marginally wider than the stairs. At the second door, they stopped and Leofur knocked softly. “Olin?”
There was a rustling sound, footfalls, and the door opened a few inches. A face peered out. “I’m busy. Who are you?”
Not much of a boy, this one, she thought, in spite of what Closteralt claimed. A wasted youth with sallow skin, pinched features, an unkempt appearance, and furtive eyes. Oddly, he reminded her of Closteralt. She reached out and placed more of her credits into his hand. “We need to talk. It’s important.”
He looked at the credits, just as the serving girl had, and then at her. “Come back later. We can talk then.”
He started to close the door, but she blocked it with her boot. “This can’t wait. We’ll talk now.”
Olin peered at her suspiciously. “I don’t know who you are. I’ve never seen you before.”
“I’m not here to cause you trouble. All I want to do is talk.”
“Others have said as much, but never meant it.”
“Well, I’m not those others.” She was growing impatient. “Do you see my friend, standing just behind me? If you don’t want to see a whole lot more of him up close, you will open the door. Right now.”
Olin hesitated, then stepped back and let her push the door open. He was half dressed. The woman in the bed was not. She took one look at Imric, wrapped herself in a blanket, then snatched up her clothes and went out the door in a rush.
The young man looked after her for a moment, then walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking dejected. He picked up a glass of ale from the nightstand and drank deeply. “I won’t see that money back. Or what it was supposed to buy. What do you want?”
He did not sound inebriated. He sounded perfectly sober, if a bit sullen. He did not seem alarmed or particularly angry. If anything, he seemed resigned. Even without knowing who they were or what they were doing there, he seemed unsurprised they had come.
“We want to know how to find the Murk Witch,” Leofur replied, watching his eyes. “She has taken our friend, and we want her back.”
The young man’s stare was blank. “If she’s got your friend, then your friend isn’t coming back.”
His words were stark, delivered in a flat tone—an implacable declaration that did not leave room for argument. Leofur went cold inside, but she pressed on anyway.
“She’s coming back if we go get her. You’ve lived in the swamp. You’ve lived with the witch. You must know how to reach her.”
Olin sighed, his features tightening. “I know nothing of the sort. Whoever told you otherwise is wrong. Melis means something to me, but that doesn’t change the facts. I’ve already tried to find her. I’ve tried repeatedly. I know the Sink. I know every inch of it. But even that doesn’t help. I’ve searched extensively, but I cannot find her, and I know now I never will. She is lost to me.”
Leofur exchanged a quick glance with Imric. “Why were you trying to find her in the first place?” she asked.
Olin shrugged. “I love her. I’ve always loved her—from the moment she took me in and made me her creature. I knew what she was doing. I knew what she wanted from me. It didn’t matter. She was so beautiful. She was kind and she cared about me. She was like no one I had ever met. I would have done anything for her.”
“Yet you left her?” Leofur was trying to understand. “If you loved her, then why did you…?”
His head snapped up. “No! I didn’t leave her. I would never have left her! I was hers forever. She was the one who left me!”
“How did you come to be with her in the first place?” Imric asked suddenly. “Weren’t you just a boy?”
Olin looked pained. “Just a boy. True enough, that’s what I was. My family was dead, I was alone, I had nowhere to go, and she took me in. I don’t know how she found me, but she did. She brought me to her home, and she raised me. She kept me until she grew tired of me, and then she cast me out.”
“How did she ‘cast you out,’ Olin?” Leofur asked, sitting down on the bed next to him. “How did that happen?”<
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He didn’t look at her. “She drugged me, carried me to the edge of the swamp, and left me. I thought I could find my way back to her easy enough. I knew the Sink well. It was my home, too. But I couldn’t. I tried and tried. I nearly died trying, but I couldn’t find a trace of her. So I found my way here instead.”
“She grew tired of you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m tired of talking about it.”
“Wait. Why do you say you were her creature? That seems an odd way to refer to yourself.”
His face turned stony. “I did whatever she wanted me to do. Things I will never talk about with anyone. Things only a creature would do. I amused her. I made her smile.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Now go away. I told you what you wanted to know. I can’t help you. So leave me alone.”
Leofur sighed. “We can’t do that. You seem to be the only one who may be able to help us. If not now, maybe later. We need you to come with us, to go into the swamp and try one more time. This friend, she needs us to rescue her. No one else will, if we don’t. So that’s what we’re going to do.”
He looked at her now. “I already told you. I can’t help.”
“Maybe you only think you can’t help. Maybe once we’re back in the swamp, something will occur to you, something you haven’t thought of before. It’s worth a try.”
“Not to me, it isn’t.” Bitter, disheartened. “I won’t do it.”
“So you don’t want to find Melis again? Wouldn’t you give up everything for another chance to be with her?”
That was Imric speaking, asking a question that Leofur had not thought to ask. She watched the young man hesitate before answering. “I told you…”
“That you’ve given up. We heard. But maybe you should reconsider. We’re here now, and we don’t believe in giving up. Besides, I’m the best tracker you’ve ever met. Maybe with us to help, you might find her this time.”
“But why would she take me back after throwing me out? Why would she even think about it?”
“Because maybe she’s like you. Maybe she knows she made a mistake and wishes she could take it back. Or maybe it’s a test. But if you come to her and tell her how you feel, if you are standing there in front of her asking, how do you know what she will say? How can you ever be sure, if you don’t give it a try?”
A part of Leofur felt as if they were leading the young man on. But Chrysallin’s life was likely at stake, so she kept quiet as Imric continued to push against the boy’s resolve.
“Stranger things have happened,” the shape-shifter continued. “Couples meet, part, and come back together all the time. She loved you once. Why couldn’t she love you again? You are different now. You are grown up. A man. Perhaps that will attract her anew. Perhaps she will see you with fresh eyes.”
Olin shook his head emphatically. “You don’t know how she thinks. You can’t even begin to guess.”
“But you can. Are you sure she wouldn’t take you back? Are you so certain you are willing to forgo our help?”
The boy sat silently for a long time. Leofur and Imric waited him out. He seemed to be weighing his decision, turning it over in his mind, considering its merits and flaws.
“Let me think about it,” he said at last.
“There’s no time for that,” Leofur said quickly.
“There’s tonight, isn’t there? You can’t go into the swamp until it’s daylight, in any case. No one enters the Murk Sink at night, and I have to think about this. Come back at sunrise.”
“You’ll be waiting for us?”
He nodded.
“You won’t try to run?”
He looked at her incredulously. “Run where? There’s nowhere left for me to run. And there’s no reason. Either I go with you or I don’t go anywhere.”
The way he said it convinced her. He was staring at the dead end of his life, the rest of it unchanging, his interest in its outcome so muted that he no longer had hope for himself.
Unless he agreed to what they were asking.
They left him to it.
—
They walked back through the streets of Grimpen Ward to the small airfield and climbed into the cockpit to wait out the night. Neither wanted to stay in the town itself any longer than was necessary. There was a claustrophobic, unsafe feeling to the rooms and buildings, and to the crowds who roamed the streets and alleyways. They knew it would be like that all night if they stayed, and they felt that even in the cramped space of the two-man cockpit, at least they would be out in the open air with the sky spread out above them and the air fresh and clean.
They wrapped up in their blankets, arranged themselves as best they could, and lay back to look up at the sky. Stars were out, bright and reassuring overhead; it was a promise of good weather. The airfield was deserted save for the guards who stood watch over the larger aircraft nearby, but even those few had settled in and gone silent. The lights of Grimpen Ward were a dull yellow against the horizon where they shone above the intervening trees, but the sounds of the inhabitants were muted and distant.
It was as if the world had disappeared, taking all of its many people and creatures with it. It made Leofur feel at peace.
After a long silence, Imric spoke. “Olin might try to run from us.”
She made a face. “He won’t run. He said it himself. He has nowhere to go and no desire to go there. He is lost and doesn’t know how to find the way back.” She looked over. “But you gave him a way to change that. Very clever of you. I think he will decide to go with us.”
“Clever maybe, but not very honest. I don’t think Melis will ever take him back. She doesn’t appear to be someone who regrets the past. I think she will probably kill him if she gets her hands on him.”
“But we won’t let that happen, will we?”
He did not respond right away. He seemed to be thinking it over. “I look at it like this. If nothing changes in his life, he’s already as good as dead.” His words were soft and sad. “If he dies coming with us, he’s no worse off.”
“In your opinion.”
“Not in yours?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of deciding such things for other people. It would be hard enough deciding for myself.”
“Maybe this is something you couldn’t decide for yourself. You might be too close to do so. Maybe you would welcome someone else making the decision.”
She paused. “What are we talking about here? This isn’t just about Olin and the witch, is it?” She made it a statement of fact, challenging him. “What else is it about?”
He was silent a lot longer this time. She had almost decided he wasn’t going to respond at all when he suddenly sat up straight and looked down at her.
“Do you really want me to answer that question?”
Now it was her turn to hesitate. She sat up beside him and looked him in the eyes. “Don’t you want to?”
“If you promise not to judge me. This is you asking, not me offering. I need to know you won’t let my answer change our relationship.”
“How can I promise something like that without knowing what your answer is?”
He lay down again. “Then let it go. Maybe ask again another time when we’ve known each other longer.”
She stared at him for a few moments, irritated and confused, but he had closed his eyes as if intending to go to sleep. She did want to know, of course. She wanted to know everything about him. The details he had shared about his life were sketchy at best, and the nature of his emotional makeup was a cypher. Sure, he was in turmoil. Sure, he had struggled long and hard to accept who and what he was. But how he felt deep down inside, where it counted, about his childhood experiences, his parents, his time at Paranor, and now his time with her, were largely a mystery.
Shades, but he is difficult to fathom! It’s bad enough trying to read Paxon’s moods and thoughts, but Imric is in a class of his own.
She pushed the matter aside and prepared
to join him in sleep. The quiet had returned in the absence of conversation, and the blanket of stars in the dark sky was soothing.
“Leofur,” Imric said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“Do you know why I acted the way I did with Closteralt? The real reason?” His words were so soft that she almost missed them entirely. “It was the tether.”
She glanced over. He was looking directly at her. “The tether joins us. It links us while I am in my shape-shifter form. It allows you to see what I see, to share those experiences with me. And it does the same for me. It ties me to you so that I feel you there with me. If I lose control after shifting, I can count on you to call me back again. You can reach out to me and bring me home. To you. You are my home.”
She was startled. “I don’t consider myself your home.”
“Not in the traditional sense. But emotionally. You provide me with a center. I have no real home or family. I haven’t for years. Tethering provides that for me. The Druids decided that this would be the best way to protect me against my shifter impulses. The ties we have with people are always the strongest. Surely you must feel that with Paxon?”
She nodded. “Of course I do.”
“With you and me, it is a different sort of emotional tie, one generated by mutual dependence. It creates a different kind of closeness. It relies on a sort of blind trust. It isn’t gentle. It is strong and rough and sometimes terrifying. And it is instinctive. It is an almost innate response to choosing life over death, reason over madness. That’s what is always at stake. Do you see?”
“I think so. But what about your response to Closteralt? How is what you’re telling me relevant to that?”
“Almost everything that happens between us is influenced by the tether. Not just when we are linked, but afterward, as well. Closteralt’s possessiveness generated an immediate response. I slipped into protective mode even without intending to, without consciously thinking about it. It was a reaction to a feeling of anger and concern and I don’t know what else. I felt as if I had been struck a physical blow. I saw you being threatened. I was afraid you could be harmed. You are my home, my safety line. I could not stand by without acting.”
