The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Again the harsh laugh. Wyl realised he had not sufficiently impressed upon Elspyth the need for secrecy. ‘It’s no one else’s fault,’ Wyl said softly. ‘The errors are all mine. I was reckless. I should have let you go in first, tell everyone what had occurred… prepare them.’

  ‘For whatever it’s worth, Wyl, I’m not sure anyone would have believed it.’

  ‘Elspyth would have. Ylena might have… given time.’

  Wyl heard the big man shift, made out a bulky shadow near a small clump of slender trees.

  ‘You cannot undo what is done,’ Aremys offered, his voice as gentle as he could make it. He waited for an angry rebuke.

  It came. ‘My sister is dead, Aremys!’ Wyl yelled. ‘And yet she lives. All of my family… dead. Alyd, Gueryn, Lothryn… even Koreldy — someone I liked — all dead. All because of me.’

  The big man grabbed Wyl and pulled him to his feet. He had not counted on Ylena’s body being so light and she all but flew up into his arms. He set Wyl down again, knowing he was lucky he could not see the anger he was sure was blazing in her eyes.

  Still he pursued it. ‘There is nothing you can change about what is done. Nothing! But you can track down this manwitch fellow and learn more about his daughter’s gift. Perhaps it can be reversed — perhaps it can be stopped?’

  ‘Will it ever stop?’ Wyl asked pleadingly in his sister’s voice.

  ‘I don’t know, my friend. But I make you this promise here and now: I will help you in any way I can. You must help yourself, though. None of us understands this magic in you. The only way forward is to discover its secrets. And the manwitch is the only lead you have right now. Go to him.’

  ‘Where do I look?’

  ‘Find the mother, as you had planned. Start there.’

  They heard heavy footsteps and looked around to see the duke, breathing hard from the exertion of climbing the hill. A tiny lantern swung at his side.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he wheezed, knowing it was an absurd question under the circumstances. He raked a hand through his silvered hair. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘We’re all worried about you. The shock of all that has happened, including this foul magic upon you, is taking its toll. What’s more, my good wife has taken charge of proceedings and she can be quite terrifying in full flight. This was my chance to escape.’

  Wyl stepped forward and took the old man’s hand in the Legion’s clasp. ‘This is the hardest one, sir. Giving up my own body was a hundred times easier than taking this one.’

  ‘I am sorry, son. I… I really am at a loss for words. I must accept this tale because I trust that this is really you, but I understand none of it.’

  Wyl shook his head. ‘I’ve had more time to get used to the curse.’

  The duke sat heavily on a small mound. ‘Forgive me, this has been a trying couple of days.’

  ‘It is I who should seek your forgiveness,’ Wyl said, seating himself next to the duke. ‘I know your whole family is suffering, sir. Alyd was the best. His loss is a constant pain in my heart.’

  The old man nodded in the dark. ‘We will grieve later, Wyl, for your sister and for my son. The King is my concern right now. May we speak freely?’

  Wyl nodded. ‘Aremys is as much a part of this as I, sir.’

  Aremys felt relieved to hear it and joined them, seating himself uncomfortably atop the heather.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ the duke commanded, ‘from the beginning.’

  Later, seated at the scrubbed dining table, Wyl faced the rest of the family and their guests. Still shocked, their faces were devoid of expression. Elspyth was trembling. She would not permit Wyl to touch her but her hands instinctively flew to her mouth when she saw him, her eyes betraying all the emotion of these days past and the recognition that Wyl had survived once again. She began to weep and the sound quickly turned to heartfelt sobs, her small frame lurching with each one.

  There was a thick silence in the room as everyone felt her grief. Crys would have liked to put his arms around her, but it was Wyl who enclosed Elspyth in an embrace, holding her tight and kissing her hair.

  ‘It’s all right, Elspyth,’ he said soothingly in Ylena’s voice. ‘I’ll explain everything.’

  Aremys bowed in awkward silence to the duchess; she smiled just as awkwardly back. It was the most either could do without formal introduction. He moved to stand beside Pil. ‘I’m Aremys,’ he whispered for want of anything better to say into the uncomfortable atmosphere.

  ‘Pil,’ came the reply. ‘I travelled with…’ He hesitated, not sure if he could still call her Ylena.

  ‘With the sister?’

  Pil nodded, too distressed to say any more.

  ‘I’ll brew some tea,’ Aleda said. ‘It’s good for shock,’ but only got as far as the hearth.

  Elspyth finally pulled away to look upon the woman holding her. ‘Is it really you? It happened again?’ she asked, wanting to cry more.

  He nodded. ‘Faryl, or Hildyth as you seem to know her, killed Romen as instructed. Little did she know he was cursed.’

  ‘I saw it with my own eyes and yet I don’t want to believe it. Forgive me, but I must insist you prove who you are,’ Elspyth said, suddenly cautious.

  ‘He already has, my girl,’ the duke said. ‘Only a Thirsk would know what he told me at the gatehouse and then on the hill.’ He scratched his head. ‘I think what we all need is not tea but a sherlac, my dear,’ he said to his wife. ‘This is all very confusing and too wild for my old mind.’

  The duchess smiled indulgently at the man she loved. She felt she could never be happy again, but in looking at him she decided that perhaps love alone would get her through this nightmare of death, deception and magic.

  Wyl looked at Elspyth. ‘No, you’re quite right. What can I tell that only Wyl Thirsk could know?’

  She thought a moment. ‘When we escaped from the mountains…’ She had meant to go on but a smile crossed Ylena’s face and the soft voice took over.

  ‘…we had no money. Or so I thought,’ Wyl continued. ‘But you had a purse which you kept beneath your skirts. We stayed at the Penny Whistle in Deakyn and you bought me a horse with all that was left of your money. I left you to somehow make your way to Rittylworth, your heart bursting with grief for a good man, a brave man, we had to leave behind. I am so, so sorry.’

  Her smile of elation dissolved to tears. ‘Oh, Wyl — so much to tell.’

  Aleda decided it was time to take hold of the emotionally charged situation and spoke to the woman who, a short time before, had been her son’s widow, but now it seemed was someone else. ‘You are most welcome again… er, Wyl Thirsk. I hardly understand any of this. It is too horrific to contemplate, but…’

  Wyl bowed formally to the duchess, a woman he had admired since childhood. ‘I remember my father telling me how generous you were to my mother when they were first married, my lady. He never forgot how you helped her choose a gown for a summer ball when she was feeling especially young and daunted having married the man our King called his closest friend. She knew how the Queen laughed at her but you reminded her that she was the reason why Fergys Thirsk never lost a battle. You told her, my lady, that he could not bear the thought of not coming home to the most beautiful and cherished woman in the world.’

  Wyl cleared his throat of the sorrow in his voice. ‘I wish we could have met in less confusing circumstances, my lady, so I could thank you for your kindness.’

  Now it was Aleda’s turn to feel betrayed by her eyes. She returned a gracious curtsy. ‘I would like to have met you as yourself, Wyl Thirsk. Now, I think I need to lie down a time, to think quietly and grasp that this is possible.’ She thought she may weep openly at her next thought, but voiced it anyway. ‘Our son Alyd worshipped you.’

  ‘He was the best friend anyone could ever have, my lady. I am so much less for losing him,’ Wyl replied, softly. ‘I shall avenge his death,’ he added even more softly, but the coldness in his voice left no one in any doubt.
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  TWENTY-THREE

  BEFORE TAKING TO HER own bed, Aleda insisted on making her guests comfortable. Wyl’s sister’s body climbed back into the bed she had left just hours earlier, but it was Wyl not Ylena who agreed to swallow the proffered cup of warmed, sweetened milk.

  ‘What have you put in this?’

  ‘Something to help you sleep,’ Aleda said kindly, fluffing the coverlet about him.

  It felt similar to how his own mother used to tuck him in at night. ‘I wish I could wake up and discover it’s all been a nightmare and everything is as it used to be,’ he admitted.

  She nodded. ‘So do I.’

  He knew she spoke of her adored son. Wyl took her hand. ‘I am sorry I could not save him.’

  Aleda’s eyes watered but she did not give into the sorrow — not yet. ‘He worshipped both you and Ylena. I know his years at Stoneheart were happy because of the Thirsks and I thank you for that. Listen to me, Wyl,’ — he noticed she did not hesitate to call him by his real name and he loved her for it — ‘we cannot bring them back with our tears, but we can make ourselves worthy of them by avenging their innocent deaths. You may blame this Myrren woman for your despair, but there is one true villain here.’ She jabbed her finger in the air.

  ‘Celimus,’ he breathed drowsily, beginning to feel the effects of Aleda’s drug.

  ‘Let us never forget it,’ she said.

  ‘I will kill him, my lady.’ His words in Ylena’s voice were as cold as the snow that fell on the moors in winter.

  ‘And may you feel the weight of my hand behind the blade you wield — and Alyd’s, and Ylena’s, and all those other people you have spoken of… even that woman, Faryl.’

  It was Wyl’s turn to feel his eyes brim. Aleda was well aware it was for Ylena Thirsk that these tears welled.

  ‘She was a brave young woman, son. I am not sure she would ever have come back to being the sweet innocent you remember. She had been through so much and that had drawn out a strength in her that might have surprised you. Despite her fear she showed great courage in escaping Rittylworth and getting herself here on foot. She was every bit a Thirsk and a sister to be proud of. I shall mourn her as the daughter I always wanted. Even in the short time we knew each other, we shared enough to form a special bond.’

  Wyl did not want to cry. He looked away. ‘Do you believe in life after death, my lady?’

  She smiled bravely. ‘I do. And they are together now, Wyl, in Shar’s kingdom. And we shall continue the fight on their behalf.’

  ‘Thank you for all your kindness,’ he said, slipping away towards sleep. ‘What about Faryl’s body?’ he murmured.

  ‘We will take care of it,’ she assured. ‘Dream peacefully, Wyl Thirsk,’ she added and kissed him softly.

  Wyl’s dreams were anything but peaceful.

  He saw a barn. Its doors were closed. From behind them came the fearful noise of a man screaming. His demented shrieks sounded as though they were filled with gut-wrenching pain.

  Then the thought Help me came crashing into Wyl’s mind.

  Wyl did not know how to cast a message back. He tried, begging the man to tell him who he was, where he was. But nothing seemed to get through. The terrible wail continued and the more Wyl tried to escape it, the louder it became until it filled every recess of his head, every ounce of his being.

  He ran — or thought he did — but it followed. When he stopped and tried to face it, he found he had run nowhere but was still looking at the closed barn. He realised now that dark magic lay behind those barred doors.

  A new voice urged at him. It was mellow, kind, and seemed to be coming from far away. Turn towards me, son.

  I can’t, Wyl thought, straining against the first man’s screams in his mind.

  Be strong. Turn away from it and look towards me.

  It took all of his will and courage, but as soon as he tore his eyes away from the barn doors the shrieking ceased.

  He felt his body go limp with relief, realised he was breathing hard. Who are you?

  I am he whom you seek, the voice said, gently.

  Myrren’s father?

  Yes.

  Where are you?

  Come to me.

  How? I don’t know where you are.

  You will find me. There was a pause. He heard the man mutter something unintelligible, then: I am where no one else dares go.

  Why can’t you just tell me?

  Trust the dog, he said, his voice fading.

  Come back! Wyl cried but the speaker had gone. Wyl had wanted to ask who had been screaming but it was too late. He had not even asked Myrren’s father for his name.

  His dreams continued. A new vision swirled before him. He saw Valentyna this time. She was approaching him and his heart leapt. She looked as exquisite as ever in a blood-red gown and yet her expression was haunted. He tried to smile, wanted to reach out his hands towards her, but he could not.

  Forgive me, she whispered and then he screamed.

  Wyl woke with a start, his mind blank. He could not remember what had frightened him. His nightgown was damp and his eyelids were sticky. He pulled his legs from under the sheets and felt the touch of the rug beneath his feet — his shapely feet. The night’s events came back. He was Ylena. He felt a wave of dizziness and disappointment that the truth had not been a nightmare he could escape from. He was living the nightmare.

  Shivering, he moved unsteadily towards the basin of water on the dresser and splashed his face, taking care to gently rub his eyes. The feel of Ylena’s face beneath his fingertips was so different to Faryl’s. Her cheekbones were rounder, her forehead narrower and her hair was long and golden. Wyl moved a nearby burning candle to the mirror then stared at the illuminated reflection. He noticed how similar her mouth was to his own. He could not understand how he had missed this previously. It reassured him.

  ‘I failed you,’ he whispered. ‘Forgive me.’ The echo of the words from the dream made him now recall it. Who had been seeking absolution in that vision? He could not recall now. He thought it might have been a woman… perhaps Ylena.

  The face looking back at him was sad but beautiful despite the sorrow in it. She looked too thin, so wan. Much of what had made Ylena such a sparkling person, jubilant with the joy of life, had been buried. What remained was barely a shade of the young vibrant woman he had known.

  He grasped within for anything of the Ylena he had so loved. It took some time and patience but he finally coaxed her essence free and felt it fill him with its warmth.

  ‘I knew you couldn’t leave me completely,’ he said to his reflection as memories came roaring back. Childhood memories and a great joy in life. Loving him, Magnus and Gueryn… and then later Alyd. Wyl cherished the moment of feeling her love for him, then locked away the swirling thoughts of Alyd. Those were private and belonged to Ylena alone.

  Darker images of death and blood, burning and crucifixion coalesced now. He felt savaged by their intensity and gripped the dresser in anger at what his sister had witnessed and endured. Rittylworth was his final punishment, for he had brought destruction to the gentle community.

  ‘I shall kill the King for you alone, beloved,’ he whispered to what was left of Ylena. ‘Be at peace now.’

  He felt stronger for saying his threat aloud. Tying his now grubby robe back around himself, feeling awkward in Ylena’s body, he let himself out of the bedroom and crept down the stone stairway.

  In the scullery he found a familiar figure hunched over a steaming mug of strong dark tea.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ he said, startling Aremys.

  The big man looked up. ‘No, no chance of that. Want some?’ he asked, eyeing the new Wyl carefully.

  ‘I like honey in it,’ Wyl replied and, from somewhere, found a thin smile as he sat.

  The mercenary nodded, glad for the activity. He moved behind Wyl’s new slim back to pour another mug.

  ‘Am I that hard to look upon, Aremys?’

  ‘No,’ his friend re
plied, not turning from his task, ‘I just liked Faryl. I have to get used to you as your sister.’ Now he did glance around and a look of sympathy passed between them.

  ‘How are the others taking it?’

  Aremys shrugged. ‘The duchess is extraordinary. I gather they’ve only today learned about their son’s demise and here she is fretting over you. The duke is angry, confused. I don’t know about the lads.’

  ‘They do believe me though?’

  ‘Oh, no doubt,’ Aremys assured, handing Wyl a mug. ‘It takes some getting used to, Wyl.’

  ‘As if I didn’t know it,’ he shot back.

  ‘I mean, understand their position as they come to terms with it. Would you have believed this tale if it wasn’t happening to you?’

  Wyl did not answer immediately. Then he rested his chin in the cup of his hand and shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he answered, resigned. ‘So how will they?’

  ‘Well, your friend Elspyth believes, and the Mountain man, Lothryn, you said did. Fynch, the seer,’ he was holding fingers up in the air as he listed them. ‘And you convinced me and I’m a cynic, Wyl. All of us trust you.’

  ‘Why did you believe me?’ Wyl persisted.

  ‘Because of the knives — no one throws like Koreldy to my knowledge — and your strange behaviour towards the King. There were other things too…’ He shrugged and then grinned. ‘The mere fact that you could resist me confirmed you were a man.’ Wyl guffawed. As always Aremys’s timing for jest was perfect. ‘So you’ve just got to trust that they’ll believe you. You’ve already told them too many things that no one else but Wyl Thirsk could know.’

  ‘True,’ Wyl said, blowing on his tea to cool it.

  ‘I’m sorry it had to be her, Wyl,’ the big man finally found the courage to say.

  ‘Me too,’ and a glance to his friend said that he did not wish to talk about it any more.

  They brooded over their drinks in a companionable silence both had learned to trust. The soft crackle and spit of the fire which Aremys had rekindled from the embers felt safe and comforting. Wyl warmed Ylena’s elegant fingers around the hot mug, fighting the revulsion he felt at seeing them.