The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘So you cannot deny me passage?’ Fynch qualified.

  ‘Not if you have coin to pay, no. I can, however, do whatever I might think of to dissuade you from the journey, young man. You are so young to be here.’

  ‘I seek someone,’ Fynch replied in answer to the original question.

  ‘Someone who is lost?’

  Fynch nodded. This was not strictly true and he hated to tell lies. Somehow not speaking made it easier.

  ‘Family?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Old enough.’

  It was obvious the man did not believe him.’ You understand how perilous this place is, boy?’

  ‘I do. I have my dog to protect me.’

  At this the man laughed. ‘Priceless. Come and sit by the fire, lad. Let me fetch my ledger.’

  Fynch did as he was told, relishing the warmth. ‘Do you live here alone?’ he called to the man who was rifling through a chest.

  ‘Yes. Have done all my life.’

  ‘No family?’

  ‘No.’

  The man mumbled as he looked beneath books and clothes, ‘Raised myself in the foothills… a travelling monk taught me my letters. He stayed a while and left when he felt I knew enough to get by.’

  ‘How long have you been the boatkeeper?’

  ‘I’ve always been the boatkeeper. Ah, here it is,’ he said, blowing dust off the large black book he had pulled from the bottom of the chest. He carried it to a desk. ‘Can I interest you in a bowl of soup, child? I’ve more than enough for myself.’

  Fynch grinned awkwardly. He could use some hot food and he could tell Samm did not want to give any explanations. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He wondered if it was poisoned; that might be how the seemingly friendly man entrapped his unwitting guests. He had to stop this.

  ‘Polite one, aren’t you? There’s a bowl on that shelf. Help yourself whilst I find my place in this book.’

  The soup was simple vegetable broth but it pleased Fynch greatly and was far from poisonous. He ladled out a small bowlful and sat at the rickety table to enjoy it.

  ‘Bread?’ the man asked, not looking up.

  ‘This is more than enough.’

  The boatkeeper grunted as if to suggest it was hardly anything.

  ‘Right then, lad…’ He cleared his throat as he began his official speech, fixing Fynch with a steely gaze. ‘I am obliged to tell you that the Law of the Wild was set two centuries or so back. Both Morgravia and Briavel agreed upon it. All of their peoples have access to the Darkstream but no rescue parties have ever or will ever be sent in search of the missing. They are always presumed dead. Do you understand?’

  Fynch looked up from his food, his brow furrowed. ‘I understand, sir, but if no one ever returns from the Wild how come you always have boats? They don’t look new to me.’

  ‘A sharp lad you are too — what’s your name?’

  It could not hurt, he figured. Celimus was hardly going to check the records out here. ‘Fynch.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, young Fynch.’ Fynch nodded, unable to do much else with a spoonful of soup in his mouth. ‘Now, to answer your clever question — the boats always find their way back.’ He regarded his guest and smiled. ‘Upstream and against the current.’

  Fynch was wide-eyed now. ‘Magic,’ he said with reverence.

  ‘I’m not saying one way or another,’ the boatkeeper replied. ‘My job is just to record whoever sets off from here and charge the fee.’

  ‘Taxes on death,’ Fynch mused, taking the last spoonful.

  ‘Hardly; more a formality really. Not much money to be made from here. The last person who took the Darkstream registered more than two decades ago — probably closer to a quarter of a century if my memory serves me correctly. A woman it was and her fee is the same as yours.’

  It fired Fynch’s imagination to think of some brave woman facing the Wild alone. ‘I wonder what or whom she sought.’

  Samm cocked his head to one side in thought. ‘They never say — just like you. Oh, but she was lovely as I recall. Such a waste. I nearly talked myself hoarse trying to convince her to stay. But she would not be persuaded otherwise.’

  ‘She obviously badly needed to go there.’

  ‘Broken heart perhaps.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Samm sighed. ‘The pretty lady never returned, of course, but her boat did. Ah, here’s her name: Emil, that’s right. Never heard that name before. Her hair was as dark as the stream and she had a milky complexion.’

  Fynch felt as if the soup soured instantly in his belly. ‘Did you say Emil?’

  The boatkeeper nodded. ‘Aye. Odd one, isn’t it?’ He looked up. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Fynch said hastily. He felt light-headed. Emil was the name of Myrren’s mother. It could be a coincidence, even though it was a far from common name.

  ‘Was she from Morgravia?’ he asked as casually as he could, setting down his spoon.

  ‘Er… yes, Pearlis it says here.’

  Too much of a coincidence then. Myrren’s mother was also originally from Pearlis and the timing fitted too neatly in Fynch’s sharp mind. Myrren was around eighteen years of age when she died. Her death occurred six years ago. No, much too coincidental. So at least one person had returned from the Wild: Emil had made it back and raised her child. There was hope for him yet.

  ‘Is something wrong, lad?’

  ‘No. Your soup is delicious, sir. I was contemplating a second bowl,’ Fynch said honestly. ‘But I won’t, thank you.’

  ‘You eat like a bird!’

  He was glad to have thrown Samm off the scent. ‘So I’m told.’ He grinned. ‘Can I travel at night?’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it. Best leave at first light. It also gives you the night to think on it.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind.’

  Samm smiled kindly. ‘I understand. Have a good night’s rest. You’re most welcome to bunk down here with me. It will be dark in moments anyway.’

  ‘Can I pay you now?’

  ‘Tomorrow’s soon enough.’

  ‘I will be going, Samm,’ Fynch said firmly.

  He grinned. ‘Is your dog all right out there?’

  ‘Nothing bothers Knave. Thank you for your hospitality.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I don’t get conversation often — no human company around here,’ he admitted. ‘Settle yourself in then, lad.’

  Fynch did not sleep well. He mainly dozed, feeling the touch of Knave on his mind. That was reassuring, just in case Samm did turn out to be some sort of ghoul who ate people who crossed his bridge. He woke at first light, glad to be up and moving, although his mind felt dull. His body fidgeted in nervous anticipation of the journey ahead.

  He roused Samm, put on a pot of water and politely shared some porridge with his host. In answer to Samm’s gentle questions, none of which Fynch considered too pointed, he slid around the truth and gave the impression he was from Briavel and had on occasion worked at the castle.

  ‘Will you give me no reason for your journey, son? It seems such a waste.’

  ‘Maybe I shall return, Samm,’ Fynch said brightly, trying to avoid the question.

  ‘I must ask again whether you understand the terms of your departure. There is no rescue party once you step into the boat and leave the jetty.’

  ‘Truly, I understand,’ Fynch said, very seriously.

  ‘Then you owe me a crown.’

  Fynch handed over the coin. ‘I’m ready, thank you again.’

  Samm took it and neatly recorded the details in his ledger. ‘I’ve put your home as Werryl — would that be right?’

  Once again Fynch nodded, loath to speak a lie.

  ‘I’ve put together a small sack of food for you and a rug for the cold. You look too scrawny to last a day,’ Samm grunted, embarrassed. He pointed towards a small table by the door.

  ‘Can I pay —’

  ‘No, it’s nothing.
I have plenty. Go on with you then, boy. And may Shar and that black beast protect you.’

  Samm stood and Fynch followed suit, eager to be gone now. He took the sack and opened the door to where Knave awaited, stretching. Together the three of them walked to the jetty.

  ‘Take your pick,’ Samm said, gesturing at the boats.

  Fynch climbed into the nearest one, Knave following. ‘Bye, Samm. I won’t forget your kindness.’

  ‘Be safe, Fynch, lad,’ the man said sadly, knowing the child would be carried into the wilderness and would not return. He untied the rope. ‘May Shar watch over you.’

  And they were gone, the stream’s current pulling them towards two huge willow trees whose overhanging canopy formed what looked like an archway into a dark tunnel. Fynch turned to wave as the willows gobbled the boat into their shadows but Samm had already gone.

  TWENTY-SIX

  AS FYNCH WAS TURNING back towards the willows, his fear of the unknown intensifying, Elspyth was doing her utmost to convince herself that Wyl had made the right decision. She was not happy at heading off once again on a journey towards a woman she did not know — a Queen no less this time. She was glad for the company of Crys, despite his sorrow.

  ‘Your mother is marvellous, so resilient,’ she ventured when she could no longer stand the awkward silence between them. Too much had occurred in the day and night previous for them to talk much, and they would hit the Briavellian border within an hour.

  ‘I never really think about it,’ he replied. ‘I think we all take her strength for granted, particularly my father.’

  She took the opportunity to touch on the hardest topic of all. ‘Crys, I haven’t had the chance to tell you how sorry I am about your brother. I feel so awkward, not knowing him and yet feeling like I do somehow, through all of you.’

  He smiled sadly at her. ‘Thank you. He was just such a good lad — one of those rare people who can always see the positive side of life. Father had high hopes for him at Stoneheart too; once Wyl made him his deputy, his future was secured.’

  Elspyth understood. ‘The fourth son, you mean?’ Crys nodded. ‘How did it happen that he left your home and was sent to the capital?’

  ‘Bit of a long tale, really. Let me see if I can simplify it. Father and Fergys Thirsk go back a long way; they always had a lot in common in terms of position and shared similar outlooks on life. Also my father was intensely loyal to King Magnus, so the family connection to Stoneheart and the Crown was already strong. The King made a trip north not long after General Fergys died and naturally he stopped at Tenterdyn. I think my father must have mentioned he was not sure what to do for Alyd and the King suggested he send him south — apparently he said he knew another young lad around the same age who could use the company.’

  ‘Wyl?’

  ‘That’s right. My father was happy to keep the families close through another generation — although we didn’t bank on Alyd falling in love with Ylena.’

  ‘I gather they were the perfect couple.’

  He nodded. ‘My parents only knew of Ylena as a small child, but her reputation as a young woman sparkled before her.’

  ‘I’m surprised your family did not visit Stoneheart more frequently,’ she mused.

  ‘Well, Magnus and my parents hadn’t seen each other in a long time. He was a little in love with my mother in their early years, I think. Perhaps my father never trusted the King around my mother.’ Crys winked.

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘No, I’m teasing. It’s true that the King had a terribly soft spot for my mother when they were all very young, and to his death he considered her with great affection, but he knew how much she loved my father. I think the reason for the long length of time between their visits is that Felrawthy really holds the north for the Crown. Traditionally, Father has always overseen the Legionnaires who guard the Razors.’

  ‘I see. So that’s why Jeryb wasn’t at Stoneheart for the tournament.’

  ‘Yes. We were all furious not to make it — Mother desperately wanted to see Alyd and the tourney was a great excuse to pay a visit south. But the border has become more threatened in recent years and Father would not risk it.’

  ‘You know Cailech and his men slip into western Morgravia regularly?’

  He glanced at her. ‘We have suspected as much.’

  ‘I’ve seen them. No one minds them much in Yentro. They keep themselves to themselves; trade a bit and disappear almost as fast as they arrived.’

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘They have excellent scouts. We can’t even catch them in Morgravia, let alone track them into the mountains.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to — they know them too well.’ Elspyth frowned. ‘But why did our soldiers kill those children? It enraged Cailech and he’s vowed revenge of the most horrible kind. That is why Gueryn le Gant was captured and tortured.’

  Crys slowed his horse. ‘Elspyth, it wasn’t our men who killed those children, nor was it our men who travelled with le Gant.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘It’s always Celimus behind it,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘The King orchestrated all of it — through his own henchmen, of course. I’ve never seen my father so angry as the day he received orders to send le Gant in with that scrawny bunch of men. They weren’t even proper soldiers. Le Gant insisted my father stay out of it or risk disloyalty to the Crown. He said in as many words that Celimus had planned to separate him from Wyl and that he suspected treachery somewhere.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘Do you think he’s still alive?’

  She shook her head. ‘Gueryn was nearly dead when we left him. If a Mountain Dweller’s arrow didn’t find its mark that night then his fever would surely have killed him.’

  ‘I gather Wyl doesn’t want to believe it?’

  ‘It’s the fear that Cailech might have kept Gueryn alive as bait which makes Wyl determined to go back to the Mountain fortress — that and for another brave man called Lothryn.’

  ‘I’ve heard you mention him before. You always say his name tenderly.’ Crys glanced towards Elspyth, who blushed.

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  They rode in silence for a few moments.

  Elspyth broke the quiet first. ‘I am in love with Lothryn.’

  ‘I worked it out.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Most women can’t resist me,’ he said mock archly and grinned.

  ‘It must be your modesty,’ she replied, but liked him all the same for it.

  ‘He’s a lucky man, Elspyth.’

  ‘He’s very special,’ she admitted softly. ‘It is taking all my courage to ride south and away from him.’

  ‘And all of ours not to wage war on the Crown,’ Crys added, bitterness strong in his tone.

  ‘What will happen do you think?’

  ‘Wyl’s beseeched my father to keep up the pretence. I hope he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘You must trust him… as I do,’ she replied. ‘He needs to be able to rely on us.’

  ‘But what is his plan?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. He is trying to find the father of the woman who cursed him with this magical life.’

  ‘It is all too strange — I can hardly bear thinking on it to tell the truth. How bizarre to become a woman.’

  ‘Imagine how he feels! He was Romen Koreldy when I met him. Since then he has become this Faryl woman, and now look at him.’ She shook her head. ‘That poor sister of his.’

  ‘What can he hope to achieve as a woman?’ Crys wondered aloud.

  ‘Don’t be so quick to doubt!’ she cautioned. ‘Women are far more cunning than you give us credit for. Wyl’s new facade means different doors may well open to him that were closed to himself or Koreldy.’

  ‘You forget that Celimus knows Ylena. If he has been hunting her, then he will have her killed on sight.’

  ‘I’m sure Wyl’s aware of that, which would explain why he’s so determined to find Myrren�
�s father. Perhaps he can give some answers to this gift.’

  Crys interrupted their conversation by holding his hand up. ‘We’ve reached the border,’ he said, pointing towards a sign.

  ‘So I just ride my horse across the imaginary line?’

  ‘Yes. Security between the realms has been stepped up since the death of Valor — they’ll soon pick you up. There are guards everywhere.’

  ‘What about before?’ she queried, referring to a time prior to Valor’s demise.

  ‘Well, merchants could come and go fairly freely. But these days you need a permit for trade, or good reason for the crossing if you’re not a merchant.’

  ‘And what’s my reason?’ she asked, worried now.

  He grinned. ‘I can always get you past the guard from Morgravia’s side. You just have to hope that letter from Wyl gets you through Briavel’s scrutiny.’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘You’ll be coming back with me — and nothing would give me greater pleasure.’ He grinned at the innuendo in his words.

  Elspyth found his wit infectious. If not for Lothryn, she might well have fallen prey to this man’s obvious charm. ‘You have been very kind to me, Crys. I hope I can repay you some day.’

  ‘Well, marry me then,’ he jested and pulled a face at her scolding expression. ‘All right, my apologies. Come now, let me get you safely across.’

  As he gestured for Elspyth to follow, he heard the sound of a rider coming at a breakneck gallop. ‘Wait!’ he hissed to her. ‘I can see my father’s standard, something is wrong.’

  The rider came into view. They could see the lather flying off the animal which had been all but run to death. ‘It’s Pil!’ Crys exclaimed.

  Elspyth felt the chill of fear crawl up her spine and ooze throughout her body until every hair seemed as though it were standing on end. No one rode this fast unless pursued or outrunning danger. She could see the wild look in both man’s and beast’s eyes as they approached.

  Pil pulled the horse up too sharply and in its pain and panic it reared throwing him to the ground. It ran away into the nearby trees, terrified and exhausted.

  Elspyth and Crys leapt from their own mounts. ‘Shall I go after the horse?’ Elspyth said, knowing how the Donal family prized their animals.