The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘And how old were you by now?’ Wyl asked, trying to work out Elysius’s age which was unreadable in his strange face.

  ‘We were lads. I was sixteen, my brother fourteen.’ He sighed softly as he was transported back to those early days. ‘Myrren’s mother was so much older than I. I could almost wish I had never set eyes on her during one of the rare visits we made to Pearlis with our father. He was often called upon to advise Adana but he did not like taking us boys into the city with him.’

  ‘Was he worried about your magic?’

  ‘Not me, Rashlyn.’

  Wyl felt his mouth dry in an instant. Elysius sensed the change in his guest’s demeanour. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You said Rashlyn?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘I have met him.’

  It was Elysius’s turn to be surprised. ‘I lost trace of him when I was banished.’

  ‘He works for the King of the Razors.’

  The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Cailech!’ Elysius declared, quietly shocked. ‘So that’s where he is. What use is he to the Mountain King?’

  ‘Plenty, apparently. He bears the title of barshi, which means wise or magic man in the old tongue of the north. They are close. But more than that, I sense your brother has a somewhat unhealthy hold over the King.’

  Elysius bared his horse teeth in a grimace. ‘Rashlyn is very dangerous. He is the reason I appear to you in this guise.’

  ‘Guise?’

  The manwitch smiled ruefully. ‘There is so much to tell you,’ he said, realising his tale was disjointed, leaping from one amazing fact to another. Still, he knew it would all come out in the end and Wyl would make sense of it. ‘I was actually quite a handsome sort once, tall and strong. Myrren’s mother, Emil, was a fine-looking woman whom I met whilst running a couple of messages to her husband, who was physic to Adana. He was older than her by a number of years and I think she found herself lacking in amorous activity, you could say.’ He grinned. ‘She was attracted to me from the moment we met.’ He shrugged. ‘What young man with urges beyond his control would say no? She possessed a brilliant scholar’s mind too.’

  Wyl’s eyes widened with understanding and he glanced towards Fynch whose attention was riveted on their host. Whether he understood the nuance of this particular thread of Elysius’s tale Wyl could not tell, but he had no time to linger on sensibilities right now. ‘And she became pregnant,’ he stated.

  ‘Immediately. We were together only once,’ Elysius admitted, ‘but then she became obsessed with me. It was sad. I do believe she did actually love me, and in a way I loved her, but there was no future for us. My father discovered the truth and was horrified — not just because of my indiscretion but there was the threat of passing on my abilities to a child, you see.’

  ‘Which you did.’

  ‘Only marginally. Myrren was not a witch in the true sense, Wyl. She had some powers, but mainly of the healing sort. If she’d had the chance to follow in her father’s footsteps — I mean, the man she called father — she would have been very talented at medicine.’

  Wyl was astonished. ‘Not a witch! But the gift…?’

  ‘Is all my doing. I channelled through Myrren.’

  ‘As you channel through Knave?’ Fynch chimed in, his first words in such a long time that his host had all but forgotten the quiet lad sitting in the corner.

  Elysius nodded. ‘Yes, son. That’s right; as I use Knave to be my eyes and body elsewhere.’

  Wyl sat back speechless. He had truly believed Myrren to be a witch, and ever since Knave had revealed mysterious powers, he had been sure that Myrren had possessed magics which she had managed to keep secret for many years. He said as much.

  Her father shook his head sadly. ‘She was innocent, poor child.’

  Still trying to absorb this revelation, Wyl pressed on. ‘But why me?’

  Elysius shrugged. ‘You were the only one who showed her any pity that day. She did not deserve to die, especially in the way she did, for that young woman never exercised her weak powers on anything but doing good for others. If not for her eyes, which she unluckily inherited from her great-grandmother, no one would have been any the wiser. I was angry, Wyl. She wanted revenge on those who were hurting her and I wanted to give her that.’

  ‘So you used me.’

  He nodded. ‘I could tell you were the only person in that chamber who possessed nobility in the true sense of the word. I could count on you.’

  ‘To do what?’ Wyl asked, his voice rising in anger.

  ‘To kill the man who crafted her death,’ Elysius answered quietly.

  ‘Lymbert?’ he said, aghast.

  Elysius shook his head. ‘Lymbert was only the instrument.’

  ‘As I understand it then, Lord Rokan called for her death,’ Wyl continued, his anger still high. ‘And King Magnus permitted it.’

  ‘No, neither of them. Yes, they were partly responsible but they were not the key to Myrren’s suffering. One person alone encouraged the King to sign her death warrant. One person alone truly enjoyed her agony.’

  ‘Celimus,’ Fynch whispered.

  They both looked towards the boy and Elysius nodded. ‘Yes, Celimus. Through Myrren I heard him boasting about how he had coerced his father into allowing the torture. You were there also, Wyl, but I think you were too young, too alarmed, to concentrate on the prince’s bragging.’

  ‘No… no, I do remember now. The priest was saying a final prayer and above it Celimus was boasting that the trial had been his idea,’ Wyl recalled, frowning.

  ‘That’s right. And then Myrren singled him out, demanding to know why a prince of the realm would be present for such mummery.’

  ‘And he said it was in the name of education, using me as his excuse,’ Wyl followed up despairingly, remembering it all again as if it was yesterday.

  ‘Myrren sensed your hatred for the prince, Wyl. She was not able to call upon pure magic but her power gave her a highly developed perception of others. It allowed her to look into you, you could say. My daughter knew that you were true and that you despised the young man who had forced you to be present to watch the ugly proceedings. She learned who you were that day and that you had the ear of the King and the status to wield power. She chose you. But it was I who used you, son. Forgive me. If I could take it back, I would.’

  ‘You mean you can’t?’ Wyl asked plaintively. He had secretly harboured the hope that if he could find the manwitch, then he could reverse the gift.

  Elysius shook his large head with deep regret. ‘No. It must run its course.’ Their host pursed his wide lips and stood, clearly upset. He began clearing the table. Wyl’s temper flared and boiled over.

  ‘Leave it, damn it!’ he cried, reaching for the man’s elongated arm. ‘I must know!’

  Elysius looked down to where Ylena’s fingers dug cruelly into his thin arm, the pressure of her anger chasing away the blood to leave blanched spots.

  Wyl pulled away as if stung. ‘Forgive me, Elysius. This is a terrible burden… a curse,’ he moaned, remembering all those who had died or been lost as a result of Myrren’s gift.

  The little man returned to his clearing-up and silence spread uneasily through the large room, punctuated only by the clatter of dishes. Wyl sat glumly whilst Elysius busied himself making a pot of tea. Soon the silence eased itself into something less awkward, with Knave’s odd grunts and sighs a welcome interruption. Elysius sat himself closer to Wyl when he returned to the table and surprised him by taking Ylena’s uncared-for yet still elegant hands between his two enormous palms. His milky eyes seemed to regard Wyl despite their limited sight.

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, son. The apology is all mine. I deeply regret all the terrible events that have occurred in your lifetime and wish I could change the magic which is within you, but I can’t. Once cast, it is its own master. No one can control it.’

  ‘But how do I stop it?’ This time Wyl’s voice held nothing but helplessness. Fynch
had to look away, unable to bear the look of defeat on Ylena’s face or his own sense of loss at this news.

  ‘It will stop,’ Elysius answered gravely.

  Fynch held his breath at the words and saw Wyl search his host’s face. ‘Tell me how,’ he whispered.

  ‘It will stop when you become the person you are meant to be, the person Myrren wanted you to be.’ Wyl swallowed. He thought he already knew the answer; did not want to believe it. Elysius spoke the very words Wyl did not want to hear: ‘The sovereign of Morgravia.’

  Wyl’s emotions were not his to command at this moment and he let out a long cry of such deepest despair that Fynch began to softly weep in his corner.

  ‘No,’ Wyl begged. ‘Please, Elysius…’

  The manwitch bent his large head low. ‘I am sorry.’

  When Wyl pushed the chair away and disappeared out the door, Elysius told Fynch to let him be.

  ‘The dog will go with him. Wyl can come to no harm in the Wild with Knave nearby.’

  It was hours before Wyl returned, subdued but composed. Elysius knew he had not gone far, barely steps in fact from the small dwelling he had built himself many years ago. He understood Wyl’s need to be alone, to deal with the confusion and the terror.

  Elysius had long since carried Fynch, sleeping, to the same pallet Wyl had used earlier. It was still not dawn.

  ‘I imagine you have questions for me,’ he said gently to Wyl. ‘Put on the pot, we’ll have another jar of tea each, I think.’ As Wyl silently moved to oblige, Elysius added, ‘I’ll tease up the fire again.’

  Knave padded up quietly to sneak a warm spot at the hearth. Water was set to heat whilst the embers were prodded and encouraged to flame again. New kindling erupted into larger flames and a fresh log was thrown on to catch. Satisfied, the manwitch made himself comfortable in the creaking rocking chair he had also crafted.

  ‘Now, ask me whatever you will,’ Elysius said. He could feel the barrage of queries shored up in Wyl’s mind.

  ‘How do you see?’

  ‘I am virtually blind. I use others. Knave is my favourite, but I can use birds or other beasts.’

  ‘People?’

  ‘Only if I am prepared to open my magic to them.’

  ‘Which you don’t, I gather.’

  ‘No. It is too dangerous. Animals take nothing from me.’

  ‘But you used Myrren for this purpose,’ Wyl accused.

  ‘Only during her incarceration, and yes, I had to relinquish some of my powers to her. She took just enough to dull the pain of her torture.’

  Wyl nodded, seemingly satisfied with that line of questioning. ‘Your brother — I gather from what you’ve said it was he who made you look this way?’ he said, trying hard not to give offence.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he hated me. I was just slow to understand.’

  ‘Why did he hate you?’

  ‘I would not share with him the secret of communicating with beasts and birds. It was evident to me from a very young age that Rashlyn was unstable.’ Elysius scratched his large chin. ‘More than that, in truth: I knew Rashlyn was mad. He was cruel beyond imagining for a child. As he matured, he became worse.’

  His curiosity piqued, Wyl could not help but ask more about the strange dark man in the mountains. ‘How come he didn’t possess the magic you do?’

  ‘We have different skills. My magic is based in nature and living things. Rashlyn has… well, other talents. His magic is frightening and, with his twisted mind wielding it, it becomes the darkest of weapons.’

  ‘But he could learn your magic?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ the manwitch answered. ‘As I could his, and he offered me all of it, every answer to every question, if I would give him the secret of the beasts.’

  ‘I wonder why he wanted it so badly.’

  ‘To command them, I suspect.’

  ‘To what end?’

  Elysius smiled but there was no mirth in it at all. ‘He would rule the entire land if he could.’

  Wyl looked at him incredulously. ‘You mean as a sovereign… a usurper?’

  ‘Why stop there? Why not Emperor? Why not Lord High King of the three realms for just a start? He would look to Parrgamyn and further. With all that power at his disposal he could control all of us.’

  ‘Why hasn’t he tried to do something like this already? Surely if he can call up storms, he can wreak all sorts of havoc.’

  Elysius nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think my brother is losing his wits. I sense that his periods of lucidity are becoming shorter. He will seek to influence instead, and this is perhaps why we find him in the Razors working with Cailech. Rashlyn always did crave power. Youngest son, you see. And as much as my father was uncomfortable with my magic, he loved me and I him. His relationship with Rashlyn was strained from early childhood. My father sensed the darkness in his youngest son, often talked to me about it and asked whether I could somehow work my powers to stem my brother’s.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  Elysius flinched. ‘It seemed cruel at the time I was asked. He had so little going for him and I seemed to have it all, I didn’t want him as my enemy. As we got older I realised my mistake but by then it was too late. He was far too suspicious of me. I am surprised he took as long as he did to exercise his power over me, to tell the truth. We had little love for one another.’

  ‘Could you not,’ Wyl searched for the right words, ‘prevent him from using his magic on you?’

  ‘Shield myself from his powers, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know what would be the right expression,’ Wyl admitted.

  ‘It has taken me years to learn his “scent”. That is probably the easiest way to describe magic, as a sensation of the wielder’s characteristics.’

  ‘And so you can what… feel him using his powers?’

  ‘You could describe it that way, yes,’ Elysius replied. ‘He is up to dark mischief, Wyl, and it bodes badly for all of us — for Morgravia and Briavel, even for the Mountain Kingdom he apparently serves.’

  ‘Can he sense you?’

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. I use my magic fleetingly these days. I also suspect that the Thicket filters sentient activity in one direction. I can sense him, in other words, but he can’t sense me.’

  ‘Why would he not have recognised the enchantment when I walked in Koreldy’s form?’

  ‘Because of the Thicket — it has subtle powers, most of which even I am not privy to. It is my belief that it has protected you.’

  Wyl had the feeling that Elysius was not being entirely forthright here. If his sense of perception served him right, he would say that the sorcerer was holding back information. He could continue probing but decided it was more important right now to focus on the important details of Elysius’s story, which would affect his decisions for the future. Rashlyn was not important to Wyl now — or so it seemed to him — and he returned to the tale of how Elysius ended up in the Wild. ‘So tell me, what happened after your father asked you to hinder your brother’s magic?’

  ‘I lied that I could not. I was too young and stupid to realise that decision would come back and bite me. My father’s relationship with Rashlyn was non-existent by the end.’

  ‘The end?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, we’ve been jumping about, haven’t we? After my father discovered my affair with Emil, he banished me to Parrgamyn to live without my family. Leaving Morgravia was punishment enough, but to be without my family — he knew how much it would hurt. My parents did not know that Emil was pregnant, of course, but Rashlyn suspected as much. He also guessed that I would not return permanently to our place of birth. I rather liked Morgravia and I especially enjoyed the south where it is green and filled with meadows and woodland. Parrgamyn is more arid, you see.’

  Wyl nodded.

  ‘Anyway, in my anger I carelessly boasted to Rashlyn I would jump ship and escape back into Morgravia. I thought he might help me. Quite the op
posite: he began to blackmail me. Told me I must give him the secret to the beasts or he would tell our father of my intention.’ Elysius laughed but again there was little amusement in it. ‘I refused to relinquish the secret, no matter what his threat.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Wyl prompted, absorbed by this tale.

  ‘He weaved a dark and evil concoction of spells which capsized the ship I was on. I imagine he hoped I would drown with the rest of the unfortunates on that voyage, but his mind works in a cunning fashion, Wyl. Rashlyn took the precaution that, should I survive, I would never be able to live in normal society again. Death would have been easier and my brother knew this; he understood my love of poetry and literature, knew I would suffer without the social contact I thrived on.’

  ‘And this is the result of his work… this guise you wear?’

  Elysius nodded. ‘We had barely got out of the port into deeper waters to sail around the Razors towards Grenadyn when the vessel began to break up and sink. There were ninety souls lost that day. I miraculously remained afloat on a spar, although the freezing waters of the north would have surely killed me. With my last remaining strength I summoned a wind and cast my luck with it.

  ‘I remember very little of that wild night but when I regained consciousness I had washed up on a tiny beach in the far north… and I looked like this and had lost most of my senses of sight, taste, smell.’

  ‘Have you somehow seen yourself,’ Wyl wondered aloud.

  The man nodded. ‘The creatures explained in great detail. I knew I was different from the moment I regained consciousness, but their descriptions pained me nonetheless,’ he said softly.

  Elysius fixed his non-seeing gaze on a far away spot and recalled that difficult time. ‘With a sea eagle’s help I navigated my way into the foothills of the Razors and then, using a variety of animals as my lost senses, I skirted the mountains for several weeks. I was in such shock. I had nowhere to go and was so terrified of being seen that I had to avoid all humanity. My friends, the animals, whispered to me of a place — an enchanted place — called the Wild, where no human dared go. “Take me there,” I begged them… and so they did. I have lived here since.’