The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘It does, my friend, or at least I think it does. They left me there after robbing me. Something must have frightened them, because I expected to be beaten at the very least.’ Aremys steered himself towards the truth. ‘The last thing I remember is a strange noise coming from the Thicket itself.’

  Myrt’s eyes were huge. ‘A creature?’

  ‘No creature I know makes that sound. No, I can still hear it — it was a sort of humming sound — and then the air became thick and oppressive,’ Aremys replied.

  ‘Then what?’

  Aremys made a gesture of apology. ‘Then nothing. I woke up to the sound of your men’s voices and no memory of what had occurred or even who I was. You know the rest. My memory came back gradually over the next couple of days, and it’s still returning slowly.’ He shrugged, then added for effect, ‘I can even remember the faces of my family now.’

  Myrt was stunned; he kept shaking his head. Finally he spoke. ‘I believe you, Aremys. No one could make up such a tale, and we know of the Thicket’s legend. I just find it difficult to hear its magical reputation confirmed.’

  ‘Myrt, I don’t know what happened, that’s the truth. I can only presume that the Thicket, or something inside it, had something to do with me appearing in the Razors at a location that it would take days to reach by normal means. You checked the area: there were no signs of other people or animals, so I couldn’t have been kept drugged and led in by horse — and why do that anyway? Why go to the bother of leading me anywhere if money was all they were after? I doubt I would have recognised any of them again — the drug was too powerful.’

  ‘I believe you,’ the big warrior impressed, his hands raised in defence.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to put any strange ideas in your head, but my only explanation is that this place called the Thicket is enchanted — I too have heard the old tales — and it did not like me being there, let me tell you. I felt its animosity. I think it got rid of me.’

  ‘That’s impossible, man!’ Myrt said, desperate for something rational he could cling to.

  ‘I agree, but there’s no other explanation. Obviously I couldn’t tell this tale to the King. He would have laughed and probably had my throat slit a moment later. You understand now why I had to keep this part of my story to myself? As to how the Thicket rid itself of me — it repelled me. I can’t think of any other way to describe it. It would be great to believe a nice family of tinkers found me, picked me up and carried me with them on their journey through the Razors but I think we’d be making up an explanation to help ourselves feel better about a notion we don’t want to accept or understand. Plus, there would be signs of the tinkers. No, Myrt, I am convinced that magic has been wielded upon me. I have other reasons to suspect as much.’

  Here it was, the very core of his tale. Myrt would either give himself over entirely to Aremys now or brand him a madman and go running to Cailech. He took a deep breath and waited for Myrt’s inevitable question. He risked a glance behind. Rashlyn lay draped over his horse, still unconscious.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  The fortress was all but upon them now. Aremys could see the people working the orchards, others driving carts and still more going about their chores. He shivered, noticing for the first time that a chill had descended into the valley and a slight breeze had picked up, causing ripples across the surface of the formerly mirror-like lake. The disturbance matched his own mood.

  ‘Tell me,’ his companion implored.

  Aremys reined Galapek to a halt and the other horses followed suit. He knew Myrt could tell this was difficult for him and was giving him time to find the right words. There were no right words so he just told it how he saw it.

  ‘I think I’ve been touched by the magic of the Thicket. It temporarily knocked out my memory with the force of its power, but it gave me something in return.’

  Aremys could not imagine Myrt’s eyes getting any rounder. He hurried on. ‘It left me with the ability to sense magic.’ He held up his hand. ‘Before you jump in — no, I can’t wield it, I just sense it. And magic is with us now.’

  ‘Where?’ his companion hissed in a whisper.

  ‘Right here, beneath me.’

  Myrt predictably looked towards the ground.

  ‘Galapek,’ Aremys said. ‘The horse is not natural, Myrt. He is riddled with magic, bad magic. It’s tainted — it smells evil and repulses me as effectively as the Thicket transported me all those leagues. This horse reeks of enchantment and I think Rashlyn is responsible for it. That’s why he is so suspicious of me.’

  ‘And why you were so keen to avoid his touch,’ Myrt finished, tying together the threads of all he had noticed but had not been able to understand.

  ‘That’s right. That’s why I disgraced myself on our first ride together when Cailech rode Galapek. The magic assaulted me and I had no control over my reaction to it. I didn’t even know why I was behaving so strangely. It took me a while to work it out, but I know I’m right.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘The magic still revolts me but I have it under control now. I have mastered my reaction to it.’

  The warrior whistled through his teeth. ‘So that’s why you seemed nervous riding out this afternoon.’

  Aremys nodded. ‘I was terrified. I had no idea how I’d handle it, but I knew that Rashlyn had been sent to watch my reaction and so I had to be very careful.’

  ‘So you’re saying the King sent him?’

  ‘Of course. Cailech’s too smart to allow my episode on that first ride to go unnoticed. He’s testing me.’

  ‘He speaks well of you, Aremys, you should know that,’ Myrt defended.

  ‘Thank you. I’ve grasped as much, and yet I know I baffle him — understandably so, because if he’s got something to hide with this enchantment then anything which threatens it is a danger.’

  ‘You’re risking much by telling me this.’

  Aremys nodded gravely. ‘My life is in your hands, Myrt. I trust you, and Shar knows, I had to tell someone or go mad.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing. Just keep my secret for now and I will not leave you in the dark regarding anything I discover.’

  ‘I cannot be a party to anything disloyal to Cailech,’ the man said carefully.

  ‘I wouldn’t ask it of you. I just want to learn more about the horse — and Rashlyn, whom I wouldn’t trust if he was the last man alive in this land.’

  ‘None of us would, except the King,’ Myrt replied, disgust lacing his tone. ‘And you think the horse’s rearing and shrieking and Rashlyn’s collapse are connected?’

  ‘Yes. Something has tampered with their magic or disturbed the link between the two. I’ll admit to something else…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I felt it too, but only lightly. As Rashlyn was holding that medicine out to me, I came over light-headed, slightly dizzy. I thought it was the fear of him touching me, but I think I know better now. The magic of the Thicket was resonating within me again… perhaps warning me, or maybe something has happened — connected with the Thicket — which has disturbed the horse. I don’t understand how. Who knows, it might be that the Thicket can disrupt the actual enchantment on Galapek, or why would Rashlyn also react? I know they’re connected now.’

  ‘But you don’t know what?’

  ‘No, it’s frustrating!’ Aremys frowned. ‘But I intend to learn more. Will you keep my secret?’

  Myrt nodded unhappily. ‘I will.’

  ‘Thank you. I won’t betray you or your people — you have my word.’ He banged his fist on his chest in an oath only another northerner would understand.

  Myrt mirrored the movement and then the two men banged fists together. The bond was made and it was no small promise. If broken, the betrayer would forfeit his life.

  After they had ridden on some time in silence, Aremys decided to push his luck with the Mountain man. ‘Now that you know my secret, perhaps you would share with
me whatever it was that you held back earlier about your great friend, Lothryn?’

  Myrt looked taken aback. ‘It was nothing of importance.’ But his reaction said otherwise.

  Aremys shrugged. ‘It seemed to me that you were troubled by the mention of his name. I thought you might want to share your burden with someone who would not judge you for it — an outsider you can trust.’

  Myrt glanced back at the barshi’s unconscious figure, then looked around surreptitiously, his expression showing the new battle going on in his mind. Come on, tell me, Aremys urged silently. He knew if ever there was a moment to learn about Wyl’s saviour it was now. Myrt would never again be in such a fragile state of mind or more obliged to him.

  ‘Lothryn…’ Myrt spoke the name as if in veneration. ‘Brave Lothryn was brought back to the fortress after the Morgravians escaped — all but one, of course.’

  Aremys desperately wanted to jump on that detail, but bit back the question that was in danger of exploding from his throat, intent on not disturbing the man’s flow of speech now that he had begun to reveal what he needed to learn.

  ‘Koreldy and the woman, Elspyth, managed to escape because of Lothryn’s aid and the fact that we were facing several ekons at the same time. Lothryn and I fought back to back together on Haldor’s Pass, a dangerous escarpment. We killed three ekons that day and lost several men. When the battle was over my great friend turned to me and held his wrists out to be bound. He didn’t ask for mercy or even a quick death — both of which I had expected, and might even have given, for I loved him enough to give my own life for him. I knew Cailech would execute me if I showed such mercy. But Lothryn knew Cailech would have instructed me to bring him back to face his ruler. And he allowed me to keep my faith with my King.’

  It was Aremys’s turn to whisper. ‘What happened?’

  Myrt’s expression became distraught. Aremys knew there was some nuance here he was not picking up, but now was not the time to pursue it. His voice shaking with tightly held-back tears, Myrt continued: ‘I delivered him to Cailech. It was a private meeting and I was not permitted to be present. I have no idea what passed between them. Later, all the King would tell me was that Lothryn was undergoing a special punishment and we would not see him again. I asked whether he was to be killed; I’ll never forget the King’s reply. He said, “He probably wishes I would kill him”, and then he looked at me strangely. I saw a mixture of pain and regret in his face, Aremys, for the King loved Lothryn like a brother. He could have saved him, but Lothryn’s betrayal cut deeper than any other wound ever could.’

  Aremys sighed. ‘And there’s been no sign of Lothryn since?’

  Myrt shook his head, deeply upset. ‘We’ve tried. Rashlyn knows something but he’s as mad as a pit full of burning snakes. He makes little sense at the best of times.’

  As if on cue, they heard a sound behind them, a weak cry from the man slung across the trailing horse.

  ‘He’s stirring. We’ve tarried long enough. We shall speak again when we next get a chance alone,’ Aremys said, and he clicked Galapek on towards the great stone arch that would swallow them into the fortress.

  THREE

  WYL’S PROGRESS ALONG THE Darkstream was slow as he travelled against the current back towards the Thicket. His emotions were still in turmoil at the loss of his sister, Ylena, whose body he now inhabited, but this sorrow was deepened by the disappearance of Aremys. This was someone he had called a friend and there were precious few of those in his life now. To lose him so soon was devastating. Further, his mind felt burdened rather than lightened by his meeting with Elysius and his heart was especially heavy at leaving Fynch.

  Fynch, Wyl mused, was the only constant in his life just at present. As he inched his way towards the Thicket, he realised how important the youngster had become to him. Whilst others such as Elspyth and even Aremys had accepted the strangeness of his life, it was Fynch who had always believed in him. Fynch who had guessed his secret from the start and had protected him. Little Fynch, so humble and yet so wise, who had saved not only Wyl’s life but that of a sovereign with his ingenuity. And it did not stop there. Fynch, following his own path, had left the safety of Werryl to track down Romen’s killer, and then had felt the pull of the Wild. There was definitely more to Fynch than hero worship of Wyl Thirsk. It had occurred to Wyl that Fynch’s involvement was not coincidence; the boy was deeply enmeshed in this whole business of Myrren’s gift, or at least in the curious life that Wyl was now leading. It was this realisation of Fynch’s importance that caused Wyl’s anger at himself for not insisting that Fynch should leave Elysius and travel with him.

  The truth of it was, he suddenly felt he needed Fynch. Their lives, strange though they both were, were entwined. He loved Fynch too and would not forgive himself should anything happen to the little fellow.

  Wyl’s thoughts raged in so many confusing directions that his only firm plan at this minute was to return to Timpkenny. He would overnight there before making a decision on his next move. His journey up the Darkstream was curiously and happily uneventful, and Samm was nowhere to be seen when he alighted, relieved, from the small craft where he had moored it by the overhanging willows. His intention had been to avoid the boatman and so it suited him that his cottage appeared deserted.

  Wyl did not relish the notion of again passing through the mysterious Thicket, but he knew he could not wait too long to find the courage. Dark seemed to fall heavily and fast in this place, and he did not want to risk Samm coming across him. One small consolation was that he had passed through the Darkstream’s mountain tunnel without trauma and he was grateful for Shar’s mercy in this.

  He walked more briskly towards the dark line of yews that marked the border of the Thicket. Wyl was convinced that he could hear a dim buzz emanating from the enchanted forest; it frightened him, but as he had been allowed to pass through once before, he was counting on similar generosity again.

  Wyl took a deep breath, closed his eyes reflexively and pushed into the tangle. The Thicket’s cool atmosphere chilled him instantly. The silence was disturbing. The forest knew he was here, and the thought that this place could sense, think and make decisions for itself was the most disconcerting notion of all.

  Oddly, this time there were no snagging branches and no confusing pathways. The previous time Knave had led him through Wyl felt sure that alone he would have lost himself amongst the yews for good. This time paths seemed to open themselves up to him. He shook his head with wonder. The Thicket was guiding him swiftly through its depths. It wanted him gone. Was as glad to be rid of him as he was to have his back to it.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered in genuine relief, feeling compelled to communicate with this living phenomenon which both fascinated and terrified him. Whether or not the Thicket heard he could not know, but he felt better for offering his gratitude.

  It was Wyl’s continuing fear that Aremys might still be blundering around in the forest, trying to escape. If it could guide him out, Wyl reasoned, it was just as able to keep Aremys in and never relinquish him, if it so chose.

  He overcame his intense fear, took the chance and began to call to his friend. The somewhat desperate edge to his voice carried loudly through the dense overgrowth but did little more than scatter small animals he could not see. Within this tension he had created for himself, Ylena’s fear of enclosed spaces began to threaten again; he felt it first as a tightening in her chest. He recalled the identical tautness of emotion which had occurred just before he lost control of himself on his first journey on the Darkstream and nearly drowned.

  The familiar shallowness of breath hit him and he stopped moving. Was the Thicket’s magic acute enough to sense this change in him? Instinctively, he began breathing into his cupped hands. Wyl could not imagine how he remembered this trick but it was something his father had taught Ylena when she was an infant. Panic, he recalled, often overcame his young sister, prompted by the suggestion of the game hide-and-come-seek, or looking in
to the dark depths of the well, or playing under Wyl’s bed. Anything connected with being enclosed or hidden seemed to provoke an irrational fear in her. To his knowledge, Ylena had not experienced this terror since she was a child, but obviously its ability to strike had travelled with her into adulthood. Wyl was grateful now for his memory of Fergys Thirsk’s trick to calm his daughter; he quickly noticed a marked change in what had been steadily rising panic levels.

  Whether or not the Thicket was aware of his discomfort, Wyl was fairly sure it deliberately steered him towards what might, at a stretch, be described as a clearing. His relief — or, more to the point, Ylena’s — at the space was evident by the way he flopped to the ground and took deep breaths. It remained cool beneath the yews but the oppressive atmosphere was not so marked, and if he could only get his breathing under control he knew he would feel less anxious. He put Ylena’s pretty head between her knees and forced her lungs to breathe slowly and deeply as foot soldiers, suddenly overcome by fear of battle, were taught to do before the command to charge. He held this position for several minutes and was relieved to feel the anxiety lessening.

  A soft sound above prompted him to raise his head and he was confronted by the largest owl he had ever seen. Strikingly marked, the majestic tawny creature blinked slowly and deliberately, in the way owls do. Wyl watched it as intently as it was regarding him, wondering which of them would capitulate first, if that indeed was what was expected.

  He lost the staring contest.

  ‘And you are?’ he said, feeling ridiculous but comforting himself that he had spoken to Knave without embarrassment. Why not this curious owl with such intelligence lurking in its large yellow eyes? This was a magical place after all. He was rewarded for his faith.

  I am Rasmus, the owl said into his mind, startling him.

  ‘I hear you,’ Wyl replied, in awe of the splendid creature.

  That was my intention, it said, somewhat disdainfully, then rotated its head in a disconcerting manner.