Awakened Mage

by Karen Miller

  Not long after her people’s arrival Barl gathered all the Olken community leaders together and explained about the conflict in her homeland, about Morg, and how defenseless they were against him ... how he would not rest till he found her and her people and punished them for fleeing, and then take every Olken as a slave, or worse...

  It so happened that in that time the Olken people were suffering. Drought and famine gripped their land and not even then strongest earth-singers could save them. Barl saw their dilemma and made them a glittering offer. Share their homeland with the Doranen—abandon their meager magics and any memory of them—and she would create a paradise safe not only from Morg but from all the natural sufferings their earthbound lives were prey to. The Oiken and Doranen would live together in perfect harmony, perfect peace, safe, secure and prosperous, hidden from the rest of the world beyond the mountains, until the end of time.

  Dathne stopped talking. The room was so quiet Asher thought he could hear the spiders breathing. “This ain’t the story my ma told me when I were a spratling.”

  She nodded. “It wasn’t. That story was ... a lie.”

  “But you know the truth?” he sneered. “How, if the Olken agreed to forget it? Or is this just another lie, made up to get you what you want? From me.”

  He could see his words hurt her, and was glad. He’d meant them to.

  “One Olken voice spoke out against the bargain,” she continued, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her eyes were bright in the dim lighting. “His name was Jervale and I am his last living heir. Inheritor of his visions and the prophecy they foretold.”

  Jervale was known in his own small community as something of a seer. A man whose dreams had the knack of coming true. As a small boy he’d had visions of a golden-haired people who’d bring the Olken to ruin. He didn’t know who they were or when they’d come or what form that ruin would take. Years passed, he grew up, and the visions faded from memory.

  Then the Doranen came, and with them returned his foreboding dreams. They told him the heart of the sweet fruit they offered was rotten ... and that one day it would lead to his people’s death.

  “Jervale tried to warn the Olken elders but they were too Doranen-dazzled to listen,” Dathne said. She sounded sad, regretful. “They didn’t know him, or have reason to trust in his prophecies. In this prophecy, the most important of all. With children dying of hunger and thirst the Doranen were the answer to our prayers, or so it seemed.”

  “Seemed?” he said. “Sounds hke they were, if folks were starvin’ to death! Sounds to me like your precious Jervale didn’t give a fart about that?”

  “Of course he did! But he could see further than a season’s shortage of food. He knew Barl was right: something dark and dreadful did lurk beyond the barrier of mountains. And he knew this, too. That for all their fearsome magic the Doranen would not be able to stand against it. Somehow Olken magic would have a part to play in protecting Lur. One day an Olken would be born whose destiny was to save us all in the Final Days. He named him the Innocent Mage.”

  He stared at her, unconvinced. “And you reckon that’s me?”

  She nodded. “Yes. You are Prophecy’s child, Asher. Born to save the world as Jervale foretold.”

  Born to save the world? Him? It sounded so ridiculous he was hard-put not to laugh out loud. But he didn’t, because her expression was so serious. Clearly she beheved every word she’d said and right now he was at her mercy. One word in the wrong ear from her or the old woman in the corner and he’d be back on his knees before the chopping block. Besides, there were still things he wanted— needed—to know.

  “And what about you?” he said. “How do you come into this, eh?”

  She glanced at Veira then rested her gaze on the foot of his bed. “I am Jervale’s Heir, his descendant, inheritor of his visions and knowledge. I’ve dreamed you most of my life, Asher. Knew you for who and what you are long before we met.”

  Dreamed him? Knew him? Oh, he didn’t hke the sound of that. Didn’t like it at all. “And Matt?” He pointed at the old woman, brooding in her corner. “Her? How do they fit in with your precious prophecies?”

  Now her fingers laced themselves together to still then trembling. And well she should tremble, too. What she’d done...

  “When he realized his warnings would not be heeded, Jervale went home and gathered to him his closest friends,” she said. “Those who knew his visions could be trusted and believed his prophecy would come true. Together they swore an oath to hold the Olken’s magical heritage in sacred trust, generation after generation, until the Innocent Mage was born and needed Olken magicians to stand with him in the Final Days. Together they devised a way to protect themselves from the Doranen’s purge. They called themselves the Circle. Veira, Matt and I are all of the Circle. There are others, scattered throughout the kingdom, but only Veira knows who they are. Like me they are descended from the Olken of Barl’s time. Like me, they’ve hved their lives with only one purpose: to defeat the evil that will come in the Final Days. That has come, Asher. The Final Days are upon us now.”

  He shook his head, rejecting her and everything she’d said. Prophecies. Visions. Secret societies of Olken magicians. It was crazy. Crazy. “You’re mad,” he said, scathing. “Stark staring moonstruck. You expect me to believe—”

  “You have to believe it!” she cried. “Every word is the truth!”

  “The truth?” Scalded with sudden fury he kicked back his blankets and lunged off the bed at her, seizing the arms of her chair and prisoning her in it. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the arse! You been lyin’ to me since the day I turned up in Dorana!”

  Despite his rage, she didn’t shrink back. “No, I haven’t! Withholding information isn’t telling lies. I was protecting you, Asher!”

  “Protecting me?” he said, incredulous. “From what?”

  “From accident! From yourself!”

  He leaned even closer, till he could feel her panting breath on his cheeks. “The only danger I been in is from you. You should’ve found someone to protect me from you, Dathne.”

  “That’s not fair!” she cried. “You were never in danger from me!”

  He flung himself sideways and half rolled, half staggered to his feet. “Of course I bloody was!” He could see it all, now; how she’d duped him, dudded him, played him like a puppet. “You arranged everything, didn’t you? I don’t know how, but you did. Me savin’ Gar’s horse that mornin’ in the market. Him thinkin’ I was right to be his assistant. You practically dared me to take the job, when I knew in my guts I shouldn’t! Was it you made him think of me in the first place, one day when you were sellin’ him a book? It was, wasn’t it? For why, Dathne?” He pulled down the neck of his borrowed nightshirt, baring burned flesh to the light. “For this?”

  She stretched out an imploring hand. “No, no, of course not! I never dreamed you’d come so close to dying!”

  He stepped back. The touch of her now would make him vomit. “I don’t believe you.” A cold thought struck him, then. “How much does Gar know? Are you in bed with him too? Did you dream this up together, you and him, with the sweat of your futtering still wet on your skin?”

  Tears streaming, she leapt to her feet. “No! How can you say so? How can you think it?”

  Another thought, colder still. He made himself look in her face. “Timon Spake.”

  Bewildered, smearing those pouring tears, she shook her head. “What?”

  “They caught him trying to do magic!” he shouted. “Was he one of yours? Was he part of your precious Circle?”

  As Dathne struggled for words—for lies—Veira answered. “He was, child. A good boy, Timon, but foolish.”

  He turned on her. “And you didn’t save him? You let him die!”

  The old woman stood and came forward into the light. “We couldn’t save him. Timon knew that. He died with courage, and will be remembered.”

  Courage. That poor sickly boy, and all the bl
ood in him, spilling. He stared at Dathne. “He was never your cousin. That was another he.”

  Her stricken gaze flicked to Veira, and back. “Forget Timon. Timon’s dead. We must—”

  “Why’d you bully me to let you see him, Dathne? What was so important?”

  Veira took a small step closer. “What’s he talking of, child? When did you see Timon?”

  “Beforehand. Briefly,” said Dathne. “But that’s in the past. Asher, listen—”

  And now he understood. “You were scared he’d talk out of turn. You thought he’d betray you.” His breath caught hard in his aching throat. “What was in them cakes you took him?”

  “Cakes?” said Veira, frowning. “You made no mention of cakes, child.”

  “They were nothing,” said Dathne. “Nothing that matters anymore.”

  No, they were something. The memory was there in her dark brown eyes. Eyes he thought had looked on him with love. His belly cramped, rejecting. “They were poisoned. Weren’t they?”

  “Poisoned?” Veira echoed. “Child, is that true?”

  “Damn you, Asher!” cried Dathne, and turned to the old woman. “I’m sorry, I had to! I couldn’t trust he’d keep the faith and stay silent!”

  He was so sickened now he could hardly see straight. “But Spake did. You were wrong about him, Dathne, and you’re wrong about me. I ain’t your Innocent Mage. I’m a fool as was diddled by sweet talk and lies. Yours. Matt’s. Gar’s. Everyone’s.”

  “No, no,” said Dathne, breathless. “Please believe me. I love you. We need you. You’re Prophecy’s fulfilment, this kingdom’s only hope!”

  She reached out her hand to touch him and he knocked it away. Knocked her sideways as die power inside him drew breath like a dragon and threatened to set him on fire.

  “Get away from me, bitch! Get her out of here, old woman, or I won’t be responsible. Get out, get out!”

  The magic ignited. Burst from eyes, mouth and fingers in a roar of burning snow and flaming rain. He let it consume him ... didn’t care if it killed him. Or Dathne, or Veira.

  Didn’t care about anything.

  ———

  Sobbing, Dathne let herself be pushed through the cottage and into the kitchen. She heard the door slam shut and felt Veira’s hand press her into a chair.

  “We... we ... have to go back to him. We have to stop him!”

  “He’ll stop himself soon enough,” said Veira, filling the kettle. “Best he gets it out of his system before we try another sensible conversation. I’ve dampened the bedroom, child. He’ll do it no damage.”

  She hiccuped, struggling for self-control. “Dampened it? When?”

  “While you were talking.”

  “You expected this?”

  “A tantrum?” Nodding, Veira put the kettle on the stove top then opened the stove’s front to rouse the coals with a poker. “Of course. Didn’t you?”

  “It’s more than a tantrum! That’s not a fair word. He’s angry, Veira, and he’s every right to be. I did deceive him. In a way, I did lie.”

  Veira sniffed. “You did your duty as Jervale’s Heir.”

  “He doesn’t think so,” she whispered.

  “He will, in time.”

  She felt her eyes fill again. “He called me a bitch.”

  “And so you are,” said Veira tartly. “And so am I. You think this a business for gentle folk?”

  She held Veira’s challenging gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I’m sorry about Timon Spake. If there hadn’t been an accident—the cakes ruined—I’d have told you what I did.”

  Veira shrugged. “As you say, child. It’s in the past. And after Rafel, who am I to judge you?”

  On the stove top the kettle bubbled, burping steam. Veira set out mugs and milk and frowned at the almost empty jug. “First thing in the morning you could make yourself useful, if you like, and wander along to the village. Get me more milk, since I’m almost out and we’ve got company coming.”

  Oh, yes. Incredibly, she’d forgotten. Matt, and Gar, and Darran. Would they be here soon? She hoped so. “Why don’t you keep a cow? Or a goat?”

  “’Cause there’s only me, that’s why,” said Veira, adding tea leaves to the pot. “And my few cuicks help the milkman. Will you go? I’ll give you directions. It’s easy enough to find.”

  She nodded. “Trying to keep me out of Asher’s way?”

  “I think it’s advisable,” said Veira, making the tea. “For the next little while at least. You can bring back more bacon too. Maybe some ham. There’s carrots and greens in the garden and a big jar of pickled cabbage. Lots of eggs. I think provisions will stretch.”

  She took the mug that Veira offered, “Won’t the villagers be curious about me?”

  “Curious, yes. Rude, no,” said Veira, smiling briefly. “Tell them you’re my niece come to visit, that’ll answer.”

  The tea was hot and sweet, a welcome relief to the cold lump in her middle. Asher. She swallowed greedily, not caring that it burned. “Will it be much longer, do you think? Before the absolute end?”

  Veira blew on her own tea, brow furrowed with thought. “No,” she said at last. “Not too much longer.”

  It was what she thought herself. Didn’t know whether hearing the suspicion confirmed made matters better or worse.

  “So what now?”

  “Now, child, we’ll have us some supper. Then you can go to bed and I’ll sit up for Asher. And tomorrow will bring us what it brings.”

  She wasn’t hungry or tired but there was nothing else to do. She even managed to doze a little. She heard no alarm from Veira’s bedroom. Its door opened and closed three times, and she caught the merest murmur of voices, but no one called for her to come. Asher stayed safely within.

  At first light she rose, bathed, dressed and saw to the livestock. The chickens cackled, the pigs snorted, the raw-boned horses snatched for their hay.

  Well. At least someone was glad to see her.

  She heard the cottage’s back door bang and put her head round the corner of the stable. Asher. He was dressed in drab brown jacket and trews Veira must have had stored or brought with her from the City. Grim-faced, he strode across the back yard, kicked open the gate to the forest and kept on walking. She almost ran after him, shouting. The Black Woods were dangerous. There were bears. Wolves. People. He shouldn’t go in there alone . ..

  The kitchen door opened again. Veira stood in the doorway and watched the forest’s shadows swallow him. Said nothing as he disappeared among the mossy tree trunks. She was calm and quiet. Peaceful, almost. As though she’d reached a place of balance and was happy to stay there for a while. Dathne held her breath, half hoping Veira saw her, half hoping that she didn’t.

  She did. Nodded, acknowledging, then went back inside. Dathne sighed and followed her.

  “Is he all right?”

  Close to, Veira looked exhausted. Slumped in a chair, head propped in her hands with her silver hair all which-way, she nodded. “Right enough. And will be better, by and by. He needs more time alone.”

  “He won’t run?”

  Veira snorted. “Run where? We’re his only haven and he knows it. Make us breakfast, will you, child? I’m almost too weary for breathing.”

  She cooked them eggs with cream and dill. Settled Veira in the sitting room with tea and a blanket, then went on her little trip to the village. It was surprisingly pleasant, marching through the forest with only a basket for company. A little balm for her lacerated soul. The air was fresh and clean, scented with pine. Unseen birds whistled and called, sounding cheerful. She kept one eye out for Asher but didn’t see him. Finding the little forest community without mishap, she told all who asked that she was Veira’s niece. As Veira predicted, they seemed happy with that. Gladly they sold her milk and meat and gave her ajar of honey in welcome.

  She felt like a fraud, accepting.

  Walking back was a slower affair; the provision-filled basket was heavy. There was still no sign of A
sher. As she reached the cottage gate she paused and stared down the road, hopeful but not expecting—

  Someone was coming towards her. Several someones. And a donkey. And a cart.

  She dropped the basket and ran.

  “Matt! Matt!”

  Startled, he jogged to meet her halfway. “Dathne, Dathne, what’s amiss?”

  She held him like a long-lost sweetheart, hugging his ribs to breaking. Cradled his hurt face gently in her hands . and scolded him without mercy.

  “I’m all right, I’m all right!” he soothed her, alarm and pleasure mingled. “Is Asher here? Is he all right?”

  “Yes.” It was all she dared to say.

  Matt looked into her face and sighed. “You told him.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now he’s angry.”

  She saw again that terrifying torrent of magic. “Very. I know ... I know . .. you warned me.”

  A tentatively cleared throat turned her head. It was Gar, looking fragile. She hadn’t even seen him. She stepped back from Matt and managed a half-hearted curtsey. “I’m sorry, sir. Your Highness.”

  He shook his head, faintly smiling. “Gar.”

  “And Darran,” she added, nodding at the old gentleman as he leaned against the rickety donkey cart. “Forgive me. You both must be exhausted. Come inside. Veira will want to—”

  The cottage’s front door opened. “Greet her visitors,” said Veira, and joined them. She kissed Matt’s cheek and touched a finger to his bruised, rubbed throat. “Welcome back, Matthias. You’re a little the worse for wear.” Looking Gar up and down she added, “And you’ll be our late king’s son, then?”