The Wildkin's Curse

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘But . . . I don’t want to marry her, I’ve never even met her . . . and I don’t want to be king! I can’t believe you could suggest such a thing.’ Merry leant back against the barrel, his legs suddenly feeling strangely weak.

  ‘But think of the good you could do. The changes you could make, the laws you could enact . . . Oh, why do you think I sent you to be fostered at Estelliana Castle, instead of keeping you with me? It was so you could learn everything you would need to know if the time ever came for you to lay claim to the throne.’

  ‘They would never let me be king.’

  ‘No . . . it would be dangerous. We’d have to be clever and canny and quick. If you were married already to Rozalina . . .’

  ‘But she’s never met me! Why on earth would she want to marry me?’

  ‘She must hate the starkin too,’ Mags said reasonably. ‘And your grandfather Johan was wildkin, and brought up at Stormlinn Castle. You’ve always had a touch of wildness about you, I’ve seen it, and so have others about you. She’ll see it too. Besides, why wouldn’t she want to marry you? You’re kind and funny and clever and handsome . . .’

  Merry snorted. ‘Who, me? I think you must be thinking of Zed.’

  ‘I think you are far better looking than Zed. He’s tall, I grant you, and fair . . .’

  ‘. . . and strong, and a much better fighter. Besides, everyone else thinks he’s the next in line for the throne! They think he should try and win Rozalina’s hand.’

  ‘You must fix her interest first.’

  ‘This is all crazy,’ Merry said. ‘You think I stand a chance of winning any lady’s love when Zed’s around? Even if I wanted to?’

  ‘Don’t you say such things,’ Mags said sternly. ‘I’d pick you any day over that big dumb buffoon.’

  ‘You’re my mother, you’re meant to be partial.’

  She grabbed his ear and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Even if I wasn’t your mother. Oh, Merry! I know it’s a lot to take in. I may never have told you if the king hadn’t changed the laws of inheritance. I’ve concentrated on keeping you safe all these years. Because if the starkin knew . . .’

  She stopped and took a few quick turns up and down the aisles between the apple barrels. ‘No-one must know, Merry! I charge you to take care. The starkin spies must always have wondered what happened to the child born under the water. I fear for you, Merry, going willingly into that pit of vipers. I fear for you so much my heart can hardly keep on beating.’

  When Merry returned to the Star and Crown Inn some time later, a hogshead of apple-ale under one arm, and rolls of songs under the other, he was greatly teased for having spent all his hard-won money so fast.

  ‘And on apple-ale!’ Zakary said, his nose in the air. ‘How rustic! But then I suppose we can expect nothing else from a hearthkin brat.’

  Merry could not help a crack of bitter laughter.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Wanderer

  ‘THEY SAY OLD SAILORS ARE REBORN AS ALBATROSSES,’ the old sailor said, taking his long pipe out of his mouth to gesture broadly. ‘I hope that it’s true. I’d like to live my next life as a wanderer, riding the storm winds.’

  Merry, Zed and Liliana were all crouched together in the tiny galley of the great ship Count Zygmunt had chartered to take them to Zarissa. It was five days after Merry’s visit with his mother, and in all that time the three friends had not seen a single one of the five birds they still sought. Liliana had no sooner got on board the Wind Dancer than she had begun to ask about albatrosses, and one of the sailors had told her to have a word with old Jacob, who knew more about albatrosses than anyone.

  He was a small, hunched man with a face as hard and crumpled as ancient leather. His eyes were black, and his white hair and beard were twisted and knotted into thick elflocks. Dressed only in a pair of tattered trousers and a coarse shirt, his feet and hands were broad and brown and gnarled, looking as though every finger and toe had been broken several times.

  He smoked a pipe made from some kind of bone. It was so long, it rested on the ground an arm’s span beyond his bare feet, and was carved and whittled with the shapes of waves and wings and clouds and ships. Merry longed to examine it more closely, but when the old man was not speaking, it was clenched firmly between the stumps of his few remaining teeth.

  ‘Will we see one, do you think?’ Liliana asked eagerly. ‘I have heard they’re quite beautiful.’

  ‘We sail right past Wanderer’s Rock,’ Jacob answered. ‘It’s the only place they roost this far north. They fly the world, you know, and can spend years without ever coming back to land, and then, when it is time for them to mate and have a chick, they will fly back to the very spot where they themselves were born.’

  ‘How can they possibly spend years without ever coming back to land?’ Merry wanted to know. ‘Where do they sleep?’

  Jacob shrugged. ‘I seen them fly behind a ship for days, never beating a wing, never coming down to land on a spar, just soaring up there in the wind for days on end. Maybe they sleep while they fly, maybe they don’t sleep at all, who knows.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem natural,’ Zed said. ‘Surely they must beat their wings.’

  ‘Many a time we’ve taken turns to watch, wanting to see if they ever rest, or eat, or flap their wings, and many the times we’ve given up the watching of them before they stir a feather.’ Jacob leant forward to stir the cauldron of salted pork soup hanging over the cook box.

  ‘That’s amazing,’ Merry exclaimed.

  ‘It must seem like magic,’ Liliana said softly.

  The old sailor nodded his white head. ‘Oh, yes, eerie it is. Enough to send a shiver down your spine. They’re wildkin creatures, if ever I seen one. I knew a sailor once, a young fool who thought himself smarter than anyone else. He caught one once, threw a net over it from the crow’s nest. He cut off its feet and threw it overboard, to see if it could still fly.’

  ‘Oh no! How cruel,’ Liliana cried.

  ‘Bird didn’t need no feet, he said, since it never came to land. Well, it’s true, that bird just kept on flying, but its blood splattered all over the ship, and days later, it died, for the stumps of its legs would not stop bleeding.’

  ‘That’s horrible,’ Merry said, sickened. Tom-Tit-Tot, who had been sniffing around for rats, stood up on his hind paws and looked at him in concern.

  ‘But you know what happened to that young fool?’ Jacob went on. ‘He was set to scrub the decks by the captain and a great storm blew up, and somehow he got himself entangled in some rope and was washed overboard and keelhauled. His skin was torn off him in strips and tatters by the barnacles on the keel, and he died the nastiest death I ever seen.’

  ‘Served him right!’ Liliana cried.

  The old man rummaged in his pocket and drew out a curious pouch, flesh-coloured, with three long bony spurs tipped with ebony claws. He weighed it in his hand. ‘My tobacco pouch is made from one of that bird’s feet. See how big it is? My pipe is made from his wing. It’s a full fathom in length.’

  Zed cocked an eyebrow at Merry, who said in a low voice, ‘About six feet long. Nearly as long as you!’

  ‘How can you?’ Liliana said furiously. ‘Fancy making a pipe out of that poor bird’s wing!’

  Old Jacob looked at her in surprise. ‘You’d rather I just threw the poor dead thing overboard? No, this way I remember, and everyone who asks me about my pipe hears the story and remembers too. I tell them the sight of a wandering albatross is a sign of good winds, and to kill or maim one is to bring bad luck down upon your head.’

  Liliana was silenced. The old man cleaned out the bowl of his pipe with the fingernail of his smallest finger—grown an inch in length for the purpose and coloured a deep yellowy-brown—packed it again with a wad of tobacco, and lit it with a twist of paper he stuck in the cook box. He puffed away happily, smoke wreathing about his head and making Merry’s eyes water.

  ‘They dance to court each other, you know,’ Jacob said, ‘ju
st like any young couple might do. I’ve seen them do it, bowing and prancing and pointing their bills to the sky. Then, when they’ve chosen their mate, they build a nest and both mother and father take turns to care for the chick. One will keep it warm and safe, and the other will fly in search for food. A thousand miles it might fly, just to bring a mouthful of food for its baby.’

  Merry glanced at Liliana, and was surprised to see her usually stormy grey eyes were soft and shining with tears.

  ‘And if that chick should die,’ the old man continued, ‘they do not have another, but mourn its passing just as any human parents would do, with real tears of salt water. And they love only once, I’ve heard. If their wife or husband dies, they pine for the other, and do not mate again. They spend the rest of their lives on the wing, flying alone, like a soul in exile.’

  ‘That is so beautiful,’ Liliana said with difficulty, and had to mop her eyes with her sleeve, roughly, trying to hide what she was doing.

  Watching her, Merry felt a new, soft tenderness take hold of him. She seemed so cold and stern sometimes, so fiery and intense at other times, as temperamental as his lute. Yet now he realised that she was trying hard to hide her vulnerability. He felt at that moment as if he could see straight into her heart, knowing how lonely her childhood must have been and how frightening it must be to feel the whole weight of her family’s loss bearing down on her. He wished he could ease her load somehow.

  She noticed him gazing at her and scowled at him, pretending she had not been moved by the old sailor’s story. Merry hid a grin. He knew then, with sudden and absolute certainty, that he was in love with Liliana. The knowledge came like a golden sunrise, a flowering of joy.

  Then he realised, bleakly, that his love was like that of the albatross, a love for life. Since it seemed impossible that Liliana could ever love him back, he was condemned to wander alone, an exile, for as long as he should live. The thought filled him with unbearable melancholy. He got to his feet abruptly, saying, ‘I don’t know how you can bear it in here, Jacob, it’s so smoky my eyes are stinging,’ and went out, pressing his sleeve against his eyes. Tom-Tit-Tot bounded after him.

  The old man chuckled. ‘Kills all the fleas,’ he said.

  It was a relief to be out in the fresh, bright air, though Merry still felt he could not face his friends in case they saw his feelings clear on his face. He stood at the rail, staring out at the vast expanse of green, heaving ocean, Tom-Tit-Tot curled comfortingly in his arms. The other two clambered up the steep ladder and joined him, looking out at the ocean.

  ‘If we do see an albatross, how are we to pluck a feather?’ Liliana wondered aloud. ‘Indeed, this task we’ve been set seems impossible.’

  ‘Maybe we won’t need the cloak of feathers,’ Zed said, intending to comfort her. ‘Maybe there’s another way to rescue her.’

  She turned a face of scorn upon him. ‘By marrying her, you mean? I think she’d rather die than be forced into marriage with a starkin lord. Is that not just another form of captivity?’

  ‘Not if you’re in love,’ Zed argued.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she mocked. ‘I thought it was marriage you were talking about.’

  ‘So young and yet so cynical,’ came Zak’s voice. Merry turned and saw Zed’s cousin mincing towards them from the direction of the stateroom. He swore silently, hoping Zakary had not heard them speak about the cloak of feathers.

  ‘And yet so wise,’ Zakary went on. ‘My father always said getting married was like putting your hand in a bag of snakes and hoping to find a nice fat pigeon.’

  ‘Maybe for you,’ Zed said cuttingly. ‘I certainly don’t think of marriage that way.’

  ‘I suppose your parents have given you a different slant on the subject,’ Liliana said. ‘I mean, they’re obviously really happy together.’ She smiled at him, and Merry felt a pang of bitter jealousy. All his life, Zed had always come first in everything. Merry did not think he could bear it if Zed was to win Liliana too.

  ‘The exception, I assure you, not the rule,’ Zakary said, stretching out his hand to better observe his nails. ‘But how on earth did we get on to such a tedious subject? Unless . . . are you truly contemplating marriage with the wildkin, Zed? I never thought of you as the ambitious type! I live to be surprised.’

  ‘I’ve never even met the girl,’ Zed said shortly. ‘Although . . . I cannot help feeling pity for her. Is it true she’s kept chained and muzzled?’

  ‘Oh, my dear, you mustn’t listen to court gossip! It’s an exaggeration, I swear. I mean, it is true she is kept confined . . . but then she is a wildkin, we all know how dangerous they can be. Our dear cousin the prince keeps a menagerie of them for the court’s amusement—why should this girl be treated any different simply because she’s his daughter?’

  ‘So is she muzzled?’ Liliana demanded, pain evident in her voice.

  ‘If she does not speak the way the king demands, she is sometimes reminded of who is king,’ Zakary said airily. ‘I have seen her muzzled, I admit. She told Princess Adora that no child of hers would ever live to inherit the throne of Ziva. Then, when Prince Zander spoke sharply to her, she told him that he too would never be king, and that he would die by his own hand before the year was out. The prince ordered her muzzled then, like her mother had been, and since then she has been kept locked in her tower and not brought down to tell stories as she used to.’

  ‘So she never comes down from her tower anymore?’ Merry asked, his brain busy trying to work out how on earth they were to rescue this mysterious princess from her glass tower.

  ‘The king has her brought down on high days and feast days, to tell the court stories. She can be very diverting, I must admit.’ Zakary yawned and rubbed his nails against his silk shirt, then admired their sheen. ‘However, if she speaks out of turn she is muzzled again. It just adds to the general entertainment.’

  ‘But if Princess Adora cannot have children, Princess Rozalina will be right, won’t she, about no child of hers ever being king?’ Liliana asked.

  ‘Well, yes, but I cannot see Prince Zander ever killing himself. He is far too fat and lazy, and loves the good things of life too much.’

  ‘What else has she said?’ Merry asked, gently stroking Tom-Tit-Tot’s sleek black fur.

  Zakary shrugged. ‘She told the king once that he would die on the day she finally escaped her prison. Stupid of her, really, because the king just keeps her more closely guarded than ever. She then told him it was no use and that the tower itself would set her free. Either she would die or she would fly, and the king would be bled dry. She has such a fascinating way with words, doesn’t she?’

  Merry exchanged a startled glance with Zed and Liliana. Either she would die or she would fly . . . it was as if she knew of the cloak of feathers and their plans to free her.

  ‘So was the king . . . concerned . . . by what she said?’ Liliana asked.

  ‘My dear, he was terrified. We all were. Well, perhaps not terrified . . . but certainly surprised and worried . . .’

  ‘Terrified,’ Liliana said.

  He flashed her a look, then tittered behind his fan. ‘Oh, my dear, absolutely petrified! She is so dramatic. Wait till you see her. She is only a dainty thing, and fair as a flower. Any number of young fools have dreamt of rescuing her for her face alone, let alone her royal blood. But then she opens her mouth. Oh, we all start trembling in our diamond-heeled shoes, I promise you. The king will only remove her muzzle if she promises to tell nothing but the stories he wants. But many times she will not. She says she must tell the truth.’

  Merry flashed Liliana a look, and was not surprised to see her exultant and challenging, staring him back in the eye. See! she seemed to be saying.

  ‘It’s a strange and terrible power to have,’ Merry said. ‘What happens if she loses her temper and says something she doesn’t mean?’

  ‘I really don’t have much to do with her,’ Zakary continued, looking bored with the subject. ‘I mean, she is on
ly brought down from her tower on feast days, to entertain the court, or when the king cannot sleep and wants a bedtime story. Or, of course, when he wants her to curse his enemies . . .’

  ‘Surely you don’t believe in curses?’ Merry said, in a tone of the utmost disbelief.

  Zakary looked from side to side, then leant in close. ‘I may as well tell you. Princess Adora will the moment she sees you. The wildkin witch cursed me. I was only trying to be friendly and help her get on a little better at court. Really, the clothes she insists on wearing! But she would not listen to me and then, when all I was trying to do was open her eyes to the way the world is . . . well, anyway, she pointed her finger at me and intoned, in this blood-curdling way, that she would still the tongue in my head if I did not leave her alone. Well, of course, I protested, and next thing I was laid low with the most dreadful disease. My tongue and throat were all swollen, and I could scarcely croak a word, nor rise from my bed for days.’

  ‘Mumps!’ Zed suddenly crowed. ‘She cursed you with mumps!’

  Two spots of colour rose in Zakary’s thin, white-powdered cheeks. ‘Adora! That cow! She wrote to you?’

  ‘No, no, just a lucky guess,’ Zed said, still grinning broadly. Merry and Liliana both had to fight to keep their mouths from twitching.

  ‘Well, it sounds ludicrous, but I promise you it’s no laughing matter. I thought I would die! And of course, it did mean some of the young bloods made sport of me at the palace. Indeed, it was almost a relief to retire to the country for a while. Just till a new scandal popped up and everyone forgot how that witch had humiliated me!’

  ‘We are so looking forward to getting to the palace,’ Merry said, not liking the malicious look that had crept over Zakary’s face. ‘We have heard it is truly amazing.’

  ‘A palace built all of glass,’ Zakary said dreamily. ‘I must admit, I can hardly wait to return. No insult intended, my dears, but country hicks do not amuse me at all. I could only wish this leaky old boat would sail along a little faster. I am sure I shall die of boredom.’