“Halfreda, why? Why are you so aghast?”
Halfreda closes her eyes, the heat from the fire washing over her. “I think it’s barbaric.”
“It’s magical and necessary.”
“Really? How so?”
“You are too young to know but I have lived so many years I know too much. I have seen too much.”
“Tell me then, convince me. I cannot imagine that you could. I know what it’s like to be a young girl with her life ahead of her – a life she is frightened by. The Kingmakers have the worst fate of all who reside in the Realm. I could never...” Her voice trails off and the teacher takes her hand.
“There is so much we cannot understand or want to accept in this life – people who murder their own blood, innocent babies losing their lives, the wastefulness of a young death. I could go on. The choosing of the King is wrapped in a magic most of the Realm don’t understand.”
“Me included.”
“Maybe you don’t need to understand it?”
“If you think my future is murdering young girls, then yes, I think I need to understand.”
“Halfreda.” There is a subtle admonishment in that one word, but she shakes her head.
“No. I don’t understand it or like it. There must be a better way.”
“Halfreda. Yours is not to question the magical and mysterious customs of the Realm, whether you work in the castle or not. Why question whether the King deserves his throne or the thief deserves to keep his hands? Pointless questions. Yours is not to change the Realm but to live within it and be useful. I can see that a young girl with empathy for other young girls would struggle with the legend of the Kingmaker, but it is what it is. As I am a dwarf, and you are filled with a magic you never asked for.”
Halfreda shrugs.
“We had a reign once, just once, where the Kingmaker died before she could perform her duty and it was the worst reign the Realm has ever had, and the repercussions go on to this day. She has a magic necessary for choosing the next King, it is her birth right. None of us like it that much but it is who she is.”
“But I don’t want to work at the castle and assist the King if it means killing time after time.”
“Halfreda. The wise woman of the castle – Marby, is ailing. She is old, and frail and her gifts are dwindling. We will need a new one soon. It’s one of the reasons I scour the Realm – looking for a suitable replacement. The minute I saw you, I knew I had found you. A worthy replacement for the greatest witch the Realm has ever known. You have it all inside you, but I cannot battle with you on everything.”
“Not everything, just this.”
“Halfreda, it was only yesterday I was ready to send you home because you keep fighting your intrinsic self, today it is the Kingmaker. I think you like to be a stubborn, awkward and obstinate female.”
She shrugs. “Maybe. But I don’t like what you’re suggesting.”
“And you don’t have to do it, but you cannot have a tantrum because you don’t like a age-old custom.”
“It’s not a tantrum.”
“You dismissed it and refused it. That’s not your place. The Kingmaker knows her role from very young and each one has always accepted it. It’s what they are born for. They need kind words and a true heart looking after them up until that point. They deserve to have someone slitting their throat who isn’t bloodthirsty or savage but full of regret and sorrow at what’s being done. Nevertheless, it must be done. Each Kingmaker is sacrificed on her seventeenth birthday and their magical, special blood kills a prince – or more than one – and crowns a prince. It is the most special of all the ceremonies. And our current Kingmaker, Isla, is almost at her birthday, almost due to be sacrificed. If Marby dies, we need someone to step in.”
“It’s so cruel.”
“It is, but it has always happened and always will. Can you trust me and continue this path – accepting your magic, learning more about it – and see how you feel then? I will teach you more about the Kingmakers, explain all that I know...”
Halfreda nods although her heart hurts. How can she take a role in the castle knowing that every time a Kingmaker is born, she will be the one to kill her? Impossible.
3
The teacher leaves Halfreda by the fire. What is another morning wasted when they have wasted so many already? At least now she is coming to him with her mind focussed and her heart open to her true nature. He has seen her future and believes she will be at the castle, and yes, killing the Kingmakers, but she is stubborn and so heavily opposed to her magical self that there have been moments when he feared he would fail with his mission.
It’s a mission he has given to himself and nothing bad will come if he fails, but he knows that she is meant to be at the castle. He knows she is meant to be the wise woman – the most magical person in the entire Realm.
And Marby is suffering. He visited the castle on the last full moon – it is a three-day journey from where he lives – and she begged him to relieve her of her duties. It broke his heart to tell her no. But he did tell her that he had found a suitable replacement. Now he must convince Halfreda that she’s the right person to do it.
He can see why a young girl would feel more strongly about the murder of another young girl – and it is murder. He recognises that but it is also paramount to the smooth running of the Realm.
He sits and closes his eyes, listening to the bustle of the house around him. He lets his thoughts focus on each girl in turn. He is doing good work. Once they are trained and sent on their way, he will travel the length and breadth of the Realm finding more youngsters who need magical training.
And he is determined that Halfreda will be at the castle where she belongs.
Halfreda can hear Nerida chanting away to herself in the forest and moves closer, listening to her friend. She has a nice tone to her voice; it’s soothing to hear.
“Nerida,” she whispers her name, so she doesn’t alarm her and Nerida opens her eyes.
“I thought you were with the teacher.”
“We had a disagreement.”
“Another one?”
“That makes it sound like I argue with him all the time.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. He wants me to go to the castle.”
“Why?”
“To take over from Marby.”
“The wise woman? She’s incredibly talented.” Nerida shifts off her knees and stands beside her friend. “That’s a huge honour. What did you say?”
“No.”
Nerida looks aghast. “Halfreda, why? You cannot keep treating the teacher with such contempt.”
“I don’t treat him with contempt.”
“You do.”
“I don’t. I think he’s wonderful, he’s so clever, so wise, so kind, so...” Halfreda trails off. “What?”
Nerida is grinning at her, a sly look on her face. “I knew you thought a lot of him. You try to act so relaxed, but this is a big deal to you too – being here with all of us, having him teach you.”
“Of course. Why would you think it wasn’t?”
“Halfreda, we have become friends in the last three weeks, but you have no idea how most people here are viewing you, what I thought of you before I spent time with you.”
“What? Don’t people like me?”
“They do, but we all think that you are throwing away a gift that is stronger than any of ours, bigger than we could dream of. Zanna is so jealous of you. We all are, in a way. We have seen only a tiny bit, heard only a tiny bit of what you might be capable of and, well, I can only speak for myself, but I would give anything to have your gifts.”
“You have gifts.”
“Not like yours. I overheard the teacher talking to Mal about you. He thinks so highly of you, but you frustrate him.”
“I’m not trying to. I...” Halfreda shakes her head, but Nerida puts a hand on her arm. “Let’s walk back.”
“I’m not like you, Nerida. You love your gifts, your mag
ic, your unusual abilities. I hate mine. They make me feel odd, an outcast.”
“I do love my magic. And so should you. Anyone in the Realm would swap places with you. It’s so lucky to have magic in your blood.”
“It doesn’t feel lucky.”
“Well, get over it because it is. And you’re lucky that the teacher still wants to help you after you’ve been such a pain.”
Halfreda opens her mouth to argue, but Nerida is laughing too much and so she shuts her mouth and links arms with her.
Back at the round house, the teacher beckons them over.
“How was your morning Nerida?”
“Good, thank you. I struggle with the incantations, though. I find it hard to remember the order of the words.”
“Stay calm and keep trying – eventually the words will be second nature to you, as easy as saying your own name.”
Nerida nods, taking in the teacher’s wisdom, eager to learn.
“Halfreda.” The teacher nods at her but doesn’t engage in conversation. Halfreda feels the sting of his nonchalance but swallows it down. She will show him that she’s happy to be here, willing to learn, and as for working at the castle, she will listen to what he has to say and make her decision when she knows more.
“A little help, please?” The three of them turn to face Menna, her hands full of dishes, a jug of ale tucked next to her side.
The teacher takes the ale, and Halfreda and Nerida follow her back to the kitchen to collect more food.
The round house belongs to the teacher, but he spends so much time travelling around the Realm that he is happy for others to dwell there. He always has his charges staying – they vary in number and gender, but there are three rooms in the rafters that they share. There is a husband and wife team, Mal and Menna – both filled with magic. But they are happy to blend in and assist the teacher from the round house, holding fort while he scours the Realm, helping him settle in his wards and teaching them all they need to know.
There are rooms for travellers. The doors are always open for magical folk who might be passing by. They are plentiful and colourful characters that bring a new dimension to the round house. Depending on their experience, they might be happy to assist the teacher with his students.
Currently, the teacher, Mal, Menna, his four wards, and three others are sleeping at the round house each night – but many more pass through – stopping for a meal, or a night, or more, as they prefer.
Halfreda loves the bustle, the way there is always someone interesting to talk to, always something going on. She loves meal times – just letting the conversations wash over her. She will not leave voluntarily.
Sitting next to Nerida, the two girls nudge each other and roll their eyes as Zanna dominates the conversation, wanting the teacher’s attention all to herself. He is happy to speak to her, but gently brings other people into their exchange. He would never be rude and, truthfully, he isn’t completely comfortable with Zanna. There is something abrasive about the way she talks to the others, something cold about her manner. He cannot imagine a role for her yet – she wasn’t well thought of in her little village – and anyway she doesn’t have the open and kind manner needed for a village witch. Not really.
Halfreda slowly clears the plates, waiting to talk to the teacher alone. She gets her chance once Zanna finally marches off, her back rigid and her demeanour cold.
“Tell me about the Kingmakers.”
4
The teacher nods and beckons for Halfreda to walk with him. “Let’s go through the woods, down to the river.”
Halfreda follows him, happy to spend time with him. He has a calming presence like nothing she has ever encountered before. A minute in his company is as relaxing as an hour with nothing to do and nothing to worry about.
“I am happy to tell you all about the legend of the Kingmaker – I think you need to know it, but I must also say this: any person who judges before they know the true facts lets themselves down, as well as those who they judge. I cannot tell you how heart-breaking Marby finds her role when the time comes around to sacrifice the Kingmaker. I know that she weeps. I know that she cannot sleep before or after. I have been at every ceremony that she has performed and afterwards I hold her while she sobs. No one wants to kill the Kingmaker. Every person wishes she could live. Don’t you think her parents, her siblings, would care more than you do? Don’t ever dare to judge, Halfreda. It’s a terribly condescending and patronising thing to do.”
Chastened, Halfreda feels tears filling her eyes. “I don’t mean to be condescending or patronising. I just feel sick at the thought of killing a young girl who has done nothing to deserve it.”
“Halfreda. What does a King do to deserve the greatest seat in the land?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. He is born to it.”
“As is the Kingmaker. Born to a role that none would choose, but that each one willingly carries out with courage and magic; thus, a new King is crowned. We cannot do without it.”
“It just seems barbaric.”
“And I am not telling you that it isn’t. But, it is what it is and someone must do the job. Besides me seeing your future at the castle, someone with great magic like yours should serve the Realm, and the King. And I believe it will be you. You need to understand the legend of the Kingmaker and you need to try to accept something that feels uncomfortable to you.”
“I can try.”
“Of course you can. Don’t think for a second that you are the only one kind or true or gentle enough to find it disturbing. We all do but that does not mean that it is ours to change.”
Halfreda nods. “It upsets me, but I am willing to learn. To listen.”
“I hope so. It doesn’t aid anyone if we have closed minds or hearts. We can all stand to learn, to change, to adapt. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy the stream of visitors we have here at the house. They bring me knowledge I didn’t possess or a perspective I might not have seen. Keep an open mind always, Halfreda. Whatever else you learn from me – and it will be a lot – remember that.
“Kings are magical, more than human. They are closer to the gods than we are. Before the first Kingmaker, Kings were born and not made. The first-born son of a married King and Queen – never a bastard – would rule after his father’s demise. Good, bad, able, dull, whatever his traits, attributes, weaknesses or vices he would be King. What a ridiculous way to rule a Realm.”
Halfreda nods along.
“The very first King of this Realm was made and not born. He was appointed by the gods and given magic – the first person who roamed the Realm who had magic in his blood. He was the first King. He was so much more than a normal man; not immortal but the nearest thing to it. He was stronger than a normal man, taller than a normal man, more handsome than a normal man. He had a rapier’s wit and a mind so intelligent he made clever men look like dullards. Anyone who met him knew that he was more than a man. He was a King.
“He recognised that the Realm needed a leader, someone to take charge, show everyone the way. He could protect the weak and temper the strong. He was a magical being. I could go on and on, Halfreda, believe me.”
Again, Halfreda nods along, happy to listen to his deep, smooth voice all day long.
“He married a glorious woman, and they lived a glorious life. They had reams of children and the Realm prospered under his rule.
Everything that could go right did under his rule. The Realm was in peace, every person who lived here was happier. It was an idyllic time.
And when he died, his son did a good job. He was born and not made. His gifts were not as great as his fathers had been. He wasn’t quite as tall or strong, as fearless or clever. And so, the magic seemed to dilute with each new generation of royals.”
The teacher pauses, leaning against a tree. “I need to sit.”
They sit under the shade of the tree, and the teacher continues.
“There are a group of us, men and women, all ages, all abilities, who live within t
his Realm. We have power and magic and we tutor those who need our help – like yourself – and we gather annually to talk, to make decisions, to fix things. We are all in the King’s employ and we all bow to him absolutely. But let’s just say, he is not privy to all the conversations that we have, all the decisions that we make or all the things we set in motion. Keepers, I suppose you could call us, the keepers of the Realm. Not rulers, but keepers. We quietly beaver away making sure that all is well, so that the King can enjoy his reign and his Realm in peace.”
He shifts slightly. “At one of our annual gatherings, we spoke of this dilution of sovereignty and it caused us all troubles. Among our number is a sorceress so powerful she makes me look like a simpleton. She had an idea...”
He pauses again and looks at Halfreda. “It cannot fall on a King alone to make decisions about the Realm. Even a good King can be blinded by his own hopes and dreams. His advisors are often bent one way or another depending on what they can gain from their position. We are truly unbiased. We are separate from the King and we have seen many Kings live and die. We recognise that while their time is fleeting, the Realm will live on and on.”
“How many Kings?”
“Too many.”
“How old are you?”
“Too many questions.”
“You don’t want to answer me.”
“How wise you are.”
Halfreda grins. “You won’t tell me?”
“I don’t need to. You will find out. I don’t doubt it.”
She grins again, and the teacher continues.
“And so, our sorceress developed the magic of the Kingmaker – a way to find the most potent strain of the King’s magical blood, whichever son it had gone into, and make him King. Thus, Kings were made again and not born and the Realm grew more successful. Each King was better than the one before. Instead of the dilution of power we had been seeing, we were getting a concentrated version. And with each successful reign, we knew we had made the right decision – that our sorceress’s magic was doing what it needed to.”
“And the Kingmaker?”
The Kingmaker Prophecy Page 2
