by R. S. Ford
‘Not this year,’ Ben said to himself as he made his way back into the house, leaving the dead flowerbed behind him.
It smelled of simmering stew as soon as he entered through the door. Stew was always better the second day, when the meat and stock and veg and herbs had had a chance to fashion their magic. Ben’s stomach grumbled in anticipation.
They ate in silence. Jake, as ever, sat in front of the hearth, watching hungrily.
Livia cleaned the dishes as Ben’s eyes began to droop. The fire warmed him through and before long he was nodding off.
‘Come on then, old man,’ Livia whispered. ‘That field won’t plough itself tomorrow.’
He’d heard her say that a thousand times but he still never got bored of it. Ben let her lead him to bed, undressing him and pulling the blankets over his tired body. She kissed her finger and pressed it to his lips, then left him in the dark. Wasn’t long before the sleep took him.
Ben dreamed every night. Not all the stories he told Livia were ones he’d learned from the travellers passing through Bardum Market. When he’d been younger Ben had travelled. And he’d seen war; more than most men. Every night those old memories came back to haunt him; every night he fought old battles as only a young man could. That night, he fought harder than he ever had, and when his eyes finally flicked open there was a sheen of sweat on his brow.
He pulled back the covers, feeling his heart beating fast in his chest. Light lanced faintly through the shutter of his window, even though it was well before dawn. His first thought was that Livia had forgotten to extinguish the lanterns.
‘Bloody waste of oil,’ he grumbled as he eased himself out of bed.
Then Jake began to bark.
Ben stumbled through the house, eyes adjusting to the scant light. He bumped into the kitchen table, staggering to the door, Jake at his feet, jumping as though there was a rabbit just beyond. Light encroached beneath it, bright enough to light Ben’s feet and his muddy boots sitting on the mat. He didn’t pause to put them on, but wrenched the door open, stumbling out into the night.
Jake ran out beside him but they both stopped dead in the cold mud. Some distance away Ben could hear the dray, its high-pitched whinny cutting through the night, the rhythmic pounding of its hooves as they smashed against the stable door.
Livia was on her knees in the flowerbed. It was dead no longer.
As she knelt in her nightdress, black locks flowing around her as though she were submerged in water, it seemed that every seed Ben had planted had flowered at once. But they weren’t sprouting from the ground – they floated about Livia like faeries on the breeze, each one glowing with its own light. Yellow hawkbit, pink foxglove, red poppy, blue cornflower and all the rest, shining through the dark so bright Ben had to raise a hand to shield his eyes.
The old man’s mouth dropped open, and at first all he could do was look on in awe.
Magic.
Not seen in these lands for a hundred years.
Panic gripped him.
If the tallymen heard of this they’d take Livia away from him. Duke Gothelm’s law keepers would take her to gods knew where to do gods knew what. No one could ever find out about this.
Ben ran forward. Jake didn’t move, just stood at the door all panicked and whining. As Ben got closer, bare feet tramping through the cold of the flowerbed, he felt a pressure in his head. It got hard to breathe as he neared Livia and his hand shook as he reached out to her.
His trembling finger touched the sleeve of her nightdress, feeling her flesh cold and clammy beneath.
Then the lights went out.
12
A CHOIR sang. They were somewhere in the cloud, voices like sweet fragrant flowers, lulling her. Livia walked through the haze toward the sound, the white silken dress she wore soft against her skin. She barely noticed how beautiful it was, so intent was she on the song.
As she walked, the cloud began to part and she suddenly held her breath in anticipation of the sight. Thrilling at the prospect of a host of seraphs singing their melodious canticle just for her.
Though the cloud parted she still couldn’t see. The white mist around her darkened, turning a pallid grey. Through the miasma the choral song grew discordant, voices rising and falling in pitch, out of tune. The beauty suddenly infected with ugliness.
Livia felt panic rising within her. The grey cloud surrounding her darkened further. A scream in the distance made her shiver. A sudden clang of metal like the chiming of a bell… Was it the clash of weapons?
She tried to back away from the noise, stumbling through the haze, but wherever she went the sound only got louder. The ground beneath her feet grew cold and she looked down.
Blood.
Covering her feet, soaking the hem of her dress, turning the white silk a lustrous black.
Something ran past her but she couldn’t quite see what. Then behind her: a figure sprinting through the smoke. Livia raised a hand to her mouth, stifling the choking mist as much as her sobs of panic.
Without warning the cloud lifted.
Livia stood agape at the sight it revealed, her screams stuck in her throat.
The host battled.
A thousand thousand winged warriors fought amongst the heavens. Blood spewed from horrific wounds. Cries of fury and pain lanced the air. Breastplates were rent asunder. Spears thrust into ribs. White wings torn from perfect bodies.
The battle grew ever more brutal – acts of violence reaching tumultuous heights. Livia could not draw her eyes away from the slaughter. Transfixed by the ferocity. And as she watched the fighters, so perfect in their beauty, they began to change.
Each took on a demonic visage – teeth became fangs, eyes reddened to spiteful slits, white feathers turned to horned leather, forked tongues lashing.
Livia wanted to scream. She tried to open her mouth and cry out in terror for all she was worth but there was no sound. Her throat was closed and all she could do was stare at the horror.
Until every baleful eye suddenly turned to look at her…
* * *
Her room was cold.
Livia looked at the ceiling, still reeling from the vision. As she stared, the memory of it began to fade. A dream.
Only a dream.
Her hand moved across the blanket that covered her until her fingertips were consumed by Jake’s soft fur. She breathed easier as she felt his chest moving up and down rhythmically as he slept. Her throat was parched and she felt as though she hadn’t eaten in an age. Livia hadn’t realised a nightmare could take so much out of a person.
Ben opened the door. Jake jumped up, scrambling from the bed and running up to him. The old man looked relieved to see Livia awake and she smiled, raising a hand in greeting.
‘How are you feeling?’ he said, coming to the bed and taking her hand.
‘Thirsty,’ she croaked. ‘Have I been ill?’
Ben smiled, filling a cup from a jug beside the bed and handing it to her.
‘You don’t remember?’
Livia took a drink, feeling the cool water relieve her parched throat. ‘I remember waking in the night. I dreamt…’ But what would she tell him? That she had dreamt of a war in the heavens? That was just the fever dream of illness; the details didn’t matter, and besides, Ben would most likely think her mad. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Almost two days,’ said Ben, placing a hand on her brow and sighing with relief at what he felt there. ‘But that’s not all I was concerned with.’
He looked down at his lap, face marred with worry.
‘You’re worrying me,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
He looked at her gravely. She sat up, taking his hand, and he smiled.
‘Nothing to worry yourself with.’
‘Tell me.’
He took a deep breath. She could see the emotion marring his already troubled brow.
‘I’ve told you my stories of before the Fall. When the world was filled with magic. When the Blood Lords rule
d the north and the Crown Sorcerers advised the rulers of the Three Kingdoms and beyond.’ He paused.
‘Yes. What’s that got to do with me falling ill?’
‘You’re not ill. At least, not with any malady you can be treated for.’
‘Then what is it?’
Another pause as Ben’s brow creased yet further.
‘Two nights ago I found you outside. You were…’
‘What? What is it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ben almost laughed but his face turned grim. ‘Somehow you have magic within you. I found you in the flowerbed in some kind of trance. You’d brought every seed to life all at once. They floated around you. It was…’
Livia laughed. It was shrill and sounded odd. She didn’t know who was madder, old Ben or she.
‘What are you talking about?’ she said with a nervous giggle.
‘I think you have sorcerer’s blood.’ Ben stared at her. He wasn’t joining in with the laughter.
‘But there’s no such thing as magic anymore.’
He shook his head. ‘I think we can safely say there is.’
What he was saying was impossible. But Ben wasn’t a man who made idle jests, and it was clear that he was deeply concerned.
‘So what do we do?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ he said, too quickly. Clearly he’d thought on it long and hard. ‘You must tell no one. If the tallymen find out they’ll take you from me. I don’t know what they might do once they have you.’
Livia placed a hand on his arm to calm him.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, trying to soothe the old man, though she was pretty sure it was her that needed the nursing. ‘We won’t speak of it again. I’m sure it was nothing, Ben. I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.’
He smiled at her. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’
Livia could see the worry that remained behind that smile, but they spoke no more about it.
After a week they both acted as though nothing had happened. The days grew a little longer and between them they managed to plough and sow their fields. Livia thought on what Ben had said but she couldn’t recall anything about the experience. Neither did she have any more dreams, and by the time the annual fayre at Bardum Market came around she hardly thought on it at all.
‘I might get us a pig,’ said Ben, as they walked the road into town.
Livia smiled. ‘Just the one? Or have we not got enough to do in the fields?’
‘They say every farmer should have at least one pig.’
She laughed out loud at that. ‘Says who?’
Ben chewed on that one for a while. ‘They,’ he said finally, before flashing her a broken-toothed smile.
The fayre at Bardum Market was a busy event, some might have said the highlight of the year; for Livia it was a rare opportunity to meet up with people she hadn’t seen for a season or more.
Mara and Gilly were waiting by the apple stand, talking idly, Gilly twirling the ribbon in her hair. Livia left Ben to size up his pig and rushed to join them. The girls embraced as though they hadn’t seen one another for years, rather than months.
They talked long and loudly about what they’d been doing in the months since they’d last seen each other. Mara’s father had insisted on her learning to read and had paid for a tutor to come from Jallenhove to teach her – apparently it would help her find a suitable husband – but she had grown bored of it and didn’t really see the point. Gilly talked about her chickens, but there wasn’t much else she was interested in, and the other girls took pains to change the subject. It was the usual idle banter Livia was used to but she welcomed it. As much as she loved old Ben he was about as talkative as their dray horse unless she pushed him to tell her his tall tales.
‘Afternoon, ladies.’
The three girls ceased their chatter and turned at the voice. A boy stood there smiling, just like Livia remembered him.
Cal Redfen was taller than any other lad his age. His blonde hair flowed down to his broad shoulders and his eyes burned green. He had the cutest dimple in the middle of his chin that grew bigger every time he smiled that wide, toothy smile.
‘Hello, Cal.’ Gilly was the first to acknowledge him, twisting the ribbon in her hair with renewed vigour.
‘Good day to you, Redfen,’ said Mara, flashing her own smile, but Cal only looked at Livia, waiting for her greeting.
She was damned if she’d give it. Cal Redfen was the most eligible young man in the county but she’d not give him the satisfaction. He had girls chasing him from Wenchest to Luddop Hill. Livia Harrow wasn’t about to be just another admirer in a long, long line.
‘I just wanted to ask,’ he said, trying not to appear ruffled by her indifference, ‘if you weren’t busy tomorrow, whether you’d like to join me and the Brunner boys for a picnic?’
He was still looking straight at Livia. She opened her mouth to refuse him but Mara was at her shoulder before she had a chance.
‘Of course we would, Redfen. Where do you want us to meet?’
Cal smiled, still not taking his eyes off Livia. ‘Noon. At Crow’s Cross.’
‘We’ll be there,’ Mara beamed as she pinched Livia’s left buttock.
‘Can’t wait,’ said Cal, turning to leave.
Livia had to stifle a cry of pain as Mara pinched harder. There was no way she wanted to look a fool in front of Cal Redfen, even though she had no intention of showing any interest in him whatsoever.
Once he was far enough away she slapped Mara’s hand.
‘What are you doing?’ she said.
‘I’m fixing your future, Livia Harrow.’
‘My future doesn’t need fixing, thank you very much.’
Mara looked at Gilly and they both giggled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. If it were up to you you’d be living on that farm with Ben until you were an old maid. Who’s going to want you when you’re all old and crusty?’
Livia took a step forward, determined to point out if she wanted to find a man before crustiness set in she could do it all on her own, but a commotion from across the fayre stopped her before she had a chance.
Voices were raised and someone shouted for everyone to get back. Livia instinctively moved towards the ruckus. Mara and Gilly called to stop her going but she barely heard them.
A crowd had formed by the time she reached the source of the noise and she pushed her way through. Once at the front she saw an old woman on her knees surrounded by half a dozen men dressed in black.
Livia recognised the woman as Bett. A hag, some called her, who lived on the outskirts of Bardum Market, selling salves and tinctures. It was also rumoured if a girl suddenly found herself in the family way and out of wedlock it was Bett who could fix the problem.
The men in black Livia knew immediately. Tallymen – the keepers of Duke Gothelm’s peace, and men not to be crossed if you valued your freedom or your life. They carried out the will of the duke with a ruthless efficiency, and in most cases to be taken by the tallymen was to never be seen again.
‘You’re coming with us, old woman. No point making a fuss over it.’ The tallyman’s voice was cold. Livia was sure she recognised him – a man in his thirties, long greasy hair streaked back across his head – but she couldn’t be sure of it.
‘But I haven’t done nothing,’ pleaded Bett, still on her knees, eyes wet with tears.
‘These are sorcerer’s brews, you old trout,’ said another of the tallymen, picking up one of the tinctures on a table behind her. ‘You’re selling potions, you witch.’
‘I’m no witch,’ Bett said, voice rising in panic. ‘You all know me.’ She directed her panicked words at the crowd now. ‘You know I’m no witch.’
‘You can tell that to the duke,’ said the tallyman, throwing her tincture to the ground and grabbing her arm.
‘Please,’ she sobbed. ‘Somebody please…’
Livia couldn’t stop herself. She knew interfering with the tallymen’s business was tantamount to suicide, but s
urely Bett didn’t deserve this. She’d done no harm to anyone.
She took a step forward but before she could grab the tallyman and try to make him see reason a hand grasped her arm, pulling her back.
Livia turned, about to unleash a tirade, when she saw it was her uncle Ben standing there, holding her tight in his grip. She made to speak but he just shook his head.
There was nothing she could do as the tallymen picked Bett up and dragged her away through the crowd. The tallyman with the greasy dark hair watched them go, before turning back to the crowd.
‘Nothing more to see,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘Carry on with your business. Enjoy the day.’
As he made to leave he saw Ben holding Livia. For a moment she thought he was about to ask what was going on, but instead he simply nodded at her uncle.
‘Ben,’ he said.
‘Randal,’ Ben replied, before the tallyman disappeared into the crowd.
Slowly the onlookers dispersed, some of them talking about how they’d known Bett was a witch all along. Others that it was a shame the tallymen couldn’t leave innocent folk alone.
Livia stood there all the while, Ben still holding her arm. Once the crowd was gone she shook free of his grip.
They didn’t speak the whole way home.
13
IT was a beautiful day, the sun beaming in through the cottage windows, but Livia was still angry. Angry that Ben had stopped her and angry that she’d let him. Bett had been dragged away by the tallymen to gods knew where and no one had lifted a hand to help the old woman. Livia could have accepted that of the rest of Bardum Market – they were weak and fearful people. But she had honestly thought better of Ben.
Perhaps she was angry with herself too. Maybe if she’d kicked up a fuss she could have done more for the woman.
Her excitement at the prospect of a picnic was dulled by the experience, but she still dressed quickly, then slipped on her shoes and made her way out of the cottage.
Jake yapped at her heels as she went but she shooed him away, eager not to draw any undue attention. The last thing she wanted was to wake her uncle up and explain what she was doing.
