“Don’t be so eager to trade places with her,” said Brommel. “Her trial won’t happen for several days. By law, the king must oversee all treason cases, and Kelvin is preoccupied with getting ready to attack Hestoria. So we have time.”
“Time for what?”
“To discuss the matter with Kelvin,” answered Jayson.
“You’ll do that?”
“I’ll speak with him personally. I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe.”
Marcus covered his face with his hands to hide his emotion. When he felt he could speak with a steady voice, he said, “Thank you. I’m willing to go to Voltana. But it’s on the far side of the island, isn’t it? How will I get there?”
“I know those parts well,” said Brommel.
“You’ll go with me then?”
“Not I. I have a business to run. But my son, Rylan, will accompany you. And your friends can go with you.”
Marcus glanced back toward the fire. Its flame grew dimmer. My friends, he thought. How can I ask them to come on such a dangerous journey?
Jayson rose from the table, disappearing through the kitchen door. He returned moments later, carrying Xerxes in both hands. The wooden eagle’s face was still and lifeless, but Marcus saw a deep sadness in his expression. Jayson placed the walking stick in Marcus’s hands. “I’m certain Zyll wanted you to have this,” he said.
Marcus accepted it gratefully and stroked the top of Xerxes’ head with his fingertips as if he were stroking downy feathers. He knew, even if no one else did, what Zyll’s death meant to Xerxes and how important it was to Zyll that he would be cared for in his absence. If Marcus was to go without friends, at least he would have Xerxes.
“All right then,” Marcus said finally, though all confidence had left him, “I’ll go at first light.”
Brommel and Jayson traded grim nods. Then they excused themselves and left the room, presumably to get things ready for Marcus’s journey. Sitting alone in the now quiet room, Marcus hardly dared to consider what challenges awaited him. In the stillness, he heard an almost imperceptible noise coming from the shadows above, a sniff and muffled sob. The sound cut into him like a dagger and yet also confused him. Lael was weeping, but Marcus couldn’t fathom why.
Fifty-three
Clovis, are you asleep?”
Marcus cautiously opened the door to the darkened room and slipped inside.
Clovis stirred on the bed and then sat up, yawning. “Marcus, is that you? Is it morning already?”
“Actually it’s the middle of the night, but I had to talk to you.”
“All right,” said Clovis.
Marcus sat down at the foot of the bed. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. He decided to get on with it.
“It’s time for you to go home.”
“Home?” asked Clovis, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I have to leave Dokur. It’s not safe for me here.”
“Is this about that man who attacked you? You’re still in danger,” said Clovis, reaching for his bow. “It was my fault. I should have been with you. I could have protected you. I will protect you.”
“No, Clovis, it’s not that,” said Marcus. “I mean, you did protect me. You’re the best friend I’ve got. But I have to go.”
“When?”
“At dawn. I want you to leave with me—”
“Yes, of course. I’ll go wherever you need me to, Marcus, you know that.”
“—and then you’ll go home.”
The wounded expression on Clovis’s face cut deep. Marcus felt as if he had just betrayed his dearest friend. And in a way, Marcus realized, he had.
Marcus forced a smile, attempting to comfort Clovis a little. “You promised your father you’d return before winter. He’ll worry if you don’t get home in time.”
Clovis tried to hide his disappointment with a weak smile of his own. His hand, which had gripped his bow, relaxed and slid into his lap. “I’ll go,” he said, though his voice wavered as he said it. He nodded and spoke again with more conviction. “I’ll go if that’s what you want me to do.”
Marcus sensed that Clovis was unhappy with his friend’s request, but he was willing to do as Marcus asked even though he didn’t agree. At that moment, Marcus knew that Clovis was a greater friend than he had ever imagined.
Leaving Clovis alone, Marcus stepped out into the hall. Below on the first floor, he caught a glimpse of someone slipping through the kitchen door. Marcus followed the figure outside where the sky was full of stars, the moon merely an outline against the night’s darkness. The well outside the Seafarer Tavern was nothing more than a silhouette, as was the girl standing beside it. The light from the open door cast a pale wedge of gold on the ground. Marcus paused there and waited for his eyes to adjust. Then he let the door close behind him and stepped forward into the darkness.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” he asked, approaching the well. Lael nodded in agreement. They both gazed up into the sky without speaking. After a while Marcus lowered his eyes and watched Lael’s face, barely visible in the starlight.
“How did you know I was out here?” she asked.
“I saw you slip out through the kitchen as I left Clovis’s room.”
Lael turned to look at Marcus. When their eyes met, Marcus’s cheeks grew hot. Certain his face was bright red, he was glad it was dark so she wouldn’t notice.
“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” she said, and by the expression in her eyes, he knew she meant it.
“Thank you,” Marcus replied. It was difficult to find words. Words had no place on a night like this, a night in which the stars and the sounds of the sea should be enough. But Marcus needed to speak.
“Lael,” he began, “I have to go away for a while. If I stay in Dokur, I have a good chance of getting killed. Anyway, I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“Is Clovis going with you?”
“No,” said Marcus. “He has to get back to his family. His father’s expecting him home soon.”
“And where are you going?”
“To Voltana.”
Lael looked at him again, her jaw clenched in anger. “You’re insane. Voltana’s the most desolate spot on the island. No one goes there.”
“I have to. I think my mother might be alive, and I may find information about her there.”
Lael walked around to the opposite side of the well. The darkness there seemed to swallow her up, so Marcus could not see her anymore. Only her voice penetrated the night. “I understand how important it is to find your mother,” said Lael. “I’ve been trying to find mine, too, but so far nothing. I’ll go with you to Voltana, Marcus Frye, and who knows, maybe I’ll find my mother there, as well.”
Lael came the rest of the way around the well until she stood directly in front of Marcus. She was close enough that Marcus could feel the warmth of her breath against his face and smell the sweet scent of apples in her hair. Suddenly he wanted to touch her. He reached out his hand toward her but then stopped.
This was Lael, he reminded himself—Lael who was always trying to make him look and feel stupid. Marcus chastised himself for acting like such an idiot. He had never wanted her to come with him to Dokur. Why would he want her to go with him to Voltana?
“You should go home to Quendel,” he said, turning his back to Lael and starting for the tavern. “You can go with Clovis.”
“Why would I do that? There’s nothing for me in Quendel.”
Marcus was irritated now. Lael was being stubborn as usual. Why couldn’t she just let him be? “Then stay here in Dokur,” he said. “I’ll be better off without you tagging along again.”
“Excuse me?” exclaimed Lael.
“I don’t say that to insult you—”
“I did not ‘tag along’. Our journeys just happened to bring us both to Dokur,” said Lael smugly. “So don’t bother acting so proud. I would have gone with you to Voltana, but now I have no intenti
on of going, even if you asked me.”
“Well, I’m not asking you.”
Marcus opened the door to the tavern. The light from the kitchen fell over Lael, who stared daggers at him, though Marcus could swear he saw tears in her eyes. He stepped over the threshold, but then Lael started toward him, her expression suddenly anxious.
“If Clovis and I don’t go with you, who will?” she asked.
“There’s a man named Brommel who knows that part of Imaness. He said his son will guide me.”
“Brommel?” Lael’s eyes widened at the mention of his name, but her expression quickly became stern. “I know who he is. I was told he might be able to find the man who took my mother, but who really knows. Everyone’s been so worried about you, he hasn’t had a spare moment to talk to me about it.”
“You act as if it was my fault I was attacked.”
“I didn’t say that—”
“Sorry everyone’s been too busy trying to keep me alive to pay attention to you.”
“That’s not what I meant. You don’t know anything about Brommel or his son. I just don’t think you should trust them.”
“Who else can I trust?” snapped Marcus. He regretted the words the moment he saw the hurt on Lael’s face, but he could not take them back now.
“I see,” said Lael, a distinct edge to her voice. “Well, I’m sure you can trust that servant girl. In fact, maybe you should take her with you to Voltana.”
“Who? You mean Kaië?”
“That’s right! Kaië!”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“Everything!” Lael was shouting now. “She’s stuck in that prison, and you feel guilty about it. And you should feel guilty, because it’s you who should be in jail instead of her.”
“Stop it, Lael—”
“But instead of saving her, you’re running away! You’re running away, Marcus Frye, because you’re a coward!”
“I said stop!”
Marcus was shaking with anger now. Lael stood in front of him, breathing hard from shouting. They stood that way, staring at each other, for several moments. What was it about her that made him so angry, Marcus wondered? Could it be because she was right? He didn’t want to think about that now. He just wanted to leave Dokur as quickly as possible.
Marcus stepped into the kitchen. “Goodbye, Lael,” he said, letting the door slam shut behind him.
Fifty-four
Dawn arrived faster than Marcus would have wanted, but he was ready to go. Jayson and Brommel had left a few hours earlier, taking Zyll’s body with them. Marcus had not even gone to the window to watch their cart roll down the cobblestone road toward the Fortress. First they were to give Kelvin the news and then head to the shore to perform the funeral ceremony. In a place and time such as this, there was little opportunity to mourn. The dead must be dealt with as quickly as possible to avoid decay and the spread of disease.
Marcus yearned to go with them. To stay behind felt disloyal to his grandfather’s memory, but to go to the Fortress or to remain in Dokur at all would be dangerous. So Marcus spent the few remaining hours of the night gathering what supplies he might need for the journey ahead. Everything he had brought with him from Quendel was still in his room at the Fortress—everything except Zyll’s key, which he placed in a leather pouch Jayson had given him for that very purpose. He also had his dagger and Xerxes. Peagry’s wife had provided a change of clothing, blanket, food, and a satchel to keep them in.
Bryn and Clovis met Marcus in the dining hall of the inn just before daybreak. Although Mrs. Peagry had cooked hot sausages and biscuits, neither boy had any appetite. Bryn, however, took delight in filling his stomach with as much food as it would hold.
Bryn handed a biscuit to Marcus. “Thank you,” Marcus said, slipping it into his pocket.
“You’re not hungry?” asked Bryn, his mouth full of food.
“Not today, but I’ll save it for later. All right?”
Bryn seemed disinterested in Marcus’s answer but was looking around the room impatiently. “Where is Lael?” he asked.
Marcus sighed. He knew how fond Bryn had grown of Lael, though he’d never understood why. Bryn was anything but a real human child, yet he seemed to enjoy playing the role for her, and she liked mothering him. Bryn had promised to follow Marcus to Voltana, but Marcus hadn’t had the heart to tell him Lael would not be coming.
“Bryn, there’s something you should know,” said Marcus. “Lael isn’t—”
“—isn’t ready yet.”
Lael stood at the top of the staircase, grinning. She was dressed in her travel cloak, a bulging knapsack on her shoulder.
“But I will be as soon as I have some breakfast,” she added, coming down the stairs two at a time. She snatched a biscuit from the table and took a bite of it, and then cast a guarded glance in Marcus’s direction.
“Now I’m ready,” she said after swallowing the first bite.
“Fine,” said Marcus as he tried his best to hide his surprise and irritation. Though he felt bad about their earlier conversation, he still did not want Lael coming along. But if he were to say so now, Bryn would throw a fit. Marcus would wait until later, when he and Lael were alone, and then try to convince her to go on to Quendel with Clovis.
A few moments later, the door to the tavern opened and in walked a tall, lean young man with straight, dark hair down to his shoulders and eyes that glimmered like jewels against his bronzed Hestorian skin. He looked close to Kaië’s age, maybe eighteen or nineteen. The moment Lael saw him, she stopped chewing and held still as a statue.
“Marcus Frye?” asked the young man, scanning the faces of everyone in the room.
Marcus stepped forward and extended his hand. “You must be Brommel’s son.”
“Yes, I’m Rylan,” he said, shaking Marcus’s hand. “If you’re ready, we should be going. I’d like to be out of Dokur before full daylight.”
“Agreed,” said Marcus.
Rylan turned to the door and paused. “Are you all coming?” he asked.
Clovis and Lael glanced at each other and nodded at Rylan.
“All right then,” said Rylan. “Let’s go.”
Rylan led the small group outside the Seafarer. Once in the marketplace Marcus looked toward the sea. The sky was still dark except for an orange glow just beyond the cliffs. He started walking toward it.
“Where are you going?” Xerxes demanded when they had gone a short distance.
Marcus started at hearing the walking stick’s voice, the first words Xerxes had uttered since Zyll’s death. “I have to see him,” said Marcus.
The orange glow grew larger, and as Marcus approached the cliffs he could hear the crackle of flames mingled with the sound of the waves. Below on the shore he saw Jayson, Brommel, Kelvin, and Prost. Beyond them, floating in the bay, was a wooden raft on which lay Zyll’s body, already half consumed by fire.
Fifty-five
I should be down there,” said Marcus, tears streaming down his face.
“As should I,” said Xerxes, making a soft, high whistle that to Marcus seemed as close to crying as he had ever heard from Xerxes.
Marcus held Xerxes at shoulder height so they could watch Zyll’s funerary ceremony together. Suddenly Xerxes’ staff quivered in his hand.
“Are you all right?” asked Marcus.
“Yes,” replied Xerxes, but his staff shook again. “Well, perhaps not. I feel a little strange, actually.” Marcus turned Xerxes to face him. The bird’s wooden eyes were open wide, and his beak trembled. “Something’s happening to me,” he said.
Xerxes’ eyelids flickered, and his neck twisted in a way Marcus had never seen before. Then Xerxes tipped back his head, and an odd, screeching sound came out of his beak.
“Xerxes!” said Marcus. “Xerxes what’s happening?”
Xerxes groaned. His brown, carved feathers rippled. “I think . . . I’m changing,” he said.
“Changing? How?”
“Zyll promised me . . .” Xerxes groaned again, and his head twisted unnaturally from side to side. “ . . . he promised me that if anything happened to him, I would be transformed!”
“You mean—”
“I’m changing into a real bird!”
Marcus thrust the end of Xerxes’ staff into the ground and stepped back. Xerxes’ wooden eagle head began to morph. First the beak darkened from brown to black. Then the dull, wooden feathers began to glisten. The staff shortened, part of it spreading into broad, black tail feathers, and another part into two thin legs and feet. The body and head emerged, bulging like a dark fist. Finally two wings unfolded, each individual feather distinct from the next.
“I’m real!” shouted Xerxes, his thick, pointy beak clicking excitedly. He hopped happily about on the ground and cautiously tried his wings.
“I knew it!” he continued. “I knew that old Zyll would keep his word! He made me a real eagle after all!”
Marcus cleared his throat. “I think something’s gone wrong,” he said.
“Wrong? Of course not! Can’t you see? Why look at these wings! These talons, and—wait a moment . . .”
Xerxes turned his head, examining each wing with his small, black eyes.
“No! It can’t be true!” he said.
“I’m afraid it is,” said Marcus. “You’re not an eagle, Xerxes.”
“A crow?” Xerxes lamented. “He made me a common crow?”
“Well, just look at it this way,” added Marcus, trying not to laugh, “even in death, Zyll had a sense of humor.”
“Oh, you think it’s funny, do you? I can’t believe this! This is so . . . so . . . undignified!”
Marcus burst out laughing. Xerxes cast him a scornful glance before spreading his wings and taking flight. Marcus watched him flap wildly, and just as he disappeared over the rooftops of Dokur, Marcus heard a soft yet angry caw.
“Well, goodbye, old friend,” said Marcus softly. He turned back toward the bay. The bonfire was far out to sea now, just an orange flicker against the grander gold of the early morning sky. “And goodbye, Grandfather.”
Then Marcus turned away and crossed the square to where Clovis, Lael, Bryn, and Rylan waited to begin their journey.
The Last Enchanter Page 14
