by K J Taylor
‘I will!’ said Red.
‘That’s the spirit!’ Kullervo smiled to reassure him, and went behind the screen. Safely out of sight, he took off his clothes and rolled them up in the blanket. Once the bundle was securely tied, he crouched low and let the change begin.
As the pain enveloped his senses, he distracted himself with thoughts of what lay ahead. But there was less reassurance there than fear. Not fear of physical danger — he wasn’t much afraid of that. This was a deeper fear, one that felt almost like a fear of the spirit. As if a part of him already had some idea of what was coming.
Eagleholm.
TWENTY-TWO
A FRIEND INDEED
Myfina was not enjoying her new life.
When Heath had talked about the island of wild Northerners, in typical Heath fashion he had made it sound exciting and magical. Myfina wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been expecting, but in her head it had been special. She had at the very least expected some sort of special treatment, to be hailed as magical or something similar.
The reality was that they treated her the same as they treated each other — at least, at first. Once they realised how ignorant she was of their ways, they stopped treating her like an equal and started treating her like a child instead. Gwladus had taken charge of her, and she had to follow her around and help her with whatever she did — gathering food, mostly, and making things. Gwladus taught her mainly by not trying to teach her and instead forcing her to try things she was unfamiliar with until she worked them out.
Foraging wasn’t so hard. Myfina soon learned how to recognise which kinds of moss and lichen were edible, and how to dig up roots that could be boiled into a kind of gruel. But with other things she was hopeless.
The worst task was basket-weaving. With almost no instructions and freezing hands, since she had to take her gloves off, she could barely string two reed-stems together. Nearby, Gwladus would work away steadily, producing a whole row of neat little jug-shaped baskets, while Myfina tried pathetically to make just one — and failed.
Gwladus was no help at all, and only looked at her protégé’s efforts with a kind of distant pity in her black eyes. Nor was she interested in making conversation. Like most of her tribe she was untalkative to the point of taciturn, and Myfina had not seen her smile even once.
On the first day, she and Caedmon had been told to build a shelter together that they would share. It was customary for the islanders to have shared homes, simply because it was easier to keep warm at night. But night-time was the only time she would spend with Caedmon, and by the time they reached their shelter they were both too tired to do much more than snuggle down together and sleep. It left Myfina feeling perhaps even more friendless and isolated than she might have done if she hadn’t been able to see Caedmon at all.
Nor was Heath any help. Myfina dearly wished that he would have stayed around; his presence would have done a lot to cheer her up. But Heath had been almost completely absent since their arrival. Like Saeddryn, he had set off into the wilderness and was rarely seen in the village, often not even returning for meals. Myfina had no idea what he was doing, but he was wan and grim whenever she saw him, as if the island had robbed even him of his sense of humour.
As for Saeddryn, she was around even less than Heath, and far more depressing to be with. Not that Myfina wanted to spend time with her; she had never felt comfortable near the heartless woman. Even Caedmon was uneasy around her nowadays.
The end result of all that was that Myfina had barely been on the island for a week and she already wanted to leave. But without Garsh, whom she hadn’t seen since the first day, she was trapped.
It might be hard here, but time with Heath and Caedmon would have made it much easier to bear. She missed Heath’s cleverness, his funny stories and his charming smile. She wished she could tell him how she felt about him, but the truth was that she wasn’t completely certain. She felt a fierce affection for him whenever she saw him, and more than once she had wanted to reach out and touch him. But she never had. Every time she had come close, something had warned her off.
She wondered why. Was she afraid of her own feelings? Or of him? She didn’t know.
It was different with Caedmon, of course. She was never afraid to be close to him; he might be her leader, but he felt like a brother to her. He was vulnerable in a way Heath never was, and that had always made Myfina want to stay close to him. She wished she could say that to him, but how could she? He was her future king, wasn’t he?
Feeling miserable and confused, she made one last attempt to tie the bundle of twigs that would form a framework for her basket. And, yet again, the length of dry twisted grass she was using came apart in her fingers. Groaning, she reached for another piece and found it had all been used up. She would have to go and get some more grass and prepare it.
Myfina stood up, trying to avoid Gwladus’ stare, and trudged off into the trees.
She was less interested in finding more grass than in having some time to herself, so she ignored several promising clumps and moved on toward the river. She could pretend she was getting a drink if anyone saw her.
There was already someone sitting by the bank on the other side. Myfina’s heart leapt when she saw that it was Heath. But he looked different now. Unaware that he was being watched, he had dropped his normal confident air. She caught a glimpse of his face, and now it looked younger and gentler than usual. It made her heart ache.
Smiling properly for the first time in days, she hopped nimbly from rock to rock until she reached the other side and went straight to him. ‘Heath!’
Heath looked up, and to her joy she saw him smile too in that easygoing way she remembered so well. ‘Hello, Myfina.’
Myfina’s happiness soon faded when she took a good look at him. He had grown thin, she realised — painfully so. His face was unhealthily pale and his eyes had gone dull. Impulsively, forgetting her former hesitation, she put her hands on his shoulders. ‘My gods, you look awful!’
Heath coughed, deeply and painfully. ‘Y-yes, I know,’ he wheezed. ‘Feeling a bit under the weather right now.’
Myfina sat down beside him, as close as she could, in the hope of warming him up. ‘You shouldn’t be running around in the woods like this,’ she said. ‘You should stay in the village and get more rest.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Heath. ‘I was planning to come back today. I needed some time alone, and now I feel ready to be with people again.’
Myfina put an arm around his shoulders. ‘I’m glad. I missed you, Heath.’
He hugged her back. ‘I missed you too, Myfina. And Caedmon as well. How is he?’
‘I think he’s trying his best,’ said Myfina. ‘He has to go out hunting with Llygad and the rest every day. He comes back all bruised. He told me he has to use a spear for everything and he never trained with one, so he’s the worst hunter on the island.’
‘It takes a lot of practice,’ Heath admitted. ‘I — ’ He broke off into another coughing fit.
Myfina held him all the while, feeling fear in her heart with every painful jerk of his body. ‘Yes, like all the things I have to do,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘I can’t even make a basket. And the food here is awful.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ said Heath, after taking some deep breaths to recover himself. ‘But it’s just food.’
‘Yes, and people are just people,’ said Myfina. ‘What I wouldn’t give for a good solid meal, and a warm room with a good fire and a soft bed …’
Heath grinned. ‘Makes you appreciate things, doesn’t it? Let me tell you, in the old days I loved living the good life so much that I didn’t care about the risks. It made it all worthwhile. I never even thought of going back to how I started out.’
‘How did you start out, then?’ asked Myfina. She didn’t expect a straight answer; Heath was very good at avoiding those when he felt like it.
But he took her by surprise. ‘I was born poor,’ he said. ‘Actually, not
poor — more like whatever comes below poor, if they have a word for it. And trust me: people might tell you that poverty makes men better, but the people who say that have never tried being poor. So once I was old enough I decided I’d had enough of having nothing, and went off to do something about it.’
‘And never looked back, eh?’ Myfina grinned. ‘Where did you come from, then? What’s your real name?’
‘Whatever I want it to be, mostly,’ said Heath.
Myfina lost her smile. ‘Why won’t you just tell me? Is it so much to ask?’
‘No, but if I did tell you I’d lose my mystique.’ Heath laughed. ‘And then I wouldn’t be half as charming.’
‘That’s just silly,’ said Myfina. ‘I’m your friend, aren’t I?’
‘I like to think so,’ said Heath. He took her hand in his and held it gently. ‘I’ll tell you one day. When I’m ready. I promise.’
‘Then I’ll wait for that day,’ said Myfina.
They sat together for a while in companionable silence. Myfina thought she could feel Heath shivering ever so slightly under his griffin-hide robe.
‘I really missed you,’ she said eventually. ‘Everything’s gone. Everyone I ever knew except for Caedmon, and you.’
‘Don’t you have a family?’ asked Heath.
Myfina shook her head. ‘I’ve never told Caedmon this, but I came from the South. I was one of the slaves Lady Skade brought back with her. I was only about a year old — they used to give away the children of slaves if they were too young to work. After the war I grew up in Caerleon — they sent orphans like us to different cities to be raised together. When I was old enough I got a job teaching other orphans. I still don’t know why Garsh chose me. Maybe it was just because I could read.’
Heath chuckled. ‘So that’s why you like me, eh? You know another jumped-up commoner when you see him.’
Myfina had to laugh too. ‘You’re right, that must be it. Or …’ her heart beat faster, and she couldn’t believe it when her voice sounded just as casual as she went on. ‘Or maybe I like you because you’re clever, and funny, and … well, not bad looking either.’
Heath coughed. ‘It’s true, I do have plenty to recommend me.’
‘Yes, especially your modesty,’ Myfina teased.
‘People like confidence,’ Heath said coolly.
‘Bragging,’ said Myfina.
‘Confidence!’ Heath corrected. ‘And honesty, of course. Can’t forget that.’
‘Hah, yes, of course,’ said Myfina. ‘But I think we know more about telling the truth than you do, Heath.’
‘“We”?’ said Heath, suddenly serious. ‘I’m a part of “we” now, Myfina. Aren’t I?’
‘Yes, you are.’ She hugged him. ‘But you’ve got a lot to learn about being honest.’
‘I think I’m learning it,’ said Heath.
‘You are.’ Myfina tensed. It was now or never. ‘Heath, I … I just wanted to tell you …’
‘Yes?’ said Heath. He sounded as if he had already guessed.
Myfina held his hand in both of hers. ‘I love you, Heath. I have for a long time. I should have told you sooner …’
‘No you don’t,’ said Heath.
Myfina froze. ‘What?’
He put his other hand on top of hers, and smiled. ‘You don’t love me, Myfina,’ he said. ‘You don’t know me. You don’t know who I am; you’ve never known. All you’ve known is the mask. The person I pretend to be.’
‘Then be yourself,’ said Myfina.
‘I can’t.’ Heath looked rather sad. ‘A mask is all I am. I’ve been so many people and worn so many names and faces that I lost track of what was underneath a long time ago. And anyway …’ trying to sound lighthearted, ‘I’m a bad catch. I’ve loved women before … for one night, maybe. I can’t stay the same person long enough to be with anyone.’
‘I don’t care about that,’ said Myfina.
‘But I do,’ said Heath. ‘And maybe if I was as much of a scumbag as I used to be, I’d let you go on believing you were in love. But you’ve taught me how to tell the truth, so I’ll tell it now. And Caedmon taught me how to be loyal, so I’ll do that now. I didn’t betray him in Malvern, and I won’t betray him now. And I certainly won’t break his heart.’
Myfina pulled away from him. ‘What do you mean?’
Heath grinned his old familiar dazzling grin. ‘Haven’t you seen it? Weren’t you paying any attention? I was. I always do — it’s a survival instinct for someone like me. Caedmon’s in love with you, Myfina. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, like he’d give anything to be able to say something — but he won’t. He’s scared to. After what happened to Sionen it’s not surprising. He lost her to Arenadd, and he’s terrified that he’s going to lose you to me. Whenever you’re close to me he looks miserable. He knows you want me — he probably knew we’d talk about it on this island. It’s hurting him, every day.’
Myfina sat frozen, her heart aching. ‘Caedmon? I never …’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Heath. ‘You love him too. You’re just a bit confused about it. You should go to him. Tell him how you feel; tell him about me if you want to. He needs you. He’s even more alone than you are, Myfina.’
Myfina wanted to cry. ‘But he’s a prince … my leader … our leader. One day he’ll be king.’
Heath smiled. ‘And you’d make a wonderful queen. I’m sure of it. Don’t be afraid.’
‘I …’ Myfina stood up. ‘I don’t know …’
Heath stood too, and gave her a hug. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said again, and kissed her on the forehead. ‘You’ll be fine.’
Myfina pushed him away. For a moment it looked as if she were going to say something, but in the end she only let out a great, rough sob and ran away into the trees.
Heath watched her go, and felt close to tears himself. He knew he had done the right thing, but it hurt anyway. Just now, he would have given anything to be close to someone again.
He winced and put a hand to his chest, where his wounds throbbed and burned. Nothing could cure them now. After Saeddryn had promised to plead with the Night God for him, she had never spoken to him again. Her silence told him all he needed to know. There was no chance left for him, no miracle.
Heath looked into his own future and saw death. He was moving closer to it every day, with aches and pains and weakening limbs, and a cough that felt powerful enough to break his ribs. He had eaten nothing all day, but he had no appetite.
He felt dizzy and nauseous.
Heath sat down shakily on his rock, and huddled down inside his griffin hide. Best let Caedmon and Myfina sort themselves out first. Tonight he would return to the village and the shelter he had built there before. Before long he wouldn’t be strong enough to go anywhere, and he was ready to be with other people again. At least his friends would be there to look after him at the end. Right now, the thought of being alone scared him more than death.
But to die was to be alone, he knew.
Heath buried his face in his hands and thought of Myfina and Caedmon together. It made him feel a little better.
Time passed as if in a dream. One moment he was sitting there and feeling the hot shiver of the fever invading his body, and the next it was growing dark. Had he slept? He couldn’t even tell. Standing up made him so dizzy he nearly fell, but he recovered himself and started to walk slowly back toward the village.
There was nothing noble or dignified, or easy, about Heath’s final decline. After his return to the village he stayed, but it soon became plain that he was too weak to do anything but the lightest work, and before long he had lost the strength to do even that.
Once the tribe discovered just how ill he was, Llygad insisted that those of them who knew something about healing should try to help. But the tribe’s medical skills were hopelessly primitive, and by now even the Master of Healing at Malvern wouldn’t have been able to do anything beyond giving him something to ease the pain. He had simply suffered too muc
h to ever recover. Torture, stress and starvation on top of an illness he had not had proper time to recover from added together, and he no longer had the strength to fight off the infection that had spread through the wounds on his chest. It continued to move into his blood, and once it had taken a hold his descent was frighteningly fast.
In just a few days he was confined to his bed by a fever ten times more powerful than what he had suffered at Skenfrith. Caedmon and Myfina, ignoring their duties to watch over him, listened to him mumble and sometimes cry out at whatever he thought he was seeing. He seemed completely unaware that they were nearby, and sometimes spoke to people who only existed in his mind. Once, Caedmon heard him suddenly start talking in that same confident, easygoing way he had done on their first meeting, and he sounded so lucid that for a moment Caedmon thought his friend was awake. But when he moved closer to listen he saw that Heath’s eyes were unfocused and bright with fever.
‘… and of course, being situated so close to the Eyrie would provide excellent views, not to mention make you the envy of all your friends!’ he was saying. ‘I know it’s expensive, but some things are worth more than money. A good home …’
After that his voice weakened back to a mutter, then fell silent again.
This sort of thing continued through the next day and night, and nobody could reach him any more. Sleepless, Caedmon and Myfina listened helplessly as their friend relived old memories and suffered through nightmares of savage griffins and cold shadows that he said were taking his life away. Those were the worst.
But something more mysterious and strange happened through it all. As Heath dreamed of the things he had done and the people he had met, his voice changed. With every memory it was different. Sometimes he sounded like a native of Skenfrith, sometimes Warwick, sometimes even the South, as if he were reliving all his old identities in his mind. But behind those, emerging more and more frequently, there was one voice that didn’t quite fit. It sounded younger and lighter than the rest, and far less refined. When he used it, he spoke to people who didn’t seem to be the usual victims of his trickery.
