by Linda McNabb
Davyn seemed to shake himself out of his shock and strode forward so quickly that Zaine took several steps backwards to the middle of the round cottage. But Davyn wasn’t heading for Zaine. Instead he bent down and picked up the book, turning it over. Zaine assumed he was checking for damage.
“A lit candle rolled under the table and I reached under to get the candle out …” Zaine let his explanation fade away as the herbmaster tucked the book into an inside pocket of his lightweight brown cloak and then turned his attention on the boy.
“Did you try to open it?” Davyn demanded sharply, as anger seemed to have taken over from shock. Zaine had never heard the old man speak so harshly, and he took another involuntary step backwards.
“Yes, sir,” Zaine admitted and nodded his head briefly. “I just couldn’t help it. I had to see what was inside.”
The old herbmaster’s anger faded as quickly as it had flared and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He started to speak but no words came out, and he shut his mouth, turned away from Zaine, and started pacing back and forth across the stone floor.
He was muttering to himself, his head bent down, appearing to be having an argument with himself about what to do.
“I just wanted to help you with the potions and things. I wanted to be your apprentice … if I could get free from the farm.” Zaine paused, as the herbmaster didn’t appear to be listening. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Surprise me?” Davyn stopped pacing and stared at Zaine with wide panicked eyes. “You’ve certainly done that. This book has absolutely nothing to do with being a herbmaster. How many pages did you do?”
“A few,” Zaine lied. In truth he was well over halfway through the thick book, but he seemed to be in enough trouble already without admitting that.
“You must promise me that you will never, ever, touch this book again!” The herbmaster pulled the book out of his pocket and waved it in the air as he spoke; his eyes boring into Zaine and demanding his agreement.
“I … Yes sir, if that’s what you want,” Zaine agreed, knowing that there was no other choice. Davyn was too good a friend to lose, and even if it meant he could never look at the book again Zaine had to agree.
“It is … All may not be lost yet.” He looked hard at Zaine, as if trying to make sure the boy meant his promise. “I knew I should have buried it.”
“I won’t try to take it from under the shelf ever again,” Zaine promised sincerely. The herbmaster laughed. A snort that showed his disbelief.
“Oh, it won’t be under the shelf anymore! I’ll be putting it where you’ll never find it. I know only too well about how hard this book is to resist. The call of it is enough to drive a rune— … umm … anyone to great lengths just to get hold of it. It probably pulled that candle under there to make sure you found it!”
Zaine didn’t really understand what Davyn was talking about, but he just nodded solemnly, sure that this was not the time to ask how a book could move a candle.
“I think it’s time you went home,” Davyn said with a weary voice as he tucked the book into his cloak pocket again. He picked up his bag of roots and herbs, turned to the wooden worktable and spread the contents out across it.
Zaine walked quickly over to the door, keeping the herbmaster in sight the whole time, wishing he could turn back time and have never touched the book in the first place.
“Can I come back?” Zaine asked in a quiet voice that barely reached his own ears, but Davyn paused in his sorting of the roots.
“Of course you can,” he said softly, and he turned to face Zaine with tears in his eyes. “I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with myself for breaking a promise I made.”
Davyn looked at Zaine for a few seconds and then frowned as if he was confused.
“You don’t look tall enough to be twelve,” he commented. “Perhaps I’ve lost count over the years.”
“I was twelve at the beginning of last winter,” Zaine replied, unsure why the herbmaster had changed the subject.
“You’ll be thirteen in just a few moon cycles.” It was a statement, not a question, but Zaine nodded anyway. “Time has gone so quickly.”
Davyn seemed lost in his own thoughts and Zaine backed out the doorway, not knowing what to say, and shut the door gently. He walked slowly back towards the farm and spent the rest of the day sitting up in his hayloft. He wondered if things would be the same between himself and the old man ever again. Perhaps if he tried hard to make it up to the herbmaster they might be one day.
**
His next day off was two moon quarters later and he walked through the forest towards the round cottage with a hesitant step. What if Davyn had changed his mind and no longer wanted him around?
“Zaine, I thought it must be about time you had a day off again. They work you far too hard over at that farm.” Davyn’s head popped around the door and he grinned at Zaine. “Got time to help me mix up some potions?”
“Sure!” Zaine agreed willingly. Davyn had never allowed him to mix any before, so he must have forgiven him.
The moon waxed and waned and Zaine and Davyn slipped back into their old routines, the book never being mentioned by either one. Zaine tried not to think about it, but after a few visits he found himself looking carefully around the room to see where the book might be hidden. He told himself off – that book had almost lost him his friend – but still he looked. He told himself that, even if he figured out where it was, he wouldn’t touch it … well, maybe just to hold it, but he wouldn’t open it.
**
Zaine knew it was his birthday today. He always knew when it was, even though nobody else ever commented on it. If anything, Aunt Tilly was meaner to him on that day than on any other. There were no presents, no cake, not even a day off, and Zaine worked the fields until it was almost dark, just like he did every other day.
He was walking back along the boundary of the farm, checking the fences before he went in to fetch the water for cooking, and he was kicking a stone along as he walked.
“Happy birthday, Zaine.”
Zaine looked up, surprised to see the old herbmaster standing on the other side of the fence. The old man had never come up to the farm before, and Zaine wondered how he had known the exact day of his birthday.
“Thanks,” Zaine replied simply.
“I have to go away for a while. I’ll be leaving in a few days. Could you keep an eye on my cottage for me?” Davyn asked, even though his eyes said he was thinking about something else as they were glazed and distant.
“No problem,” Zaine answered, but he knew there was nothing that needed looking after as nobody ever went near the cottage.
Davyn nodded, his eyes coming back into focus, and he looked at Zaine with a serious and worried expression. He stared for so long that Zaine started to feel uncomfortable, then the old herbmaster turned away and walked off without another word. Zaine continued walking along the fence line and watched the old man until he was out of sight.
The next afternoon Zaine walked into town to get supplies for Aunt Tilly. Winter was just beginning, but it was already cold enough to make his breath come out in clouds of steam.
Zaine held a large wicker basket in one hand and a neatly written list in the other. Another benefit of being able to read was that he didn’t have to try to remember what his aunt wanted and risk a beating for forgetting something.
He was about to turn down a small alleyway to the tanner’s shop when one of the local children, a boy of three or four, ran past him. He had a great big, delighted grin on his face and he was holding a copper coin with both small hands. Zaine smiled, as he would have been just as delighted to have a coin when he was small – for that matter he still would. He never received any coins from the farmer or his wife and probably never would. A second child ran past, a young girl of about eight, and she too held a copper coin.
“I’m buying some of those boiled lollies!” she exclaimed. “Do you think he’d give us another copper if we went ba
ck and tried again?”
“Who gave you the copper?” Zaine called out.
The girl turned as she continued to run. “There’s a man by the inn who is giving out coppers for free,” she replied, and then she disappeared around the corner.
A man giving out coppers! Zaine turned back out of the alleyway and headed for the inn. If he got a copper he could buy some of the things he had longed for so many times. But why would anyone just give away coppers?
He broke into a run, just in case the man ran out of coins. He arrived outside the inn to find a whole line of children. He couldn’t see who was at the front of the line but he joined on the back of it, willing to wait as long as he had to, hopeful that the girl had been telling the truth.
“A copper for everyone who tries – silver if you succeed!” A voice boomed out from up ahead of him. Zaine stretched to see who had spoken, but several of the larger teenagers in the town were near the front and blocked his view. The line moved quickly forward and everyone walking back past him was carrying a copper coin. Zaine began to believe he would actually get one.
He reached the front of the line and saw that a middle-aged man, well-dressed and obviously not short of a few coins, had set up a small wooden table and chair to the side of the inn’s doors. A young man, who looked to be a few years older than Zaine, stood to the right of the man’s shoulder.
However, it wasn’t the man who drew Zaine’s attention, or even his young companion. Both seemed very ordinary, if richer than this town was used to seeing. Zaine stared at the black leather-bound book with a gold design on the cover that lay on the table. Apart from the colour of the leather, and the fact that it looked to have fewer pages, the book looked exactly like the herbmaster’s book.
“Trace the design, boy … if you can open the book I’ll give you a silver coin,” the man said in a bored tone that showed he had repeated the same instructions many times. He didn’t even look up at Zaine as he spoke.
“You want me to open it?” Zaine asked, excitement making his voice squeak like a small child’s. He could barely restrain himself from snatching up the book and running off with it.
“That’s what I said,” the man replied with a sigh.
“And I won’t get in trouble?” Zaine asked suspiciously. His fingers itched with anticipation, but he held back, making sure it wasn’t some sort of a trick.
“Look, do you want a copper or not?” the man asked, briefly looking up at Zaine with an exasperated sigh. He looked as if he just wanted to give all his coins away and move on as quickly as he could.
Zaine stepped forward and drew the design with his finger, then pulled the cover open. It felt so good just to touch the book that he had already traced the next designs and started to turn the first page before the man’s hand fell on top of his. Zaine pulled his hand free and jumped back a step, realising that he had gone too far. The man had not said anything about turning the first page. Would he still get the silver coin?
“I’m sorry …” Zaine said quickly, his eyes cast down at the ground.
Silence met his apology, and Zaine started to back away until he felt someone grab his sleeve and pull him forward. He looked up and saw surprise, delight and amazement in the man’s eyes. The young man who stood beside him looked mildly surprised but had not moved.
“How did you do that?” the man demanded, pulling him so close that Zaine could smell the man’s ale-tainted breath.
“I … I just did what you said,” Zaine stammered. He knew it had been a trick!
“Can you turn any more pages?” the man asked, letting go of Zaine’s sleeve and pushing the book closer towards him.
“I just want my silver coin,” Zaine said, finding it hard to drag his eyes from the book. He knew that he could turn almost one hundred of the pages, but did not want to tell the man. Just one page seemed to be more than enough to excite the man.
“I’ll give you another silver coin for every page you can turn,” the man offered softly, almost daring Zaine to try to turn another page. He pressed the first silver coin into Zaine’s palm and then sat back, watching Zaine with a curious and excited look.
“You will?” Zaine realised that a crowd was beginning to gather around them and everyone was staring at him.
He closed his palm around the silver coin and felt his heart begin to beat faster. If he could get enough silver coins, he could pay back Aunt Tilly and leave the farm. He reached out a hand, but drew it back instantly. Davyn had been so upset at him touching the other book; perhaps he should not be doing this?
“Come on, lad. I’m sure you can do just one more page,” the man prompted him and grinned, several gold teeth sparkling in the weak sunlight.
He slid another silver coin across the table and Zaine just stared at it. Surely it was just Davyn’s book he shouldn’t read. This man seemed quite happy for others to look at and turn the pages of his book. What harm could it do? He traced the designs quickly, muttering the words softly, and flicked the page over.
“Any more?” the man queried hopefully, and slid another silver coin across the table.
Zaine grabbed the coin, and with a merest flick of his fingers he traced the designs and turned the page. He had turned three more before the man stopped him by holding his wrist so that he could not reach the pages. It took a great effort of willpower to stop himself from throwing the man’s hand aside so that he could turn more pages. He had missed the designs so much that he didn’t want to stop.
“You’ve seen a book like this before, haven’t you?” The man’s voice was soft but demanding, and he looked at Zaine with an intensity that frightened him.
“No,” Zaine lied. If the man knew he had been drawing the designs since he was almost eight he might not give him the rest of the coins.
“Really?” the man stood up and looked around at the crowd, looking at each face, especially the adults. “Who taught this boy?”
Zaine looked through a gap in the crowd and saw Davyn standing on the far side of the street, hovering near an alleyway. His jaw was slack with shock, just as it had been the day he had caught Zaine with the book. He stared at Zaine for several seconds, and then at the man next to him who was still examining the crowd. Davyn began shaking his head and Zaine could almost hear him saying, “No, no”. The old herbmaster backed away into the alleyway just seconds before the man’s gaze reached where he had been.
“I have to go,” Zaine said as he took the rest of the silver coins from the table, exactly one for each page, and began to back away.
He half expected the man to try to stop him, but the man just smiled at Zaine. A lopsided smile that showed he was deep in thought.
“I’ll see you later,” the man said as he picked up his book, disappointing the rest of the line of children who had wanted a copper.
“I don’t think so,” Zaine replied, softly enough so that the man didn’t hear. “Not if I see you first.”
He hurried off to fill the list of supplies for his aunt, hoping that he hadn’t ruined his friendship with Davyn in his greed. He would drop the supplies back to his aunt and then go over to see the herbmaster. He had to explain that he had only been doing it for the money.
The sun was sinking low on the horizon by the time Zaine arrived back at the farm. If he hurried he would just make it to Davyn’s cottage and back before it got dark. He opened the kitchen door and almost ran in, dumping the basket on the table. He was about to tell his aunt that he was just going to go back for something he had forgotten when he realised that there were more people in the kitchen than there should be.
“Good to see you again … Zaine.”
The man from the inn and his companion were standing by the fire and he smiled at Zaine. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, even though his gold teeth were showing. It was a smile that said that the silver coins had not been free after all. He wanted payment, and what he wanted … he got. For the second time, Zaine regretted ever touching a book with designs on the cover. He wondered i
f there was time to make a run for the door.
CHAPTER THREE - EVERYTHING HAS A PRICE
Zaine hadn’t really looked at the man very closely before. He had seemed rather ordinary at first glance, but now he was forced to look directly at him he could see that he was anything but ordinary. His hair was longer than was usual around here and the thin brown strands were tied back loosely. His clothes, while of the muted colours that the country folk favoured, were cut in a style that would be unsuitable for any manual work. There were rows of buttons that seemed to have no purpose except decoration, and his trousers were of such flimsy material that they would rip on the first fence he climbed.
“I was just telling your aunt how I have an opportunity for you that you simply cannot pass up.” The man waved his hands in Tilly’s direction as he spoke, and Zaine saw that those hands had never done a day’s hard labour.
He was definitely not an ordinary traveller. The young man behind him had not spoken at all and appeared quite content to just watch.
“Master Calard wants you to go and study up north, near the king’s castle,” Pretor informed him from where he stood well to the back of the room.
“Study? Study what? Which king?” Zaine asked bluntly, but Pretor just shrugged in answer. Zaine did not like this Master Calard at all and he didn’t trust him. “There hasn’t been one crowned yet.”
“But there will, my boy. There will, and soon. We leave at first light tomorrow,” Calard said in a tone that implied it had all been decided.
“Here now,” Tilly spoke up. “We’ve not said he can go. We need him on the farm. Take one of the other children from the town.”
For once Zaine could have gone over and hugged his aunt. Calard stared at her with a look of disbelief for several seconds before he spoke again.
“Surely you cannot deny the king’s wishes?” Calard said with surprise. “I speak for the king and I say the boy comes with us!”
“There is no king, yet,” Tilly argued back. “The boy owes us a whole jar of silver coins for his keep and he’s not going anywhere until he’s paid them back!”
