Eolyn

by Karin Rita Gastreich

  Curse them all!

  They made it impossible for a prince to pass unnoticed.

  Akmael burst into one of the back courtyards and paused, gulping fresh spring air. Bright afternoon light made him squint. As his anger cleared, he realized the Gods had granted him a singular opportunity. No one was present in this barren space. He glanced up at the high ramparts, but even those guards had their alert gazes turned elsewhere.

  Akmael crept across the courtyard, keeping to the shadows as he approached a small wooden door on the northern wall. He slipped inside and shut the door securely behind him.

  He had arrived at a long corridor of rough-hewn stone. Silence reigned here, broken only by the slow pulse of the mountain’s heart.

  Akmael knew this place well. The passage led to the Foundation of Vortingen, where Dragon had appeared to the very first of Akmael’s fathers and crowned him King of all Moisehén. He crept through the dark passage until it opened onto a grassy knoll. The flat area ended in sharp cliffs lined by scattered and twisted trees. In the center, a circle of pale monoliths reached toward the sky.

  Retreating to a copse of trees near the cliff’s edge, Akmael found a hiding place among tall bushes. He leaned against the rough trunk of an old beech and allowed his pulse to steady, all the while clutching the silver web.

  I won’t let them take you from me. I’ll die first.

  “I know, my love.”

  His mother’s voice felt so real and close, it broke Akmael’s heart. Tears escaped his eyes. He slid down the trunk and sat hard on the ground.

  I’m so sorry, Mother.

  How could she be gone? One moment Briana had been alive, laughing and vibrant. The next, she was sprawled and motionless. Akmael would never forget how the light had faded from her eyes.

  Master Tzeremond often said Queen Briana’s murder was a vivid example of the treacherous hearts of the magas. So incapable of loyalty are they that they kill their own sisters. This is one of the many reasons we no longer allow women to learn magic.

  Akmael disagreed with his tutor on many counts, but in this, Tzeremond was right. Although the red-haired witch had arrived dressed as a servant, Akmael’s mother received her as a friend and equal. They had embraced, but their warmth soon turned to discord. Akmael remembered how his presence had ignited the red-haired maga’s fury, how his resemblance to Kedehen made her turn upon Briana.

  “You know the danger of pouring the blood of East Selen into the line of Vortingen!” the stranger had cried. “This boy’s power will be unstoppable.”

  But the red-haired assassin had been wrong. An unstoppable power would have extinguished the death charge that flew from the maga’s staff toward Akmael. An unstoppable power would have kept Briana from flinging her body into its path.

  An unstoppable power would have brought my mother back from the dead.

  With a heavy heart, Akmael lifted the silver web off his neck. Made of quartz crystals woven into the silk of a Dark Moon Orb Weaver, the jewel sparkled in the afternoon light. Akmael heard the faint echo of Briana’s laughter and felt the comfort of her presence. A lullaby she used to sing when he was a little boy returned to him.

  He flicked the web, and it spun on its axis. The words of his mother’s song took shape on his lips. As the melody wove around the medallion, the copse of trees where he had taken refuge melted away.

  Startled, Akmael ceased his song.

  He sat in an unfamiliar and dense forest. Afternoon light filtered through the canopy. Water rushed past in a small river littered with large boulders. Somewhere close by squirrels chattered, accompanied by the sweet lilt of a summer thrush.

  Pressing himself against the nearest tree, Akmael studied the amulet. Thrilled by the power of the object, he was nonetheless immediately preoccupied with the problem of returning home.

  It must be a simple spell. Mother always favored simple spells.

  Closing his eyes, Akmael grounded his spirit and imagined the soft grass and tall monoliths of the Foundation of Vortingen. He spun the amulet and began to sing, but his melody was cut short by laughter, high and free, like a song of the forest.

  Akmael opened his eyes. He put the silver chain back on his neck and tucked the amulet beneath his shirt. Then he moved cautiously toward the source of the laughter.

  Rounding a large tree, he saw a girl about his age on the riverbank. She wore a simple russet dress patched in many places. Her hair framed her face in wild curls, like spun copper. Mud sloshed underfoot, but that did not stop her from dancing after butterflies and rabbits and squirrels. Soon she threw herself down on the grass, where she took to watching white clouds race past the tree tops.

  Akmael took a step closer. A twig snapped underfoot.

  The girl sat up and pinned him with a sharp gaze.

  Akmael returned her stare, uncertain what to do or say.

  “Good afternoon.” The girl stood and attempted to brush the dirt off her skirt, but the effort was wasted since her hands were covered in mud. “You must be lost.”

  “I am not lost,” Akmael replied. Then he added, rather sheepishly, “I’m just not certain where I am.”

  “You’re in the South Woods, on the banks of the Tarba River.”

  Akmael drew a sharp breath. The silver web had flung him clear across the kingdom!

  “My name is Eolyn,” she said. “Who are you?”

  Akmael glanced away. “Achim. My name is Achim.”

  “Do you have a place to stay, Achim?”

  “Of course.” Akmael forced more confidence into his voice than he felt. “I will return home.”

  “Do you have to start back right away?”

  That seemed a strange question.

  “What I’m saying is, would you like to play?” she said.

  Akmael shook his head. “I do not play. Certainly not with girls.”

  She threw up her hands in disbelief. “How can you not play?”

  “I am too old to play.”

  “You can’t be more than a couple summers older than me.”

  “Yes, but I am not a girl.”

  “I have an idea,” Eolyn said. “We can look for the rainbow snail. The snail is supposed to migrate up river during the spring, but I’ve never seen it. Ghemena says it grows as big as one’s hand and has a shell made of pearl that reflects all the colors of the world. Would you like to help me find it?”

  I really should try to get home.

  Yet even if the amulet took Akmael straight back to the castle, what did he have to look forward to? An argument with his father, the confiscation of Briana’s precious gift, the infuriating satisfaction of old Tzeremond.

  “It’s only for a little while.” Annoyance crept into the girl’s tone. “If you don’t like it you can just go home.”

  A grin spread across Akmael’s face. He reached down to pull off his boots.

  Eolyn jumped and clapped her hands. Unfettered by shoes, she took off at once toward the river. “The first one to find it wins!”

  Akmael followed Eolyn along the riverbank, both of them taking care not to wander too deep into the swift and icy current. Spring blossomed throughout the forest. Heavy southern winds were forcing back the frosty breath of the north. Pale herbs pushed up from the musty earth, and delicate pink leaves budded from tall oaks.

  The elusive rainbow snail never appeared, but many other creatures danced in the water for their entertainment. Large silver fish jumped over deep rapids, strong bodies flashing in the sun. Darting guppies nipped at their toes. Tiny water dragons clung to the underside of rocks. Whirligigs filled the still edge of the river with frenetic activity. Bright blue shrimp scuttled along the rocky bottom. Eolyn caught several to take back home because, as she enthusiastically informed Akmael, they made for an excellent stew.

  Soaking wet before long, the two of them sought a large boulder where they sat while the sun warmed their bodies and dried their clothes.

  “I’ll have to go home soon,” Eolyn announced. “I
t’s about an hour’s walk from here, and it’s not good for a child to be out at dusk this time of year. Ghemena says the wolves and bears are terribly hungry right now.”

  “Who is Ghemena?” Akmael asked.

  “The woman who takes care of me. She’s like my grandmother but she’s not really. She lives in a cottage nearby. People believe she eats children but it’s not true at all. Neither is the part about the house made of sweet bread.”

  Akmael was not sure what to make of this.

  “Who takes care of you, Achim?”

  He cleared his throat. “My father and my tutors.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “A long way from here.”

  “Well if it’s going to take more than an hour for you to walk home, you should stay with us until tomorrow.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I...” He searched for the appropriate phrase. “I travel very quickly.”

  Akmael looked away, uncertain why being guarded with her made him uncomfortable. It would hardly be prudent to reveal his true identity to a peasant girl from Moehn.

  “Tell me about where you live.” Eolyn pulled her knees up to her chest. Red curls danced about rosy cheeks. Brown eyes sparkled beneath thick lashes. “Is it a forest like this one?”

  “Well…” He considered the scattered tree trunk pillars around them. “Yes. It is rather like a forest, except it is made of stone.”

  “A forest of stone.” Eolyn lifted her face to a shaft of sunlight. “It sounds beautiful. At Summer Solstice, the trees must be filled with emerald leaves, leaves that fade into ruby and amber at Samhaen. At Midwinter’s Eve, the branches must weigh heavy with diamond ice and snow, and at Eostar, I bet the flowers bloom with petals of opal!”

  The girl turned to Akmael as if eager for him to confirm her vision, but he could only stare back in silence. He had never heard his home spoken of with such poetry. He could almost imagine it just as she described.

  Sitting up straight, Akmael extended his arm in front of him and focused on the space above his palm. After a moment, particles of light collected over his hand and swirled together. They assembled into a twig of polished brown stone with emerald leaves and sapphire berries.

  “From your forest?” Eolyn asked, breathless.

  “For you.” He plucked the object from the air and presented it to her.

  The gift would disappear within the hour. Akmael had not yet learned how to make his visualizations last longer. Yet he could tell Eolyn would gather as much enjoyment out of the jewel in that short time as a nobleman’s daughter might during the course of a year.

  Indeed, any other child would have responded to this magic with fear and trepidation. Under Master Tzeremond’s instruction, Akmael was learning how to use fear as a source of power. But Eolyn projected neither surprise nor apprehension. She offered only a strangely pleasant glow that Akmael identified with some difficulty as appreciation and burgeoning affection.

  “I would like to give you something from my forest,” Eolyn announced.

  Then the girl did something that truly astounded Akmael. She sat up straight and cupped her hands. After a moment, a swirl of light appeared just above her fingers and assembled into a small plant with thick leaves and an exquisite flower of white and gold.

  “This is an orchid.” Eolyn plucked the plant from the air. “It grows in the highest branches of the oldest oaks, and it is for you.”

  Scarcely able to breathe, Akmael accepted the gift and examined it. What Eolyn had done was impossible. Forbidden.

  “Where did you learn this?” he demanded. “Where did you learn magic?”

  “It’s not magic,” she objected hotly. “You just did it yourself! It’s...”

  The girl paused and stood up, her expression caught between indignation and realization. “It’s magic? Are you certain?”

  “This,” Akmael set the plant firmly between them, “is the work of a student well advanced in the ways of Middle Magic.”

  “Middle Magic?!” Eolyn clapped her hands and brought her fingers to her lips. She gazed at Akmael with great intensity. “What is Middle Magic?”

  “How can you not know? You have to know what Middle Magic is in order to practice it.”

  “Is it like Simple Magic?”

  “No not at all. Simple Magic is just foods and medicines. Middle Magic is the language of the world, of the animals and stones and plants. It’s about integrating the elements. Middle Magic is everything you have to know before you can practice High Magic.”

  “High Magic?”

  Her ignorance baffled him. How could she invoke a visualization if she knew nothing about the different classes of magic?

  “Do you feel the same way I do when you bring earth out of the air?” she asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When you made the branch of stone.”

  “You mean when I visualized it,” Akmael said.

  “Did you get a tingle in the soles of your feet?” Eolyn insisted. “Whenever I draw earth from the air there’s a sensation that makes me feel all warm inside. Does that happen to you? Does it make you happy like when the sun shines on a spring day or when winter’s first snow begins to fall?”

  “I don’t know.” Akmael had to think for a moment. “It’s not exactly happiness I feel, it is more like a sense of power over great movement, as if a river were flowing through my hands. It reminds me a little of what it’s like to ride a spirited horse.”

  “A horse?”

  Akmael rolled his eyes. “A horse is an animal that—”

  “Oh, I know what a horse is!” She gave an impatient wave of her hand. “There used to be horses in my village. It’s just that I’ve never ridden a horse. Ernan used to ride them, though. He rode them a lot and it always made him very happy.”

  Eolyn’s gaze wavered and disconnected from Akmael. An unmistakable color flickered through her aura, the signature of some terrible memory. Before Akmael could determine the source, she buried her thoughts with a quick shake of her head.

  “So it must be the same,” she concluded. “If it works the same way and makes us feel the same way, it must all be magic—you making the branch and me making the flower. And of course, you riding a horse.”

  Akmael opened his mouth to correct her but stopped himself. If the girl was this confused about the matter she could not get much further with magic, and that would be better for everyone.

  “I have to go.” Eolyn sprang forward and startled him with a hug. “You’ll come back, won’t you? I’ll be by the river again in a quarter moon.”

  Before he could reply she took off toward the forest interior.

  “Just wait ‘til I have a word with that old witch!” she called over her shoulder. “She’s been playing tricks on me since the day I arrived!”

  Once the girl was well away, Akmael took out his amulet. He drew a deep breath, spun the silver web, and sang his mother’s song. Much to his relief, the silver web took him back to his hiding place in the Foundation of Vortingen.

  Sunset painted the sky crimson and purple. In the east, stars would soon begin to shine over the distant lands of his mother’s home.

  “Akmael!” Kedehen’s shout made the prince jump. The Mage King was nearby, and angry.

  Akmael secured the amulet in its place over his heart. Cautiously, he peeked through the bushes.

  Kedehen paced among long shadows cast by the monoliths. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. His war-hardened face was framed by chestnut brown hair.

  Next to him stood the wizard Tzeremond and Sir Drostan, Kedehen’s most trusted knight.

  “You’re certain the men saw him enter this place?” Kedehen asked.

  “He was not seen, my Lord King,” Drostan replied, “but the path of his flight leads here.”

  “Gods know we’ve looked everywhere else. Akmael!”

  Despite his trepidation, Akmael admired his father’s imposing build and forceful presence. Someday he hoped
to be like Kedehen, respected and feared by all the people of Moisehén. Until then, he was bound by duty to obey.

  He straightened his shoulders and stepped into the clearing.

  Drostan caught sight of the prince first.

  “My Lord King.” The knight nodded in the direction of where Akmael stood.

  Kedehen’s black gaze settled on his son. He took in Akmael’s disheveled appearance and soiled clothes. “For the love of the Gods, son, what have you been doing? Wrestling with a bear?”

  “I…I was…”

  “Never mind,” Kedehen said. “Show me the medallion.”

  Reluctantly, the prince approached and drew out the silver web. He did not remove it from his neck.

  Kedehen took the delicate jewel in his strong fingers. The King’s expression shifted, a subtle softening around the eyes that Akmael had not seen since before his mother had died. He had learned long ago that this was not a sign of affection, but rather an expression of Kedehen’s unfulfilled desire to feel affection.

  “What kind of magic did you say this is, Master Tzeremond?” Kedehen asked.

  “I do not know, my Lord King. I recognize the Queen’s handiwork, though. The object was crafted by her.”

  “Indeed.” Kedehen turned the web over in his hand. “When did your mother give this to you, Akmael?”

  “On my birthday, almost a year before she died.”

  “Did she tell you how to use it? Any spells or chants? Rites that came with the gift?”

  “No, Father.” Akmael held the King’s gaze. He was telling the truth, after all. Briana had revealed nothing about the medallion. That Akmael had just discovered its use was a different matter altogether.

  “Drostan,” Kedehen called to the knight. “You knew the magas better than any of us. Have a look at this object and tell me what you think.”

  A warrior trained under the Old Orders, Sir Drostan had served the King faithfully when the magas rose up against him. Now Drostan tutored Akmael in the arts of war. Akmael was a tall boy, but Sir Drostan towered over him as he examined the web. The knight’s jaw worked beneath a thick red beard, and the faint smell of sweat and leather rose from his body.