Devin continued, drawing the story out as though it took its life from him alone. He sang the last stanza, imagining Lisette seated alone in the darkness, the waves breaking on the sand, her lantern the only light in her world. He allowed his last few notes to resonate a moment after he had ceased to speak, letting them fade into a silence where he swore he could hear the echo of breaking surf and wind over sand.
Mäìte rose from her seat and hobbled to where he sat, wiping away tears on her apron. She bent and brushed her lips against Devin’s forehead.
“That was beautiful,” she murmured. “Beautiful.”
He blushed, embarrassed at her familiarity.
She cupped his chin, tilting his eyes up to meet hers. “I’ve never heard it sung so well,” she whispered. “Not even when Armand has sung it.”
Devin glanced away to hide his surprise, hoping his tutor hadn’t heard her comment.
Her husband beat on the table with the empty wine bottle. “Enough tragedy! Enough love songs! Send these enfants to bed, Armand,” he demanded, indicating, Devin and Gaspard, “and sing me some fabliaux!”
Armand laughed. “Bring out another bottle of wine, you frugal old fool, and I will!”
Devin rose and returned the harp to Adrian. All of sudden he felt shaky, as though he hadn’t eaten anything all day. For a moment, he was afraid he was going to be sick and he stumbled unsteadily outside. He was surprised when Armand followed him.
The bard put a hand on his shoulder. “Sit down. Take some deep breaths. It will pass.”
Devin put his back against the house and slid down till he sat on the huge stone doorstep.
Armand eased himself down awkwardly beside him and forced a glass of wine into his hand. “Drink that,” he advised. “It’ll settle your stomach.”
“I don’t like to take it,” Devin protested. “They have so little.”
Armand waved a hand airily. “They have a whole wine cellar underneath the house. Grandpère is as tight as they come.”
Devin took a sip and put the glass on the ground. His hands were shaking. He leaned back against the stones of the house. “I don’t know what made me sick at my stomach…”
“It’s called nerves,” Armand told him. “It hits most of us right before we begin a presentation. A few like you breeze right through the performance and then fall apart afterwards. You’ll get used to it in time.”
“Used to it?” Devin asked in surprise. “Won’t it go away?”
Armand laughed. “No, it never goes away completely. You just have to accept it and go on from there.”
“I hadn’t expected to have to perform so soon,” Devin confessed.
“It’s part of the job,” Armand said. “Being a bard requires performing every night, usually. And it takes a special talent to keep the stories fresh and new each and every time.”
They sat for a moment, listening to the muffled sound of voices and laughter inside the house. Armand shifted uneasily.
“Perhaps, it’s none of my business, but I’ve noticed that you and Marcus seem at odds. It’s not wise to alienate your bodyguard.”
Devin hesitated, unsure whether to tell him what had caused the rift between them. “It’s a long story,” he said.
“I’m a good listener,” Armand replied. He tapped the wine glass at Devin’s side. “Drink that and tell me about it.”
Devin swirled the crimson liquid a moment before drinking it. He told Armand about his itinerary disappearing, and the cursed cross which had been included when it was returned, and Le Beau’s strange note. He described the horsemen that he’d seen in the middle of the night from the hayloft at Adrian’s. Reluctantly he added his own penchant for waking dreams, and his uncertainty, afterwards, about what he had actually seen.
“And Marcus denies meeting anyone?” Armand asked.
Devin nodded. “He was very angry. And at this point, I don’t honestly know what I saw.”
Armand shook his head. “You’re in a dangerous position if you don’t trust your bodyguard.”
“I know,” Devin answered. “And yet, if he’s telling the truth, I’ve obviously hurt him with my suspicions.”
“I know it would take some time but could you request that your father send you another bodyguard?”
“Marcus was my father’s own personal bodyguard. He handpicked him to go with me,” Devin said. “I don’t think replacing him is an option.”
Armand stretched his legs out in front of him. “And you have no reason to suspect that your father might benefit in any way from your death?”
Shocked, Devin turned to stare at him. “God, no! Never! I…what would make you even suggest such a thing?”
Armand shrugged. “Even our Heavenly Father sacrificed his Son to make a point. The world hasn’t been quite the same since. It never hurts to consider all the possibilities.”
“That,” Devin replied, shaking his head, “is not a possibility.”
“All right then,” Armand continued. “In that case, you’ll have to have faith that your father has sent a trustworthy bodyguard with you and let go of your suspicions. There’s an apothecary in Lac Dupré. I can get you a sedative if you need it to sleep.”
“I’d prefer to get along without it,” Devin said, imagining himself too drugged to evade an assailant.
“Suit yourself,” Armand replied. “But keep in mind, your training will be more grueling because of this self-imposed time limit. Sleep will be a luxury, in very short supply. I have no idea how disturbing these waking dreams can be.”
Devin took another sip of wine. “It varies. The frightening part is that they transform some normal object or person into something or someone else. It is not just a hallucination; parts of it are real and parts of it imaginary. One night at the Université I had just fallen asleep, when Gaspard came in from a party. He walked past my bed. For an instant, I could have sworn he was one of my professors and I even called him by name. Gaspard thought it was funny. He assumed I was drunk, until it was obvious that I had been sleeping.”
Armand raised his eyebrows. “So you are saying that, even if Marcus wasn’t in the courtyard that night, someone else was?”
“Yes,” Devin said.
“So this is not a simple thing?” Armand asked.
“Not at all,” Devin replied. “And if Marcus didn’t meet someone in the courtyard, who did?”
Armand patted Devin’s knee. “I think I might not have been so quick to take you on as a student, Monsieur Roché, if I had realized all the baggage you were carrying.”
“Well, at least, if the incident at Adrian’s farm was a waking dream, it is the first I have had in over a year,” Devin said, knowing that even putting it into words would probably doom him to another episode, soon.
Armand struggled to his feet. “Let me know if I can help. Don’t think about it anymore tonight. Sit and relax for a few minutes and then go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
His hand was on the doorknob when he turned back to look at Devin. “And by the way, if, in a month’s time, your final performance is as good as tonight’s, Monsieur Roché, I’ll embroider Ombria’s wolf emblem on your cloak myself.”
He was gone before Devin could thank him. He sat quietly for a moment and finished his wine, savoring Armand’s praise. It was unexpected so early in their relationship. Tonight, he had to admit, he’d tailored his performance to impress Armand, and yet Mäìte’s words had touched him more.
Something almost magical had happened when he had sung tonight. This afternoon, when he’d recited that song over and over again, he had simply repeated the correct words in the proper order. Tonight, he’d become a part of the story, and on some level Mäìte had entered into it, too. He’d actually felt like a bard, creating the kind of atmosphere that provoked a strong emotional response from his audience. It had been exhilarating, and for just a few minutes, Marcus, LeBeau, and the mysterious horsemen had all been banished from his mind. He leaned his head back against the
stones and smiled.
CHAPTER 17
Night Terrors
Devin dragged himself up out of a deep sleep. Thunder and the sound of rain on the roof had wakened him. Something brushed his arm, and he opened his eyes to see his father bending over him, a distressed expression on his face. For a moment, Devin struggled to remember where he was. Surely they weren’t back in Coreé already?
“Forgive me,” his father said. A knife blade glinted for an instant in the darkness as it descended toward Devin’s heart.
Devin rolled to avoid it, his scream echoing through the night. A chicken shrieked and flapped off its roost. Several others joined it in raising the alarm, as the cow struggled to its feet.
Hands grabbed Devin, yanking him upright and holding him. Marcus materialized out of the darkness in front of him.
“What is it?” he demanded, shaking him slightly. “Are you hurt? Was someone here?”
Devin shook off his hands and pushed him away, his heart pounding.
“No,” he answered, dry mouthed and shaking. “No, there was no one here.”
He was drenched in sweat, and sick in his stomach, embarrassed that this had happened again so soon. Damn you, Armand, he thought, for making me doubt my own father.
The house door slammed shut and Ombria’s Master Bard arrived as though he’d been summoned. His bare chest was speckled with rain and his unfastened trousers hung precariously from one hand. Adrian trailed behind him, his cloak thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. The light from the lantern in his hand splashed around the shed, reflecting in the cow’s wildly rolling eyes, and elongating the chickens’ shadows into weird mercurial shapes.
“What happened?” Armand asked. “Is everyone all right?”
“We’re fine,” Gaspard explained, laying a hand on Devin’s shoulder. “Dev sometimes has nightmares…”
Armand waved away his explanation. “He warned me earlier. Although, honestly, Monsieur Roché, you hardly did them justice! I didn’t realize they were quite so spectacular!”
Devin hated him for being cheerful enough to joke after having been startled awake in the middle of the night.
“I’m sorry I woke everyone up,” he apologized.
He sat down in the hay and bent his head against his knees for a moment, trying to dispel the nausea that was washing over him.
“Would a glass of wine help?” Armand asked, suddenly serious.
“No.” Devin said, glancing up. “Thank you. But please, go back to sleep if you can. You have my word that I won’t disturb you again tonight.”
Armand didn’t linger. “Merci!” he said, giving him a little bow. “I wish you sweet dreams, messieurs.”
He waded back through the puddles toward the house, holding one hand above his head to ward off the raindrops. “Thank God, my grandparents are half deaf,” he confided to Adrian, just loud enough so that the residents of the shed could hear him. “They would have thought the Militaire were attacking.”
“Well then,” Marcus mused, leaning back against the side of the shed. “That was exciting. My heart’s still pounding.”
“I’m sorry,” Devin apologized again. “It’s not something I can control.”
Gaspard ran a hand through his hair and blew out a long breath. “I think we should look for an apothecary, Dev, at the earliest opportunity.”
“I think you’re right,” Devin agreed. “Armand told me that there is one in Lac Dupré.”
“Then tomorrow, if we arrive in time, we’ll pay him a visit,” Gaspard said. “I’ll look forward to it.” He lay back down on the hay and then grimaced, as he shifted to the right. “Sweet Jesus, this roof leaks like a sieve.”
Marcus settled down on the hay, too. His movements were slow and studied as though he had yet to decide whether the crisis was over and he could truly relax.
“If you intend to stay a month in Lac Dupré, may I suggest that we find an inn with real beds and a lavatory?” he asked.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Devin promised. He realized with a jolt that this was the first time that Marcus had spoken to him directly in the last few days.
His surprise turned to panic. As Marcus took his hand from behind his back, Devin saw a familiar metallic glint. A moment later, Marcus sheathed a knife and slid it underneath his pillow. Devin remained propped in the corner, his heart beating erratically. Despite Armand’s advice to the contrary, he could not bring himself to trust Marcus. Nor had he any intention of sleeping again tonight.
CHAPTER 18
“Emeline”
Armand slapped Devin on the back.
“Sing for me, monsieur,” he requested, as soon as they were on the road in the morning.
Devin was in no mood to sing. A cold rain pounded the countryside around them, pooling in the rutted road and dripping from the branches that formed a canopy above their heads. If Armand had noticed the dark circles under Devin’s eyes or his avoidance of Marcus, he hadn’t commented. The bard was as cheerful this morning as when he had been faced with Devin’s nightmares in the middle of the night.
Devin cleared his throat and sang “Lisette’s Lament.”
“Adequate,” Armand pronounced when he finished. “Considering.”
“Considering what?” Devin growled.
Armand gave him an engaging smile. “Your mood and your lack of sleep. Although, it wasn’t half as good as your performance last night. Perhaps you’ll do better tonight.”
“I can’t sing the same song night after night,” Devin protested. “Teach me something else.”
Armand chuckled. “That’s what we do, monsieur, we tell the same stories over and over again but we try to make them original for every new audience.” He adjusted the hood of his cloak. “Some men have a way with melody but are hopeless with prose. Let’s see how you do with a narrative. What about ‘Emeline’?”
“I already know it,” Devin replied.
“I thought you might say that,” Armand replied. “And how did you learn it?”
Devin frowned, wondering what he was getting at. “I memorized it last night when Adrian told it.”
“Ah, monsieur,” Armand said, shaking his head. “Then you broke the first rule as my apprentice.”
Devon stopped dead in the road. “And what was that?”
“You learn the Chronicle only from me,” Armand said, shaking his finger. “Not from Adrian and not from any other bard we should happen to meet in Ombria. If you are my apprentice than no other storyteller’s work matters to you but mine. I am the original, your Bible, so to speak. The rest are simply imitations of a great work.”
“Forgive me,” Devin said sarcastically.
Armand’s face hardened. “You’ll get no points from me with that attitude. Remember I can dissolve this agreement at any time.”
Devin bowed his head. “Forgive me,” he repeated. “I’m not myself this morning. Will you teach me ‘Emeline’?”
Armand nodded, completely amiable once again. “Of course. Please listen carefully.
“Once upon a time there were two sisters. Their names were Emeline and Renée. Emeline’s hair was dark and curly, and Renée’s was golden like the summer sun. They lived with their Mama and Papa at the edge of a deep forest. Every day before they went to play, their Mama would say, ‘Girls do not go under the branches of the trees, stay in the sun and play.’ And each day their Papa would say, ‘Girls do not go into the shadow of the trees, stay by the house and play.’
“One fall day, the girls played by the house. They had a little ball their mother had made out of bits of rags. It was all different colors: red, blue, yellow and green. That day they threw the ball, back and forth, back and forth. Until Renée, who was the smallest, threw the ball under one of the oak trees.
“Now behind that oak tree, a wolf was waiting. The wolf would not come near the house. He would not come into the sun but he waited in the shadows. He waited because he knew one day that Emeline or Renée would forget what their Mama h
ad told them. He knew one day that they would forget what their Papa had said and they would come under the shadow of the oak tree and he would eat them up.
“And that day, when the ball went under the tree, Renée looked at Emeline and Emeline looked at Renée. The little rag ball was their only toy and they didn’t know what to do. ‘I will get it,’ said Emeline. ‘I am the oldest. I will grab the little rag ball and run back here quickly.’
“Renée started to cry. She said, ‘No, Emeline, I threw the little ball under the tree. I will go and get it.’ So they decided to go together, one little girl with dark hair and one little girl with hair like the sun. So they held hands and they crossed the yard, step by step, until they reached the shadow of the oak tree. They walked, step by step, until they could see the little rag ball.
“And when Emeline bent down to pick up the ball, the wolf jumped. He was so quick that their parents never heard them scream. He was so quick that no one saw him drag their dead bodies into the woods. All that was left of Emeline and Renée was the little rag ball in the shade of the oak tree and the red, red blood on the grass.”
Gaspard turned away. “That is such a revolting story! Why in God’s name would anyone ever tell it to a child?”
“Perhaps you’d like to explain that to him, Monsieur Roché,” Armand said.
Devin shook his head. “I’m sorry but I agree with Gaspard. I see no good reason to tell that story to anyone. Is it even true?”
Armand ignored his question. “It is included in the Chronicle for a reason. What kind of tale is it?” he asked.
“A cautionary tale,” Devin answered.
“And as such, what is it designed to do?”
Gaspard laughed uneasily. “Appall and disgust the audience?”
Armand glowered. “Have you considered how many lives that tale may have saved? How many little girls or boys, for that matter, may have stayed out of the woods after hearing it?”
Devin hadn’t considered that. Wolves had never been a problem in Coreé. They were not something he had ever had to worry about as a child. And at the moment, his immediate troubles seemed to center around bodyguards with big, shiny knives.
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