Second Sight: Second Tale of the Lifesong

by Greg Hamerton

  But he’d be a Sword, with a grim face and a deadly blade, only called upon when there was trouble.

  When he’d left home, he’d so wanted to be a Lightgifter: a man who brought healing and happiness, warmth and well-being, a man who would fill the air with his joyful sprites, a master of the magic art. The day when he had been selected as an apprentice in the Dovecote had seemed like the beginning of his life, he had been so elated. He had worked hard, despite the difficulties and politics within the Cote. He had earned the Gifters’ white robe that he wore, and probably more than earned the right to tie a full knot in his rope, but it would remain a half-knot for the present, because the Rector was in the dungeons, and Ashley had put him there.

  The offer the Rector had made still turned over and over in his mind, despite his firm resolution to refuse the bribery. A new Source could be carved from the Rector’s secret crystal lode. The Lightgifters could sing, and spark new sprites into being. They could regain their power. No, he had refused the Rector’s offer. It was wrong, a trap which led to worse things.

  Would it be possible to make a rogue Source, without involving the Rector?

  The sad truth was that without the sprites, being a Lightgifter didn’t mean anything. With so little Light essence remaining after the battle and so much of it used to heal the survivors, there was nothing to be a Gifter with. Even his orb had gone pale at his throat, a milky translucence where once had dwelt a continuous glow. Even in the dark it barely showed up. The Order of Lightgifters was in disarray. Father Keegan was dead. Father Angelos was dead. Too many of the others had been irrevocably changed by their tortures in Ravenscroft. All their stones held the dark taint like a stain of disgrace upon the virginal white. Only Sister Grace could be considered as a candidate for the new Rector, but she had refused the title, preferring to be the guardian, which she insisted was a temporary position, until a new Rector could be selected. That was assuming a future for the Order of Lightgifters existed at all.

  Ashley watched the stars as he walked beneath them. He wished there was some way of using those specks of light to navigate through the seas of a young man’s life. It had seemed so easy when the goal of becoming a Lightgifter had lain before him. He’d had a purpose and he could progress toward it as if rowing for an island, but suddenly the isle had been washed away, leaving only the rude rock and the tangled dead roots of the truth. To be a Gifter under Shamgar was to be an accomplice in fraud. Ashley’s faith in the holiness of the senior Gifters had been shattered; his dream of becoming one himself seemed empty and worthless. Now he was adrift under that silent scattering of stars which hid the secret of his destiny in its complex pattern. If only he could see what he was meant to be, what he could become, then he could walk that path with conviction. But the stars were so very far away, and the dark towers swallowed them all the more.

  Tabitha Serannon had the power to change their fate. She could make sprites. He had witnessed the miracle in the palace forecourt, as had most of the others. Tonight’s prolonged meeting in the Gifters-hall had been aflutter with speculation and suspicion, but in the end the resolution had been good. They would all seek to become apprenticed to the Wizard, to serve her, and to learn her ways. When he had voiced his support for the movement, he had been applauded, and appointed as the spokesman. He would be the one to approach the Wizard, because he knew her; he was her friend. He hoped that was still true. At least, he had thought that they were friends for a time in the Dovecote. But she was different now. She was a wizard.

  He didn’t know if he had the right to assume their friendship would continue.

  How would he approach her? She was so famous she was always surrounded by a crowd, twenty deep. When she had arrived in Stormhaven, she had been whisked past him in her coach and gone directly into the palace, and Ashley couldn’t guess when she would appear in public again. It was rumoured that the king was courting her for a queen. It was rumoured that only the nobles would be allowed to enjoy her counsel, but then it was also rumoured that she kept the old Swordmaster Glavenor at her side as her slave, and Ashley knew that was untrue.

  Some people crossed ahead of him, in the deep shadows at the base of the city wall, two figures, cloaked and bearing packs. The one was tall and broad-shouldered, the other shorter and light-footed. For a desperate moment Ashley thought they were Shadowcasters, but they passed on as if trying to avoid looking at him in the street. They were no threat to him; he was a threat to them. What mischief was afoot? He sent his mind questing outward with the gentlest of threads, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He had a talent, and it demanded to be used.

  He recognised them at once. Garyll Glavenor and Tabitha! He froze in the street.

  She had a burning quest in mind, a need to leave Stormhaven and reach a pass as soon as possible, somewhere leading to the outside—a trail beyond Eyri. She was fearful and uncertain but deep down she had a greater fear, something about a great figure with feathered arms and a forlorn face. And birds, many birds, flying in tight circles.

  She looked suddenly back at him as his thoughts touched hers, and he snapped the questing tendril back with embarrassment. Light almighty! The Wizard! He hadn’t meant to snoop in her head.

  “Ashley? Is that you?”

  She had stopped, and she spoke quietly, as if not wanting to alert anyone beyond them to their presence.

  His chance had come sooner than he’d expected. “A most humble Gifter requests the pleasure of a few precious moments with you, your grace.” He bowed low in the street.

  “Ashley! Stop that! It’s wonderful to see you!” she exclaimed in a loud whisper, coming closer.

  “Sorry to stop you, I’m sure you’re in a hurry, but it’s so difficult to get close enough to you to be noticed these days, peace-bringer.”

  She had a fresh fragrance of cherry blossoms that lingered in the air between them. He tingled with excitement at being so close to her—Tabitha the Singer of the Lifesong, Tabitha the Wizard. He controlled himself as he realised that Glavenor had stopped in the shadows as well, where he stood tall and ominous, like a mirror of the great mural tower above him.

  Tabitha smiled in the dark, he could feel it. “Peace seems further from my reach every day. Funny that, I thought I would bring peace by ending the Darkmaster’s advance, but it was peace for the people, and not for me. I’m caught up in this commotion.”

  “You are the commotion,” Ashley noted.

  “What are you doing out here this late?” Tabitha asked.

  “I, er, I’m trying to make sense of being a Lightgifter. We had a meeting tonight, in the Gifters-hall. I was asked to find you.” He dropped to one knee right before her. “Your worship, on behalf of the Lightgifters, I wish to ask that we might become your disciples.”

  “Ashley, no, not you as well!” she exclaimed, in a taught whisper. “I don’t want you to worship me. Get up. I’m just Tabitha, just like I always was.”

  “As you wish, your ... wizard ... Tabitha,” he stammered, and stood again. His cheeks burned. “How would you it please you that I ask it, your eminence? We wish to learn your magic, and to help with your healing in Levin.”

  Tabitha reached out and shook his arm. “Ashley, you’re still doing it! Stop using the silly titles! I’ve had my fill of them. It’s me, for goodness sake! You know who I am. I need friends, not worshippers.”

  Ashley nodded nervously, and rubbed his arm where she had touched him, where his skin danced with crazy feelings.

  “Ashley? You can see through all the nonsense, can’t you?”

  Glavenor stepped up to her side then, and Ashley hesitated to say anything.

  “Logán. It’s been a while.”

  Ashley dipped his head. “Swordm ... ah, Glavenor, sir. Pleased to meet you again.”

  “Garyll will do.”

  Those three words told a story. Ashley regarded Glavenor anew. The man was humble. He had lost his armoured aura of authority. The iron note of command was absent from his wor
ds. Ashley felt humbled himself for the Swordmaster had borne a far greater burden during the battle for freedom. Doubtless he had more troublesome questions about his future to consider than Ashley’s own.

  “I am sorry that—” Ashley began.

  “No, you earned my respect for what you did! I shall call you Logán until I have earned yours.”

  Ashley supposed he was referring to his duplicity when possessed by the Darkmaster’s spells. Some of the old Swordmaster’s scars hadn’t healed.

  “Then you must call me Ashley,” he offered.

  “You are too quick to trust, young Logán,” Garyll said. “There are many deceptions in the world.” Glavenor came close, and his cloak parted suddenly. Ashley was relieved to find a hand thrust toward him, not a weapon. “I am no judge!” Garyll declared. “I’ll take your hand in friendship, if that is how it is offered.”

  Ashley extended his hand. Garyll’s grip was like iron. Some things about the man hadn’t changed.

  Garyll pulled away. “Forgive me, master Logán, but we cannot be delayed. My love, we must go. The king—”

  He left his sentence unfinished, but a moment of understanding passed between the two.

  “I’m sorry, Ashley, but Garyll is right, we have to go.”

  Ashley could see they were packed for a journey, and he knew that if he let Tabitha get away now, he probably wouldn’t see her for some days. He didn’t want to spend more time adrift beneath the stars, hunting for clues in a future to which he had no map. He needed her answers. “Can I talk while you walk?” he asked. “Please, Tabitha, I must have a few more words with you.”

  “All right, come quickly. We’re on our way to the harbour.”

  “Be quiet about it,” Garyll added. “We don’t want the crowd to form. We can’t afford attention tonight.”

  They turned as one, and moved through the empty street. As they passed the tower, they reached the divide, and padded down the many stairs leading to the lower district of the Merchant’s Quarter. The Gatehouse loomed over the neatly tiled roofs ahead.

  “So can you see through all the nonsense, Ashley?”

  “You can’t deny that you are a wizard,” he said. “You can teach us in your way, and we can spread your good work.”

  “I hardly know what I’m doing. I don’t have the right to teach what I haven’t mastered.”

  “But we have nothing else to do, your—” He caught himself just in time. “Tabitha. No sprites have been sparked since ... you shattered the Source. We have no Light to gift, so how can we be Lightgifters? I have thought long and hard since the battle. There is nothing for me if I cannot work with the essence. I have been trained for healing. I need sprites to cast my spells, but you seem to do without, your magic works despite the lack of essence.”

  “It’s the clear essence I use, Ashley.”

  “But the clear has no power!”

  “That is why it isn’t something which I could teach. I call upon something beyond the Light and Dark.”

  “Could you try, at least?”

  “Who should I teach, Ashley?”

  “Well, the Gifters. There’s myself, and Sister Grace, and—”

  “And very few others who were not turned by the Darkmaster,” Tabitha finished for him.

  “I’ve spoken to them. They want to be Gifters again, now that the Darkmaster is dead. His hold on their stones has faded.”

  “So I should teach them as well, do you think?”

  Like Glavenor, they had been unfairly tainted by the Darkmaster’s possession. They should be given a chance to redeem themselves. “Yes,” Ashley answered.

  “What of the surviving Shadowcasters, Ashley? They have lost their magic too, and their master.”

  Ashley was uncertain.

  “I-I don’t think they have the right, not after what they brought upon the people of Eyri.”

  “I would have to teach them, Ashley. I would be obliged to. You see, it was only because I could use both Light and Dark that I succeeded. I think that is part of what I do now. Part of it is the singing. Part of it is because I have both of these.” She lifted two orbs out of her collar, once white and obsidian, now both as clear as glass. “I can command both the motes and the sprites, and therefore can work the clear essence. It is the balance point between Light and Dark. It is the fusion of the two. So to learn how to manipulate the clear essence, you would need to allow Shadowcasters to learn at your side. You would need to learn from them, as well as with them.”

  That was a lot to think about. They were almost within earshot of the Gatehouse sentry before he said, “I can do that.”

  “Then what of the people here? Those not already orbed as Gifters or Casters. Should they be excluded, because the Rector or the Darkmaster never chose them for service? The fishermen, the merchants, the mothers, the bureaucrats. Everyone. They have no less right to learn than anyone else. If I am to offer power, then I must offer it to everyone, to be fair, to avoid an imbalance. Can you imagine what the school would be like?”

  Ashley began to understand the impossibility of Tabitha sharing her magic.

  “Can you imagine the chaos, if everyone could manipulate the world around them?” Tabitha asked. “How am I to select the rightful candidates?”

  Ashley brightened. “Well, you should choose only those who you know are ready for the power.”

  “Who would those be? Those who can develop the skill themselves?”

  “Yes!” A troublesome insight settled upon him. “Oh. I see what you mean, now.” His hopes were coming to nothing. He wanted to ask Tabitha if she would make an exception in his case, but they had come to the Gatehouse and he had to hold his tongue.

  “Halt! Who’s there?” A sword schralped from its sheath.

  “Put your steel away, Sword,” Garyll ordered. “Dunbar, isn’t it? I am Glavenor, this is the Lady Serannon with me, and Gifter Logán.”

  “Evenin’, sire, lady-your-grace, evenin’ Gifter. Gate’s closed, sire.”

  “We are on the king’s business, Sword Dunbar, we have to go now, and discreetly. Don’t make a fuss.”

  “Sorry sire, I’ve been told not to let you out sire—”

  “Really? Does that apply to everyone, or just to me?”

  “Sorry sire, it’s a specific order, I can’t let you out!”

  “A specific order from whom?” Glavenor demanded.

  “Swordmaster Vance, sire.” The sentry dropped his troubled eyes to the ground.

  A knuckle popped in someone’s hand.

  “And who do you think has more authority, Sword Dunbar? The Swordmaster, or the king?”

  Sword Dunbar didn’t answer. He cast miserably around as if looking for support from other sentries, but there were none. Glavenor didn’t miss the movement.

  “What are you doing on night watch without your second?”

  “I ... er, don’t have one, sire. New orders.”

  “Bad orders. Who’s in charge of your unit?”

  “Captain Malick, sire.”

  “Malick! He’s newly promoted. Has he told you not to salute your seniors as well?”

  “No, sire! Sorry, sire.”

  Garyll returned the belated salute, fist to chest.

  “And your bow? Where is your bow?”

  The Sword mumbled something.

  “You are not a fletched archer, and yet you are stationed on the gate? Why is this?”

  The poor Sword didn’t attempt to answer. He just watched his own feet. Even in the dark, Ashley could see beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. Ashley understood what Glavenor was trying to do—make the Sword so uncomfortable he’d rather let them pass than face the barrage of questions from the old Swordmaster. It intrigued Ashley to know how effectively Glavenor’s tactic was working. He reached for Sword Dunbar’s thoughts, and found a pounding nervous confusion.

  “Do you have no one to patrol the block? What of when the cresset burns low, who replaces it? And why is your helm tarnished? Will you
explain to the king tomorrow why you chose to follow Vance’s orders over his own?”

  “No, sire. I mean yes, sire. I ... Ah ... Sire?”

  Ashley imagined what it would be like if he could plant a thought amid Dunbar’s confusion, like dropping a snake among barefooted wrestlers. Logic, reason and orders would run for high ground, leaving panic to fend for itself. What if the Sword were to think that Glavenor was about to attack him, and he desperately needed backup?

  “Go to the Swordhouse, and tell Captain Malick I want to see him at once!” Garyll demanded. “We shall settle this matter about prohibitions on the gate right now.”

  “Sire, what about my post? I can’t—”

  The old Swordmaster has an unsheathed blade hidden in his cloak.

  “Now do you understand why you always stand guard in twos?” Garyll asked in a cold hard voice. He leant toward the sentry. “I shall keep your post! Go, I haven’t all night to correct your mistakes!”

  Sword Dunbar ran away.

  “I can’t believe how eager he was to leave,” Tabitha said in a hushed voice. With her cowl raised it was difficult to tell, but Ashley thought she was watching him, not Garyll.

  “It was easier than I expected.” Garyll shrugged. “Old habits die hard. He’s used to obeying orders. Come, we must be quick. If there’s any hope for him as a Sword, he’ll realise his mistake long before reaching his captain.”

  They passed into the mouth of the Gatehouse, and walked briskly down the wide corridor that formed the entrance to Stormhaven City. It always reminded Ashley of a ribcage. It was framed with slitted walls and roof, where defenders could fire arrows and throw pitch upon passing attackers from within the safety of the secondary corridors. Little use that had been when the Shadowcasters had come upon Stormhaven. Defenders who couldn’t see in the Dark or who fled in terror weren’t very effective at stringing bows. Nonetheless, Ashley looked nervously through the arrow loops, but the only movement came from the dancing of the flames in the occasional oil lamps. They hurried to the end, where the mighty drawbridge lay across the moat, as wide as the road beyond it. Ashley was surprised it lay down at night. He’d thought it was always raised at sunset.