Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  As far as the Forest extends. We can take its northwestern finger which reaches almost to Caremboche. Then perhaps we can buy horses for the remainder of the journey to Caradoon, then on to Cipres by boat.

  Sallementro announced that he had brought money. They should use that.

  Alyssa voiced something which had been nagging at her since Tor had suggested the journey to Cipres to rescue Lauryn. It’s just occurred to me to mention the possibility that Cyrus will be recognised by Orlac. He is Paladin, after all, which means the god has already seen him, fought against him.

  Tor had not even considered this. Would this jeopardise their plans?

  Cyrus rubbed at his short beard. I don’t think so. The Dreamspeaker, Lys, visited me only once in the time that Rubyn and I were away from Tallinor. During that visit she told me about my role as Paladin and how I had already fought and lost one battle against Orlac. I do recall that she said I am very different in appearance now and that I was even known by a different name. The reason I tell you this is that I believe I can go to Orlac as a stranger.

  You are different, Cloot admitted. That’s why I did not recognise you the first time we met at Hatten.

  Cyrus nodded. Lys said I was known as Jerome Cyrus to Orlac. That was my great-great-great-grandfather’s name, which, I’m presuming, was bastardised through generations, he said thoughtfully. She’s clever, protecting me in this manner. Anyway, Orlac will not know me from the next man.

  They said their farewells, Alyssa clinging hard to Rubyn, he permitting it, sensing her despair at losing him again so soon. Tor said little, but a single glance at Cyrus provoked a private response.

  I shall bring your daughter…and your son back to the Heartwood. Or I shall die trying. Cyrus said this to Tor alone and saw him nod in acknowledgement.

  Now they had all gathered by the great oak, intrigued, to witness the unique way in which Rubyn could apparently travel.

  ‘Are you sure we are all welcome to travel in the same way?’ Hela asked, doubt written all over her face.

  Rubyn grinned. ‘The trees will protect all of us.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’ Sarel shared Hela’s reluctance.

  ‘No. But here, hold my hand. We shall travel together,’ Rubyn offered.

  Alyssa glared at Tor, purse-lipped.

  I can see this shall be an interesting journey, Cyrus said to the two of them as he kissed Alyssa’s hand.

  Bring them back to me, Cyrus, she warned.

  If only in order to kiss you again, madam, he replied and pretended to wince at the sharp glance from Tor.

  Rubyn held Sarel’s hand and already she seemed very comfortable in his company. ‘We’ll go first. Cyrus, you know the drill.’ He saw his Paladin nod. He glanced towards Solyana but whatever they said to each other was kept private. ‘Take a deep breath, Sarel. It makes your tummy feel odd to begin with.’

  He smiled self-consciously at the others and put his arms around her.

  Tor watched with fascination as Rubyn leaned back against the vast trunk of the oak and whispered something in an exotic language he did not understand. Immediately, they could all feel the pull of the magic and were amazed to witness branches bend down from the oak and embrace the couple. As this happened, Rubyn and Sarel seemed to blur and in the next instant were gone, absorbed into the oak itself.

  There was a collective ‘Ah’ before a hush. They all looked towards the former prime.

  ‘Our turn, I think, Hela,’ he said, offering his hand graciously, which she took.

  ‘Light guide you, Cyrus,’ Tor said before watching the same process occur.

  And then they were gone.

  ‘Incredible!’ Saxon muttered.

  Indeed, Cloot agreed.

  They made their way back to where Goth was strapped even more tightly against the tree. He had seen none of the first group’s disappearance.

  ‘A drink, perhaps?’ he croaked.

  ‘Die of thirst for all we care,’ Alyssa said. ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘Now,’ Tor replied. ‘Sallementro, you came with a cart, did you not?’

  The musician nodded. ‘I don’t know where it is, though.’

  I do, Solyana replied. There’s Sallementro’s horse and two others which have kindly wandered into the Forest…probably belonging to Goth’s men.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ Saxon said. ‘Let’s get our prisoner organised.’

  ‘Keep him tied, wrists and ankles for the journey. I’ll sit in the back with him,’ Tor said.

  ‘I don’t want him anywhere near me,’ Alyssa admitted, looking at the man who had previously struck dread into her. ‘But I do want to see him die,’ she said, surprising herself by the conviction in her voice.

  More farewells and then the Forest opened paths and guided Saxon, who was driving, into a northeasterly direction towards the Rork’yel mountain range.

  They had made steady progress, keeping to the Forest which would lead them right into the mountains. The Heartwood itself was now far behind and all of them, bar Goth, felt the loss keenly. Alyssa was grateful when Saxon finally called a halt to make camp for the night. Cloot returned when a small fire was burning and the smell of cooking drifted into the early evening air. He had already fed and set about cleaning himself as he listened to their soft talk. The falcon had ranged high constantly during the ride and had seen nothing ahead. They were lone travellers on a track rarely used. Few people had reason to head into the complex mountain wilderness and even fewer felt comfortable within the Great Forest. He noticed Goth had settled into a sulky silence, refusing food. So be it. Cloot hoped he could live off his reserves just long enough to meet his fate at the hands of the sentient ones.

  ‘Did it never occur to you to wonder where those people were sent?’ Saxon asked, as Tor handed him a chunk of the roasted hare.

  ‘Here’s some bread,’ Alyssa said, twisting off a piece from the loaf which they had found on the cart. All had learned not to question the mysterious ways of the Heartwood.

  Tor tentatively chewed a piece of the hot meat. ‘Ignorantly, I suppose, I thought they all died.’

  ‘So did everyone, I think,’ Alyssa agreed.

  Saxon turned and not so much nudged as kicked Goth. His action made the former chief inquisitor wince from the pain. ‘How about you, Goth?’

  Goth grunted.

  ‘Did you know they were taken somewhere?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied but did not elaborate.

  ‘At whose orders…surely not yours?’ Tor blinked with disbelief at the idea of Goth giving a second’s further thought to the lives of the people he had tortured.

  Goth remained silent but groaned again when Saxon encouraged him to talk with the toe of his boot.

  ‘King’s orders,’ he said through the pain.

  Alyssa shook her head. ‘Knowing Lorys as I do I don’t believe he would ever have sanctioned the torture. I think we can safely presume it was an invention and privilege of Goth. As for the bridling of people I’d have to say yes, he condoned it, because he grew up believing sentient people were so dangerous. I know this is hard to understand but I feel if he was aware of the torture, then he taught himself to turn a blind eye. It’s true it’s at odds with how he behaved towards his people otherwise, but fear is a complex master.’

  Cloot had listened with interest so far. He now chose to involve himself in the discussion. I think Alyssa’s right. Lorys lived with an ancient fear. He had been schooled to behave like this—it had probably been drummed into him as an infant that all sentients were evil —but the mere fact that he gave those orders to have people sent to what I presume is a haven in Rork’yel, is an indication of the difficulty he perhaps had in condoning their persecution.

  ‘Exactly! Thank you, Cloot,’ Alyssa said, chewing absently on a piece of bread. ‘And I’ve been thinking about something the King said. Tor, do you remember that curious message I told you he sent before he died, which made little sense to me at the time?’

&
nbsp; Tor shrugged.

  ‘I do,’ Saxon said, wiping his mouth of the meat juices. ‘Something about giving freedom to your people.’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said as her mind roamed. ‘It’s bothered me ever since that I didn’t comprehend what was obviously such a private and deliberate instruction. Of all the things he could have said he chose these words: Forgive me, my love, for leaving you. Find your own people. Free them. Save Tallinor. Herek told me that Lorys knew he was doomed somehow, which might explain him asking for forgiveness at leaving me but the rest left me baffled.’

  Tor wiped his hands. He had no idea where this conversation was leading. He looked at Goth whose sharp eyes returned the hate as his face twitched in its incessant way.

  Alyssa continued. ‘I now believe that Lorys was telling me to find these sentient people. When he referred to my own people, he meant those who are empowered like us.’

  Tor nodded. ‘Well, it does make sense now that we know those who survived Goth’s brutal attentions are alive and together in the mountains.’

  Alyssa felt a small triumph. ‘I wish Lorys had told me more.’

  I think it was a confession of sorts, Cloot mused. They looked at him perched on his branch; his beak and talons now cleaned from the wood pigeon he had caught expertly on the wing. You know, a man who foresees his death often feels compelled to rid himself of his secrets…his sins.

  Alyssa nodded. ‘Your falcon is very wise,’ she said to Tor, as she made a comfortable pillow for herself from a cloak.

  They slept; Goth fitfully from pain. Only Alyssa dreamed. It was the first time she had heard the voice of Lys.

  I presume you have been expecting me?

  Not really. She felt relief but also anger that her time had finally come. It was a curious combination of emotions.

  Why?

  Why would I? For many years you have talked to all except me. I presume nothing regarding you.

  Are you glad I have come?

  Yes.

  Will you tell me why?

  In order that I can tell you how much I despise you and your manipulations of the people I love.

  There was a silence. Alyssa refused to break it. She would make Lys pay—even in this small way—for her control over those she cared for. The silence lengthened and Alyssa believed the Dreamspeaker had disappeared. Still she chose not to make a sound. Just waited, listening.

  I believe I do deserve that, Lys said finally.

  And plenty more. People have died at your design.

  Lys felt this was unfair but decided not to argue this. She knew Alyssa would have her say. It was necessary. However, I would never choose it to be so.

  Lies! Go away, Lys. Spin your tales for Tor and those who follow you.

  Your children are in grave danger.

  Not because of me. But because of you and what you make them do.

  Will you not help them?

  I will help them the only way I can. You will help only your cause. If they live or if they should die, it matters not to you.

  That is a strong accusation.

  You have earned it. I hate you.

  May I show you something?

  It was a change of tone and topic Alyssa had not expected. No. I wish you to leave me. Invade Saxon’s dreams…or Cloot’s. Better still, give Goth the nightmare he deserves.

  I want to show you why your children matter to me.

  Well, I want nothing to do with you. Let me be. Let them alone. You will get no absolution here, Lys.

  I don’t seek absolution. I seek to show you who you are.

  That caught her attention. I know who I am.

  Do you?

  Alyssa faltered, Lys could hear it in her shaky response. I…yes.

  Come, child. This is more important than your hate.

  Where?

  Follow me. And Alyssa did. She permitted herself to be swept up and along with Lys—whom she could not see. They travelled in her mind and Alyssa found herself watching the birth of a child. It was a boy. He was given to the flaxen-haired beauty, his mother, but only briefly. She wept bitterly when the baby was gently taken from her by an immensely tall, dark, wavy-haired man with brilliant blue eyes. He was instantly familiar and then that thought was gone—she could no longer see him, only his arms handing the child to a woman. The woman’s face was shrouded by a gauzy hooded cloak.

  ‘Take him,’ Alyssa heard the man say.

  ‘Are we sure this is right?’ the woman asked over the bitter weeping of the mother.

  ‘Go now,’ he said and she did.

  The vision became hazy.

  Where is she taking him? Alyssa asked of Lys, helplessly intrigued.

  Watch.

  The vision cleared and Alyssa was watching the shrouded figure of the woman walking along a dusty road. She was approaching a small hamlet. There was a familiar scene ahead and she began to feel a chill creeping across her.

  Flat Meadows, she whispered.

  Lys said nothing.

  Alyssa watched as the woman, carrying the infant, entered Flat Meadows, walking towards the inn as she turned off the main road to Tal. She did not want to believe this scene.

  I don’t want to see this.

  You must.

  Alyssa held her breath as the woman walked up to that well-known doorway and entered. Now she found herself inside with the woman at a table, sipping on water, poking at a meal. She could almost smell its delicious aroma because she knew whose cooking this was. Sure enough, the cook appeared and she heard their conversation.

  ‘Come on now, I won’t have anyone pick at my food,’ said the familiar voice. ‘Here we are, then. Give me that babe and you eat my beef and leave none, mind. You’re scrawny enough.’

  On cue, the infant began to wail. The cook did not wait for it to be handed over. Instead she reached and took the child from the woman’s arm and disappeared with it. When she returned some time later, the woman had finished her meal and the child was brought in from the back rooms. It was sleeping and content. Alyssa heard the cook explain that one of the lasses in the village had a new baby and more than enough milk for an extra mouth. She noticed that the infant was not yet handed back to the woman, who had removed the hood but her back was to Alyssa. And then in amazement she listened to this woman tell a tall tale about how she had come by the child. The cook, that dear plump lady, listened with increasing woe, her eyes getting wider as the story unravelled. She began to weep at the child’s abandonment and the woman’s story that the parents had died in a fire and no one from his village would take him.

  Stop this! Alyssa screamed but Lys did not listen.

  She tried to close her eyes but they would not obey. Instead she witnessed the cook lean forward and make an offer to the woman who accepted in an instant. Taking off her apron, one arm still cradling the precious boy, she led the woman out of the inn and now Alyssa wanted to look away but she could not. She did not want to see which dwelling the pair of women walked towards, talking in hushed tones. But there it was already…a familiar cottage at the end of the village sitting amongst pretty gardens. A happy enough home although it had never enjoyed the sound of a child’s laughter. It was the home of the travelling scribe who had done well for himself; had worked hard to provide a solid roof over his head and that of his wife.

  Alyssa felt dizzy. She tried to talk to Lys but knew it was useless. Lys intended her to see this vision through to its conclusion, whatever that was, and so she fought her nausea and looked on as Jhon Gynt put his arms around his plump wife, Ailsa, and smiled at the baby she carried in her arms. He welcomed the stranger who was already in a hurry to depart, claiming she was on her way to Tal and the infant had so slowed her up that she had lost income. They smiled and made small talk and then finally the stranger dug into her pocket and lifted out a small pouch, knotted at one end.

  She handed it to Jhon Gynt, telling him it was to be given to the boy when he was ‘of an age’. They enquired when that would be and she wa
ved away their questions, rising to leave.

  ‘You will know the right time,’ she said. ‘Take special care of this precious child. His name is Torkyn.’

  And with that she turned, her face uncovered, and Alyssa saw the woman’s face for the first time. She sucked in her breath with shock. She thought she may have begun to scream but she went unheard; she tried desperately to wake herself but she was still in her dream as she watched the first vision blur and disappear as another seemed to take shape.

  Now Alyssa was staring at a village green. She caught her breath. It was Minstead. The spinsters were dancing and the men of the surrounding villages had gathered. She could see her father. Her whole body began to shake with the tears she wanted to cry at the sight of him. He was young and proud. Not a handsome man but broad, with a bright smile and a wit which kept the other young lads laughing constantly. His sandy hair was neatly tied in a thong and his face clean-shaven. And whilst he laughed with his friends his eyes never left a woman who was too far away for Alyssa to recognise. She could see honey golden hair, loose, with two small plaits tied at the back with flowers. The woman finally tossed her bouquet and Lam Qyn courageously fought off all those who coveted that same bunch of daisies.

  Alyssa cried out again in the next scene as she saw her father standing outside the cottage which had been her home for fifteen summers —she could even see the old apple tree where Kythay had once been tethered by her friend, Sorrel.

  Then she was inside the cottage. She saw the midwife imploring a woman who was presumably her own mother to push her child out. The woman’s thighs—all she could see—were sweaty and she made short, shallow breaths between contractions. The midwife was a tall, large woman blocking out her mother. Alyssa wished she could shove her out of the way but she could not. She could only wait and hope she would be permitted to see the mother she never had in life.

  Alyssa thought she had begun to cry in her dream. She knew the ending of this tale. Her mother would die and she would live. She felt the old guilt grab her throat and twist as she wept, begging Lys to release her from this vision. Lys paid no heed.