Talis didn’t even look to see if Callie had caught up with him; he knew she was there. “Tildy,” he said, and immediately, Callie knew what he had in mind.
At first no one noticed the tall young man with the pale girl peering around him. But Talis’s quick movements drew their attention.
Before anyone could recover from shock, Talis lifted Callie by the waist, her legs extended straight out, picked her up over his head, then dropped her—straight onto the stomach of the dead man.
Shouts erupted in anger over this hideous disrespect of the dead man. But even as the men started to shout at Talis and tried to grab the girl the boy was protecting with his body, others saw that the mouth of the “dead” man opened and out flew a huge, unchewed piece of apple.
“Quiet!” bellowed a man who obviously had some authority and they all turned to look down at the man on the ground.
Talis had more of an idea of what was going to happen than the others did, so he shoved his way through the hovering men, Callie in front of him, and looked down to see the eyelashes of the man flutter.
Seconds later, with the help of his men, the man was coughing and sitting upright.
Quietly, Talis ushered Callie away from the crowd that was now reviving the almost-dead man.
“How?” was all that Nigel could say, and in his eyes was his renewed suspicion that Talis and Callie were strange people.
“Magic,” Talis said, as always, enjoying Nigel’s skeptical looks.
“Magic, ha!” Callie said. “Once he fell out of a tree right onto Tildy,” she said, referring to one of the milk cows. “He hit her so hard, her cud went flying across the field. We just did the same thing to that man.”
Nigel was impressed that Talis had been able to apply such knowledge to the present emergency, but he did not say so. In his opinion, Talis was already too proud of himself and didn’t need more praise.
It was Callie who noticed that Meg and Will were still standing to one side, their arms wrapped about each other, their faces pale. Callie could understand why they had been so frightened. She had heard of the anger of some lords of the manor being used against poor farmers. What would have happened if this rich man had died on their land? Would his relatives have blamed them for his death?
But why were Meg and Will still upset now that they knew the man was not going to die? Talis had saved the man’s life. Perhaps now there would be a reward.
As she was looking at Meg and Will, Talis was asking questions of Nigel about the men who were overrunning the small yard.
“They stopped here to buy cider,” Nigel was saying. “This year’s apple crop failed for the man and he was told that Will had good cider, so he thought to buy some. He wanted to taste an apple. It was all so simple. Will handed him an apple, he took a bite, then Meg came out of the house and the man looked as though he had seen a ghost.”
Nigel frowned. “The man was still on his horse and when he saw Meg, he seemed to suck in air, the horse reared and the next moment he was choking to death. There were many attempts to save him but the apple piece was lodged deep in his throat. By the time the men could get him off his horse he was already…dead.” As he said this he looked askance at Talis, as though he were a witch who had brought a dead man back to life.
“He was not dead, as you can hear,” Talis said, unconcerned with Nigel’s suspicious looks. To their left, they could hear the coughing and hacking of the man. Since he was surrounded by guarding knights, they could not see him, but they could hear him well enough.
“Who is he?” Callie asked, still watching Meg and Will. There were silent tears running down Meg’s cheeks and Will was doing his best to comfort her, but he too looked shaken. Callie wanted to go to them, but she had an idea that they would tell her nothing. She had long been aware that Meg and Will had secrets that they told no one. One of the requirements of being a storyteller was watching people and looking for answers to questions. Callie had already found out that all people have secrets.
“I have not heard of him,” Nigel said. “His name is Lord John Hadley, the third son of an earl. I believe his title is one of courtesy. He married well,” Nigel informed them, letting them know that Lord John was not of the highest rank in the aristocracy. “The men say he has never traveled this way before.” He gave an odd look at Callie. “They say he had a dream that told him to travel this way.”
Before Callie could say a word, the men near them parted, making an opening to Lord John, who was now standing with the support of two men.
“His lordship wants to see you,” said a handsome man dressed in a long velvet robe, his hair hanging to his shoulders. Part of his manner said he wanted nothing to do with these peasant brats, but a part of him seemed to say that he was grateful. Still lingering behind his eyes was grief at what he’d almost lost, for Hugh Kellon genuinely loved his master.
John Hadley had no such ambiguity. There was no doubt in his mind that he had been dead. He had been able to look down on his own dead body, see the bloody marks on his neck where he had clawed his own throat. He had seen his men bent over him. And as he was floating away, John had felt only relief to at last leave a world that had given him no happiness. He had never been given what he most wanted in life and his many days on earth had been full of a sense of loss.
Seeing that woman today is what had made him so acutely aware of his loss. It was as though he had been transported back into time to the day that had been the happiest of his life. That night he had at last obtained the healthy son he so much wanted.
But it had all been taken away from him within the blink of an eye. He had received and lost all within the space of hours. Over the ensuing years he had been able to block out the pain of the loss of those days. He had concentrated on building and on trying to make something of the two worthless sons he did have. Although nothing had been able to give him life again, he had managed to survive.
Then today he had seen that woman and she had reminded him of that night. She had been there. He knew that. She had been there.
The pain had been too much for him. At that moment, he’d wanted to stop living. Better death than the pain of remembering that night.
And so he had chosen to die. He did not fight the lack of air that was causing him to die. He gave up.
But as he was hovering over his own body, two angels came to him. One was a tall boy, as handsome as an angel, with black hair and eyes, lightly tanned skin, as straight and strong as a knight from a fairy tale. The girl was as white and pale as something from the netherworld. All the features of her face were without color, her brows, her lashes, her lips even, were the same pale ivory. Only her eyes, which were an extraordinary blue-violet, added color to her face. Around this ivory face tumbled a great mass of golden hair, falling to her waist, wrapping about her arms, looking nearly as heavy as all of her body combined.
Looking down at them, John hesitated before leaving the earth altogether. There was something about these young people that drew his attention.
He knew now that that moment’s hesitation was the reason he was still alive. The boy dropped the girl on his bloated belly, the apple piece went flying from where it was lodged in his throat, and the next moment, John was back in his body and breathing again.
Now, weakly standing, supported on both sides by his men, something was haunting him. There was a name that had rung in his head as the boy was dropping the girl onto his lifeless body. It had taken him a while to remember the name, but when he did, his coughing increased.
Gilbert, he thought. Gilbert Rasher.
The men around John parted and allowed their master to see the boy who had saved his life.
Talis stood straight and strong, staring levelly into this man’s eyes. Even though he had been raised on a farm, there was no subservience in his manner. Talis had the unshakable self-confidence that only youth and intelligence could give. He believed he belonged, therefore he did.
Slowly, John looked the boy up and down. But
he could hardly be called a boy, for he was taller than most men. His body had not yet filled out, so his hands and feet were too large, his shoulders awkwardly broad above his thin waist, but in a few more years he was going to be a giant of a man.
“What is your name?” John rasped out of his raw throat.
With his shoulders back, he said, “Talis.” He did not give Will’s last name of Watkins as his own, for Talis had known for a long time that his true name was something else. But he knew that Talis belonged to him and to no one else.
John nearly swooned on his feet at the sound of that name. It was his father’s name, an old name, an unusual name. He didn’t know how and, honestly, didn’t care how the boy had survived the fire. All he knew for sure was that this was the boy given to him sixteen years ago. This was his son.
With all the strength he could muster, John pushed the men around him from his side. Then, standing unsteadily on his own feet, he opened his arms wide. “Come,” he said, emotion choking him, “give your father a kiss.”
Talis did not hesitate before walking into John Hadley’s strong arms. Always, since his first day of awareness, Talis knew that something like this was destined to happen to him. It was what he had “trained” for. At least trained as best he could, by learning all he could about being a knight. When his real father came to him, he did not want to disappoint him. Years ago, when Meg had returned from that awful time when she had disappeared and later said she had gone to find a teacher, Talis had not been surprised. A knight needed to be taught, and he needed to learn all he could to prepare himself for this day.
Talis could feel the man’s tears on his neck, but Talis did not feel close to tears. Now it will begin, was all he could think. Now his true purpose in life would start.
John pulled away from Talis to look at him, to put his hands on the sides of his face, to touch the unblemished young skin, to feel the clean curls of his hair. And as John touched the boy, life seemed to flow back into him. For years now, sixteen years to be precise, he had been willing himself to die. He had not had a reason to live. But now, touching this beautiful boy, he once again had a reason to live.
Talis smiled happily as John ran his hands over him, feeling him as though he were a horse he’d just bought. Grinning, Talis looked at the men around them, some of them frowning, some half-smiling, some looking on in bewilderment.
Suddenly, John straightened. “We must ride. We will not get home before dark as it is. Hugh! Give my son your horse.”
Through all of this, Callie, Meg, Will, and Nigel had stood in silence. With each word that was spoken, Meg clung more heavily to Will’s arm. Will, trying to be strong, was weak at the thought of losing Talis. Until this moment he had not known how very much he loved the boy. Talis, with his teasing sense of humor, his moods, and his demands for attention, even the sheer long-legged size of him, was everything to all of them.
Nigel would have died before he admitted it, because he was careful to make the farm family think that he was of a different class than they were, but the truth was, he was better fed and better treated here than he had ever been in his life. And in spite of his reservations about his pupils, their life spirit was infectious. They were the two most likable people he had ever met. And now he saw it all ending.
Callie was too stunned by what was happening to so much as move. She was happy for Talis. Yes, yes, yes, she told herself. She was very, very happy for him. This is what he wanted, what he deserved. Maybe someday she would get to see him in his armor. Maybe someday he would stop by the poor farmhouse and allow all of them to see him.
At this thought, she imagined herself in rags, having little to eat, having to take the barn down beam by beam to use the wood to stay warm in winter. She imagined Talis returning to say that his life had been miserable without her, rich but miserable, and would they all please come to live with him?
It was Talis who stepped away from the man who said he was his father. “No, sir,” he said as politely as possible. “I cannot leave my family alone.”
No one could speak after Talis said that. Some older men smiled at the idealism of youth. Idealism was not much good in the cold of winter, and, of course, the boy did not know what he was turning down when he refused his lordship’s offer of protection.
Although Talis looked as though he made a daily habit of turning down offers of life with a nobleman, Callie knew all too well what he was feeling. He was scared and uncertain. Now his honor, what he knew to be right and what he wanted so very, very much, were warring inside him.
Silently, she went to stand behind him. She did not touch him but she knew her close presence would give him strength. They were stronger together than apart.
With her mind, she willed him to be calm, to be still. Meg had said a thousand times, “Talis is strong because Callie believes he is strong.”
For a moment John looked puzzled; he couldn’t understand what was being said to him. No doubt his confusion was caused by his recent brush with death, but his mind seemed dazed. He had found his son, but his son was refusing him.
Hugh Kellon had been with John for many years now, since just after the night he had heard so much about, the night John had at last been given a son and that son had been taken from him in a fire. There were many whispers about that night, about what it had done to both master and mistress, and Hugh knew that John was not what he once was.
Was this boy John’s son, the boy who was supposed to have died in the fire? Had this fat farm couple stolen him away in the night? Why had they not brought the boy back to John when the danger was over? And who was this waif of a girl standing so close behind the handsome boy? She looked like a blonde shadow, almost as though she were part of him.
Behind him, Hugh could hear the rumbles of the other men. What had been a simple outing had almost become a tragedy and at best it was turning into a mystery. Best to get everyone at a supper table, he thought. A little wine and a good joint would go a long way toward calming people.
With one long stride, Hugh stepped forward and put his arm around Talis’s shoulder. “This lad is a son to be proud of. Of course he will come with us, my lord. And the girl, too.” He started to pull her to the forefront but she eluded him, stepping to one side to hide under the boy’s arm.
“Ahem,” Hugh said, shaking his head to clear it. It was going to take a hogshead of wine to help him make sense of this day. “And the others. They shall go too. Is that not right, my lord?”
“Yes, of course,” John Hadley said. “Take all of them. What do I care of peasants?”
“By the look of her, that girl is no peasant,” whispered one of the men behind John.
“Do you think she is the boy’s doxy?” asked another man.
“If she is, he is John’s son,” the first man answered, chuckling.
John was beginning to recover himself. Death and life, all in the space of an hour, had rattled his brains. To the world he had said that his wife had given birth to a son, but he knew that she had not. This pale girl standing so close to “his” boy was almost surely his daughter.
“Come to me, child,” John said, holding out his hand to her.
Callie hesitated, then looked up at Talis. When he nodded that it was all right, she stepped forward.
Yes, John thought, she had the look of his wife when she’d been younger. Although this one was no beauty, that was for sure. She was too colorless for beauty. Standing beside this great, beautiful boy who towered over her, she was insignificant.
“Yes,” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else, “you are my daughter.”
No one was prepared for the violence of Callie’s reaction to this very generous statement. “No!” Callie screamed at him. “I am not your daughter! I am not. Do you hear me? I am not!” For all that she looked meek and mild, anyone who knew Callie for long knew of her temper—which was only roused when it had something to do with Talis.
“The whole family is mad,” one of the men said. Fi
rst the boy had refused to acknowledge his rich father and now this simple-minded girl was screaming that she was not his daughter.
The screams of her beloved child brought Meg out of her fear. She knew that Callie’s problem was not whether she was or was not Hadley’s daughter, but whether she was Talis’s sister. Brother and sister could not marry.
“My lord,” Meg said loudly, moving forward. “Do you not remember that this child is the other man’s daughter?”
There was silence for a moment until one of the men who had been there that night remembered. “She is old Gilbert Rasher’s daughter, my lord. Although it is hard to believe that he could father something as delicate as this child. I’d think a horse like Rasher more likely to father sons like that boy of yours,” he said, nodding toward Talis.
The man had no idea why John turned a face of black hatred toward him. He had merely made a comment on the girl’s looks. Actually, he felt sorry for her if she was to have to live with Rasher and that animal brood of boys of his. They were a cunning, crude, and filthy lot of curs and the girl would not last long.
After a moment, John turned back. “Yes, she is Rasher’s daughter.” What did he care? He had enough daughters to open a convent; he needed no more. “Bring the girl,” he said to Talis. “Bring the whole damned village for all I care.” All he wanted was this boy as his son.
Through all of this Talis had stood straight and silent, saying not a word. Judging by his face, one would not have guessed how much he wanted to ride away with these men, to wear clothes such as theirs, to sit atop a glorious horse. But his family knew.
Also, looking at him, Talis seemed an adult. He stood as tall as an adult, had the bearing of an adult, but inside he was still as innocent as a boy. When John gave him what he wanted and Talis knew that he could have his honor and a horse, he turned to the person who meant everything to him: Callie. With an easy, practiced gesture, he picked her up by the waist as she crossed her arms over her chest, locked her ankles together, then he tossed her high into the air where she went twirling around and around. It was something they had once seen traveling players do and they had practiced it for months—with Talis never once failing to catch her.
Remembrance Page 22
