Lucien

by James Moloney

  ‘So are hundreds of our own,’ snapped Birchon. ‘If you were a father, you would understand. My own daughter lies bleeding because of these intruders.’ Turning to us, he said darkly, ‘You’ll be taken about in chains if you resist.’

  He seemed about to issue the order when Lucien stepped towards me. Since he carried no weapon, he had none to brandish at the officers who looked ready to draw their swords at any moment. He simply stood behind me, his hand placed gently on my shoulder.

  ‘You will do what Silvermay wants,’ he said.

  This time, when Delgar spoke, it was to warn Birchon and every Felan nearby. ‘Do you want the boy’s powers unleashed on our own people? It will be more than your Geran who pays the price then.’

  Birchon’s hand had been forced. Rudely, he turned his back on us and began to order his officers about in a surly growl. Slowly, the tension eased and the four of us dared to move slightly away from one another.

  I took hold of Lucien’s hand and lowered it from my shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ was all I could say.

  Aware of the many eyes glowering at him from every angle, Lucien retreated once more, his own eyes narrowed in confusion.

  Almost immediately, Delgar was at my side. ‘The boy did well for one with so little experience of life. He dotes on you, Silvermay, as though you were his sister.’

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say his mother, but it would sound ridiculous when I barely looked any older than Lucien.

  ‘You experienced something new yourself just now,’ Delgar added.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Power,’ he replied in a gentle voice. ‘With the boy at your back, you hold unbridled power over everyone in this camp, everyone in Erebis Felan, in fact. It is what the Wyrdborn came here to seize, each for himself. You must be careful how you use the boy’s love and loyalty, for such power has turned many a good soul into a tyrant. You would not be the first queen to ride on the shoulders of a monster.’

  Because he had spoken so considerately, I didn’t resent what he said. Delgar might have denounced us in front of the assembly when he discovered who we were, but I was beginning to see why he, and not Birchon, was called ‘the Wise’.

  ‘I’ll keep in mind what you’ve said,’ I told him courteously.

  With a bow, he left me to picture myself as a queen giving commands to lords and servants, all of them frightened of what I could unleash on them. This picture mixed with others in my memory — images from the mosaic I’d first seen in Nan Tocha, where red stones outnumbered all the rest.

  I would never be a queen, and I thanked the gods for it.

  By late in the afternoon, most of the tents had been taken down and so many wagons clogged the narrow road that a long line stood stationary, waiting for those ahead to move. There was no word of when we would join them, and when the day was almost done and still nothing had been said, we knew this was deliberate.

  ‘Birchon is showing that he’s not afraid of Lucien’s powers,’ said Tamlyn.

  At least we had been shown to a tent of our own by then and we weren’t left to starve, either.

  In the morning, the whinny and snort of horses brought us into the open and with an escort of armed Felan, we started along the road.

  This was the same road we had travelled days earlier, and I recognised some of the villages from the shape and colour of their houses, yet the human scene that greeted us was very different. Before, there had been only old women and little children; now the men had returned and they had brought stories of the battle with them, especially how it had ended. Fingers pointed at us, faces hardened and children were tugged behind mothers’ aprons.

  On the second day, we reached Meraklion and this time the eyes that watched us enter the city weren’t simply curious. They’d been told that a killer was coming among them, one that had slain the Wyrdborn and might do the same to them. No wonder they looked afraid.

  Poor Lucien. I saw him flinch at the hatred turned towards him, and winced myself when his face seemed to ask me why. I guided my horse a little closer to his and leaned towards him. What was I going to say? The words are gone from my memory because, at that instant, something shot past my ear. I thought, at first, that it was a bird, the kind that swoop menacingly during spring to frighten predators away from their nests. But in that same instant, I heard a thud and knew the missile had struck close by. Lucien jumped in his saddle, clutching a hand to his chest. When I glanced across at him, I screamed, for sticking out from between his fingers was the shaft of an arrow.

  Others had seen it, too, not just Tamlyn and Ryall but many in the crowd, and shrill cries rose from them, as well.

  Lucien didn’t slump forward or topple off his horse as an ordinary man would have done. He was stunned and his face showed a stab of pain, but he remained firmly in his saddle and, as I watched with the rest, he lifted his hand from the wound. The arrow came away, its tip wedged in his closed palm. Where it had struck him, a circle of red appeared, no larger than a coin. He ripped at his new shirt for a closer look, and when he wiped away the blood I saw only a small tear in his skin.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, still holding the arrow in that awkward grip. He let it slip through his fingers until he could get a better hold, then examined the smear of his own blood on its tip.

  ‘Someone tried to kill you,’ said Tamlyn. Already he was searching windows nearby for signs of the culprit. ‘That one,’ he called, and when I looked I saw one of the windows was wide open.

  Now that I knew where the arrow had come from, I could retrace its path. It had missed me by no more than an inch. I wasn’t the only one to work this out.

  ‘Silvermay,’ Lucien called and already I sensed a change in his tone. He was looking up at the open window. ‘They might have killed you.’

  I guessed what was going through his mind — his Wyrdborn mind.

  ‘No, Lucien,’ I called, but he had already jumped down from his horse and was heading for a door beneath the open window. ‘Ryall, stop him,’ I shouted.

  Quick as ever, Ryall took hold of Lucien’s arm, only to be thrown aside like a rag doll.

  ‘Where is he?’ shouted Lucien. ‘Where’s the man who fired that arrow?’

  The deep menace in his voice was enough to scatter the crowd. Many hurried away along the street in panic.

  I’d dismounted by this time, but I was too late to catch Lucien before he smashed the front door to splinters with a single blow of his hand. I prayed the fool inside had escaped through the rear of his house. If Lucien caught him, he would tear him apart.

  ‘Listen to me, Lucien!’ I cried.

  It was useless. He was inside and, from the thump of rapid steps on the staircase, I guessed he’d reached the upper floor. There were no screams, although the silence that followed for long torturous seconds was almost as bad. Then Lucien emerged into the street again crying out, ‘Where is he?’

  There was no answer, of course, which only made him angrier. He took hold of the door jamb and wrenched it away, bringing much of the front wall with it. He punched hard at one supporting post, making the entire building shudder, and when he aimed a kick at the other, the upper floor lurched like a drunkard ready to collapse onto the street.

  Those who had stayed to watch, out of curiosity or because fear had simply frozen their feet in place, now ran off screaming to join those who had already retreated to a safer distance.

  ‘Stop,’ I called to Lucien. When he didn’t respond, I put myself between him and the shattered house. ‘That’s enough. Women and children live in that house, not just the fool who shot at you.’

  He couldn’t ignore me as easily now and slowly I saw the tension in his neck loosen and his fists unclench. Even at the height of his rage he hadn’t seemed to me any less than human — his eyes had remained the mellow brown that first melted my heart, his smooth cheeks seemed to beg a kiss, and even his stooped frame resembled other boys of fourteen who had grown so fast they hadn’t learned t
o stand up straight. Yet the frightened crowd saw the monster they’d been told about — and who could blame them?

  Tamlyn helped Ryall back to his feet. When Lucien saw the cuts on Ryall’s hands and the tear in the knee of his pants, he looked ready to cry.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Please forgive me.’

  Ryall waved off his injuries. ‘I’m lucky I had two hands to break my fall.’

  The arrow that had been meant to kill Lucien lay where he’d tossed it aside on the cobblestones. He scooped it up and held it out towards Tamlyn. ‘Why didn’t this pierce my heart?’

  ‘That is the magic of the Wyrdborn, granted to you at birth, just as it was to me,’ Tamlyn explained. He frowned and reached out to touch the mark on Lucien’s chest. ‘Even so, the arrow should have sunk some way into your flesh.’

  I recalled how I had pulled an arrow from Tamlyn’s back not so long ago. The wound would have killed any other man, but his Wyrdborn body kept its bite shallow. The arrow that had hit Lucien had barely broken his skin.

  ‘It was meant to kill me,’ Lucien muttered.

  ‘Any other man, yes, but only something of your own can take your life, Lucien.’

  The sound of galloping horses interrupted us. With a glance back the way we had come, I saw Delgar hurrying towards us.

  ‘What happened here? I heard news the boy had gone berserk.’

  ‘For good reason,’ I responded and, snatching the arrow from Lucien’s hand, I held it up for him to see.

  ‘I’m sorry, Silvermay,’ he said when he realised what had taken place. ‘There will be no more attacks, but it would be best if you stayed out of sight.’

  ‘Not in that prison cell,’ said Tamlyn.

  ‘No, Birchon knows Lucien could break free whenever he chose. He has agreed that you all lodge with me. Mount up. I live on the other side of the city.’

  ‘Delgar,’ I called, once Tamlyn had lifted me into the saddle. ‘Will we pass the Great Hall on the way to your home? I would like to stop there for a short time.’

  If Birchon had been there, he might have banned us from the Felan’s most sacred sanctum, but I knew Delgar to be a wiser man. He nodded his agreement and I guessed he knew what I was going to do.

  It wasn’t far to the centre of the city where the grand octagonal hall rose into the sky. I had forgotten the awe that it commanded; a reverence that seemed to stir in the Felan each time they entered the square. Delgar sent a man inside to clear out worshippers and by the time we were ushered inside, there was not a soul to share the enormous space with us.

  ‘Do you remember coming here a week ago?’ I asked Lucien.

  ‘The building, yes, and there were many people, but the rest is confused in my mind.’

  ‘You were too young to understand what was going on.’

  ‘I stood there, under a strong light,’ he said, pointing to the white circle in the centre.

  ‘Yes, but that’s not what I’ve brought you here to see. This way,’ I said.

  Taking his arm, I led him to the wall that held the ghastly images I had first seen in Nan Tocha. I let his eyes roam over them until the first of his questions came from his lips.

  ‘These are the mosaics you talked about, aren’t they? You said they predict the future.’

  ‘The future as the Felan imagined it to be, yes. Centuries ago, their seers were tormented by visions of what was to come in Athlane. They showed others their visions by creating mosaics like these inside a cave. You have been in that cave, Lucien. Tamlyn and I came close to ending your life there, to stop these visions coming true. Your mother — your real mother, Nerigold — used the very last of her strength to make us promise we would save you from the fate you see here.’

  ‘Then this is my story?’

  ‘Only if you let it be so.’

  He went closer. The mosaics covered the entire wall, well above our heads but low down, too, close enough to touch. Lucien stretched a hand towards the reddest of the stones, then looked down at his fingers as though they had come away doused in blood.

  ‘Is that me?’ he asked. ‘In the armour, among all the blood?’

  I would only be telling him what he had already guessed. I stayed quiet while he took in more and more.

  ‘So many,’ he whispered. ‘I am a killing machine.’

  ‘It is the magic inside you, Lucien, and the strength it gives you. Nothing can stand against your fury.’

  ‘Like the fury I felt when that arrow nearly killed you?’

  He seemed to have forgotten the arrow was meant for him.

  ‘Yes, the same ferocity. You could have destroyed that whole house.’

  ‘But you stopped me, Silvermay. Can you stop me becoming the monster on these walls?’

  ‘I promised your mother I would free you from the curse. Tamlyn made the same promise. That’s why we brought you here. The wizards were going to strip away the Wyrdborn curse and make you like Ryall and me.’

  ‘They did it for Tamlyn. Why didn’t they free me as well?’

  ‘They can’t, Lucien. The magic in you is too strong.’

  ‘Then I will become like that,’ he said, turning back to the mosaics. ‘Help me, Silvermay. You promised you would. I will do whatever you say — that is my promise in return.’

  The terrible scenes were too much for him and he hurried away into the cavernous space, leaving me in front of the mosaics. I sank to the ground, feeling exhausted. How much longer would I need to stay strong if Tamlyn and I were to fulfil our promise?

  My eyes fell on the fiend who urged on the devastation in the mosaics from a vantage point I couldn’t make out — a hilltop, perhaps, since his legs were immersed in green. He had no face, because he wore an elaborate helmet that seemed crafted from a dark gold. Tamlyn and I had always feared this figure was his father, but Lord Coyle lay dead in a pit with the rest of the Wyrdborn. So who was this tyrant who commanded Lucien’s powers? When would he show himself?

  17

  A Rope Made of Hair

  Delgar’s home was rather imposing, as you would expect for a member of the Circle of Elders. It was larger than the wood-framed houses that lined the streets around the city square, and faced with stone. At its heart we discovered a courtyard open to the sky, with a fountain that bubbled water many inches into the air where it fanned out to fall gracefully into the surrounding pond.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ I said to Tamlyn, and couldn’t help pressing myself against him to share my delight. ‘There’s nothing like it in Haywode.’

  ‘Then I will build one for you,’ he whispered into my ear.

  I broke away to stare at him. There was an unspoken meaning in this promise that thrilled me far more than the prospect of fountains and courtyards. His face wasn’t giving anything away, though, except a tantalising smile. If Delgar hadn’t been watching us, I would have kissed him.

  The light was almost done by this time and it wasn’t long before we were shown into a dining room with a view out to the courtyard.

  ‘You must sit here, Silvermay, where you can see the fountain that delights you so much,’ said Delgar, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘And Tamlyn, you must sit beside her.’

  Lucien slumped into a seat opposite me and would have stayed silent through the whole meal if the rest of us hadn’t tried to draw him into our conversations. Even then he parted with words the way a miser parts with his gold. It didn’t help that the maid who brought the dishes from the kitchen was clearly terrified of him. Finally, Delgar excused her from the room and shared out the portions himself.

  ‘Tell me about yourselves,’ he said brightly, trying to ignore the awkward moment. ‘Have you been friends for long?’

  He was looking towards Tamlyn and me when he said this and that smile was back in his eyes.

  ‘Only since I arrived in Silvermay’s village, with Lucien and his mother,’ Tamlyn replied. ‘We didn’t plan to stay even one night, but ended up spending many weeks there.’ He took my hand under
the table and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Silvermay was very good to us. And, of course, Lucien quickly had her in love with him.’

  At this Lucien’s head shot up, but he said nothing and went back to staring at his plate.

  ‘I thought as much. I have arranged a room so you can be together,’ said Delgar.

  I was stunned by this. ‘No, that wouldn’t be proper,’ I said. ‘My parents would be ashamed of me.’

  Delgar seemed surprised. ‘I’m sorry, Silvermay, I didn’t mean to offend you,’ he said, then turned to Ryall in an attempt to cover another awkward moment.

  ‘You seem very different from your companions, Ryall. Where do you come from?’

  Ryall was more than pleased to tell him, and for many minutes none of us could get in a word as he explained about his life in Nan Tocha, trapping rabbits and squirrels in the snares he made with his own hands.

  ‘That is a skill I have never learned,’ said Delgar, clearly impressed, which encouraged Ryall to give us all a lesson in how to make twine, using strands from the palm grass that grew around the fountain.

  I expected our host to become bored and to cut him short, but he seemed to like Ryall’s enthusiasm and I sensed in him the fondness a man might show towards his grandson.

  ‘All the better that you have two good arms and hands again,’ said Delgar when the demonstration was over.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Ryall, leaning back in his chair with the deepest smile on his face.

  The rest of us looked along the table towards Lucien, who had been listening with interest to Ryall’s stories. Finding himself the centre of such gratitude, he quickly lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Ryall was unperturbed and held up his arm so we could see how perfect it was in every detail.

  ‘Thank you, Lucien,’ he said, and we were treated to the hint of a smile, at last.

  After my protest at the dinner table, I was given a room to myself — the first time ever, which was probably why I immediately felt lonely. But the sheets were clean and cool and the mattress soft. I was soon asleep, and would have stayed that way until noon the next day if I hadn’t woken suddenly. Someone was in my room. More than that, whoever it was stood at the foot of my bed, close enough to grab my ankles if that was his plan. I could tell from the black shape that it was a man.