Lucien

by James Moloney

  ‘Because I am a Wyrdborn,’ he shouted. ‘I tried to warn you, Silvermay. I asked you to use the rope of my hair to stop the misery I feel with every breath, but you wouldn’t listen.’

  He was right, just as Ryall had been. I hadn’t listened to either of them and now Tamlyn would pay with his life. A groan of agony warned me that Lucien’s hold was tightening. Why hadn’t I listened? The Felan had reminded me at every opportunity that Lucien was Wyrdborn, one of a race who didn’t tolerate rivals. They eliminated them and took what they wanted without remorse. Now Lucien would take Tamlyn’s life because there was no one to stop him.

  ‘Lucien!’ I cried. ‘If you kill Tamlyn, you will lose my love forever. Even if you force me to stay with you, my heart will be dead. You will condemn us both to a loveless life.’ I took hold of his arm again and looked into his face. ‘Kill Tamlyn and you will become the monster of the mosaics.’

  The words came from my throat in a desolate appeal, wanting only that he understand. Lucien stared back at me, then, and in an instant I will remember until I die, the veil of his Wyrdborn nature lifted to reveal the fear my words had spurred in him. He let go of Tamlyn, who slumped to the floor, hauling deep breaths noisily into his lungs.

  I fell to my knees beside him. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked uselessly.

  Already the colour was returning to his pale features. He didn’t answer me, but I knew he would live. I cupped his cheek in one hand and felt his brow with the other while slowly his breathing returned to normal. He reached up a hand and drew me close into a tender hug.

  I would have happily remained in Tamlyn’s embrace for hours, feeling his chest rise and fall and knowing that he was alive, but he sat up, making me lean away. His eyes glared over my head, at Lucien.

  ‘I’m … I’m sorry,’ Lucien began, and again I saw the humanity in him. Tamlyn would be dead by now if it wasn’t there.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said.

  Tamlyn waved the words away, still too upset to speak. This made Lucien more anxious. He crouched down beside us.

  ‘Please say it. Say you forgive me,’ he begged.

  ‘Leave him be,’ I snapped. ‘Stand back. He needs air.’

  Lucien stood abruptly and as I’d asked, backed away a pace or two. ‘Silvermay,’ he murmured.

  I didn’t look up.

  He spoke again. ‘Silvermay, I haven’t lost your love, have I, because of what I did? You still love me, don’t you, like a mother loves her son?’

  At last I turned and saw tears gathering in his eyes. Were they a sign of remorse, I wondered, or was he only afraid of losing me. I was in no mood to reassure him. How long he remained there, staring down at us, I can’t be sure, but by the time I helped Tamlyn to his feet, Lucien was gone.

  Tamlyn leaned his weight on me until his dizziness passed, but he kept his hand to his throat.

  ‘It will be sore for days,’ I warned him.

  ‘A reminder that I’m one of the commonfolk and subject to the whims and cruelty of the Wyrdborn like everyone else,’ he said wryly.

  ‘It wasn’t cruelty that made Lucien act that way.’

  ‘It wasn’t love, either,’ he answered, but I could tell he didn’t harbour any bad feeling towards Lucien.

  ‘Poor Lucien. He’s so confused. There is cruelty in him and all kinds of evil whenever he gives way to his Wyrdborn nature. You were the same,’ I told Tamlyn.

  ‘Yet you never forgot there was good in me, as well.’

  ‘And there’s good in him. He has to see that.’

  ‘You’d better go to him, then. I’ll be all right.’

  I was reluctant to leave Tamlyn, but he insisted, and I was growing more worried about Lucien now that the shock of what he had so nearly done was receding. He had asked me a question that mattered to him more than any other. Did I still love him? He should know that I did.

  ‘Lucien,’ I called.

  There was no answer, and no sign of him near the fountain where I had somehow imagined he would seek refuge.

  ‘He’s gone,’ said a deep voice from behind me.

  Turning quickly, I found Delgar striding towards me.

  ‘Gone?’ I repeated.

  ‘Yes, he threw aside the guards at my front door when they tried to stop him. One has a broken arm.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Will the guard be all right?’

  ‘When his arms mends, yes, but the damage this will do elsewhere won’t be so easily repaired. I’ve sent word to the Circle.’

  Ryall appeared from a passageway on the other side of the courtyard. ‘Have you heard?’ he called as he came round the fountain to join us. ‘I warned you, Silvermay. Lucien needs time alone, and now he’s fled the house to be sure he gets it.’

  I was hurt to hear the blame in his voice, but what could I say when he’d been right in the first place. Ever since Nerigold’s death, I had been the one who knew Lucien better than anyone else. The frown Ryall turned towards me made me wonder whether that was true any longer.

  ‘Will he come back?’ Delgar asked. ‘The Circle is sure to send men to look for him.’

  ‘They won’t stop him reaching this house if that is what he wants,’ I said.

  Delgar nodded in agreement, then went off to answer a heavy knock at the door. If it was news about Lucien, he didn’t pass it on to us.

  I sat down beside the fountain, which never changed its tune. When I had first heard it, the fall of its water had sounded like gentle laughter. Now it told me sternly that I had let Lucien down.

  Ryall began to roam the courtyard restlessly, as though he was looking for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it, and after stabbing me with another disgruntled glare he went off into another part of the house.

  Lucien will come back, I told myself. Hadn’t I needed time on my own every now and again — when Birdie told me off for my laziness, or I’d fallen out with my friend Hespa? My sanctuary had been the woods, where I would wander in the half-dark, angry with whoever had upset me, until the anger slowly turned itself on my own failings. Eventually I would head home to apologise, or simply accept that I wasn’t perfect and the mistakes I made were what made me human. Lucien was human, too, if he would only open himself to that part of his soul.

  While Tamlyn rested his aching throat in his room, I remained in the courtyard, until the light faded and my hopes with it. On the way to my room, I passed Ryall, who seemed even more agitated than he’d been earlier.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve looked everywhere, Silvermay, in his room, under all the rocks around the fountain. I can’t find it.’

  ‘Can’t find what?’

  ‘The rope,’ he snapped. ‘The rope made from Lucien’s hair.’

  19

  Bloody Field

  I lay awake all night. How could I possibly sleep when Lucien was alone and desperate enough to take his own life? I lost count of how many times I whispered through that night, ‘If only I had …’

  The first light of morning was a relief from that, at least. I dressed and went into the passageway, only to find a guard at my door.

  ‘Lord Delgar orders that you stay in your room,’ he told me politely.

  There would be a guard on Tamlyn and Ryall, as well, I knew. If I had been Delgar, I would have had us watched, too, especially the impulsive Ryall.

  An anxious hour passed, with nothing for me to do but pace inside my room. When word finally came that we were to join Delgar in the courtyard, I hurried behind the guard, hoping for news of Lucien. There was, but something else awaited us beside the fountain, something that made my mouth go dry.

  ‘Are they necessary, Delgar?’ asked Tamlyn, nodding at the three grim-faced Felan who stood behind Delgar, each holding a heavy chain in his hands.

  ‘It’s not my doing,’ said Delgar, ‘but my influence in the Circle has waned since Lucien’s escape. Last night, he destroyed a shrine in the hills outside the city.’

  ‘Was anyone hurt?’ I
asked.

  ‘Not this time, but the shrine was one of our holiest. It was a wanton act of destruction.’

  I turned to Tamlyn. ‘Do you remember the things you did after your mother was murdered?’

  The pain of memory showed in his face. ‘I pulled whole trees out by their roots, smashed a woodland hut into kindling.’

  ‘Lucien is doing the same — taking out his confusion on whatever he finds close at hand. Delgar, you must let me go after him before he causes any more damage.’

  ‘It’s long past any chance of that, I’m afraid, Silvermay. The Circle has called you to trial.’

  ‘Trial!’

  Delgar could not show weakness in front of the other Felan, but I saw apology on his face as the chains’ shackles were snapped around our wrists and ankles. The chains were every bit as heavy as they looked and their weight immediately pressed the shackles into the flesh of my wrists.

  ‘This is Birchon’s doing, isn’t it?’ I said to Delgar as we were led through his front door. ‘He wanted us in chains days ago.’

  Delgar’s face took on a darker expression. ‘He has more reason this morning, Silvermay. Geran died last night. Do I need to tell you how Birchon feels towards you now?’

  ‘Poor Geran,’ I murmured, fighting tears. ‘She was a faithful friend to the last. She believed this was the best way, to bring Lucien here to Erebis Felan … Will you tell Birchon how sorry we are, Delgar?’

  He grimaced. ‘You can tell him yourself soon enough, but I doubt it will do you much good. He wants more than your sorrow.’

  I had seen prisoners marched through Haywode in chains, on their way to Vonne to face whatever fate awaited them. They had always looked hopeless and humiliated and now I knew why. Each step we took was limited to the length of chain between our ankles.

  A wagon awaited us, its sides covered with canvas that masked the bars inside. Although we couldn’t see out, the clopping of the horses’ hooves and the even grind of the wheels told us we were still on the cobblestoned streets of Meraklion. When we came to a halt, I wasn’t surprised to find we’d returned to the square in the city centre, although not to the Great Hall this time, but to a much less welcoming building made of grey stone and lacking any of the fine adornments the Felan liked to decorate their city with.

  Inside, the Elders were waiting for us. There was no elaborate ceremony this time. We shuffled into a gloomy room and stood before a long wooden bench. Behind the bench sat five of the Elders with Birchon in the middle.

  ‘These three are accused of bringing death and misery to Erebis Felan,’ he said without greeting or introduction. He didn’t even look at us and I realised that his words were meant for his four companions alone. ‘At the last count, seventy-eight Felan have died and there may be more, since many are yet to recover from their wounds.’ He paused, his lips quivering. And no wonder, when his own daughter was one of the wounded who had not pulled through. ‘In addition, the Wyrdborn creature these three brought to our land has destroyed the shrine at Belatha Bengor.’

  My mind began wondering what I would say when it was time to speak for ourselves. What could I say? Was it even my job to defend us?

  But I soon discovered we had no right to speak at all. Birchon had said all he needed to say and the others had listened, nodding silently at every word.

  ‘What sentence do you pass?’ Birchon asked them.

  One by one, the men leaned close to deposit a small, smooth stone on the bench in front of Birchon. He added a fifth with his own hand. All five were black.

  ‘It is decided then,’ Birchon said. ‘Take them to Bloody Field.’

  ‘You can’t have us killed without giving us a chance to defend ourselves,’ said Tamlyn.

  Birchon didn’t look at Tamlyn when he answered, but directly at me. ‘There is no Wyrdborn to make us listen to you this time,’ he said sourly and nodded towards our escorts.

  I felt the rough shove of hands forcing me towards the door. Where was Delgar, I wondered. In all we had faced, he had been the voice of justice, yet at the moment we were condemned to death, he wasn’t there to speak for us.

  Outside, a wagon stood with its doors open, although I could see it wasn’t the same one we’d arrived in. The first had been funereal black, while the canvas covering this wagon was the colour of cow dung. There were no bars across the window in the door, either.

  Our escorts seemed confused. ‘What’s this?’ one called.

  ‘Load them aboard. It will get them to Bloody Field all the same,’ called the driver.

  Bloody Field. What kind of name was that? And how far was it, I suddenly wanted to ask. The distance would measure out the last minutes of our lives.

  We were dumped inside the wagon and the door was locked behind us. Everything had happened so quickly. Would there even be time to say goodbye to one another? During the minutes we tipped and swayed inside the wagon, I began to doubt I had enough breath in my lungs even to make words.

  All too soon, the wheels came to a halt. I took the coward’s way when the door opened and turned my back to it. ‘Tamlyn,’ I said softly.

  Light flooded in onto his face, highlighting every detail. In the days since he had forsaken his Wyrdborn magic, I fancied I had seen the first wrinkle appear at the corner of his eye, but this only made him more handsome. Those eyes grew wider as I examined them. What was he seeing? A gallows with the rope awaiting us? An axeman standing beside the block?

  To my surprise, I heard seagulls.

  ‘Silvermay, look,’ said Ryall.

  His eyes were round, as well, although not with the dread I expected. Twisting quickly, I looked out through the open door of the wagon to see not the Bloody Field I had conjured in my mind but a ship tied up to a dock.

  ‘Out, quickly,’ called a voice.

  I sprang free of the wagon, Tamlyn and Ryall behind me.

  ‘Up the gangplank,’ said the same voice, ‘and be careful of the chains. If you fall into the water with those on, there’ll be no saving you.’

  We clanked and scraped across the gangplank as commanded and found ourselves on deck amid a frenzy of shouts and running bodies. Not a man stopped to look at us.

  The captain skipped down a ladder from the half-deck, calling, ‘Get out of sight before you’re seen.’

  We crouched behind some barrels until the call came to cast away the ropes. The gangplank had already been hauled aboard. Above us, the wind caught the sails that only minutes earlier had been tied stoutly to the yardarms and, with a lurch, the ship moved away from the dock. The sails fattened even more and we knew we were gathering speed. There were no angry shouts from the dock, no calls to return.

  Finally, the captain called us out of our hideaway among the barrels. He was rummaging in the pocket of his britches as we approached, and held up a key as we shuffled to a halt in front of him.

  ‘Lord Delgar said I wasn’t to unlock your chains until we were a mile from land.’ He looked about him. ‘We’re not that far yet, but I’d say we’re half a mile from shore and that’s good enough for me. Never liked the look of men in chains, and especially not a girl.’

  He released me first, then Tamlyn, and finally Ryall, who stood massaging the bruised skin of his wrist.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said politely. ‘How far did you say it was to shore?’

  ‘Half a mile and getting further every minute.’

  ‘Then I better not dally,’ said Ryall and, kissing me briefly on the cheek, he turned and ran at full pace towards the side of the ship. Before any of the crew had guessed what he had in mind, he’d dived over the rail.

  I stood there, stunned, unable to believe what I’d just witnessed. The captain was surely as surprised as I was, but he recovered quickly and raced to the spot where Ryall had disappeared, with Tamlyn on his heels.

  ‘Watch these two!’ the captain ordered, in case we were planning the same reckless escape.

  His men dragged Tamlyn back to join me and shoved us togeth
er against the mast, threatening to throttle us if we moved.

  Meanwhile, the captain bellowed to the men in the rigging, ‘A gold coin to the man who sees him break the surface.’

  That brought the rest of the crew to line the rail, and there was more than one false sighting that turned out to be a seagull or simply the slap of a wave top. I was desperate to see for myself, and so was the unhappy seaman assigned to watch Tamlyn and me, who was missing his chance of the promised gold coin.

  ‘Your friend must be mad,’ he growled. ‘He’ll drown this far from land.’

  I began to think the same thing when the minutes passed and there was no sign of Ryall.

  ‘He’ll have to come up for air soon,’ declared the captain.

  By now the ship had sailed on a way, and the eager crew had moved to the rear of the vessel, still hoping for the gold coin. None of them claimed it.

  ‘He’s knocked himself out when he hit the water,’ suggested one, and when more minutes passed without a sighting, this became the story. If the boy hadn’t surfaced, it was because he was already dead.

  ‘There’re sharks in these waters, too,’ said the captain. ‘Sail on. We’ll leave him for them to nibble on.’

  ‘No, lower the boat. Keep searching,’ I begged, and kept begging until the captain threatened to lock us both in chains again and throw us after him.

  All the while, Erebis Felan receded further and further into the horizon.

  Poor Ryall. Could he even swim? When I asked Tamlyn, his honest reply didn’t fill me with hope.

  ‘He was a boy from the mountains, Silvermay. Why would he need to learn?’

  20

  A King Without His Wyrdborn

  King Chatiny listened as best he could to the story a woman was telling at the top of her voice. He couldn’t make out every word, but when the guests nearby burst into laughter he did the same, rocking back in his chair so violently he spilled half the wine from his cup. This made him laugh even more.

  ‘Where’s that servant?’ he shouted. ‘Fill my cup, you fool. I have a kingly thirst tonight.’ Because this sounded funny to him, as well, he chortled while the harried servant poured from the wine skin.