by Jenni Ward
Chapter 12
Back at home, Quinn sat down in the seat beside the fire, stretched out his legs, and sighed. His eyes were heavy, and he struggled to keep them open; it had been a long day – all things considered. He felt angry and annoyed at his sister’s behaviour, but he considered that it wasn’t anything new. All his life he had followed the rules and he knew he had started to creep close to breaking the Golden Law but part of him wanted to justify it away.
But then again, he seethed in own defence, I didn’t do anything; didn’t get the chance to be more truthful. For a moment there in that village with Mary, that could have been something more, but I’ll never know thanks to my reckless sister.
Walking into his kitchen, he grabbed a glass and looked around for a bucket of water. He’d grown accustomed to doing things manually and smiled. Waving his hand, the glass filled with water; he watched it for a moment as the water settled.
Quinn had always been determined to ensure Cecilia didn’t win at the game she played; if he let her beat him on this, then there would be no stopping her. As Quinn’s thoughts churned, Cashel entered the room slowly, as old men tend to take their time and Cashel was no exception.
“You’ve been gone sometime,” Cashel commented as he took relief in the wicker chair beside Quinn.
“Concerned?”
“Of course I was concerned. Did you find Michael?”
Quinn hung his head and shook it, “No, I didn’t find Michael.”
“Then you’re going to need your rest. Cecilia will not rest until they are bound.”
“She has a major obstacle to overcome then,” Quinn replied.
Cashel looked over at Quinn who stared at the flickering flames, thinking of Mary. Since Quinn left Mary behind, he’d felt guilty; he kept thinking that he should go back...but to do what? He had no plan...his life had been consumed with stopping his sister for so long that he had had no time to think about anything else, to make any other plans.
“What do you mean?”
“Michael is bound already to another.”
Cashel smiled with surprise and relief. “That is very good news; very good news indeed. Quinn, for the first time in months, I can sit back and relax. I might even get a decent night’s sleep!”
“Not so good news for the girl,” Quinn mumbled.
“Speak up, Quinn, if you have something to say.”
Quinn continued to stare at the fire and kicked off his boots. “I said it’s not so great for the girl he got bound to.”
“Why ever not? If Michael has finally come to his senses and seen through your sister and bound to another – well, that all seems like a perfect ending to this entire dilemma. Plus, it will release you from your task and you can...”
“He left her behind in the village,” the words blurted out. Quinn held his head with his hands and closed his eyes.
“And you know this for a fact, do you?” Cashel inquired, looking at his apprentice to see his reaction.
“She was in the village, she had the binding mark, and he was nowhere to be found. Yes, I would say he abandoned her,” Quinn’s replied, frustrated at having to justify his own assessment of the situation to his mentor.
“Nothing else? Have you seen your sister?”
“She made an appearance; she’s a little upset by the situation.”
“No matter, Quinn; your sister can’t kill her, and the binding will remain until one of them dies, so as far as I can tell, Cecilia will need to choose a new target and start again if she is so determined in her quest.”
Quinn scoffed and turned to his mentor. “So, you’re saying that the girl’s future is of no consequence to us? Are you really so naïve to think that Cecilia is going to spend another ten years searching for a man whose bloodline is free of both dragon and sorcerer blood?”
“Quinn, what has gotten into you?” Quinn broke the eye contact first and his mentor sat back in his chair glaring. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Something happened,” Cashel paused before continuing, “You know, I’m old, but I’m not stupid. Something has happened, I can see the change as clear as day in your behaviour. Something happened which has changed you and I want to know what.”
Quinn watched the flames. So much has changed. I’ve spent ten years of my life doing what the Sorcery Council assigned to me and because of that almost got hung. No matter her reasons, Mary saved my life.
“What about me, Cashel? I had no choice but to spend my time tracking Cecilia all over the place to satisfy the Sorcery Council, but what about me? When do I get to stop and have a life?”
“When the job is done, which now it is. I know you had to take on a lot of responsibility young. You’ve dedicated a lot of time to this, and perhaps that’s been at the expense of...”
“Of having a life.”
“Now that sounds like Cecilia.”
Quinn shook his head. “Maybe Cecilia is right about that. I have nothing Cashel; you’ve had a long life, but I feel like I’m old and I’m not. I’d like to catch up with friends, I’d like to...”
“To what? What happened Quinn?”
Quinn pushed up his sleeve, faint red marks still circled around his wrists. Cashel reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Gold?”
“I didn’t realise how quickly it took effect.”
“But you’re okay now?”
Quinn’s head shook back and forth. No, I’m not okay.
“I’m tired.”
“What makes you tired? What happened this time, Quinn?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Quinn abruptly stood up and walked away from Cashel, knowing full well how disrespectful it appeared; he trudged up the wooden steps and into his bedroom, closing the wooden door on the world and collapsing on his bed.
Chapter 13
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Mary,” Prater said, kneeling in the light that streamed from the outside and through the open cell door.
Mary purposely kept her head lowered, partly because she didn’t want to look at Prater and partly because the light hurt her eyes. Mary had been in the cell for many days and felt weak. Every day, Prater pestered her about dragons and sorcerers, and every day Mary said nothing. She had curled herself into the corner near the tunnel exit in the wall – from the little conversation that had drifted into the cell she knew that Prater had not been back into the book building since he had imprisoned her – consequently he had not found the tunnel entrance yet either.
“Mary, please.” Prater squatted not far away from her, but he was merely a shape silhouetted by the light. “At least eat something. You’re no use to me dead.”
“I’m no use to you alive either,” Mary replied, the first time she had spoken a word since he had thrown her in the cell. Many times, in the darkness of the cell, she had wished that she had gone with Michael, not parted ways, but if wishes were real she would be a very different person.
“Where can I find the dragon? Which one was the dragon?” She let her head fall against the stone wall and rolled her eyes.
“Neither was probably a dragon. I don’t know. How many times do I have to keep telling you the same thing? You see, Master Prater, if one of them had been a dragon and I had helped him escape, that would mean that I had helped one. If all that were true then according to the information I’ve read about them, I should be experiencing good luck as a reward. Does it look like I’m blessed with luck?”
Prater hung his head before he pushed his fallen hair back away from his face. “Tell me the name of the sorceress.”
Mary knew the answer to that one and wondered whether it would be of any harm to tell Prater. She conceded to herself that it would not. “Her name is Cecilia.”
Prater smiled at the useful information. “Finally, something I can work with.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, Mary, we’ll see about finding you some more comfortable surroundings. I really don’t like to see y
ou in here, despite what you might be thinking.”
Mary looked over at him and asked, “What are you going to do with me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Are you going to hang me like the others?”
Prater leaned back against the wall, taking a moment to look in the direction of her freedom.
“Even I could not convince this village that you were worthy of that honour.” He walked over and attempted to pull Mary to her feet. “I will have to think about what to do with you. I knew you’d tell me something, sooner or later. I have a room prepared for you; your things are already there. What is wrong with you?”
Weak from having refused to eat or drink and feeling broken, Mary found that she had no energy to stand even if she wanted to. Unexpectedly, Prater bent down and lifted Mary up into his arms. The sunlight assaulted her face as Prater walked outside, and she shielded her eyes from the light with her arm. Though she couldn’t see much, she knew the village well enough to know they were heading to Prater’s home.
The coolness of being inside the house and shielded from the sun should have made Mary feel relief. Instead, with her arm lowered, her eyes darted around the interior as Prater walked through an entrance area and down a short passage that met another door. She felt grateful to be out of the cell but the thought of living under the same roof as Prater made her fingers dig into his shoulder.
Inside the room, Prater placed Mary into a chair to the right of the fireplace. Curiously her eyes scanned the room, taking in what she could see. She had often wondered what the house looked like inside and imagined it with elaborate carvings on the wood panelling and marble floors. Instead she found it to be quite simple.
Her eyes fell on two paintings that hung on the stone chimney. Mary couldn’t remember Prater’s father at all, and his mother had died when he’d been born according to Yansa. With their faces staring out from the canvases Mary felt uncomfortable thinking how Prater had made decisions to protect people after losing those closest to him. A part of her could understand his actions even though the rest of her said his actions were still wrong. After staring at the paintings for a short time, Mary closed her eyes and tried to remember her own parents and sister, but no images materialised in her mind.
Saddened, Mary focused on scrutinising the room further. A vase on the table to the side of the fireplace filled an otherwise bare corner, an oak sideboard to Mary’s right. Adjusting her position on the chair, Mary attempted to look farther behind her but found Prater instead, leaning casually against the doorframe watching her study his room. Mary sunk back into the chair embarrassed at her own inquisitiveness.
“I’ve ran a bath for you, in your room.” Prater’s voice spoke low, soft, but to Mary it still sounded as if it were an order, so she stood up from the chair. Mary raised her gaze to look at Prater - he half-smiled in return before turning and leading Mary to her new room.
The few clothes Mary had were hung up neatly over a wooden pole. Her hairbrush and a couple of leather ties she used to secure her hair beneath her snood lay on a small wooden table. Mary glanced over everything and then looked at the bath. The hot water tempted her as she watched the steam rise from the surface, especially after the time in the cell. She decided to take advantage of the situation.
Feeling human again after bathing, Mary felt comforted wearing fresh, clean clothes again. As she brushed her hair, she looked at her belongings that sat on the table next to the bed.
“Where did you come from?” she said quietly to herself and picked up a small stone. It certainly hadn’t been one of her belongings. Turning it over in her hand she studied the little blue and green stone; its swirls reminded Mary of the patterns in the sky which appeared from time to time – though never green – yet there was a familiarity about the stone that certainly did remind Mary of something, or perhaps it was someone...
A knock on her door and Mary stowed the stone in the pocket of her dress, holding it firmly with her left hand for reassurance.
“Yes?”
“May I come in, Mary?” She would have liked to reply in the negative, but she didn’t want to end up back in the cell.
“Yes.”
“No need to hide the binding mark, Mary. I already know.” Mary grasped the stone once more before letting it rest in the pocket of its own accord and withdrew her hand.
“What would you like?”
“I want to know more about this Cecilia...she seemed to know a lot about you.”
“I’ve told you all I know,” Mary replied with the partial truth – she didn’t want to tell him about Quinn.
“Where is this Cecilia from?”
“I don’t know.”
“She said she was your sister by binding...”
“She was lying...”
“Then you know she has a brother. Who was he?”
Mary looked away from Prater and bit her lip.
“Mary?” Prater eyed Mary carefully.
“Are you bound to her brother?”
“No, I am not bound to her brother.”
“So, you admit that she has a brother?” Mary quickly looked up, caught out.
Prater smiled at his success. “He was the second one, I think. Yes, yes, your reaction gives you away.”
Prater took a step towards Mary; she backed up closer to the pillow on the bed and continued to avoid eye contact.
“Why protect a sorcerer, Mary? Sorcerers live their lives separate from humans. They care nothing for us, that’s something they stopped doing a long time ago.”
“I’m not protecting anyone.”
“Then tell me who he is.”
“I don’t know, he said he was looking for his brother Jack, that’s all I know.”
Prater stepped back and Mary saw his fingers tap against his leg: one, two three. She anticipated a question but instead Prater threw a bag onto the bed beside her. Cautiously, she opened it and found a fresh bread roll – she knew them well, as the woman always included one in her food box. She ripped a small piece off and chewed it well, relishing the taste. It didn’t take long for the roll to be gone.
“Are you ready to show me where the entrance is Mary?”
Mary didn’t respond.
“Come on.”
Outside in the fresh air, Mary noticed the villagers just continued on with whatever they were doing – there were a few glances in her direction, but each person glanced away from Mary when she caught their eye.
Mary looked twice when she saw the door to the book building had been replaced with an identical one. She hardly had time to look it over as Prater pulled her through the doorway and inside the building. Once inside he paused to bolt the door. They were locked in.
“Thought you would like that. Having the door fixed.” An awkward silence descended over the pair, standing in the passage room. “Where is the entrance, Mary?”
“Why does it matter?” Mary quietly asked as her fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her dress.
“Secrets do no one any good, Mary. I want you to trust me.” Prater moved to stand in front of her.
“Why?”
“Because I want you, Mary. You must know that by now.” Mary’s fingers involuntarily made a fist as they clutched the fabric. Prater’s hand reached up and he ran his fingers through her loose hair. She felt warmth spreading across her cheeks despite herself. He leaned in closer and Mary stepped back – only to find the wall.
“Mary.”
Risking a glimpse at Prater’s face, Mary thought he seemed genuine, but she suspected that control, knowledge, and power were the motivation, not feelings. He just wanted to know about the tunnel. Prater had noticed the spared glance and moved closer again.
“I am already bound, Master Prater.” Prater’s free hand covered her left that still gripped the fabric of her dress tightly.
“But what if you weren’t, Mary?”
Mary’s feet shifted; she didn’t like this game he was playing at all.
�
��The entrance is through the narrow book room.”
Prater paused, his thumb gently stroking Mary’s cheek a couple of times before he stepped back. His right hand still holding onto her left, he used that connection to lead her to the narrow room .
After he looked around the room, he turned to Mary and asked, “Where’s the entrance exactly?”
Shaking Prater’s hand free, she stepped up onto the bottom shelf and pushed the disarray of books that remained on the shelf to the side. She stood on her tippy-toes and reached back to the lever that barely protruded from the back of the bookcase.
Prater smiled as he watched the bookcase move. Mary wiped her dusty hand on her apron, and reached in to touch the stone, holding it tightly as she watched Prater step through the doorway, and down the steps before returning, no doubt, for a torch.
Chapter 14
Mary stirred in her bed; sleep would not come, and she had grown tired of trying to convince it otherwise. Throwing the blankets to the side, she lit a candle and sat still, listening for any sound. She couldn’t hear any obvious noises and glanced at the window and saw the night sky.
Swinging her legs beside the bed, her feet her felt the soft mat below her feet. Her eyes travelled to her shoes, but she shook her head. The candle’s light just reached the bottom part of the door and she tapped the fingers on her free hand.
Oh, what does it matter if I have a look around. If he’s asleep he’ll never know. She paused halfway to the door at that thought. If he is awake, I’ll just say I need...a glass of water. Mary turned to see that a glass sat on her bedside table.
With the candle on the floor, she went to the window and pushed it up; a breeze whipped in and the flame dwindled but stayed alight. Grabbing the glass, she poured the water outside before returning it to the table.
Candle back in her hand, Mary double checked she’d closed the window and took small steps towards the door. Slowly she turned the handle and the door opened without a peep. Her head poked into the hallway and she saw only darkness except for a light glowing under the door of the living room where she had sat before.
