The Exile and the Sorcerer (45 page)

Her thought moved on. “After we get the chalice. Do you think they will try to separate us again?”

“Maybe. They won’t succeed.” Jemeryl turned to fix her eyes on Tevi. “We’re together for life. Nothing but death will part us.”

“Can you be certain?”

“Yes.” Jemeryl gave a wry smile. “And far more certain than I am that we’ll find the chalice.”

Tevi shrugged. “Who cares? The chalice isn’t important to me. It never has been. I don’t even—”

She was cut short by a hissed whisper. “Someone’s coming.” Raising her voice, Jemeryl continued, “Was it difficult to train the magpie?”

“Er...I got Klara from a friend when she was already tame.” Tevi picked up on the cue.

“That was kind, to give her to you.”

“It was a very good friend.”

Jemeryl stood. “It’s been nice talking to you. We must”—her face shifted through a range of expressions—“talk again.” She sauntered away.

“Good morning, ma’am.” The voice belonged to Etta.

Even before Jemeryl’s footsteps had faded, her place on the chicken coop was taken by the talkative trader.

“She seems very pleasant, for a sorcerer.”

Tevi made a noncommittal sound.

“You were having quite a cosy chat. I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” Etta’s tone was hinting at something.

“We were just talking.”

Etta was silent—a rare enough occurrence to make Tevi look at her.

“What is it?”

“I suppose she was the one who came over to talk to you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think she’s nice?” Etta definitely had something in mind.

“What do you mean?”

“Well...a couple of times now, I’ve noticed her watching you. At first, I thought it might be trouble. I didn’t know if I should warn you. But then, I thought, ‘Aha. I know what
that
look means.’ Now, I don’t know how you feel about sorcerers. I mean, I think they’re human like anyone else, but I know they give some people the creeps. One of my uncle’s neighbours is a gardener at the school, and she says—”

“You think what?” Tevi interrupted, confused.

“Sorry, I’m rambling. Getting back to what I was saying, she’s definitely got her eye on you. I think she likes you.” The trader smiled slyly and nudged Tevi with her elbow. “I’d say if you’re interested, play your cards right, and you’re in with a chance.”

*

Another two days, and Etta was not alone in speculating. Tevi was beset by advice from passengers and crew alike. There was little in the way of entertainment on the ship. Gossip was the main pastime, but opinion was sharply divided. Few expressed any great dislike of Jemeryl personally. Many more revealed a wariness of the Coven and felt that Tevi would be ill treated. “You can’t trust sorcerers. They just use folk” and “Stick with your own” were typical remarks. Etta, with her enthusiasm, was in a minority.

Late one evening, Tevi was sitting on deck, playing dice with a group of passengers, when the door to Jemeryl’s cabin opened. The sorcerer wandered across to the side of the ship and leaned on the railing with the apparent intention of watching the sunset. Tevi was aware that a lot of people were looking in her own direction, and it was not because they were waiting for her to throw the dice.

Unsubtle as ever, Etta dug her in the ribs. “Go on. Talk to her.”

The anticipation on the faces about her was more than Tevi could take. She stood up, brushed the dust and rope fibres from her clothes, and strolled over to Jemeryl’s side. A glance back confirmed that absolutely nobody was minding their own business. Etta’s young son scrambled to his feet and bounced forward as if to join them. His mother grabbed his jerkin and dragged him back. At the same time, she sent an encouraging gesture to Tevi that was probably meant to be discreet.

Sighing, Tevi rested her elbows on the rail and turned her gaze out to sea.

“How are things?” Jemeryl asked.

“A strain.”

“Why?”

“It’s not so bad for you. I’ve got everyone on board giving me suggestions about how to deal with you.”

“And what are the suggestions?” Jemeryl sounded amused.

“Most think I should avoid you, though they aren’t too specific how I do it on a ship this size.”

“You find it upsetting?”

“Yes.” Tevi’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand people in the Protectorate. Even Marith, who was a really nice, sensible woman, talked about sorcerers as if you’re some bizarre monstrosity. I’ve known people to credit more human emotions to their dogs than some on this ship do to you. They can’t seem to see...” Her voice faded away.

“I think I know what you mean, but I’ve grown up with it, so I take most of it for granted.” Jemeryl paused. “I wasn’t popular when I was a child, back in my home village. It’s the same for all sorcerers. The other children knew I was different. Some tried to pick on me. They soon learned not to, but even when they weren’t being deliberately unpleasant, I was still isolated. Even the adults were very polite and very distant. As I got older and my powers developed, they started to treat me like...like a sorcerer. Probably wise. Children aren’t good at restraining their tempers. We learn a lot about self-control at the Coven.” Her lips shifted into a rueful smile. “It cuts down on the number of talking frogs around.”

“A shame. I could nominate a few on board who’d be better as frogs.” Tevi was not sure herself how much she was joking.

The two of them stood in silence before Jemeryl asked, “Would people be appalled if we made it obvious we were lovers?”

Tevi weighed it up. “Maybe a quarter would be, and there’s an equal-size group who’d think it perfectly all right.”

“And the others?”

“They’d claim to be against it, but privately they’d be delighted to have something exciting to gossip about.”

“Perhaps we should give them their chance to be shocked.”

Deliberately, Jemeryl slid along the railing so their shoulders touched. She then slowly moved her arm to encircle Tevi’s waist.

Tevi half-expected a mixed chorus of gasps, boos, and cheers from the deck behind them. She put her own arm around Jemeryl’s shoulders and pulled her close. A smile grew on Tevi’s lips as the familiar feeling of total contentment washed her previous irritation away, and now at least they could go to Jemeryl’s cabin and shut out the rest of the world for a while.

She was about to move away from the railing, when her eyes caught sight of an island, out on the horizon. For a second, her thoughts darted to Storenseg, but without longing. She realised that, even if the chance was offered to her, she had no desire to go back. The island was not home to her; she had outgrown it. Which meant, she guessed as she and Jemeryl left the deck, that in her heart, she was an exile no longer.

The Legend of the True-Sighted Warrior

As Told By Villagers On The Eastern Flank Of Whitfell Spur

Once upon a time, there was a young and ambitious sorcerer who lived in a mighty castle in a valley on the east of Whitfell Spur. She was very gifted and adept in the magic arts and she was very beautiful, but she was also very reckless, for she had not yet learnt to temper her knowledge with wisdom. In her folly, she summoned a demon from the netherworld and tried to bind it to do her will.

At first, the demon was held by the power of the sorcerer’s magic, and it taught her much that was arcane and wondrous to human ears. But the demon was ancient and well schooled in treachery and malice, and the young sorcerer was no match for its cunning.

One day the demon retrieved a mirror from the shadow-lands. “Look into this, my mistress,” it said, “and you will learn much that has been hidden from mortal eyes. For with this mirror you may see all that has been, or is now, or is yet to be.”

Eagerly the young sorcerer grasped the mirror and stared into its depths. Thus was she ensnared, for the demon lied, and there were no secrets to be seen. Rather, the life was sucked from her by evil enchantment and held in the mirror, and her body was turned to stone.

However, the demon knew that once the leaders of the Coven learnt of what had happened, it would not be allowed to remain in the land of the living. The sorcerers would come against it in force, and it would be banished back to the icy depths of the netherworld. Therefore, the demon cast another spell, so that all who set eyes on it would think it to be the young sorcerer.

Only one servant knew of what had happened. When the demon realised this, it drained the sense from the man’s head and sent him forth, witless and babbling, to be scorned by all he met.

Then was the demon free to indulge its taste for evil. Soon tales of grim happenings spread. Farmers spoke of blighted crops and missing stock. Huntsmen found tracks of fell beasts stalking the woods.

When first these things were noticed, the villagers went to the castle, to beg the sorcerer to help them, little knowing that the one they addressed was not who they thought, but rather the source of the evil that afflicted them. To the villagers’ dismay, the supposed sorcerer derided their fears, accusing them of acting like frightened children, and sent them away. When the complaints grew more insistent, the demon set wild spirits in the form of bears to keep guard on its home, and none who thereafter entered the castle left it alive.

And ever things got worse. Unclean things walked abroad and children were snatched from their beds. Evil lights played over the castle at night and even the air began to feel tainted. All went in dread of what else might befall them.

*

Now, far to the west, beyond the setting sun, was an island, where lived a mighty warrior, beloved and revered by her people. For, by the strength of her arms, she had vanquished all manner of threat and bestowed peace upon her land. Yet for all the adulation of her people, the warrior felt a great emptiness inside, as if some vital part of her was missing.

Her family tried to comfort her and show how much she was valued and loved, but at last, the warrior could no longer bear the desolate longing. And so, despite the entreaties and tears of her kin, she set sail into the east, searching for that which would make her whole.

When she arrived in the Protectorate, she was hailed as a hero, and invited to join the Guild of Mercenaries as an honoured member. Many great and mighty deeds did she perform in the service of the guild. However, no matter how far she travelled or what feat of arms she performed, still the emptiness inside her never lessened.

And so it happened, one midwinter’s day, that the warrior was trekking north along the western flank of Whitfell Spur, when she was hailed by an ancient seer.

“Hold a moment, hero,” the seer cried, “and listen to what I have to say, for I know what it is that you truly seek.”

“What do you mean?” the warrior replied.

“You seek that which will make you whole. Come, let me show you what it is that your life lacks.”

At these words, the warrior felt her heart beat hard within her breast, for now she thought she might learn the cure for her dissatisfaction. The seer took a bottle of wine, and poured it into a chalice. The warrior drew close, unsure of whether the seer intended her to drink, but when she looked into the wine, she saw images form and then grow clear. And so, she found herself staring at the face of the sorcerer.

If the warrior’s heart had beaten hard before, now it redoubled its pounding. She felt the blood seep from her face, and knew that she must meet this unknown woman, as soon as ever might be.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“One who needs your help. And to her aid you must go, before the month is out. Therefore I bid you, gather a band of followers and lead them across the Spur.”

The warrior raised her eyes to the ice-scoured heights. Winter lay hard on the mountains, and storms raged every day. Yet her heart was not downcast, for her desire to meet the woman she had seen in the wine would have carried her through any trial. “I will do it,” she said, and turned to go.

“Before you leave me, hero, there is more I must tell you,” the seer said. “For there are three things you must know, although they may seem more like riddles to you.”

“I have no time for games,” the warrior replied.

“But if you do not find answers, you will not succeed in your quest.”

“Ask away then, old woman.”

“The first is to believe your ears when you have no eyes. The second is that a woodsman’s axe may cleave through any deceit. And the third is that tears may melt the hardest stone.”

“None of this makes sense to me,” the warrior cried in dismay.

“You need not understand all now, but you must by the end, if you are to find what you seek.” With those words, the seer vanished.

So the warrior gathered comrades who would help her cross the mountains. Few were willing to undertake the desperate venture, but at last, the gallant band set out. On their journey, they were beset by hardships that would have sent weaker folk fleeing to the safety of the nearest warm hearth, yet they prevailed by their strength and courage, and crossed the heights of Whitfell Spur in the heart of winter.

Thus, cold, tired, and battered, they arrived, unlooked for and unannounced, in the valley where the demon held its reign of fear.