Authors: Carol Berg
Transformation (32 page)
“Not permitted? How dare—”
“When will someone come for us?” I interrupted Aleksander before he exploded. “My lord’s enchantment is severe.”
“If he is demon-afflicted as you claim, then you’ll wish us to take our time and do what’s best for it,” said Hoffyd. “Haste can make it worse.”
The Prince threw off his cloak and surveyed the simple furnishings of the cottage. He kicked at the narrow bed as if testing whether it might collapse with use, and he ran a finger over the smooth bare pine of the table. “Get someone here. I have important matters to attend.”
“Someone will be with you within the hour.” Hoffyd was gritting his teeth. I knew the feeling very well. He pointed to shelves beside the hearth. “There’s provender here. Be free of it. If you have your own, we ask that you leave no scraps or waste, but rather take them with you when you leave. There’s a latrine behind the house. Water for washing is in the cistern just outside. Water for drinking is in the cask by the door and will be refreshed every morning. These are our ways. Will you abide by them, Derzhi, or shall I take you back the way we’ve come?”
Aleksander was about to burst. I doubt he had ever been lectured so bluntly by anyone save his father or Dmitri. Certainly not by a commoner who looked like a slightly disreputable shop clerk. He glared at me, then managed to squeeze “I will” past his tight-pressed lips.
“And your servant?”
“Gladly,” I said. “We thank you for your hospitality.”
“I’ll not bid you welcome. It will be a few years yet before we welcome any Derzhi, master or servant.” With no further attempt at politeness, Hoffyd slammed the door.
Aleksander flopped on the bed, seemingly assured of its sturdiness, if not its luxury. “Not exactly a hearty welcome,” he grumbled. “Insolent beggar.”
I was nervous and apprehensive, in no humor to put up with his willful blindness. “What did you expect? They are a few hundred souls, hiding here in the wilderness. Before the Derzhi decided they need a few more hectares of land, Ezzarians numbered in the thousands and had lived in peace for more than eight hundred years.”
“No wonder it took us only three days.”
“We were no threat to you! You didn’t need our land. You took it only because you could, and you killed thousands of innocents in the taking. Must we love you for it?”
“You forget yourself, slave. I’ll not argue history with you. What’s done is done.”
Indeed. Words would change nothing. Passion, desires, grief—none of them mattered. I had to be satisfied with the small graces I had been granted.
I lit a fire in the hearth, then, unable to hold off any longer, I opened the front door a crack and peeked out. The first cottage beyond the guest house would be the Weaver’s home, always outside the forest boundary, always in a place of honor in the open village, standing between the outside world and the rest. Fleeces hung in her window, and battered copper dye pots and wooden drying racks were stacked against the side of the house. A string of metal strips hanging from her eaves made a musical tinkling in the breeze.
The boy and girl had run into the center house of the row nearest the river. It was likely the school. As it was morning, they would be doing lessons there: reading and writing, maps and geography in case they became Searchers, mathematics for discipline and logic, herbary for healing and spellmaking, philosophy for health of mind. The mentoring for those with melydda would take place in forest homes all afternoon and into the evening. For some, that schooling would gradually take more and more time, until by the age of twelve one was immersed in it every minute of every day, practicing, learning, studying, perfecting the skills you would need for whatever role the gods had chosen for you, until you were ready to take your place in the secret war Ezzarians had waged for a thousand years. The demon war.
The third house I could not know, as I saw no one go in or out, but I guessed it was the Record House. There one of the Queen’s record keepers would compile the reports of the Search teams, and families could come to learn if there was any word of those sent into the world to seek out souls possessed by demons.
The investigator would come from the forest. Those with melydda always lived in the forest, to draw strength and power from the forces of nature in a place so rich with life. I could not settle, so I turned back to Aleksander, who was examining a weaving on the wall beside the bed. It depicted a ring of white stone columns set in the midst of a forest, pairs of men and women walking into it, while the moon shone from the heavens.
“The woman who comes will ask you about the enchantment,” I said. “She will examine you—a bit like I do, but with true power behind it—and she’ll see it. Tell her about the Khelid, as completely as you can. Everything they’ve done. How they trapped you with the illusion. How they affected your sleep. How Kastavan seems to be directing the others. And you must be truthful. She’ll know if you lie, but she might not be able to tell what about. You need her trust.”
“I didn’t think it wise to tell them who I am,” said Aleksander defensively. “It complicates everything. I didn’t think it would matter.”
“It doesn’t really matter with regard to the enchantment. The other, about the Khelid and the threat to the Emperor and his heir, is far more serious. It turns around beliefs ... prophecies ... seeings that we have relied upon for hundreds of years. They must believe you, so they’ll take action.”
The Prince stripped off his gloves and threw them to the floor. “This is insufferable. To explain myself as if I’m some thieving clerk trying to get a position at court. I don’t see what a few fugitive magicians can do about this anyway.”
“Maybe nothing,” I said. “I don’t have any idea what they’re capable of anymore. It depends on who survived.” I turned my face back to the cold afternoon air.
“And who was enslaved?”
“That, too.”
“Will you show yourself to them?” he asked, coming to stand beside me at the door, pulling it open a little wider so he, too, could look out upon the village.
“Not if I can help it.”
He was going to ask me about it, but just then a woman walked out of the trees and down the road toward our house. She was bundled in a thick cloak and brightly woven scarf. I abandoned my watch post and retreated to the corner of the room, thinking my stomach might twist itself in a knot when she walked through the open door. She removed her scarf and shook out long dark hair. I didn’t know her. What had I expected? That she would happen to be the single person in the universe I would give my soul to see?
“Greetings of hearth and home to you, Zander of the Derzhi,” said the young woman. “And to you Pytor of ... Your guide did not know your people, sir,” she added, tilting her head to the side, as if trying to see my face beneath my hood. I needed to come up with a good excuse to remain hidden. But I couldn’t at that moment, so I just bowed and sank to the floor in the corner, making sure the dark wool was pulled low over my face.
She was small, slender, and scarcely as tall as my shoulders. Her shining dark hair fell to her waist, pulled back from her face by a green ribbon at the back of her neck. Her cheeks were flushed with the cold air, and her small, serious face radiated intelligence. She was perhaps in her mid-twenties, very young to be investigating a report of a demon enchantment and a feadnach, not to mention the oddity of a Derzhi supplicant. Very few Ezzarians must have survived. But I refused to be sad. I was watching an Ezzarian investigator. My people lived, and still carried on their work. I had grieved for the dead long years ago.
“My servant is not concerned in this matter,” said Aleksander, drawing her uncomfortable attention away from me. “Can we get on with this? I need to speak to someone who can help me, not someone’s daughter who wants to gawk at a Derzhi.” I groaned inside.
“Certainly,” said the young woman, seating herself in the plain wooden armchair beside the hearth. “I would not think of allowing anyone to gawk at our guest. Will you sit here please? I need to ask you a few questions.” She laid her slender hands in her lap, calmly waiting for a disgruntled Aleksander to seat himself in the chair facing her. There were perhaps two paces between them.
“Please tell me why you’ve come here, sir,” she began.
“As I told the man, an enchantment,” said Aleksander, his face an unsettling shade of red. “A curse from a demon Khelid.”
“And how long have you lived with this curse?”
“An eternity.” She sat calmly, waiting. Serious. Serene. “No ... six ... seven ... damn, can it be only seven days?”
“What causes you to believe it is a demon-wrought affliction?”
Aleksander was already out of patience. He jumped from his chair, and I feared he might strike the woman. “Because I am not mad, and I have no other explanation for it. The slave ... I was told it was a demon thing, and I have nothing else to call it.”
“Please sit down, sir. I will hear everything you wish to tell me.” Her face was impassive. She was not judging, not condemning or approving. Only weighing and watching as was her duty. She would listen to him carefully, and only then would she look inside to see if he was what he said. “Now, tell me of your affliction.”
The Prince flopped back into his chair like a sulking child told to sit in the chimney corner, and he told her, though not very thoroughly. He said he was the son of a wealthy man, not mentioning that the man happened to be the Derzhi Emperor. He kept me out of the tale, and did not explain how he had happened to throw the Khelid’s gift into the fire or keep his mind together when he was changed into a beast. The first flicker of surprise from her came when he described his transformation.
“Others have seen you make this change?” she asked, interrupting his narrative.
“Of course others have seen it. I’m not mad. I did not see myself. I only felt it and thought ... But I was myself after it. My servant here has witnessed it.” He continued with the story of his uncle’s murder, and how the Khelid had turned his father against him, and how he was imprisoned until I had brought him a sword so he could make the change on his own terms.
“This is an extraordinary story, sir, and a matter of grave concern to us as you have surmised. I must now ask your permission to examine you, to view this enchantment that causes you such pain.”
“You can do it? A bit of a girl like you?”
“Quite adequately. Better than most men. And I would guess that I’m several years older than you.”
“Hmmph. Doesn’t seem likely. And I didn’t know you needed permission.” Aleksander grimaced my way. “But go on with it.”
“To do so I will need to know your true name.”
“The whole thing?”
She nodded, wrinkling her brow at the question.
He sighed. “Zander ... Aleksander, that is. Aleksander Jenyazar Ivaneschi zha Denischkar.”
She did not lose her composure, though she very certainly recognized the name. She only widened her eyes a bit and nodded slightly to herself. “That clarifies a great deal.” With no more fuss than this, she passed the back of her hand before her eyes. Her pupils grew so large that I could see them from my corner ten paces away. And I could tell the moment she recognized the feadnach. Hands that rested so serenely on her green skirt stiffened and clasped together, and she leaned forward in her chair. “Who was it told you of the feadnach, sir?” she said with quiet intensity.
“A slave.” Aleksander’s eyes flicked to me again. “A slave boy captured a few weeks ago.”
The young woman lifted her small chin and cocked her head as if listening, then shifted her gaze to me. Quickly I held up my hands between us and cast my eyes down so the hood fell further over my face. “Turn your witch-eye away from me,” I said harshly. “I gave you no leave.”
“My apologies,” she said coolly, turning back to Aleksander and passing her hand before her eyes again. “I was only curious as to your employer’s lies about the boy. I believed you shared the lie, and I forgot myself. But it is of little importance.” The sad undertone to her explanation told otherwise. She would not ask Llyr’s name or whether he yet lived. He was dead to them, whether or not he breathed.
“As for everything else ... you are indeed grievously cursed, sir, and you are all that you have claimed. This news of demons is astonishing and must be brought before our Queen immediately.” The investigator rose from her chair. “I’ll speak with her right away, and also with those who might be able to heal you of this evil.”
“
Might
be able ...” Aleksander leaped to his feet. “Are you saying you might not be able to cure it?”
Might
be able ...” Aleksander leaped to his feet. “Are you saying you might not be able to cure it?”
“I can promise nothing. We are much diminished ... as you, of all men, must certainly understand. The one who sent you here must have warned you.”
“So it’s because of who I am,” said the Prince bitterly. “You think to avenge things done when I was in the nursery by leaving me with this horror.” He gripped the back of the chair with bloodless knuckles. “I cannot touch a sword. Do you understand what that means? I might as well be dead.”
There was no fear, no hesitation, no apology from her. “We will heal this enchantment if it is possible. We have sworn to do so no matter whether you be prince or beggar, Derzhi or Ezzarian. The guilt you bear for those you have destroyed is yours to deal with as you please.”
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