Transformation (41 page)
Authors: Carol Berg
Her fury dampened my remorse quite effectively. “Age hasn’t mellowed his annoying habits any more than experience has changed mine. Is that what you’re saying?”
She showed no signs of appreciating my attempt at humor. Her complexion was a quite vivid red. “When you were seven, you carved a ship that you could make sail in the air. Your cloud ship, you called it. Do you remember that, too?”
My skin prickled as if coming to life after sleep. “Of course I remember.”
She reached into the pocket of her scarlet cloak and pulled out a crudely fashioned sailing ship about the size of her hand. “It has not flown in all these years, because only you were ever able to make it do so.” She tossed it over the cliff edge and it spun downward, scraps of faded red cloth fluttering bravely from its thin wooden spars ... until a soft gust of wind brushed the mountaintop, and it floated back into view, drifting in a wide circle around our heads.
“Three nights ago he had you say the words. It required no faith, for its enchantment was created in you before you knew of doubt. A child’s spell. Awakened by your melydda, Seyonne. Only yours.”
I could have answered her ten different ways. Cynical, disbelieving ways. But as I watched the bit of pine dip and roll over the currents of the wind, I chose to keep silent and live for a moment in the wonder of my first magic. After a while I plucked it from the air and ran my fingers over its gouged and battered surface: the masts I’d had to replace fifty times, the scraps of my mother’s weaving, the ship’s wheel my father had shown me in a book, the awkward letters of my name carved proudly on the hull. I held it on the palm of my hand ... just beside the scar where one of my masters had nailed my hand to a door for a week for failing to open the door fast enough.
I gave the toy back to Catrin. “As you said. It’s a child’s spell.”
She returned the ship to her pocket and folded her arms. Again, the fleeting resemblance to Galadon in the set of her jaw and the steel of her eyes. “Then, tell me how it was that on the night the shengar roamed our forest, sixty-three families were warned of the danger at exactly the same moment by a man with a scar on his face. A man who wore a gray cloak and carried a burning stick. A man who disappeared as soon as he had told them to take shelter. Explain it to me. Was this a child’s spell or is it a skill of Derzhi slaves?”
“I ran from one to the other.”
“Not sixty-three.”
“The number was exaggerated.”
“I spoke to them myself. I am an investigator and have the right. There were five families you warned in person. One group of two additional families that you saved by stepping between them and the beast. Sixty-three were warned by sorcery—and the power to work such an enchantment is only a Warden’s skill. There are not five Ezzarians yet living who could do such a thing. And none of them did it. I’ve spoken to them all.”
“It’s impossible.”
“And what if it’s not? What if you’re the one who’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. ...”
“Exactly. And your oath requires that you know.” She rose and drew her green cloak about her. “I’ll come for you tonight, right after the Weaver’s lamp is lit. I’d recommend that you get some sleep before that time. Grandfather will be waiting.” She turned and marched down the hill, leaving me speechless and confounded. The only words that came to mind were, “Yes, Master Galadon.”
I didn’t stay long after she left. Life was too confusing to think about. I needed to run again, and so I did. And that’s when I noticed that it didn’t hurt, and that I could breathe, and that my stride was smooth and long, reeling up the path so that I was back at the guest house in the short matter of an hour. I hoped Aleksander was awake. I needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t leave me feeling as though I’d been tied into widows’ knots by little girls playing with string. I’d come to respect Aleksander’s gift of seeing through people. If he would just learn the right thing to do with those insights once he had them, he might turn into a decent human being.
The village was quiet and deserted, so I was completely taken aback to open the guest house door and see the Queen of Ezzaria sitting beside Aleksander’s bed. The healer stood by the fire with Rhys, and two Ezzarian men, armed with spears, stood just inside the door. None of them moved when I walked in. I wondered what they would do if I attempted to harm their queen.
I genuflected, but of course, Ysanne did not acknowledge it. It was Aleksander, leaning back on his pillows looking exceedingly ill, who waved me up. It was improper for me to stay. Neither Ezzarian manners nor Derzhi slave discipline would permit it. But I decided that rudeness and impertinence were far outweighed by my need to hear whatever was to be heard. So I sat myself on the floor beside Aleksander’s bed and watched Ysanne’s face as she spoke. Her dark eyes never strayed from Aleksander, and her clear voice never wavered.
“... sorry. Because we caused you this grievous injury, you may stay until it is healed. But once Nevya says you are able to travel, we will require that you leave.”
“I thought we were going to send him away immediately,” said Rhys. His back was to the rest of us, and he was staring at the fire, drumming his fist on the sturdy pine shelf over the hearth. “He could be taken at any time. You said he was so far gone that he would accept a rai-kirah willingly, so every moment he’s here is a risk. I know how you hate it, but—”
“We are to blame for this illness. We will offer him healing for his body, but nothing else.”
“I understood that Ezzarians did not refuse anyone healing for demon enchantments, even a Derzhi.” Aleksander’s voice was tight, breaking with quick breaths, as if it pained him to move even so small a part of himself.
“We have no love for Derzhi,” Ysanne said, “and I’ll not say that I would consent to your healing in any circumstance. But it makes no difference. Your enchantment is beyond our skill. We cannot protect you from its consequences, so we must protect ourselves.”
Frost had blighted Ysanne’s fire. Her words were not unkind. Her sympathy was sincere. Yet the woman I remembered would never have sent Aleksander away without attempting to save him. He bore the feadnach ... how could she not try? Then I laughed at myself without mirth. The woman I remembered had never existed. She would never have walked away and left anyone in slavery.
The threads of light in her dark hair were a paler gold than I remembered. Was it strands of silver that dimmed it, like mingled moonlight cooling the fire of the sun? Only a single curl was allowed loose to hang beside her face and fall on the deep blue of her cloak. My body was in a knot as I listened, waiting for the sympathetic harmonies that her melodious voice had always set off in me. We had been like chiming strings on a harp, and no matter the betrayal, I expected that hearing her again would tear me apart. But I felt nothing. She sat straight in her chair beside Aleksander, her eyes fixed on him, and I found myself wanting to reach out and shake her, to make her angry, to curse me, anything to prove I was not dead. I had lived in her mind. She had created worlds for me to walk, using everything she knew of me to make them as familiar as possible ... to keep me safe. Our pairing—the two of us, the work we did—had been my whole life, and I had believed it was hers also. How could she have betrayed me? How could I feel nothing?
A sudden gasp and a stifled moan from Aleksander startled me out of my private argument and had Ysanne out of her chair. One side of the Prince’s body had twisted itself into the shape of the shengar, while the other half stayed in the shape of a man. It was only for a single, agonizing moment, but it left Aleksander’s bloodless face rigid with pain and the two guards with spear points at his heart.
“Sweet Verdonne, haven’t you done enough?” I said, grabbing the spears and twisting them from the hands of the guards, unable to contain the rage that had so little to do with their blind reaction. They weren’t sure what to do with me, which left it very easy. I used the blunt end of their spears to shove the men away, then reversed the shafts, pinning the two to the wall by their clothing. I dropped to my knees beside the Prince. “My lord, can you hear me?”
“Stay back,” he said, struggling for breath. “Tell them to stay back.”
“They’ll stay away,” I said. “What’s happening?”
Ysanne broke in as if I hadn’t spoken. “This is your enchantment? Is this how it begins?” Rhys stood behind her, his broad hands on her shoulders, staring in horror at Aleksander.
“Different ... these few days,” said the Prince, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “My mind keeps slipping back and forth ... changing ... so I see ... as the beast sees. Smells ... Cravings ... Parts of me changing. Then it goes away.”
“No trigger?” I said. “Nothing sets it off like before.”
“No trigger. No sword ... no Dmitri. ...”
“If you wish to be heard, Prince Aleksander, you will address your words to me,” said Ysanne coldly. “What is it you’re saying?”
“I can scarcely hold one conversation,” said the Prince, trying in vain to moisten his lips. “Can’t do two.”
I poured wine from the pitcher that sat on the bedside table, then raised his head to give him a sip. “Tastes beastly,” he said, then laughed weakly. “Appropriate, eh?”
“Daffyd, you will stay to protect Nevya,” commanded Ysanne, angrily throwing on her cloak. “Rhys, tell the Weaver to place a barrier about this house.”
“No! Ysanne, you can’t! It was worse—” I broke off, cursing inwardly. She would do nothing from my saying. “My lord, please tell the Queen how it was when I took you beyond the forest boundary during the change.”
He told her in words different enough from mine that she could act on them, and Ysanne rescinded her order. “I’m sorry we can’t help you, Prince Aleksander. Once we had those among us who were capable of unraveling such things. But they are all dead now. Dead at the hand of the Derzhi. We must husband our resources carefully. You will be gone from here as soon as you can ride.” She swept out of the room on Rhys’s arm, followed by one of her red-faced guards who had loosened himself from the wall. I wondered how he was going to explain the rips in his jerkin.
“Not very friendly,” said Aleksander into his pillow, a sheen of sweat glistening on his bare arms.
“Our Queen holds the care of the world. She can’t do everything she would like,” said the healer, adjusting the pillow and blankets to make him more comfortable. “But she’s brought you her own remedies to strengthen you and to ease your pain. She has more knowledge of these things than any of us.” The woman crushed a packet of herbs with a few drops of oil from a glass bottle and dressed Aleksander’s wound with it. I watched closely, wishing I had the power to read what was in the mixture. Yet I still could not believe Ysanne would deliberately hurt anyone. Stupid. How many betrayals would it take? Perhaps it was just that I trusted the healer to recognize anything amiss. Nevya was a gentle, capable woman. The Prince did seem more at ease once the medicine was applied and the healer had wrapped clean bandages around him.
“Seyonne.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Tell her how I need something to keep me asleep. So I won’t change. Please. If it comes again ... I won’t get back.”
“You’ve told her, my lord. That will have to do. And should it come, you will stay in control and return to yourself as you have before. I’ll be with you.”
The healer mixed herbs in hot water and slipped a few spoonfuls into Aleksander’s mouth.
“This will help you sleep,” she said, then she gathered her things and slipped out the door, leaving me alone with the Prince.
“Your people are cruel, Seyonne.”
I sat on the floor beside his bed. “No. They’re right to be cautious. But sometimes they look in the wrong direction for corruption. They could use your skill to see men’s hearts behind their deeds.”
Aleksander dragged his sagging eyelids open. “I was right about the consort?”
I nodded and bit my tongue to keep from asking the next question. But he heard it anyway.
“She wears a mask,” he said. “If she’s guilty, then she’s locked it away. It does not control her actions. My father does the same. I’ve always hoped to learn how he does it. Figured I’d need it.”
For an instant, feral madness gleamed in his amber eyes, then a shudder rippled over his long body, and he clutched the pillow with bloodless knuckles. “Help me, Seyonne.”
“We’ll find a way,” I said. “Even if I have to start over from the beginning and do it myself, we will rid you of this affliction. The demon will not win.”
“My guardian spirit,” Aleksander mumbled sleepily. “I’ve been lying here thinking, remembering that warrior on the woman’s tapestry—the warrior with wings who’s battling the monster. Can’t get it out of my head. The face was so familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Now I know. It’s you, isn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure he was awake to hear my answer. “Aye, my lord. It was.”
Chapter 27
The Weaver was the guardian of an Ezzarian settlement. A woman of unequaled skill in creating enchantments, she was responsible for the forest barriers that would keep it safe, that would give warning when intruders, especially unseen demons, entered the trees. The Weaver always lived outside the forest so she could monitor her spells, but that meant she was not sheltered or protected herself; thus she was susceptible to risks that others were not. And so at the corner of her house hung a lamp, lit every evening as soon as she had made her rounds and confirmed that all was secure. Someone from the settlement would come to the forest edge to make sure that the Weaver’s lamp was lit, and if it was not, would run to give the alarm.
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