Whisperings of Magic (22 page)

Catryn laughed. “I doubt you will be a cat, my little one. A bird, I should think. A bright, highflying bird.” She looked at the Protector as she spoke the words and he returned the smile that lightened her face.

“Yes,” he said. “I should think so.”

“And I will fly?”

“You will fly,” the Protector answered.

Catryn and Dahl sat alone and silent in his chambers. Norl had been taken back to his mother, Sele the Plump had returned to his people. Dahl sprawled beside the fire, his face almost hidden in the flickering shadows cast by the flames. It was Catryn’s turn now to wait until Dahl was ready to speak. Finally, he leaned forward to stir up the embers, then turned to look at her. His eyes were dark, but calm. The Usurper slept.

“So you return to the Elders now?” He said. It was not really a question.

“Yes,” Catryn answered. “There is much still to learn. And then I must teach Norl. You heard the Protector’s words. This is my duty.”

“And it is my duty to stay here and govern my people,” Dahl replied. “To care for them.” He nodded, with acceptance of the charge. He stared at her as if memorizing the curves and hollows of her face.

Catryn waited. Their quest was over. The time for decisions had come.

“You are even more beautiful than when you left, Catryn,” Dahl said then. “And just as young. You will stay this way forever, will you not?”

So—he had been thinking on her immortality, too.

“I will age. You’ve seen the Elders …”

“But not in my lifetime. Will you age during my lifetime, Catryn?”

“No.” The barest of whispers.

Dahl fell silent again. He sank back into the shadows and stared into the fire. Catryn knew before he did what his next question would be.

“I could live with that. Could you?”

“Here? In Daunus?”

“Yes. Later. When you have fulfilled your obligation to Norl.”

Catryn held herself still. She closed her eyes. Unbidden, the scents and secrets of the world that were only open to her in her animal form flooded her mind. Even now, even as she sat here, they called to her. She chafed at the walls surrounding her. The comfort of the pillows on which she reclined grated. She began to speak. Slowly. Choosing her words with care.

“You have made Daunus beautiful, Dahl,” she said. “But no matter how much love I bear you, and it is much, I could never live here. This is not the way for me.”

“I feared so,” he said. “But you will return? From time to time—when you can?”

“I will,” Catryn promised.

Early the next morning, with the dawn of the sun, Catryn slipped out of the palace. The dew was heavy on the grass as she hastened through the city gates. Only when she was out of sight of the guards, out of sight of Daunus itself, did she pause. A shimmer, a slight rearranging of space, then a lithe young wildcat that glowed golden in the early morning sunlight stretched and shook off the constraints of her human form. Catryn raised her muzzle to the currents of the air. She drew them in deeply, savoring every secret nuance. Then she began to run. Smoothly, effortlessly, into the deep shadows of the welcoming forest.

Home.

KARLEEN BRADFORD
is the acclaimed author of 22 children’s and young adult books. She has written three books set in the land of Taun—
Dragonfire
(which was shortlisted for the Hackmatack Award),
Whisperings of Magic
(shortlisted for the Red Maple Award) and the most recent,
Dragonmaster
. Her five bestselling historical novels about the Crusades have received much critical praise, including the Canadian Library Association Award for
There Will Be Wolves
. Bradford received the 2006 Allan Sangster Award for outstanding dedication and service to the Canadian Authors Association. She lives in Brechin, Ontario. Visit her at
karleenbradford.com
.

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N
orl hesitated on the threshold of Catryn’s chamber. The shimmering walls of the caverns that made up the Domain of the Elders of Taun surrounded him. Light filled the space, glistening, and refracted in shards of colour from the crystal rocks out of which the cave had been carved. At first he had been overawed by such beauty. Up until now he had never failed to drink in the pulsating, ever-changing hues and pray that they would give him strength.

But not today.

He could struggle no longer. If he failed yet again, that would be the end of it. For three long years he had been trying to learn the ways of magic. For three long years he had tasted nothing but failure.

He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders and forced himself to step forward, but, taller now than when he had first arrived, he had to stoop a little as he passed through the narrow opening.

Catryn was waiting for him. She rose from the pillow-strewn seat carved into the cave wall and
moved toward him, her fiery mane of hair blazing in the light, hands outstretched in welcome.

“Good morrow, Norl,” she said with a smile. “We will work well this day, I’m certain of it.”

Norl did not return her smile; he could not. She seemed not to notice, however, merely beckoned him closer.

“Let us begin,” she said. She gestured to the fire that burned in the hearth with a flame that produced heat but no smoke. The chamber brightened yet more.

Norl took up his position in front of her, fastened his eyes onto hers for a brief moment, then shut them and tried with every fibre of his being to block out the chamber, block out the light and the warmth, block out every thought but one.

“Stand loose, Norl,” Catryn said. “Let your mind be still. You are trying too hard.”

Easy for her to say. She was the Seer of Taun, magic came as naturally to her as breathing.

“Focus your mind, Norl,” she insisted. “Turn inward. Feel the change begin within you. Feel your bones lighten. Feel the rush of your feathers. Feel it, Norl, and it will be so. You have the power within you. Grasp it. Let it flow through you.”

Norl found he was holding his breath. He had a sense that everything had stopped, that the chamber and even the air within it had stilled. Time itself was waiting for what would happen next.

“Today you will succeed,” Catryn said. “Believe that.” She fell silent for the space of a heartbeat, then
whispered, “Now!”

The words, the tone of her voice, were hypnotic. Norl closed his eyes, willed himself to relax. For a moment he almost felt himself become lighter, become other … then it was gone.

He opened his eyes, looked down. Solid. Human. His arms hung lumpen and heavy in the air, fingers outstretched—futile, ridiculous! He could see disappointment writ plain upon Catryn’s face. And more than disappointment: fear.

“You will fly,” the Protector had promised Norl, “even as I once did.” Norl had believed him. In his mind he had seen himself as an eagle, golden and majestic. He had imagined how it would be to soar through the skies—powerful, invincible. It was what he had lived for.

Catryn had had such faith in him. They all had. Dahl the King, the Elders of Taun and the Protector, a mage himself, although aged now and bent with pain. They had believed so implicitly that he was the Bringer of Light. The one whose power would finally rid their world of Caulda, the last of the dragons that once were the scourge of Taun. Had he not healed Catryn’s magical flying horse merely by placing his hands on it?

It must have been an accident, a coincidence,
he thought now. He had not been able to master even the smallest of magics here. Caulda would surely rise again to rage and destroy the people of Taun, and if he could not stop her, who would?

How well Norl remembered Caulda’s attacks. The dark form blotting out the sun, swooping down over village after village to steal the souls of the people. And, after her raids, soulless victims who were no more than slaves to the evil that controlled the dragon and used her for its purpose. Norl’s own mother, Mavahn, had been one of those victims until Catryn and Dahl had defeated the dark powers that sought to conquer Taun. They had restored the souls to Caulda’s victims, but Catryn and Dahl had not been able to destroy Caulda. It had been he, Norl, who had appeased her.

“Wait!” he had cried when Dahl and Catryn had been at her mercy. “Spare them. I will come back to you if you spare them!”

The dragon had hesitated, looked deep into Norl’s mind. Then she had nodded.

I will call you,
boy. When it is time. And you will come to me then. Alone.
The words had been unspoken, for Norl only, and they were etched into his mind as if with fire. Over the years they had haunted him. He had cried out rashly, without thinking, without even knowing why he had made such a promise, or why he had ever thought that his life could be so valuable the dragon would accept his offer, but over the past years he had been determined to learn enough to face her. To destroy her. He had brought himself to believe the Elders had spoken truly, that he was the Bringer of Light. That with just a little more effort, just a little more determination, he would succeed in mastering the magic they all believed lived within him.

But with that thought came anger. Why had they expected so much of him? Why had they encouraged him to believe such an impossibility?

“It is no use!” he cried now, finally, irrevocably, giving up. “There is no magic in me! You were wrong, Catryn! You were all wrong!” He pivoted away before Catryn could see the tears which had sprung to his eyes. She made no move to stop him.

So, even Catryn admits it,
he thought. It felt as if his heart were being torn from his breast.

He stormed back to his sleeping place and threw himself down on the thick, blanket-covered pallet, but he slept not at all. During the long dark hours of the night he faced the truth—there was nothing left for him here. He had tried, but he could not learn, and he could not face Catryn again.