His mum stared at him. “Vincent said there was something happening down here,” she said excitedly and in a low voice. “Something I wouldn’t want to miss.”
Rory turned back around. The captain’s attention had been drawn away from the onlookers. He was staring at Rory’s mum. “Hilda?”
Rory and Izzy looked at each other, confused.
Hilda cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Suddenly, her grip on Rory’s shoulders tightened. “By the sea gods,” she whispered.
“Mum?” Rory asked, turning to face her again, completely taken aback. “What’s going on?”
Hilda Sorenson blew out a trembling breath. “Rory,” she said, “that man is your father.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tales from the Sea
They sat together in the small kitchen. Fish stew simmered in an iron pot on the stove, sending the aroma of paprika, onion, and black pepper around the room. On any other day, Rory’s mouth would have been watering, and he’d have been eager to fill himself a bowl. But not today. Myth had turned into reality. He was stunned. Flabbergasted. The man sitting across from him was his father. His father.
“You’re real?” asked Izzy, who hadn’t taken her eyes off the strange man yet.
He smiled grimly. “As real as you, girl.”
“Izzy,” she said, with a little bow of her head. “My name’s Izzy . . . sir.”
“Izzy,” he murmured, as if he were trying out the name for size. “Yes, Izzy. I am the one they call Goldenrod, but I’m afraid the tales of my adventures have been told so many times they no longer bear the ring of truth.”
Hilda Sorenson rested her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together. “I thought you were dead,” she said, an edge to her voice. “I told Rory that you drowned at sea. And now you come back, calling yourself Goldenrod?” She shook her head.
“I did not give myself the name,” Rory’s father said, a note of contrition in his voice. “It was given to me by . . .” he paused, “others.”
Rory stared down at the stained wooden table. He bit his lip. He didn’t know what to say. The father he never knew was suddenly sitting right next to him. Not just his father. A legend. A myth.
Rory raised his head. His father had dark, almond-shaped eyes, just like his son, and a scar on his left cheek. They had the same nose, too—somewhat sharp with a little bump in the middle. Rory’d thought he’d gotten the bump when he had fallen out of a tree at six years old. But now he knew the truth. It was something that had been passed on, from father to son.
“I was gone for many a year,” the mariner said. “And for that, Hilda, I beg your forgiveness.” He turned to Rory. “Your mother didn’t know I still lived. I have been . . .” He paused again, as if at a loss for words. “There is much I must tell you.”
He lifted a mug of water and took a long drink. The room was still. Not even the creak of a chair could be heard. Goldenrod set the mug back onto the table. He rubbed his knuckles, which Rory noticed were badly scarred. “Many years ago, before you were born, Rory, I was a mariner for the Yellow Trident Sea Company. I traveled far and wide, to distant lands uncharted by any map.”
“Did you ride a seahorse?” Izzy asked, wide-eyed. “That’s what the stories say. That you tamed a wild seahorse and made it your steed.”
Goldenrod smiled, and the lines around his eyes crinkled. “Tell me . . . Izzy. If I had a seahorse, wouldn’t I have to breathe underwater?”
Izzy screwed up her face. “I guess so,” she said, deflated, and then: “Or not?”
Rory almost chuckled.
“No,” Goldenrod said. “In all my travels, I have never found a seahorse big enough to ride.” He looked at Rory’s mum for a long moment. “But I did find a woman I fell in love with—in a small, odd little town—and she was as beautiful as the sea itself.”
Rory’s ears burned. He felt like he’d just heard something private. He glanced at Izzy, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.
Hilda Sorenson remained stoic.
“But I was called away,” Goldenrod said. “It was my duty. I had to leave the Yellow Trident.” He studied the table. When he looked up, Rory saw his eyes sparkle. “I’ve walked the red sands of Amerand, met the Chevalier of Mercia, and dined on pomegranates with the Emperor of Asiata. I’ve sailed to an island in the Black Sea called Quis, where the only form of life is a species of bird with wings of fire.”
Rory was swept away as his father’s deep and resonant voice reverberated in the room.
“What happened to your hair?” Hilda asked, unimpressed. “When you left all those years ago, it was as black as coal.”
Goldenrod leaned back from the table and released a sigh. “The bane of my existence,” he said, almost in embarrassment, it seemed to Rory.
“Soon after I left Gloom, my crew docked in a place called Otak. There are enchanters in that city who say they can read the future. Over a blazing fire of purple flames, one of them told me I was destined for great things, and that I should have a name worthy of remembrance. He said I would be called ‘Goldenrod.’ When I awoke the next morning . . .”
He ran a finger through a loose strand of golden hair and then raised his eyebrows.
“Your hair changed color overnight?” Rory asked, amazed.
His father only nodded. “From that day forward, in every town, hamlet, village, and city I left, people spoke of the Black Mariner and his golden hair, and thus, the legend was born.”
“So are the stories true?” Rory asked. He wanted them to be true, more than anything.
His father smiled. “Some are. But facts have never stood in the way of a good tale.”
Hilda shook her head. Izzy sat silently, wrapped up in Goldenrod’s history.
“You said you were called away,” Rory said. “By who? Where did you go?”
Goldenrod fingered the rim of his mug as he spoke. “There are things in this world that most would think are merely children’s stories, Rory. Creatures not known to man. And . . . even more terrible tales.” He kneaded his temples with his fingers. “I was on the far side of the globe, where a battle raged for many years. A battle that the folk in Gloom could have never imagined in their wildest dreams.”
“A battle,” Rory whispered. He remembered what Vincent had said: that a war was being fought, with flames in the clouds and vengeful spirits riding the wind.
“What . . . kind of battle?” asked Izzy tentatively.
Goldenrod inhaled and then blew out a weary breath. “We were at war with a creature known as Mara. Mara of the Shadows.”
Panic rose in Rory’s throat as the name was spoken aloud. His father eyed him intently. Izzy seemed to be holding her breath.
“A creature,” Hilda said, more a statement than a question. She knew what Rory and Izzy had been through.
“Indeed, Hilda. There are . . . things that exist in the dark corners of this world, things best left unseen. Mara is one of them. She is a sorceress.”
Rory’s mum turned to her son and then back to Goldenrod. When Rory didn’t speak, Hilda did it for him. “Was a sorceress,” she declared.
The mariner leaned back in his chair and locked eyes with Hilda, and then gazed at everyone, as if seeing them for the first time. “Was?” he questioned. “Of what do you speak? How . . . ?”
“Me and Izzy,” Rory started cautiously. “We . . . I was . . .”
“Arcanus Creatura,” Izzy blurted. “They’re evil people. A man named Lord Foxglove was one of them. Rory went to work for him as a valet, thinking it was just a job.”
“But it wasn’t,” Hilda said, picking up the thread. “He saw things at the manor. Unnatural things. They tried to beat him! And worse!” A tear sparkled in the corner of her eye, and she angrily wiped it away.
Rory reached out and touched her hand.
A host of emotions played on Goldenrod’s features: wonder, anger, and, Rory thought, fear.
“Somehow,” Rory said, “they stole the
shadows of every person in Gloom. No one knew.”
“They don’t know it’s missing until they look,” Izzy said once more.
“And those blasted dark skies hid the sun and light,” Hilda added. “It was near dark before noon for the past several weeks.”
“But Izzy and I found out about it,” Rory said. “We had to stop them.” He paused and licked his lips. “I heard Foxglove and the others talking about a great harvest. Me and Izzy figured out that it was probably the carnival folk that came to Gloom, that they were going to harvest their shadows.”
“Just like everyone else’s in Gloom,” Izzy said.
Rory released a breath. The mere memory was painful.
“We found her,” Izzy continued. “Mara of the Shadows. She was . . . feeding on shadows that Arcanus Creatura stole for her.”
No one had touched the fish stew, which still sat on the stove.
“It all makes sense,” Goldenrod said in a faraway voice.
“What?” Izzy and Rory asked together.
“I was called away by my order to stop this very creature. Years ago now. But as the battle wore on, I was captured, locked in a prison not of this world.” He rubbed his temples again. “That is why I did not return, Hilda. My companions tried to free me, and it cost them dearly, as they lost their lives in the attempt. But Mara was weakened, and she fled—”
“To Gloom,” Rory said.
“A place she had followers,” Izzy added, “that could help her regain her strength.”
“‘My wounds are many,’ she told us,” Rory finished.
Goldenrod looked at them with wonder in his eyes. “And you stopped her? The two of you? Mere children. How?”
“My shadow,” Rory said. “It . . . killed her.”
Goldenrod knit his brow. “How?” he asked again, his voice serious and curious at the same time.
Rory absently raised his hand to the chain he once wore, but it was no longer there. “It was in the stone Mum gave me. My shadow.”
Goldenrod turned to Hilda and shook his head, as if trying to loosen a memory. “The stone, Hilda,” he said urgently, a gleam in his eye. “The one I gave you before I left. I said to always keep it close. Remember?”
Rory’s mum blinked, as if awakening from a dream. “I . . . I gave it to Rory. I told him it was something to remember you by.”
The sea captain nodded. “It was imbued with strong magic,” he declared. “The power of my order. If any harm came to its bearer, the stone would protect them.”
Rory thought his father’s eyes were glassy, but he couldn’t be sure. “So when they tried to steal my shadow,” Rory said, finally understanding, “it went into the stone, where it would be . . . safe? To protect me.”
“I think that is true, Rory,” his father replied.
A long moment of silence descended on the room. Rory saw his mum’s stern expression lessen somewhat when she looked at his father. Perhaps they’ll be okay, he thought. I hope so.
Goldenrod looked at Izzy and then Rory, with what Rory thought was respect. “When you defeated the Queen of Sorrow,” his father began, “her power was shattered, as well as the bonds of my prison, and I was finally free to sail for home. I’m here because of you, Son.”
Son, Rory thought. He called me “Son.”
Izzy smiled wide.
Rory blew out a breath. He stared at the table for a long moment, then swallowed loudly. He and Izzy had not only saved all of Gloom, he’d rescued his father as well. It was a tale beyond belief, and yet, it was true. But he had one more question.
“You said your order,” Rory started. “What order are you talking about?”
A few birds chirruped outside.
“The Order of the Mage.”
“Mage?”
“Yes, Rory,” Goldenrod said. “I am a mage. And so are you.”
Chapter Thirty
The Valet Discovers Himself
A heavy silence filled the room.
“A mage?” Rory finally said.
Goldenrod drew himself up even taller in his chair. “We carry the bloodline of the ancient Sumerians,” he said. “The ones who charted the seas of Europica in the cold light of a new world. I was shown the path by my mother, and now you, too, will learn.”
Izzy nudged Rory. She was practically squirming in her seat. “See? I knew you had magic!”
Rory was stunned. He turned to his mum. “Did you know?” he asked. “Any of this?”
“No,” Hilda said, her face just as shocked as her son’s. “I knew nothing of your heritage.”
Goldenrod locked eyes with her. Rory saw compassion and regret in his father’s gaze. “I did not know you were with child when I was called away, Hilda. If I had, I would have done anything to keep myself close to you.”
Hilda Sorenson straightened her back. A muscle jumped along the hard edge of her jaw. “It wasn’t right,” she said. “I’ve been here all this time, trying to raise the boy as best as I could. And you . . . you were out sailing the bloody seas!”
Izzy glanced from one adult to the other and shrunk in her seat. Rory watched as pain, anger, and even a tiny shred of joy crossed his mum’s face. Her emotions battled one another in front of everyone. Rory didn’t know what to say.
Goldenrod cast his eyes down for a moment, then looked back up. “It was not a playful lark, Hilda. I have paid a price for—not . . . seeing my family.” He drew his hands together and rubbed the scars on his knuckles.
Rory’s mum wasn’t moved. “Not even a message?” she fumed. “A letter?”
The great sea captain shook his head and reached for Hilda’s hand, but she quickly drew it away. Goldenrod froze. Rory’s heart fell. “It was impossible,” his father said, his voice filled with sorrow. “This battle was . . . waged on another plane, a place where the rules and laws of time have no bearing.”
Rory stirred in his seat. He had so many questions, but it felt as if he should wait until his father and mum cleared the air between them first.
Of course, Izzy filled the difficult silence.
“How many others are there?” she asked. “Like you and Rory?”
It was just one of many questions to which Rory wanted an answer.
Goldenrod sighed. “Some sail with me and a few others are scattered in distant lands. There are not many of us left.”
Rory sat still. His mind was racing. He had Sumerian blood.
“The Order of the Mage has existed from time immemorial,” Goldenrod said. He shifted his gaze to his son. The son who had saved him. “Rory will learn the path too.”
Rory couldn’t help but smile, although the air in the room was still tense.
“Not today,” Hilda said. “This has all been too—”
“There is much he needs to know, Hilda.” Goldenrod leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “He will need to learn the—”
“Not today,” Hilda said more firmly.
Goldenrod fell quiet.
It seemed to Rory that his father had suddenly realized just how strange this must be for Rory and his mum. A father, long gone and thought dead, now back home, telling his son he was a mage.
A mage.
“Rest then,” Goldenrod said. “I will take refuge at Black Maddie’s.”
He gave a polite nod and stood up, then walked to the corner of the room and picked up his long wooden staff. Rory got a closer look, and saw that it was engraved with knots and curious marks. Goldenrod glanced at him and then Izzy, and smiled weakly. “I will take my leave.”
He opened the door quietly and stepped out, leaving Rory, Izzy, and Hilda sitting in deafening silence.
* * *
Rory turned over in bed again and stared up at the ceiling.
His father’s words came back to him: I am a mage. And so are you.
He still couldn’t believe it. What did a mage do? He recalled the old tales he’d heard about mages who went from town to town, performing wondrous deeds. Did he have that power in him now
, waiting to be unleashed?
It was all too much.
His father had also said that others had given him the name Goldenrod. So what was his real name? His mum would know. But now he could ask his father himself, he realized.
Rory sighed. Like every child in Gloom, he had grown up with stories of the great Black Mariner and his adventures upon the sea. And now Rory knew the truth. That man was his father. His father!
“Tears of a fish,” he whispered.
He couldn’t pin down his true thoughts. He was happy his father was alive and back in Gloom with him, but it was all so strange and unexpected. And his mum didn’t seem very happy about it at all, although he had seen a spark of compassion in her eyes a few times as his father spoke—something that might be kindled and nurtured to bloom again.
Never in a million years could Rory have imagined this turn of events.
He tossed and turned for most of the night, and finally, when he did fall asleep, he dreamed of birds with wings like fire.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Path
Goldenrod’s arrival in Gloom set the town ablaze with rumors.
War was coming, some said.
It was a sign of the end times, said others.
But Rory knew the truth.
Goldenrod had been freed from a prison conjured by a sorceress known as Mara of the Shadows. Unbeknownst to the town, two children had saved him, one of them being his own son, and the other his son’s best friend, Izzy.
The Black Mariner’s ship, Desire, stayed docked in Gloom and became a magnet for children and other curious onlookers. The crew lodged at Black Maddie’s and a few other inns near the docks, and the local proprietors were happy to have new customers who drank as much as they swore.
The chill between Rory’s parents had thawed somewhat, but he could see that his mum was still adjusting to it all. She was just as affected by Goldenrod’s return as her son was.
Rory was happy that they were finally speaking without so much bitterness. But today, he was nervous.
His father had said it was time to begin his training.
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