I opened my mouth to protest that all this was irrelevant since my father was not a practicing sorcerer, but Ystevan cut me off. “I know what you will say, you will say that your father is a good man, and so forth, and will never do sorcery again. That is not good enough. He has had recourse to sorcery.
“Think, little one. If I should heal your father, how would I feel if he went away, and prompted, perhaps, by some Foreseeing of danger to you, he reverted to sorcery again, caused panic to sweep the country, and a sheiling-fort, say Torr Shyvalere; my sister’s home, to be destroyed, all its elfin slaughtered.
“No, I will not heal your father, and that is why. Or rather, that is merely the primary practical reason why I will not. It is morally out of the question, of course.” His tone was icy...
I looked back up into Ystevan’s watchful face and tried not to bite my lip.
“You remember?”
I nodded and thought it best to drop the subject for a while. Give myself time to think how to respond. What had I said? Then? Clearly it hadn’t worked. Not an encouraging thought.
“So...so why do demons chew on the wards?” I asked. “You did say they chew on the wards, didn’t you? Are they that desperate to kill elfin?”
Ystevan shrugged. “I think when they chew on the wards they are thinking not so much of wholesale slaughter but of getting to our elflings. You probably remember that I told you that they would kill any adult elfin, but elflings are a different matter. Their chances of taking an adult are extremely low, but elflings are far, far more vulnerable. You can be sure we guard them very closely indeed. Young elflings must not go beyond the wards without an adult, even in daytime. Older elflings must always be in a group until they come of age.”
I frowned to myself. “You are very careful then,” I could not help remarking, “since you say demons cannot even come out in the daylight.”
“Indeed they cannot, but they can be hiding in shade,” replied the guardian, “and accidents can happen that can prevent any elfin or elfling from getting within the wards before nightfall. And can you imagine, Serapia, what it is like to lose one of one’s young ones like that?”
Uneasily, I queried, “Lose...?”
Ystevan looked grim. “If they are lost to a demon. Think, Serapia. One dark elfin in among the humans, engaged in acts of spite, malice or sheer evil, and what are the repercussions for us? Humans are so dangerous—and so many—and our safety lies in their goodwill. A lost child can rarely be recovered, and they are far too dangerous to be left alive.”
I swallowed, understanding. A decision like that must touch everyone in the fort if the population, by human standards, was so small. There could be no impartial executioner among the Elfin.
“That’s why you’re here,” I said softly.
Ystevan looked away for a moment, then back at me, his eyes dark. “Yes. It is a guardian’s duty. We are the ones who are responsible for seeing that they are not lost in the first place. It’s a matter of fort security, after all.”
Now that must be a good incentive for the guardians to perform their duties fastidiously... Oh. No wonder he was so willing to steal my memories.
I pushed that thought away for now, and started racking my brains as to how I could bring up the matter of my father again, trying to keep my mind on that rather than Siridean, to whom it kept turning.
But when I finally drew in a breath, he turned his head to me with a very sharp look and spoke instead. “I think I have made it plain, Serapia, that it is a similar reason why I will not heal a sorcerer.”
“But…” I began.
He cut me off. “I have a much-loved nephew. Well, what you humans would call a fourth cousin, but we elfin are very close to our extended family and we have a lot of it. I dandled little Arathain on my knees when I was an elfling, played with him as he grew. I was there the first time he rode a deer. I helped teach him as he grew strong in his elfin abilities. He was sweet-natured and brave; we all thought he would grow up to be a guardian.
“Then one day he went out with his decade group, and he got separated from them. Failed to make it back within the wards before nightfall. We have searched for him for many years and found nothing. But now we know that my little nephew is here in London. And so I have come to find him. And when I find him, I will kill him. Do you understand?”
His face was hard as granite, but his nostrils were pinched with pain. “My people’s security is my duty and nothing can come before that. Do you really think there are any circumstances in which I would agree to heal your father?”
I stared at him in silence, temporarily rendered speechless. Well before I could form any reply, he suddenly craned his neck in that odd way that was not exactly sniffing. Or perhaps it was, but sniffing with his crest.
A split second later he dived forward as though to escape something rushing at him from behind—Raven shrieked and recoiled so violently she fell from my shoulder—as Ystevan went, he twisted onto his back, both his hands shooting out, palms thrusting with considerable force, and a cloud of…of safyrs… rose from his body to hurtle in the direction of whatever he was fleeing… For just a second, they seemed to strike against an unseen shape, momentarily outlining—impeding—something…
As they began to fade, Ystevan rolled up into a crouch, his stick in one hand, the other darting to that long pouch he wore at his belt—and coming out with a…an arrow!
By the time he’d raised the shaft, his other hand held not a stick, but his bow, on which he notched and released the arrow in one smooth movement. It flicked across my vision and…disappeared, about where the safyrs had betrayed the presence of that unseen thing. Raven hung from my hair, wings thrashing as she tried to climb up again and I reached back to help her.
Ystevan was already notching and releasing another arrow, rising seamlessly to his feet even as he did so—I knew he was a skilled hunter, but for the first time, Sir Allen’s comment about Ystevan’s martial prowess came back into my mind. He made my dueling father look as graceless and harmless as a toothless old sow.
Ystevan was moving forward now, eyes bright and fierce, as though driving something before him. He loosed another arrow, and followed his unseen aggressor a little further—tables firmly turned by now, it seemed fairly clear.
Raven safely back on my shoulder—in fact, plastered to my neck, shaking—I trailed after him at a distance as he closed in on one of the thickest trees, getting within about ten feet of it before suddenly whipping out his dagger and darting around to place the trunk between himself and the hollow knoll that lay between two wizened roots.
As he reached around the trunk to drive the dagger into this hole, hard, several times, I edged close enough to get a good look—though keeping something of a distance. The knoll was large enough that I myself could have squeezed in, at a pinch, but I still couldn’t spot anything.
After a few more blows, Ystevan finally stepped back, still with the trunk between himself and the opening, wiped his (clean) dagger in the grass and returned it to his sheath. He glanced around the park—still deserted—then gave the bow a quick shake and suddenly he held his stick again.
Now I understood why he carried the silly thing everywhere!
He brushed a hand over the quiver that hung at his side, and it was once more that strangely long pouch. “Let’s find some sunshine, shall we?” he suggested airily.
But he was frowning as we headed out from under the trees. “A demon should not have ventured out into that level of light,” he muttered to himself. “Unless…” He scowled even harder.
“Unless what?” I asked.
“Uh…no matter.”
“I’m not a fainting violet!”
“Very well, someone must have put the word out to kill me. And put it out pretty wide. Someone powerful, if they’re ordering demons around. That thing would never have come out otherwise, let alone attacked a guardian. Still,” he gave a satisfied nod, and spoke much more lightly, “That’s one demon that
will be too busy crawling home tonight to get up to anything else.”
“You didn’t kill it?”
Ystevan gave a slight laugh. His black mood seemed to have eased somewhat. “Could one kill an angel? I’m afraid demons can’t be killed. I always think it’s rather unfair, but that’s how it is. That one, however, will not feel like troubling anyone for some time to come.”
“I couldn’t see anything,” I pointed out.
“Did you really expect to?” Ystevan asked with rather a teasing smile, sitting down on the grass—in full sunshine.
Biting my lip, I sat beside him, suddenly feeling foolish. Of course I couldn’t see anything! I concentrated on stroking Raven, who still seemed so terrified she’d surely seen all there was to see.
“Oh, my poor little friend,” Ystevan said, reaching out to Raven himself. “Never had a demon rush at you before, hmm? Come here, eh?” Quivering, she crept onto his palm, her head and body held low, peeping up at him rather hopefully. His gentle fingertip found all the right places, running up under her chin and rubbing in between her ears. He crooned softly to her as he stroked, and before long she was curled up in his palm, her tiny forepaws wrapped around the base of his thumb, calm and happy.
Thinking about what Ystevan had told me about the creation of the Elfin, it was only then that a most horrible thought struck me. “Could…that demon have hurt Raven?”
Ystevan smiled slightly. “Theoretically, but since the Good Lord designed dragons to guard hell, it’s probably not surprising that on a spiritual level their hide is fairly demon-proof, and dragonets are no different. A demon might harm one if they really put their mind to it, but even a little dragonet like Raven would be such a tough nut to crack, a demon would need to be really motivated. But I think this poor little one is far too young and inexperienced to know that.” He directed a tender gaze at Raven.
“I remember when Eraldis met his first demon!” He shook his head. “You’d have thought he’d been laid in the wrong hearth, you really would! But he’s a proper guardian’s dragonet now. Minor things like demons don’t concern him at all!”
Yes, Eraldis, suspicious Eraldis...where was he? When I peered closely at Ystevan’s willowy form, from top to bottom, he laughed. “Oh, he’s back at Torr Elkyn, safe with my mother. He’s getting too big to hide, now. He’ll be glad when I’m back. So will I, for that matter. I don’t like leaving him, but I don’t have much choice.”
“So, dragonets aren’t…wild?” Had I asked this before?
Apparently not—at any rate Ystevan shrugged and replied. “There are some wild dragonets, but not many. The dragonets have been living with the Elfin for so long most of them have forgotten how to live on their own. They’re terribly cuckooish with their eggs, as well, which has helped their, er, domestication, if I can call it that. Sometimes a newly mated couple will raise a chick, but usually they just choose an elfin’s hearth, lay their egg there, and go away and forget about it. The chick becomes the elfin’s problem, or treasure, as the case may be, hence it’s small wonder if it never occurs to them to go off and live wild in the hills with their big cousins.”
He smiled down at Raven again. “Goodness knows I was desperate for a dragonet of my own when I was little. When Eraldis’s egg was finally laid in our hearth, you should have seen me hovering over it, day and night! I was so worried I’d miss the hatching and the chick would choose Alvidra instead!”
“Didn’t she hover too?”
“Alvidra, hover over a dragonet egg? No, she wasn’t bothered. Thankfully, or things would have been much more fraught.”
“But why did Raven’s mother lay her egg in a human’s hearth?” I asked. “Raven was nearly killed at birth!”
Ystevan sighed. “Well, their maternal and paternal instincts have been very much eroded by generations and generations of fostering their chicks on the Elfin. They are far less concerned about their eggs than dragons are. Anyway, her mother could have been hurt and had to lay the egg in the nearest suitable place, or something like that. For I must say, a human’s hearth seems careless even for a dragonet!”
He glanced at Raven again—she was fast asleep. “Well, this little one’s calm enough, now. She’ll feel better after a nice nap.” He tipped Raven carefully into my waiting hand, and I tucked her down my bodice. She turned drowsily, making herself comfortable in the new space, and went back to sleep.
Ystevan unfastened his cuff and only then did I notice the bloody gashes on his arm. Suddenly dragonets and hearths and eggs were wiped from my mind…
“Don’t look so worried.” He started to run a finger over the wounds in a tracing, stroking motion, and the bleeding ceased.
“That was the demon?” I demanded, my pulse accelerating.
He nodded. “It got me just at the end there. Even if it can’t be killed, you can hardly expect anything to sit still and be stabbed without fighting back. Least of all a demon. But it was worth it to ensure it’s thoroughly incapacitated for a while.”
“That’s it!” I declared. Finally, finally I knew.
“That’s what?”
“It was a demon! A demon cut him to pieces. That’s why I couldn’t see it!”
“Cut who to pieces?” said the guardian, thoroughly baffled.
“Siridean,” I replied distractedly, running through my memories again. Yes, I was quite certain. The mystery was finally solved.
“Siri...” Ystevan broke off as though he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Are you talking about an elfin?” he demanded harshly.
I blinked and gave him my attention again. “Well, yes, I’m pretty sure he was.”
Ystevan’s lips drew into a grim line. “The only elfin I know of with that name is a dark elfin!”
I bristled at his tone but was somehow not particularly surprised by his words. “Well, he’s dead.”
“Good,” retorted the guardian. “Good riddance.”
“He wasn’t all bad,” I snapped, unable to hold my tongue. “He was kind.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He was a dark elfin—evil through and through.”
“He was not!” I cried, stung by his tone, manner, words and all. “He saved my life! He fought a demon rather than hurt me, and it killed him! How can you make such a presumption? Did you even know him?” My voice broke and I felt perilously close to tears. It was no surprise to learn that Siridean had not exactly been on the side of the angels, but to hear him condemned as irredeemably evil was unbearable. And, I felt quite sure, untrue.
Ystevan blinked and touched my shoulder gently. My distress and my fervent certainty seemed to have made an impression on him. “I did not know him, little one, you’re right,” he said levelly. “Why don’t you tell me how you came to do so?”
So I stumbled through the sad tale for the first time in my life. The guardian listened intently and allowed me to reach the tragic conclusion without interrupting. When I’d finished, he remained silent for a moment, clearly lost in thought.
“Siridean of Clan Varannis,” he said at last, “was from a fort in the south of England. He was taken by a demon at the unusually advanced age of twelve hadavin, or sixty by human reckoning. He and the demon were pursued, of course, but never caught...” He fell silent again for a moment and I waited patiently, hungry for more information, though a whole raft of elfin age-related questions were blossoming in my mind.
“From what you say,” Ystevan went on, “it sounds as though the demon never really managed to make Siridean his own. The process of corruption is as follows, you see. The demon succeeds in taking an elfling in thrall; you might call it possession, for want of a better word. Once the elfling is in thrall the demon can control them and make them do all manner of wickedness, calculated to exploit that elfling’s natural weaknesses. Small things, to start with, hence why the sooner they can be caught the better; the less harm they will have done. But also why they are much harder to find and, if not caught the moment they are taken, often go undiscover
ed for quite some time.
“Gradually the evil deeds grow in scale and the impressionable elfling becomes truly corrupt. Once the demon is sure of them, they will release them and seek a new victim, leaving them to their evil-doing. At this point, Serapia, there really will be no good left in them. I’m not exaggerating. Don’t you ever, ever trust a dark elfin, or…or think you can get them to repent.
“But it sounds as though the demon never corrupted Siridean quite enough to feel sure of him and had to keep him in thrall far longer than was practical. Like skin, bones and virtually everything, an elfin’s will toughens as they get older and the permeability that leaves them vulnerable to demons is lost. So eventually, I surmise, Siridean managed to break free of his demon and there was still enough good in him that he was not prepared to let it take him again, even though he must have known that to resist was certain death.”
I swallowed, remembering. I felt pretty sure that Ystevan was exactly right. “I told you he was good really,” I whispered.
Ystevan gave me a rather pitying look. “Serapia,” he said gently, “he clearly meant well by you, but the state he must have been in, I think you were safer without him.”
I swallowed again and said nothing. A tiny practical voice said that he might be right, but four years of intense longing for the kindness and security that had been briefly offered and so cruelly snatched away were not easily silenced.
I rubbed the hilt of my dagger through the slit in my skirts, feeling that slight, comforting presence. Ystevan eyed the place where the dagger was hidden as though he could sense it through the cloth, but with surprisingly endearing tact, did not inquire about it. Was the hematite’s safyr still loyal to Siridean? Was that why it looked out at me with his eyes? Maybe it was the power of the safyr combined with my tiny talents, that made the dagger fly true… But…questions for another day, perhaps…
Eventually I looked again at his bloody arm and my thoughts returned to his chilling declaration concerning the duty that had brought him to London. His own nephew…
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