Bronze Magic

by Jennifer Ealey

  11

  The world seemed to rush at him and then recede through a sea of pain. Sometimes he tried to move but something was restraining him and he couldn’t summon enough strength to resist it. Each breath sent a searing pain up his back. From time to time, gentle arms lifted his head and some sort of thin broth was poured between his lips. Tarkyn dreaded these times because he could not control his swallowing and would end up coughing. Then as the pain became excruciating, he would collapse back gasping for breath and drift back into oblivion.

  As the days and nights passed, his awareness of the world gradually expanded beyond the pain. He realised his movement was restricted by a strap that held his right arm close to his chest. He became aware of people coming and going, talking quietly. There was one woodman in particular who spent many hours sitting quietly beside him, but Tarkyn had no desire even to acknowledge him. He could not summon enough energy to engage in a game of courtesy with an unwilling liegeman.

  Tarkyn’s body slowly recovered but his spirit sank deeper into isolation. He had spent all his life surrounded by friends and liegemen, ostensibly well-liked. He questioned every past image. Would he have been so popular, had he not been the king’s son? Obviously not. But how far did that go? And now none of those friends, even if they had remained true to him, was available to him now. He relived over and over again his mistreatment at the hands of the bounty hunters. It wasn’t the physical pain that had disturbed him. It was the experience of being regarded as nothing more than a commodity. Nothing in his life, not even his arraignment, had prepared him for being treated with such malice and contempt.

  Sometimes in the night, Tarkyn would hear the sound of running water and realise that a woodman was talking quietly to him. The sound was soothing and gradually, as his strength returned, he began to take in the stories the woodman was telling him – old stories of the history of the woodfolk, mythical legends and newer stories of the day-to-day events that were taking place outside the shelter. The woodman did not seem to require any response from the ailing young man.

  Finally, Tarkyn asked, “Are you the healer?”

  “No, my lord. I’m not. With food, water and rest, your body is healing itself now.”

  “Are you guarding over me?”

  “No, my lord. Others outside are keeping watch.”

  There was a long pause. Then the prince said, “Nothing in that wretched oath compels you to sit here hour after hour.”

  “No, Sire. But not all actions are governed by oaths and people don’t act only under compulsion.”

  Tarkyn turned dark, haunted eyes to regard the woodman. The man was older than he, strongly built with a square jaw and firm mouth but kind eyes “Then why are you here?” Tarkyn croaked, his voice dry from lack of use.

  “I am here because I choose to be.”

  “Oh.” Tarkyn closed his eyes while he thought about this. A few minutes later, he asked snarkily, without reopening his eyes, “I suppose you feel sorry for me? Are you one of those do-gooders looking for a pet project?”

  A rippling laugh greeted this sully. “I think you must be feeling better. You’re getting tetchy.”

  Tarkyn opened his eyes and glared at the woodman.

  “And in answer to your question,” continued the woodman mildly, “yes. I do feel sorry for you. I would feel sorry for anyone who had been bashed around as much as you have been – severe concussion, at least three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, multiple bruising….”

  Tarkyn waved a feeble hand to tell him to desist.

  The woodman smiled and kept burbling, “And I like to think that I am reasonably kind, although do-gooder might be an exaggeration.”

  Tarkyn waved his hand again and mumbled, “All right, all right. You’ve made your point.”

  He closed his eyes again and took a few slow, deep breaths. When he had recovered, he looked once more at the woodman.

  “However,” burbled the woodman before the prince could speak, “I think it is fair to say that you are my pet project.” Then, with a grin over his shoulder, the woodman was gone.

  For the first time since his accident, Tarkyn thought about something other than his isolation and misery. The woodman had intrigued him and he didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed to find that he had become someone’s pet project.

  When the woodman returned the following day bearing his breakfast, Tarkyn was ready for him. Between mouthfuls of porridge, the prince said, “Now I’m beginning to feel better, I have a lot of questions that need answering.”

  “I thought you might have,” said the woodman warily. “Go on.”

  “Can you begin by telling me your name? I think I have met you before but I’m not sure. My memory is a little hazy.”

  “I am Waterstone, my lord.”

  The prince smiled faintly. “Yes, I should have known from the sound of your voice.” After a pause, he asked, “And where is Stormaway? I thought he would have been in to see me.” Tarkyn tried not to sound plaintive, but a glance from the woodman told him he had not completely succeeded.

  “He should be back soon. He’s been gone more than a fortnight,” said Waterstone reassuringly.

  Tarkyn stared at him. “A fortnight?”

  The woodman smiled. “You were badly injured, you know. You didn’t regain consciousness at all for the first week.” While the prince mulled this over, Waterstone continued, “The wizard left the forest with the three sorcerers who captured you on his tail. He had some plan of leading the bounty hunters off on a false trail.” Waterstone leant down and picked up the spoon that Tarkyn had just dropped onto the earthen floor and handed it back without giving a thought to washing it. The prince accepted it without comment and wiped it on his sleeve.

  “Does he know what he’s doing? I wouldn’t want him or any of you to be hurt by those bounty hunters.” Tarkyn glanced at Waterstone. “They were an unpleasant lot,” he added a little too casually.

  “Yes, I know. I was shadowing you for a large part of that morning,” Waterstone took away the breakfast plates and stood looking down at the prince, “You didn’t once look for us or give any indication to those bastards that we might be nearby. That wasn’t a bad effort, considering that you had only just met us.”

  The sorcerer smiled self-deprecatingly. “I didn’t need to look to see if you were around. I knew you must be trying to protect me somehow, because the forest was calm. Besides which, I am honour bound to protect you, even as you are to protect me.”

  “Anyway, you needn’t fear for the wizard or the woodfolk. Those sorcerers wouldn’t even have known the woodfolk were there and Stormaway is a master of disguise. From what I hear, he led them through the woods and out into a nearby village, looking very much like you from the back.” The woodman frowned. “They sound as if they were very easily fooled. Why wouldn’t they have thought of you translocating?”

  “People believe what they see.” Tarkyn shrugged awkwardly, using only one shoulder. “I suppose it didn’t occur to them, if there was a figure like me running off through the woods. Besides, very few sorcerers can translocate and I don’t think anyone, other than Stormaway and you woodfolk, knows that I can do it. Everyone else will have assumed that I just ran away from the Great Hall in the general confusion.” He raised his eyebrows. “I must say, after my last two inauspicious attempts, I won’t be rushing to try it again.” He looked quizzically at Waterstone. “On which topic, who do I have to thank for giving me an acorn from halfway up a great oak tree?”

  Waterstone grimaced, “To be honest, it could have been any one of us. Someone thought of the idea of giving you something to use to translocate. So we hunted around under the oak tree, came up with a selection of good, healthy acorns and chose the best looking one. We thought you would come back to where we picked the acorn up.”

  “And instead, I came back to exact place where the acorn had been created, halfway up the tree.”

  “Yes. As soon as you appeared up there in the tre
e it was blindingly obvious what had happened, but hindsight didn’t stop you from falling. Actually, several woodfolk are also sporting injuries from that incident, you know.”

  Tarkyn frowned, “No. I didn’t know. So, what happened to them?”

  “You fell on them, Your Highness!” replied the woodman shortly. “But they’ll be all right. One has a wrenched knee; another has a couple of bruised ribs. I think the rest have pretty much recovered by now.”

  “Oh, I see. Oh dear. I’m quite heavy when I’m close to the ground, let alone when I’m thrown from a great height.” The prince closed his eyes for a few minutes. This much talking required more energy than anything he had done in the last fortnight. Then his curiosity overcame his exhaustion and he asked, “And how did I come to be lying unprotected in the middle of that clearing when the sorcerers found me? I noticed that you had all found time to cover the signs of your own presence but had left me to my own devices.”

  Waterstone stood up and poured a cup full of water from a stone jar in the corner and brought it over to Tarkyn while he considered what to say. “It was a series of wrong assumptions and errors on our part and, I suppose, a lack of preparation. You had slept out in the open the night before and all had been well. So we didn’t fully appreciate how much danger you might be in.” He glanced at the prince, “To be honest, we were all struggling to come to terms with our new status that night and a lot of wine was consumed in the process. And I’m afraid, because of that, we did not get around to building a shelter large enough to house you. So we just hoped for the best. When the lookouts sent warnings that strangers were approaching, we tried to wake you to get you into hiding but all our attempts were unsuccessful.”

  The prince frowned, “What attempts? I didn’t hear anyone.”

  The woodman considered him for a moment. “You may not remember… Firstly, someone dropped leaves and twigs on you. Then, when that didn’t work…’”

  Light dawned on the prince’s face. “You sent in a cockroach, didn’t you?”

  Waterstone gave a little smile. “So you remember the cockroach then?”

  “Now you mention it, I even remember the annoying twigs and leaves. I just didn’t realise what they signified.” Tarkyn gave a wry grin, “I’m afraid your wine was stronger than I had bargained for, especially combined with that tonic. I began the day with a terrible headache which events conspired to make worse by every conceivable means until I was finally knocked out.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’m afraid my head is beginning to pound again at the moment.”

  “Perhaps that’s enough questions for now.”

  The prince nodded slightly but didn’t speak. After a while, the woodman stood up quietly and left him to rest.

  The next morning, the little girl who had given him the wine before the oath-taking, brought him his bowl of porridge. “My dad says you’re getting up today. I am Sparrow.”

  The prince stopped eating to smile at her. “Hello Sparrow. My name is Tarkyn.” He took another mouthful of porridge. “Who is your father? The healer?”

  The little girl shook her head vigorously. “No. My dad’s Waterstone.” She frowned reprovingly at him. “You should know him by now. You’ve spent enough time with him.”

  The prince smiled, “Oh, is that your dad? You’re right. I should know him by now, but I have been sick and haven’t been listening very well.”

  “I get into trouble if I don’t listen.” Sparrow confided.

  Tarkyn gave a short laugh then gasped as a pain shot through his chest. The little girl put down the porridge and frowned with worry. “Are you all right?”

  The prince nodded mutely as he breathed in gently, trying not to move his damaged ribs.

  “I think I’d better get my dad,” said Sparrow nervously and disappeared outside.

  By the time Waterstone arrived, Tarkyn was lying down again. He opened his eyes when he heard the woodman enter and said, “I’m sorry if I frightened your daughter. I’m afraid something she said made me laugh.”

  “Oh, I see. That must have hurt. I’ll tell her to stop cracking jokes.”

  Tarkyn put up a hand. “Please. Don’t. It hurts too much.”

  Waterstone was unrepentant. “It’s going to hurt more when I get you up.”

  “Oh stars above, do I have to? I don’t think I’m ready.”

  “Your Highness, your body has been well enough for several days now. It is your spirit that has been ailing.”

  “I see,” said the prince. “Now I know why you’re here. You are a spiritual healer.”

  The woodman rolled his eyes. “No Sire! Can no-one speak to you unless they have a role to fulfil?”

  Tarkyn glanced at Waterstone and then looked away. “Anyone can speak to me. I just assumed that after having that oath forced on them, no-one would want to unless they had to.”

  “I have already told you that I didn’t have to sit with you all that time and I didn’t have to talk to you either. Did you think I was lying?” Waterstone sounded distinctly annoyed.

  “I beg your pardon,” the prince said stiffly. “I did not mean to offend you.” He smiled faintly. “Your daughter told me she gets into trouble if she doesn’t listen to you. Looks like the same holds true for me too.”

  The nuggety woodman smiled perfunctorily in return, then gave Tarkyn’s good shoulder a pat and sat down next to him. “I can see you won’t let this rest, Your Highness, so I will save you the trouble of continuing your guessing game and tell you why I’ve spent all this time with you.”

  Tarkyn could feel his stomach tensing as he waited to hear what would be asked of him. In his brother’s court, no one did anything for anyone without a reason.

  The woodman looked him straight in the eye and said, “It’s simply this. I watched you talking to Stormaway and I saw how you handled Tree Wind and the rest of us - and I liked what I saw. Most of it, anyway. Since then you’ve become confused by the whole oath business and for a while there, you were downright maudlin after your run-in with the bounty hunters, but basically you seem to be an interesting sort of character with a dry sense of humour and more integrity than many people I’ve met. And right now, despite your title and your exalted status, you could do with a friend. So here I am.” Waterstone cleared his throat self-consciously. “I know that sounds a bit wet. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you, really. It’s better if friendship can just develop over time. But that bloody oath has made you so mistrustful….” Waterstone gave a grunt of laughter. “It’s paradoxical really. The oath was designed to bind us together but instead it has pushed us apart.”

  Tarkyn desperately needed a friend but a lifetime of disingenuity had taught him to trust no one. He could not easily accept this man or any other as a friend. The offer of friendship just raised his suspicions and highlighted his aloneness. He could make no reply. Waterstone heard the prince swallow and saw a solitary tear escape from the side of his eye to trace its way down his cheek. Tarkyn turned his head away and put his hand over his eyes.

  For a long while, the woodman sat there quietly. Then when he judged the time was right, he stood up and clapped Tarkyn on his good shoulder and said briskly, “And now, Your Highness, I am going to submit you to the torture of standing up.”

  Tarkyn sniffed, uncovered his eyes and said flatly, “I can’t.”

  “Oh yes, you can. Bring your knees up, and then roll onto your left side. From there, get onto your left hand and knees… That’s it! Now I’ll help you get up from there.”

  Tarkyn gritted his teeth and complied. It was a trying process. Every muscle in his body was stiff and protested at being moved. On top of this, his ribs sent stabs of pain through his chest and back. As he prepared to straighten up, the woodman resisted him.

  “Whoa. The roof’s too low. You’ll have to stay bent over until we get outside.”

  “Bent over is good.” Tarkyn managed to say. “I think straightening up will be a whole new challenge.”

  “I think
you could be right,” agreed Waterstone. He called out to his daughter. “Sparrow, can you move the screening aside please?”

  A rustle of leaves and branches followed this request and the prince looked through the doorway to discover that they were in the middle of a huge bramble patch. Waterstone supported the prince outside and through a short series of winding paths until they found themselves at a point halfway between the clearing and the river.

  “All right?” asked Waterstone.

  When Tarkyn nodded, Waterstone said, “Now try straightening up. Take it slowly.”

  Tarkyn grunted as he straightened but gave no other sign of the effort it cost him.

  “Come on,” encouraged the woodman, as he placed Tarkyn’s good arm across his shoulders. “Let’s walk down to the river and rest on those rocks.”

  Tarkyn sent him a sideways glance. The river looked a million miles away. However, he said nothing, clenched his teeth and set himself the task of making it the forty yards to the river.

  Halfway there, Tarkyn’s legs were trembling and his weight bore down ever harder on Waterstone’s shoulders. The woodman was contrite. “My lord, I believe I have set you too hard a task for your first time out of bed.”

  “Maybe, but I would like to get down to the river, if I can.” The prince took a slow deep breath then asked, “I know I’m pretty heavy. Do you think you can make the distance?”

  “Of course I can ma…” Waterstone stopped mid-word and looked around to see the prince’s eyes twinkling at him. “Very funny,” grunted the woodman, but he was not deceived. He knew it was costing the young man an enormous effort to keep going. For a couple of seconds, Waterstone’s eyes went out of focus but Tarkyn’s reaction was immediate. He pulled away and scowled down at the woodman.