Bronze Magic

by Jennifer Ealey

  Tarkyn frowned, “So how could such actions be condemned?”

  The healer shrugged, “The woodfolk decided that Falling Rain had betrayed the sacred trust of his people and that, regardless of his reasons, should be banished.”

  Tarkyn whistled under his breath. “For pity’s sake! That is a harsh judgement, when one could equally argue that he should be regarded as the saviour of his people”

  “Yes, my lord. It was very harsh. Yet a people’s saviour does not lead them into subjugation.”

  “Death or submission. That was the choice presented by my father.” The prince ran his fingers through his hair. “Stars above! Your poor brother. What a choice!”

  “In the end, it was all of us who made that choice,” Waterstone pointed out. “Falling Rain’s crime was making our existence known to the king.”

  “I see.” The prince thought for a moment. “And am I right in saying that this choice has not affected your lifestyle in the intervening years?”

  “Yes, that is true.” answered Summer Rain. “Except in the abstract, of course – in our view of ourselves and in knowing that one day, our debt would be called in.”

  “In the shape of myself.” Tarkyn considered the healer as she packed away her herbs and bandages. Finally he asked, “And do you think Falling Rain should have been banished?”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted Waterstone quietly, “I have to go and check on Sparrow.” Since the woodman could easily have mind linked with his daughter, Tarkyn raised his eyebrows slightly in query. “And I’ll fashion a walking stick for you while I’m there,” added Waterstone quickly. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  When he had gone, the prince turned to Summer Rain. “What was that all about?”

  The woodwoman gave a gentle smile. “Waterstone does not want to become involved in influencing your decisions.”

  “I presume that means he has a strong view on this subject.” observed the prince.

  “Yes, he does, but I would not betray his intentions by telling you what it is,” said the healer firmly.

  “Nor would I expect you to,” the prince retaliated stiffly. “But you have not yet told me your own views on your brother’s banishment.”

  The healer met his gaze steadily. “Until recently, I have always advocated that Falling Rain should not have been exiled, certainly not for such a long period of time. Many woodfolk agreed with me, especially those who had been saved or whose relatives had been saved by your father and the wizard.”

  “But then,” continued the prince for her, “I came into the forest and now the debt has been called in.”

  Summer Rain nodded. “And the forest has already been damaged twice in the short time you have been here.”

  Tarkyn thought of saying that the incidence of damage to the forest was likely to decrease as the woodfolk came to terms with the power of the oath, but on balance he decided that the comment might be more harmful than helpful. So he merely asked, “So, what is your view now?”

  “As both a healer and his sister, I still believe that his betrayal of us did more good than harm. But now memories of the sickness have faded and the reality of your presence has swung away most of the support I might have had.”

  Politics is alive and well and living in the woodlands, thought the prince. He closed his eyes, imagining the pull of opposing forces dragging at him. He took a careful, deep breath and gazed steadfastly at the floor as he thought through what he was saying, “So, on the one hand, you resent me and all I represent but on the other hand, you know I could choose to end your brother’s exile.” He raised his eyes to look at her. “And because Falling Rain was exiled for complying with my father’s wishes, it seems likely that I would champion his cause.”

  She returned his stare in silence. When he said nothing further, Summer Rain swallowed and said tightly, “And yet you will not.”

  The prince shook his head slowly. “I have not said that. I will think on it. However, I am facing enough resentment at the moment without overturning such a pivotal decision. I can’t do that on such short acquaintance. It would look as though I had no respect for woodfolk lore.”

  The healer’s gentle green eyes flashed. “I doubt there is much you could do to persuade us that you respect us. Meanwhile, my brother will suffer in exile to ease your passage into our society.”

  “Charmingly put, ma’am,” said the prince with heavy irony. “And on that note, might I suggest we close the discussion?”

  Summer Rain looked as though she would say more but the forbidding expression on the prince’s face stopped her. As she left the shelter bearing her bag of herbs and bandages, Tarkyn relented enough to say stiffly to her retreating back, “Do not despair. I will not forget your brother’s plight. Thank you for your care.”

  By the time Waterstone returned, Tarkyn had managed to wash himself using the basin of water that had been left for him in the corner of the room and had dressed himself in his new woodfolk garb. The effort of this activity had depleted his reserve of energy and he was lying down recovering when Waterstone walked in, bearing a long sturdy staff of wood.

  Again the woodman’s face showed signs of strain and although he smiled as he presented Tarkyn with the staff and commented on his new clothes, there was a haunted look at the back of his eyes.

  Tarkyn frowned in concern. “What is wrong, Waterstone? I feel you have withdrawn from me. Are you still angry with me because of Sparrow? What is it?”

  Waterstone looked at him without speaking for several seconds, and then made up his mind. “Come. I will show you.”

  When they had emerged from the winding path through the brambles, the prince found himself facing a scene of devastation. Twigs and branches littered the ground. Broken branches hung, half ripped off standing trees. Some smaller trees had been virtually stripped bare of leaves. From where he stood, Tarkyn could see at least three fallen trees other than the great oak. The prince stood and surveyed the scene for long minutes before asking, “How far does the damage go?” he asked quietly. “Is it like this throughout the forest?”

  “No.” Waterstone shook his head, his eyes bright with tears. “Probably thanks to your intervention, the damage is all within a two hundred yard radius. But look what I’ve done,” The woodman waved an encompassing hand. “How can I live with this?”

  Tarkyn remembered his father saying that breaking the oath would destroy the woodfolks’ souls. The sorcerer glanced at the distressed woodman and without thinking about it, sent waves of understanding and strength to him, as he said, “Waterstone, you do not bear all the blame for this. We both did something wrong but more than either of us, my father let loose a great evil when he created this sorcerous oath in the first place. If he had to impose an oath, it should have been an oath of honour. He showed no respect for the integrity of woodfolk when he bound your compliance to the welfare of the forest.” He looked at the woodman. “Can we walk down to the river? I can’t stand up for long.”

  Waterstone nodded and they set off slowly, Tarkyn using the staff for support as his back and legs muscles complained. He still found the walk difficult but was able to make the distance without a break or assistance. He lowered himself down against the rocks with a sigh of satisfaction. Waterstone did not sit down, but paced around tidying up debris or gazing up into damaged trees. Finally, he sat on a rock opposite Tarkyn and ran his hands through his light brown hair. He gazed at the river for a few minutes then took a deep breath and swung his eyes around to face the patiently waiting young sorcerer.

  “Tarkyn, I don’t know whether I can do this.”

  Tarkyn could feel his heart beating slow and hard. He knew what was coming and thought it ironic that Waterstone had finally used his name. “Go on,” he said.

  “When you were unconscious, when you were ill and isolated, I didn’t understand the complications of …I don’t know… spending time around you.” The woodman picked up a couple of pebbles and started tossing them up and down, just as he had
when they had been beside the river two days earlier. He took his eyes off the prince to focus on the pebbles. “There are so many things that are difficult…I don’t know where to start. There’s your enormous magical power that seems to become erratic when your emotions get the better of you. You have absolute dominion over the future of the woodfolk if you want it and I can already see the vultures gathering, waiting to use your influence. I don’t know how to act to keep neutral. I don’t know how to be a friend and not have opinions. And if I have opinions, you’ll start thinking I’m trying to use you…. and I’ll be drafted into one camp or the other and people will try to make me influence you. But if I don’t have opinions, who am I? And on top of all that, there’s the stinking oath. I don’t blame you for it, but now I know how destructive it is, how can I risk being unrestrained around you? When does anger start a windstorm?” He dropped the pebbles and shook his head. He looked back up at the prince. “It’s all so hard,” he finished disconsolately.

  Tarkyn gave Waterstone a rueful smile. “I know it’s hard being around me. I have to do it all the time, but at least I’m used to it. I do understand and I’m sorry you have had to go through all this when you have done so much to help me. If you cannot cope with me and all that goes with me, I will miss your company but I will understand.”

  Waterstone stood up and started to pace up and down in some agitation. Finally, he came to stand in front of the prince and glowered down at him. “The trouble with you is that you’re too bloody noble. If you were less understanding, I might be able to walk away and leave you to your fate but I can’t. Anyway, I don’t want to. I just don’t know how to deal with it all.”

  Such a wave of relief came flooding into Waterstone’s mind that he blinked. “And that’s another thing,” said the woodman, half crossly and half laughing, “You work out how to use mind links and then develop your own weird style. We use images and words. You use images and feelings. Do you realise you’re flooding me with your relief at the moment?”

  Tarkyn managed to look guilty and embarrassed all at once. “You’re right, aren’t you? My emotions do run riot at times, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do. And when they do, things tend to go haywire. You’re an absolute disaster area, all things considered.”

  Tarkyn shrugged, “That’s how I got into this mess in the first place.” He realised what he had just said and added quickly, “Not that I mean to imply that….”

  Waterstone interrupted him with a half-smile, “Don’t even try to get out of that one. You’ll just tie yourself in knots and won’t convince me you didn’t mean it anyway.” He sat down on the ground next to Tarkyn and became serious again. “You will have to help me, Tarkyn. I’m not used to people pulling at me and judging my every move and questioning my motives.” He looked around at the prince. “I know you can’t completely trust me and, having seen just a little of what goes on around you, I can understand why, much better than I did two days ago. But maybe you could tell me when I do or say something that arouses your suspicion, so we can sort it out.”

  Tarkyn grimaced, “I am hard work, aren’t I? Thank you for sticking with me. If I have any doubts, I will talk to you about them. I have been honest with you so far, haven’t I?”

  “Blindingly.”

  “But you are also badly upset about the forest, aren’t you?” When Waterstone nodded, Tarkyn continued, “I know the forest has a different, deeper meaning to you and that it is hurting you to see what has happened to it. But if my welfare is tied to that of the woodlands, then your support of me is supporting the woodland. So please don’t let this one mistake eat away at you. Just help me to make sure it doesn’t keep happening as woodfolk test me out.” The sorcerer looked around the nearby trees and pointed at some of the half torn off branches. “Perhaps we can repair some of these trees. In the palace nursery, they used to graft branches onto other trees by tying them until the tree grew strongly enough around the joint to hold the branch without support. Can’t we do that for some of these trees?”

  The woodman looked perplexed. “I can’t hold a branch and tie it at the same time while dangling out of the tree. And there wouldn’t be room for two of us to reach one branch at the same time, even if you were strong enough to climb up.”

  Tarkyn gave a self-satisfied smile. “You forget. I’m a sorcerer. Watch.” He pointed one of his fingers at a branch and incanted, “Liefka.” The branch lifted up into its original position on the tree. “Now, all you have to do is get up there with something to bind it.”

  Waterstone’s eyes lit up. “Well, isn’t that amazing?! I never thought of sorcery being used to do something good!”

  Tarkyn let the branch back down and stared at him. “What do you think? That all sorcerers go around using their power to hurt people?” He frowned. “And if you think sorcerers are so evil, what on earth are you doing spending any time with me at all?”

  The woodman was nonplussed. “Well, I don’t know. I suppose I thought sorcerers only used their powers for attack or defence. I’ve only ever been near five sorcerers, you, your father and those three bounty hunters - and I’ve heard about your brothers, of course.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you that we might not be typical sorcerers - two kings, two princes and three vicious bounty hunters?”

  Waterstone raised his eyebrow. “No. Not really. Though, when you put it like that….”

  “So, I suppose you thought I was the best of a bad lot.”

  Waterstone gave an embarrassed smile. “Something like that. To be honest, I thought you were quite remarkable when you didn’t hurt anyone even though you were under attack and then only used your powers for defence - well - except for that flashy display when you thought we were keeping you in the forest, but even that was pretty harmless.” He flashed Tarkyn a cheeky grin. “Just another example of your emotions running riot.”

  Tarkyn raised his eyebrows, “That was you, wasn’t it? I’ve just remembered. You were the person trying to tell me that it was the forest not the woodfolk that was stopping me from translocating.”

  The woodman smiled and nodded. “For all the good it did us.”

  “Oh dear,” grimaced the prince. “You and I are not very good at listening to each other when we’re angry, are we?” He thought through what Waterstone had said, “So all any of you knows of sorcerers is my family and those bounty hunters throwing our weight around. I have a lot of bad impressions to overcome, haven’t I?” He looked at Waterstone thoughtfully, “Just to set the record straight, sorcerers are just ordinary people with varying degrees of magic. Some are good. Some are bad. Most are a mixture of both. Just like woodfolk, I would imagine. Most sorcerers use their powers to ply their trade, whatever that is; gardener, groom, craftsman, cook…”

  “And what useful, helpful things does a prince do with his magic, as a general rule?”

  The prince started to reply, but hesitated. Then he came up with another idea but again stopped himself before he spoke. Finally, he said with a wry grin, “Actually, not a lot, but it doesn’t mean I can’t start now. So let’s get on with fixing these trees.”

  “Yes, if we are to have any successes, we must start soon. Many will already be too far gone to repair.” Waterstone’s eyes went out of focus for a couple of seconds. Tarkyn did not say anything but Waterstone could see he was waiting for an explanation. “I’m recruiting help. You probably didn’t pick it up because it was mainly words.”

  Shortly afterwards, Autumn Leaves, Thunder Storm and three other woodfolk arrived. Right behind them, Sparrow came running up, carrying twine and bandages.

  A woodwoman with a soft sighing voice said, “Good morning, Your Highness. I am Grass Wind.”

  “I am Cracking Branch,” said another woodwoman with a sharp staccato voice.

  “And I am Rustling Leaves,” said a woodman in a voice similar to Autumn Leaves but harsher.

  The prince did not rise, but inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I am pleased to m
eet you all.”

  Instead of instructions being issued, there was an intense silence followed by the woodfolk glancing sceptically at the prince. Nevertheless they then fanned out to inspect nearby trees and to climb into the branches of those that had broken boughs which could be saved.

  “Ready, Your Highness,” instructed Waterstone cheerfully. “Let’s see this magic of yours. Start with mine. As soon as I have it partly secured, you can move onto the next one.”

  The sorcerer nodded, waited until the woodman was ready in the tree, held out a finger and incanted, “Liefka!” A shaft of bronze power raised the bough into position.

  “It won’t burn if I touch that beam, will it?” queried Waterstone suddenly.

  “Don’t you think I would have told you if there was any danger?”

  “You might have assumed I’d know.”

  “No. After the acorn episode, I wouldn’t assume anything about your knowledge of my magic. Don’t worry; I will remember to tell you if there is anything that might harm you….Now, can we get on with it?”

  Waterstone grinned and immediately set to work with the twine. After a while, Tarkyn worked out that once he had one branch held in place with a steady shaft of power, he could transfer his focus and use his other hand to create a second shaft of magic to raise another branch. He was not used to performing two spells at once and he found that it required intense concentration. Once a broken branch was bound in place, Sparrow would tap him on whichever hand was supporting that branch and he would know to transfer his power and attention to a new location. When all the trees in a thirty yard radius of Tarkyn had been repaired as well as possible, everyone took a break while the sorcerer hauled himself up and moved to a new position. Once he had seated himself in a new location, the process started again.

  When they broke for lunch, there was notably less restraint in the attitudes of the other woodfolk. The work continued deep into the afternoon until Waterstone noticed that the branch he was trying to secure kept wavering out of place. He sent a mental image of the problem to Tarkyn and received back such a weak response that he immediately sent an urgent query to Sparrow. Sparrow transmitted an image of Tarkyn’s face, which was deathly white with dark smudges under his drooping eyes. As one, the woodfolk descended from the trees to return to Tarkyn’s side where he was seated, leaning against a tree.