I emerge from the shelter to be surrounded by wide-eyed woodfolk. I ignore their questions and organise the wizard’s requirements.
After this, Tarkyn experienced a blur of memories, all similar, with the king visiting every sick person, reassuring them in his bluff manner, and ensuring that they received treatment. Tarkyn could feel Waterstone’s attitude to the king gradually shifting from horror and distress to reluctant respect and admiration as the king persevered through the night and deep into the next day without a break. Then the memory became clear again.
The king enters a shelter to kneel at the bedside of a young woodwoman with gentle green eyes and a musical voice, my wife.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. I am Skylark.”
“Good morning Skylark. How long have you been ill?”
“Not as long as many others. Only three days but it is very wearying.”
The king takes her hand. “Well, I hope you will recover soon with this fine tea that young Waterstone has summoned up for you.”
I smile at her and give her the tea. The king looks from one to the other of us and raises his eyebrows. “You know each other, I gather.”
We both grin and chorus, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Hmph, well, Skylark. You should be proud of this young man. He has worked with me through the night to bring aid to those of you who are sick.”
Skylark smiles and says, “I am.”
I leave the shelter with her voice ringing in my ears.
Tarkyn pulled out of the memory and gave Waterstone time to recover. The woodman had tears in his eyes as the prince smiled mistily at him. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you to remember Skylark.”
“It is, but no worse than all the other times I remember her.”
Tarkyn sniffed, “It is also hard for me, seeing my father like that. It’s clearer than any memories I have of him.”
Waterstone cocked his head to one side. “I suppose it would be. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Tarkyn gave a small smile. “It’s one of the reasons I drank so much at the feast that first night. I’d just seen my father in Tree Wind’s memory and even though he must seem ruthless and bombastic to you, I still miss him.”
“He was ruthless and bombastic, as you put it, but he was also dedicated and passionate and true to his word that he would care for our people,” replied the woodman. He walked down to the water’s edge and splashed water on his face and hair. Then he returned and unloaded an earthen bottle and two cups from his knapsack. “I’ve just remembered. I brought provisions with me in case I decided to sit and talk with you.” He poured golden liquid into a cup and offered it to the prince. “Wine?”
Tarkyn accepted it and took a long draught. “Thanks. This is quite a torrid process, isn’t it?”
Waterstone looked at him for a moment, then dropped his eyes to his cup. “Yes, it is.” He took a deep breath and looked up. “Where next?”
“When you first saw me a couple of weeks ago.”
The prince caught a flicker of hesitation but Waterstone closed his eyes, composed himself then looked unwaveringly into Tarkyn’s eyes, “All right. But I warn you, you may not like some of this. Look deeply and relax.”
It is a soft sunny afternoon. We are posted in the trees near the eastern edge of the forest awaiting the arrival of this renegade prince whom we may have to serve. We have heard dire tales of his misdeeds and we are hopeful that he will not survive Stormaway’s testing. He appears around a bend in the road, walking in the company of Stormaway and talking. This prince is very tall; his hair is black like a raven and very long. He glances up into the trees and I see his father’s face and electrifying eyes. Yet despite his bulk, his demeanour is not intimidating as he bends slightly so that he can hear what the wizard has to say.
An impression of mental discussion reached Tarkyn but no words. He pulled out of the memory and instructed, “Now, that same evening from where I try to leave and you woodfolk stop me.”
This time, the memory was images with a running thought commentary.
We have taken an irrevocable step in revealing ourselves. Either he will die or he will rule us. His shield will not save him against Stormaway’s and our combined forces. Even though I know which way Stormaway’s judgement will go, my heart sinks as I hear the words, “He has passed my final test.” We make a desperate plea to Stormaway to postpone the final sealing of the binding spell. We have to be sure, before we are forced to accept this young inexperienced sorcerer as our liege lord: we who do not even have leaders among ourselves. I am almost old enough to be his father. Suddenly, he waves his arm. My heart leaps in fear and I flick into the cover of the trees. Silly young man looks surprised that we have vanished. What does he expect? The wizard is not getting things all his own way, for a change. This prince is nobody’s fool. Stormaway’s attempt to force his hand by threatening to make him leave the forest fails signally. The young man calls his bluff immediately. Stormaway is right. He is arrogant and easily angered but so far, only when he’s challenged. He has a better sense of humour than Stormaway and he is smarter and better at manipulating people than his father. Therefore, possibly more dangerous.
Tarkyn broke contact. “On my oath, Waterstone! You’re more calculating than I am.”
The woodsman rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I would say analytical, not calculating. I was, after all, trying to work out what the future held for us all.” His voice sounded tired and despondent.
The prince frowned in concern. “Are you all right? Do you want to continue at another time?”
Again Waterstone stared at him then dropped his eyes. He sighed. “No. I couldn’t do this again. Not like this, being judged. It’s now or never. I just hope you don’t end up trusting me but disliking me.” He took a long pull on his wine with a hand that trembled, then closed his eyes to gather his resources. When he was ready, he opened them and looked once more at Tarkyn.
Tarkyn thought hard. He realised that more than one extra memory might push the woodman too far. He would like to know Waterstone’s reaction to his display of temper when he had frozen the woodfolk and threatened them all but he decided on balance that he would gain more from seeing the woodman’s memory of the time when Tarkyn was injured.
“Very well, one more only. Your memories of being with me from when I translocated up into the oak tree.”
There is a sound like rushing air above us. We look up and see Prince Tarkyn suddenly appear way up in the boughs of the tree. My stomach lurches with horror knowing that he will fall and there is nothing we can do to prevent it. He hits branches on the way down with a series of sickening thuds. I cannot imagine that he will survive. I fear for his survival but even more for what his death will mean to the forest. When he lands, he is deathly pale and barely breathing. I cut his bonds and organise a litter. Summer Rain attends him. She gently feels around his chest and places some strapping around his side. She manipulates his shoulder back into place and straps it. It is probably just as well that he is not conscious for this part. Summer Rain leaves instructions for his care and moves on to attend to the others who have been wounded by his fall. There is a delay in moving the prince while a larger shelter is constructed to house him. We are all anxious and realise that we have been forced to taken on a bigger responsibility than we had expected.
Many memories of coming to check on the prince and talking to people around him blur into one general theme. The predominant feeling moves from fear for the forest and the life of the prince, to compassion for his suffering.
I watch him grimace with pain after he gags trying to eat and I sit with him as he thrashes around in the night, reliving horrors of bounty hunters and his arraignment before his brothers. I start talking to him to calm his distress. As he hovers in some twilight world between waking and sleeping, I gradually tell him everything about me and about the woodfolk. I feel I have let him into my world and trusted him with things I have needed to say but have
never said to another. Then he awakens fully and the reality of who he is opens a yawning gap between us. I am jolted by his mistrust and realise that my imagined friendship with him is all in my mind and not in his.
Suddenly, Tarkyn found himself back at the river at night. Waterstone had closed his eyes to break contact. Before Tarkyn could re-orient himself, Waterstone scrambled to his feet with an uncharacteristic lack of grace and disappeared into the trees. The prince was left sitting alone, shaken by the depth of feeling in Waterstone’s memory and wondering what to do next. He did not have long to wait.
Twenty minutes later, Autumn Leaves came trundling down the track and plonked himself down near the prince. “Evening, Your Highness.”
“Good evening,” replied Tarkyn uncertainly.
Autumn Leaves stared earnestly at the sorcerer. “Now I know you’re a high and mighty sorcerer and you can burn me to a crisp or throw me about or whatever takes your fancy, but I’ll risk all that to protect my friends.”
The sorcerer in question looked blankly at him and said faintly, “I applaud your courage.” When there was no further response, he asked, “Which of your friends needs protecting?” although he felt sure he knew the answer.
The solid woodman eyed him belligerently. “You know perfectly well I mean Waterstone. I don’t know what spells you’ve magicked on him but he’s a total wreck. He looks, I don’t know, wounded, like a whipped cur…even though there’s not a mark on him that I can see. His hands are shaking so badly I had to pour the wine down his throat myself. So what do you have to say for yourself?”
The sorcerer’s face had stiffened with shock. “Autumn Leaves, I promise you, I have not used my magic on him. It is his magic, not mine, that has led to this.”
The woodman glared at the sorcerer scornfully. “I am surprised that you would try to dodge your responsibility for this. You must know we do not have any magic.”
“Oh yes, you do,” Tarkyn gave a slight smile. “It’s just so natural to you that you don’t think of it as magic. You mind talk and use mindpower to control people and you can let people see your memories. I suspect you have other magic that helps you disappear into the woods but I’m not sure about that yet.”
Autumn Leaves continued to stare at the sorcerer as he absorbed this information. “Hmph,” he said at last, “but none of this tells me what has happened to my friend.”
Tarkyn hesitated. Somehow he felt he might be betraying Waterstone’s confidence if he told Autumn Leaves what had happened. He was beginning to think that Autumn Leaves would not approve of Waterstone’s actions. The prince was prepared to deal with Autumn Leaves’ disapproval but he didn’t want to put Waterstone in that position, especially now.
Tarkyn drew a deep breath, “If I tell you, I don’t want you to remonstrate with Waterstone for what he has chosen to do. You can say what you like to me but not to Waterstone unless we agree it together.” He paused, “Do I have your agreement?”
Autumn Leaves narrowed his eyes as he considered his options, then nodded. “I can’t imagine that I would want to get angry with Waterstone anyway.”
The prince kept his eyes on the woodman. “Waterstone allowed me to see some of his memories.”
The woodman shrugged. “So? I’ve often done that to pass on information. I can’t see a problem with that.”
“Waterstone allowed me to choose which memories. He gave me free rein to see whatever I asked for.”
Autumn Leaves froze. The sorcerer could see him imagining what it would be like to have his memories unprotected by his own choice. He gave a low whistle. “For pity’s sake, I hope you at least negotiated it with him, gave him some kind of veto.”
The prince shook his head, “No negotiation. Purely my decision.”
Autumn Leaves blinked. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve been trawling his memory ever since those wolves were killed, are you?”
Watching the anger gathering in the woodman’s eyes, Tarkyn winced inwardly as he nodded. “He wanted to prove to me that I could trust him.”
The storm broke. Autumn Leaves did not rage as Waterstone would have done. Instead he slated the prince carefully with biting scorn. “So you have violated a man’s innermost privacy, cast aside the layers of protection that keep him strong and safe against the world. And how long did you subject him to this flaying of his soul? Three hours? I can understand that you might need a gesture of good faith to earn your trust – but three hours? You either have no imagination or you’re an utter bastard or both.”
The prince sat white-faced as the woodman slammed home to him what he had done. “Oh no! Oh, for pity’s sake,” he breathed as he bowed his head beneath his hands, “I think I’m both.” He lifted his head to look the woodman resolutely in the eye, “I knew he was finding it difficult. I suggested postponing but I never offered to finish it even when he started to worry that I wouldn’t like him.”
Autumn Leaves snorted derisively. “I’m not surprised he was worried. Now you’ve seen parts of him that should never have been seen by anyone else.” He scowled at the prince. “I don’t much care whether he has earned your trust. Personally, I think the cost was way too high. But you had better make sure you earn his trust.”
Tarkyn looked away towards the river but its silver beauty brought him no comfort. “I fear I have already betrayed his trust by abusing the gift he offered me.” He put his forehead in his hands. “Oh Waterstone, I’m so sorry.” After a moment, he raised his head with an air of decision. “Can you send a message to him for me? I can only send feelings and images and I need to send him some words.”
“I believe you said that we would agree together what is said to Waterstone?” Autumn Leaves raised his eyebrows. “I presume that still stands?”
“Of course it does. I need you to help me repair this mess, Autumn Leaves. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just took a lot of convincing. But in my need to have someone to trust, I forgot to look after him.” He thought carefully how to phrase what he wanted to say. Although he hadn’t told Autumn Leaves, he felt sure that the very last part of the memories he had seen were the main cause of Waterstone’s distress. “Will you tell him that he has earned my trust beyond any doubt and that there is no aspect I saw that I disliked? He is welcome to the poor opinions he has had of me and they come as no surprise. – And tell him that, in my mind, he is one of the best, truest people I have ever known and I am proud to be his friend.” He cocked his head to one side. “And that I am sorry….Will you agree to send that? Will it help or should I just go and talk to him?”
Autumn Leaves shook his head decisively. “He wouldn’t let you anywhere near him at the moment. He’s too raw. I will send your message as long as you really mean it and are not just saying it to make him feel better.”
The prince stared at him. “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t dream of saying something like that if I didn’t mean it. I could easily find something tactful but less emphatic to say if I needed to.”
The woodman’s eyes lost focus for several seconds.
“That took a while,” commented Tarkyn.
“I replayed the whole conversation from where you said you needed my help right up to where you said you could think of something less emphatic to say.” The woodman smiled for the first time since he arrived. “Pictures and sound.”
The sorcerer raised his eyebrows. “That’s impressive. I didn’t know you could replay whole scenes. I thought you could only send events as they happened.”
“No. You can send old memories too, if you want to. Helpful if someone needs directions to somewhere you have been before.”
“I suppose so.” A silence fell. Then Tarkyn asked, “Do you think Waterstone will respond to the message?”
The woodman shook his head. “I doubt it. Not tonight anyway. Give him time. He almost has to re-assemble himself, I’d say.” For a solid man, Autumn Leaves rose nimbly to his feet. “Anyway, I’d better go back and see how he is.” He gave a little smile. “T
hank you for not burning me to a crisp.”
The sorcerer waved a dismissive hand and returned a rueful smile. “A pleasure. Thank you for coming to sort it out with me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
For a long while, Tarkyn sat there thinking through all that had happened that day; repairing the trees with the woodfolk, Stormaway’s arrival and disapproval, learning of his friends’ treachery, Waterstone’s sacrifice and now, Autumn Leaves intervention. He was glad Stormaway hadn’t seen the interaction with Autumn Leaves.
These woodfolk weren’t used to being ruled. They had no ruling class of their own and no experience of royalty. Even with the threat of the oath and his power hanging over them, they still confronted him and let him know when they weren’t pleased. It wasn’t just Waterstone who showed his anger, as it turned out. He thought back and realised he had probably been too harsh with Thunder Storm. Passing judgement on the prince’s actions seemed to be as natural as breathing for all of them.
They were courteous to him – when they weren’t angry with him, he added wryly – but when he thought about it, they were just as courteous to each other. The only real difference was the use of his title. They had given him a bigger shelter because of his size but it was not grander and he suspected that he had been waited on only because he was ill.
Now Stormaway had blustered back in, throwing around expectations of both his and the woodfolk’s behaviour. Despite the justification that Stormaway had given for enquiring into activities at court, Tarkyn was fairly sure that the wizard’s main motivation had been to impress the woodfolk and set him, the prince, apart from them. That being the case, it had probably been a tactical error to speak about Andoran and Sargon since their treachery had tarnished the mystique of court life Stormaway was trying to build up.
Tarkyn thought about the servants, the grand banquets and balls, the exquisite furnishings and the clothes he had left behind. He thought about the ordinary everyday artisans and workers he had barely brushed up against and the nobles and courtiers who had been his constant companions. With a smile, he thought about his thieving family and wondered how they had spent the money.
Bronze Magic Page 18