Bronze Magic

by Jennifer Ealey

  Ancient Oak returned his gaze steadily. “No Sire. It was indeed hard to stomach. But I am led to believe that your expectations have mellowed somewhat since you discovered how the oath was imposed.”

  Tarkyn snorted, “Between Tree Wind and you, I was left in no doubt as to how unwelcome I was. But I think you people owe more to Waterstone for any changes in my attitude… and possibly Autumn Leaves.” He smiled wryly, “And Thunder Storm, for that matter, and Sparrow… and all of those who stayed with me.” He cleared his throat and concentrated on breaking another long branch. He glanced up and said gruffly, “Are you going to gather any wood, or do you just plan to stand there staring at me?”

  “Whoops. Sorry.” Ancient Oak hastily addressed himself to the task of collecting smaller pieces into a pile. “It is just that I am stunned by the vision of Rainstorm actually doing something useful.” He promptly ducked as a wad of bark sailed past his left ear.

  Rainstorm scowled at him, “I’ll have you know that it was I who suggested it… And just so you’re clear, Tarkyn is gathering wood purely for the pleasure of my company.” He threw a wicked grin at Tarkyn. “Aren’t you, prince?”

  “Stop bragging. Yes.” He smiled at Ancient Oak. “My attitude has not changed so much that you could expect me to do anything I chose not to. But collecting wood can be quite recreational, when I am in the mood.”

  Ancient Oak paused what he was doing to scrutinise the prince.

  “What?” demanded Tarkyn.

  Ancient Oak gave his head a little shake and smiled, “Nothing, Your Highness. It is just that since you are both so feisty, it is amazing that you get on at all, let alone choose each other’s company.”

  Tarkyn was not sure that this had actually been the subject of the woodman’s thoughts but let it slide. “I have found that many woodfolk, you included, speak to me with a forthrightness that I find…hmm… shall we say, unexpected?”

  Ancient Oak returned his attention to collecting small branches. After a few minutes, he said over his shoulder, “I heard about your confrontation with the forestals, Sire. Everyone is talking about it.”

  “Are they?” Tarkyn raised his eyebrows. “I thought we were all discussing wolves, and woodfolk being hunted, and sorcerer attacks.”

  Ancient Oak straightened up and continued as though Tarkyn hadn’t spoken, “It was very kind of you, Sire, to try to release us from the oath.”

  “No, Ancient Oak, it wasn’t an act of kindness. It was an act of desperation. I couldn’t bear the duplicity I had suddenly discovered around me so I took the risk of meeting the oathfree woodfolk to blow apart the conspiracy.”

  “Prince, that is only part of the story,” broke in Rainstorm. “I was there, remember,” He turned to the other woodman. “Tarkyn offered his life to release you all and to make sure that we could stand united against the coming threat.”

  “And do you still feel let down by Waterstone and Autumn Leaves and the rest of them?” asked Ancient Oak.

  Tarkyn frowned, “How do you know so much about this, if you have just arrived?”

  The woodman looked a little puzzled, “I thought Waterstone would have told you by now. I have a particular interest in some of the people you travel with, and keep in closer contact with them than most.”

  “Do you now? Then when you are next mind talking with them, you may report to them that I would never have wished them to risk exile or retribution by compromising your woodfolk code. I should have known an outsider couldn’t just walk into the middle of an established society and be accepted without reservation.” Tarkyn gave a rueful shrug. “They have given me far more than the oath required… And for my part, well, I would not have reacted so strongly if I had cared about them less.”

  “I think they also care about you, Sire,” said Ancient Oak gently.

  Tarkyn glanced at him but did not reply. Instead he wrenched a large branch off a sagging, dead tree. “Don’t you two have woodfolk business to attend to?”

  Rainstorm raised his eyebrows at Ancient Oak, who smiled and said, “I think it is almost concluded, Sire.”

  Tarkyn frowned irritably. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I suppose that is a state of affairs I will have to become inured to. If possible, I would appreciate it if you could deal with your private affairs away from me.”

  Ancient Oak’s smile broadened, “I understand. You do not want unpleasant truths rubbed in your face, if I remember correctly.”

  For a moment, Tarkyn glared at him. Then he broke reluctantly into a smile. “We did get off to bad start, didn’t we? I can’t imagine why you’re not still avoiding me.”

  Ancient Oak hesitated, “I’m afraid I can’t answer that at the moment, Sire.” He looked uncomfortable, “And I should perhaps warn you that now the gathering is complete, we… er…”

  “Come on. Spit it out,” said Rainstorm. “He’s trying to tell you, prince, that we have a few things to discuss amongst ourselves this afternoon.”

  29

  When they returned to the firesite, a silent conference was in full swing. Several newcomers glanced nervously at the sorcerer prince, but so intent were they on their discussions that no one broke off to speak to him. Even Tree Wind and the harvesters merely nodded in acknowledgement.

  Tarkyn parted company with Rainstorm and Ancient Oak as soon as they had offloaded their wood; they to join their kin while Tarkyn wandered off down to the stream. No one even seemed to register him leaving.

  Tarkyn meandered a little way along the stream, watching moorhens strutting among the reeds and a couple of wood ducks alternately floating downstream on the current then paddling back upstream. The forest guardian was not feeling very communicative so kept his mind closed against any attempts to contact him. When he found a soft grassy patch, he lay down on his stomach with his head propped on his hands, and stared morosely down into the water, watching tiny fish darting in amongst the weeds. Slowly the weak afternoon sun relaxed him and he fell asleep.

  When he awoke, it was dark and cold. Someone had thrown a warm blanket over him but left him to sleep. Tarkyn rolled over and looked up into the sky. Thousands of stars winked down at him and a golden glow near the horizon heralded the rising of the moon.

  He peered over the top of his blanket at the woodfolk sitting around the fire. He studied them as they talked and laughed quietly among themselves. In many ways they looked just like a group of sorcerer troops gathered after a day’s patrol. A wave of homesickness washed over the prince. Then he remembered the wary courtesy that sorcerer troops would have accorded him and laughed softly to himself when he contrasted it with the memory of Waterstone yelling at him, Ancient Oak snapping back at him and Autumn Leaves berating him. Despite their oath to him and their secrets, woodfolk were still less guarded than most sorcerers in their dealings with him.

  Tarkyn sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His mouth twitched in a half smile as he remembered he had nearly been killed for doing that in his confrontation with the forestals. He leaned over and scooped up some water to splash his face. Then he took a deep breath, stood up and walked into the light of the fire.

  A hush fell over the woodfolk. Tarkyn blinked as his eyes became accustomed to the light. “Good evening,” he said, as he gathered his thoughts. His amber eyes swept slowly around, studying the assembled woodfolk. “I believe there are many new arrivals I have not yet met. I look forward to making your acquaintance. I am Tarkyn Tamadil, for those of you who have not yet met me.” He waved a hand and immediately wished he hadn’t, as several people blanched in fear and more than a few ducked for cover. “Don’t let me interrupt you. Does anyone happen to have a spare glass of wine?”

  Tarkyn didn’t really know where to sit. Wherever he chose to sit would be making a statement. In the end, he walked over to a group of complete unknowns and sat with them. They eyed him uncertainly and unconsciously pulled their cloaks in tighter around themselves.

  He smiled ruefully at them, “I beg
your pardon. I forgot you’d be frightened of me if you hadn’t met me.” He went to stand up again. “Would you rather I sat somewhere else?”

  A dried up old woman waved a thin, long-fingered hand at him from inside her cloak. “No. Stay. We did not mean to be unwelcoming. You’re just a bit unnerving on first sight, you know. I am Ancient Elm.”

  “I am pleased to meet you. Where have you come from? Or is that classified information?”

  Ancient Elm frowned at him, “I suspect your navigational skills in the forest wouldn’t get you to us even if I told you.”

  Tarkyn eyes glinted in the firelight, “You may keep your secrets. Now that I have seen you, I could find an owl or an eagle to guide me to you, wherever you are.”

  The old woodwoman glared at him. “You are not helping your cause threatening me like that, you know.”

  “I was not aware that I had a cause. Besides, I am not threatening you. I am merely stating a fact.” The sorcerer took a slow sip of wine. “All right. I apologise. I admit I was feeling a little snaky. I am just becoming tired of being surrounded by secrets. I have no wish to intimidate you.” Tarkyn smiled at her disarmingly. “Actually, I seem to spend most of my life carefully not frightening people.”

  Another scrawny old woman piped up, “What’s this oath you made to the woodfolk then? I am Dried Berry.”

  Very apt. Tarkyn looked at her in some surprise. “If you know about the oath, why don’t you know the contents?”

  “Not my business, until now.”

  “Why is it your business now?” asked the prince.

  “Now that is none of your business,” she said severely. When he blinked at her in confusion, she snapped at him impatiently. “Well, go on. Tell us your vow, all of it.”

  “If you insist.” He took a deep breath, remembering the words. As soon as he began, the words reverberated around the clearing and all the woodfolk fell silent to listen. “I, Tarkyn Tamadil, Prince of the Forests of Eskuzor, give my solemn vow that I will fulfil my obligations and responsibilities as your liege lord and will protect the woodfolk and the forests of Eskuzor. Your just cause will be my cause and your fate will be my fate. This is the covenant bequeathed to me by my father, Markazon Tamadil, 48th King of Eskuzor.”

  A babble of discussion broke out after this, followed by the silence of intense mind talking.

  Eventually, Autumn Leaves came over and sat down next to the prince, “You know, none of us really listened to what you vowed at the oath-taking. We were too concerned about ourselves at that stage. But you made an even bigger commitment than we did.”

  Tarkyn went to run his hand through his hair but stopped himself. He let his hand drop to his side. “I know I did, and I had no more choice than you about doing it.”

  “Yes, but you’re not our liege lord,” objected Dry Berry. “So it doesn’t apply to us.”

  The prince narrowed his eyes, “I have vowed to protect the woodfolk. I didn’t say the woodfolk who swore the vow or who are my liegemen. I simply said the woodfolk. As far as I’m concerned, I have made a commitment to all of you.”

  “Well, don’t think we’re going to make one in return because we’re not,” snapped the scrawny old woodwoman.

  Tarkyn raised his eyebrows haughtily, “I didn’t ask you to and I had no intention of doing so.”

  The first old woman he had spoken to, Ancient Elm, looked at him sharply, “But you must feel pretty hard done by, now you know there are others of us who haven’t taken the oath.”

  The sorcerer waved a dismissive hand and saw fewer heads duck instinctively for cover than had done so previously. He ignored them and continued with their public conversation. “I certainly feel hard done by, but it’s not because of that.” Tarkyn broke into a rueful grin. “In fact, when I first heard the words I had vowed, I was absolutely horrified. Having my whole fate entwined with the fate of a people I didn’t even know…” He glanced at Autumn Leaves. “That was another reason I drank too much that night.”

  Tarkyn looked around. Everyone was hanging on his every word. Some were frowning at what he had just said so he moved on quickly. “Anyway, once I came to know the people I was with and we had worked out a way of living together, I became truly committed to the words I had vowed. Then came the day I realised that other woodfolk existed… The best and worst day of my life.”

  Tarkyn took another sip of wine and finally looked over at Waterstone and his group of woodfolk. “I don’t know if you are all aware of this but, six days ago, each of these woodfolk gave me a part of their life force to keep me alive. Then, only hours later, I worked out the existence of the other woodfolk they had told me nothing about and felt totally betrayed.” He took a breath to steady himself and looked around the rest of the audience, “I now realise that, as a people, you are vowed to secrecy. So they and you have no choice but to hold me at arm’s length.” The prince returned his gaze to Ancient Elm and shrugged, “As a prince among my own people, I have been used to living like that. So I suppose I can continue as I always have.”

  “And can you prove that you’re a forest guardian?” she demanded in a total non-sequitur.

  Tarkyn regarded her stonily for a moment. “Yes, I can, but I have no intention of doing so. I proved it for the forestals. But I am not a walking, talking freak show, here for your entertainment. Believe your fellow woodfolk or not as you choose. I am not going to prove myself to you.”

  Ancient Elm waved a skinny hand, “Fair enough, young man. No need to get hoity-toity.”

  Another intense silence descended on the clearing as woodfolk conferred. After several minutes, they stood up and gathered in a large semicircle with Tarkyn at its centre. Feeling it was required of him, Tarkyn also stood up. He towered over the two little old ladies on either side of him.

  Raging Water hobbled over to stand before him. “Tarkyn Tamadil, Guardian of the Forest, we have considered your words and your deeds. The vow you made to us might have been only words: but by giving your fate into the hands of the forestals, you proved to us that you do indeed place the welfare of the woodfolk above your own life. This being the case, we have decided, in an unprecedented move, to ask you to become a member of the woodfolk nation.”

  Tarkyn’s heart missed a beat as he bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I would be truly honoured.”

  Thunder Storm came forward to join Raging Water. “In all the history of the woodfolk, no outsider has ever been granted membership of the woodfolk. So we have no ceremony for accepting you into our nation. However, all woodfolk must be a member of a family. If all of a person’s blood relations die, then that person, no matter what their age, is officially adopted into a new family. All woodfolk must have kin - and we do have a ceremony for that.”

  And now Waterstone, Ancient Oak and Sparrow stepped forward and stood beside the other two in front of Tarkyn.

  Waterstone looked Tarkyn squarely in the eye and spoke formally, “Tarkyn Tamadil, I offer you membership of my family that you may share with us the joys and trials of kinship and that we may call upon each other’s strength in times of need. Do you accept?”

  For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Tarkyn gave a courtly bow of his head and spoke equally formally. “I am honoured by your offer and I accept.”

  Did he mistake it, or did Tarkyn see a slight release of tension in Waterstone’s shoulders? Before he could be sure, his attention was drawn to Raging Water who now addressed the whole assembly. “To establish a new blood tie, blood must be shared.” So saying he produced a wickedly sharp knife and advanced towards Tarkyn. For a wild moment the thought flicked across Tarkyn’s mind that it had all been a ruse to kill him but he decided almost simultaneously that any one of them could have stuck a knife into him while they were talking.

  “Roll up the sleeve of your right arm,” instructed Raging Water. “Now hold out your arm, palm upwards.” He waited until both Waterstone and Tarkyn were standing with their bared right arms held out. Then in two swift moveme
nts, he sliced each arm from wrist to elbow.

  As the blood welled up, Waterstone grasped Tarkyn’s arm near the elbow so the two long cuts lay over each other. Tarkyn grasped the woodman’s in return. As their blood intermingled, a deep hush fell upon the forest. Not a leaf stirred. Then a faint shudder ran through the ground beneath them. A cascade of red and golden leaves swirled down from the trees around them and then all was still again.

  Keeping his eyes firmly on the prince, Waterstone intoned, “We are now of one blood. My kin are your kin. My ancestors are your ancestors. Ancient Oak and I welcome you as a brother. Sparrow welcomes you as her uncle.”

  Tarkyn’s eyes narrowed slightly at the confirmation of his dawning realisation that Ancient Oak was Waterstone’s brother. He realised he didn’t know what he should say next. He had winged it so far but now he was stuck. He took a breath and kept improvising. “I thank you for your welcome. I will do all I can to bring harmony and honour to my new family and to fight with you all against the dangers that lie ahead.”

  Thunder Storm leant over and whispered in the prince’s ear. Tarkyn’s mouth quirked a little as he added, “Waterstone, we are now of one blood. My kin are your kin. My ancestors are your ancestors. I welcome you and Ancient Oak as brothers and Sparrow as my niece.”

  Raging Water addressed the woodfolk, “Tarkyn Tamadil, Guardian of the Forest, is now a member of a woodfolk family and no longer an outsider.” He turned back to Tarkyn, “Welcome to our nation.”

  Tarkyn’s face relaxed into a huge smile and an enormous wave of gratitude emanated from him, rolling over the crowd and bowling many woodfolk over onto the ground. Tarkyn and Waterstone wrapped their left arms around each other in an awkward bear hug as everyone crowded around offering congratulations. Someone came forward with cloth to bandage their right arms while Sparrow burrowed her way through the crowd to give Tarkyn a hug.