by Helen Church
“Let’s clean that blood up, then you can rest.”
He picked up the washcloth, dumped it in the bucket and wrung it out efficiently before gently taking her head in his hands and began wiping the dried blood from beneath her nose.
It felt alien to have him tending to her this way, as he had never done so before. Any nursing she had required during her childhood had been given by nurses, all strangers that she had never seen again. She wondered briefly if he felt sad about that missed opportunity as much as she did, but then remembered he had lost both of his parents at a very young age. Who had tended to his wounds?
When he turned her head to inspect her ears, she heard him sigh with worry, and realized that in the panic to tend to Glutar and Barey, nobody had asked him if he was injured.
She summoned the energy to ask, “are you hurt?”
He smiled, “just bruises thankfully. Which, when you consider a horse landed on me, is a miracle.”
Once the blood was cleaned from both ears, Ellard left the room to throw out the water, which gave Ilsa the opportunity to straighten her shirt once more. She was just kicking off her boots when he returned, and he pulled the covers back so she could lay down, wincing as her ribs sang in pain.
Ellard pulled the covers over her and she felt like a tiny child as he tucked them under her chin. “Rest now, I’ll keep watch.”
Did they need a watch? She felt alarmed, but he patted the air in a reassuring gesture, “just a precaution. Someone should keep an eye on Barey too. I’ll wake you if there’s trouble, I promise.”
With that assurance, she gave into her exhaustion and fell instantly into a deep sleep.
9
Ellard didn’t want to worry Ilsa with his hunch that Elmington might strike while they were so vulnerable. She had looked so pained that to put her through any more stress would have been cruel. Onur had spoken when he had collected his supplies, and the three words, “bar the doors” had done nothing to alleviate his intuitive worry.
Now that Ilsa was sleeping, and a quick check that Barey was still breathing beneath her living grave, Ellard walked the small enclosure to check for any points of entry he might have missed on his first inspection. The neighboring building seemed to shield them from any prying eyes, but a determined intruder could leap from above. Ellard could do nothing about that, so he returned to the barn and pushed the table they had dined at the night before against the doors.
He glanced around, looking for something else to weight the barricade, but he could see nothing useful.
“Could you clean my wound?”
Ellard looked at Onur, “you are wounded?”
“Burned, along my side.”
He came close to inspect the horse, and saw patches of singed fur along one side, and a raw looking burn.
“Ilsa truly caused the fire?”
Onur dipped his head, “I tried to stop her, but I don’t think she realized what she was doing. The power of it took her.”
Ellard winced, “I wish we had never come to this place.”
“I’m sure Elmington wishes the same thing.”
“You think he sent the crows?”
“I know he sent the crows, I could hear it.”
“How can you hear such a thing?”
“I don’t question, I just know.” Onur sounded irritated now, and Ellard didn’t blame him. Asking useless questions was a waste of everyone’s energy.
“I’ll get water,” he left the barn and returned to the well once more. As he hauled the water, he looked at the patch of broken earth he had created earlier, and thought that he would ask Barey’s permission to bury Cetar there once she was able to speak. The dead horse couldn’t stay in the barn much longer, and he wondered how they would be able to move it. Perhaps Onur would be able to drag some kind of travois.
A loud banging noise carried through the barn, and Ellard ran back, drawing his sword as he went.
The banging came again, and he saw the table bump away from the doors as they rattled in their frame.
“Identify yourself!” Ellard shouted.
“Master Ellard, it is I, your humble servant,” Elmington’s voice carried the sarcasm through the barricade successfully, and Ellard shoved the table harder against the doors in response.
“You have no business here, snake!” Ellard pointed his sword at the doors just as they appeared to melt away.
Elmington, and a strange cloaked figure were standing beyond the threshold and made no move to step closer. Ellard sensed that the old man was afraid to attempt entry, but he was glad that the table was between them. “How rude young sir. Everything that happens within these city walls is my business. And indeed, everything that happens outside it too, especially if it concerns one of my Seer’s.”
He knew then that Elmington was fully aware of everything that had transpired this morning, and that Barey had left Carbom. “You’re looking pale Elmington, are you feeling quite well?”
The mysteriously cloaked and hooded figure shuddered at this, as if it had been scolded. Elmington was not pleased at Ellard’s observation, but made no response. Instead he pulled his head higher and said, “I am summoning Seer Barey to my court, as well as your daughter.”
“You have no power over my daughter, and nobody shall be summoned to your bidding while I am here.” He relished the opportunity to lift his blade higher. “Do not forget Elmington, that I am Ellard, grandson to the King, who is still your monarch, though you are banished here in this forsaken place. You command nobody.”
The cloaked figure’s head jerked in surprise at this, but Ellard couldn’t take his eyes from Elmington, he was afraid that a split second of distraction would be all it took to undo whatever power was keeping him out.
“Be careful Prince Ellard,” Elmington hissed. “That sounded like a threat.”
“Just a statement of fact Seer. You are keeper of this city, but you do not rule me old man. We are here on the King’s business and his rule still applies here. This is your prison, not your domain.”
Elmington sneers at this.
“Take your cowering servant away from this place, and don’t ever dare to interfere with my daughter again. I know those crows were yours, and if I see any of their kind within range I will kill them.”
Elmington narrows his eyes, “another threat young one.”
Ellard smiles, “does it hurt you when they die? Did you cry out earlier when they burned?”
As suddenly as they had vanished, the doors reappeared, and Ellard was so surprised at this that he stepped away from the table.
He waited for another attempt at the doors, or the banging to resume, but silence followed, and Ellard felt a brief moment of victory.
Onur broke the silence by saying, “he has gone.”
Ellard still waited by the doors, unsure of the safety in the silence.
“Trust me.”
He looked at the horse who was not a horse at all. “Were you once a Seer?”
Onur laughs a strange mixture of horse and human laughter that Ellard thought was the most alien sound he had ever heard. He didn’t reply to the question, but Ellard felt sure that he was correct in his query, and if he said Elmington was gone, he could trust him.
“I’ll go get that water.”
“Did you get a look at the servant?”
Ellard shook his head, “no, the figure was hooded and cloaked. Why do you ask?”
Onur hesitates before speaking, “because I can sense the living and the dead, and that creature was neither.”
“How could that be possible?”
“I do not know.”
Ellard couldn’t begin to imagine how a creature could be neither alive nor dead, and in his mind he saw a lifeless puppet being commanded to do its masters bidding but having no free will of its own.
Unable to solve this latest riddle, he returned to the well and pumped water for Onur. On his way back he checked on Barey, who continued to breathe softly, but showed no signs
of waking. Another riddle was how Ilsa had known to pack the earth around the Seer, but his was another question without answer, so he shook his head.
Ilsa also continued to sleep. Ellard was concerned at the deep dark circles that had developed beneath her eyes and the blood that had begun to trickle from her nose again as she slumbered. He wiped it away gently with the sheet tucked beneath her chin and Ilsa stirred, her sunken eyes opening reluctantly.
“Go back to sleep,” he ordered softly, straightening the sheets once more. She immediately closed her eyes and began to snore in a most unladylike fashion.
Onur had his head cocked to one side when he returned to the barn, and Ellard looked at the doors, worried that Elmington had returned.
“What can you hear?”
“Many things?”
Ellard took a washcloth and began to cleanse the burn on Onur’s flank. “Did you tell Ilsa to pack dirt around Barey?”
The horse raised his head in alarm, “explain yourself.”
He retold of what they had done for Barey, and Ellard couldn’t explain why he suddenly felt compelled to trust this creature.
“I did not tell her, but she was correct to do it. If the water wasn’t enough, it would have been the only way to save her.”
Ellard looked Onur in the eye, “but how did Ilsa know that?”
“It’s quite obvious to me that Ilsa isn’t an ordinary Bardon warrior. If we are correct in the assumption that Ilsa’s mother was Barey’s daughter Lessa, then she has Magick's in her blood. She would have instinctually known to use the dirt.”
Ellard was once again frustrated, “if Lessa was her mother then who was her father?”
Onur twitched his ears, “I don’t have that answer. But your Blood Map named you. Nobody else has stepped forward to claim her. And if the laws of the curse that binds the kingdom are infallible then it must be you, or someone bewitched the Map to lie.”
He held the washcloth over the burn so the water could soothe the wound. “Whoever performed the Magick's that created Ilsa and taught the Blood Map to lie must be within this city. All Magick’s are contained here.”
“That is a good assumption,” Onur agreed. “Unless the Magick’s came from beyond this realm.”
“What do you mean?”
Onur hesitated, “Magick sometimes has its own will. And that cannot be contained anywhere.”
Ellard frowned, “so you’re saying that Magick itself might be responsible?”
“I’m saying that the curse against the kingdom was the greatest perversion of Magick that has ever been known. Magick’s are meant to exist as a part of life, not to be used to end or curse life itself. Morden committed a crime against Magick when he cursed his sister. Nobody to this day knows what happened to him as a result of that curse.”
“I understand that curses are a crime against Magick. But how can Magick itself have a will of its own?”
“Because it is a living thing. Unlike that creature you met, shrouded and hidden beside Elmington. Magick is alive.”
Ellard felt frustrated, “my mind wasn’t built for this kind of understanding.”
Onur laughs, “I know.”
10
Morning sunlight woke Ilsa, and the brightness seemed to cause a physical pain inside her skull. Before moving a muscle, she inventoried her body from the feet up, and found that although she ached, she felt relatively well if she didn’t count the pain in her skull. Even her ribs seemed to be silent in the chorus of pain that she could feel in her mind, and she wondered again what had broken inside her with the fire.
Tentatively, she sat up, and at once regretted the movement. Her silent ribs suddenly remembered their voice and she gasped at the stabbing pain she felt. She quickly got to her feet to relieve the pressure in her chest but found that her legs felt like they were no longer strong enough to support her weight.
Leaning against the wall, she stepped into her boots, but didn’t bother to lace them. She was eager to see her father and to check that they were safe, as the memory of the crows was still too fresh in her mind.
The barn was silent when she finally reached it with her unstable legs shaking beneath her. For a moment she wondered why everything appeared to be blackened, but then she remembered the fire once again. Strangely she could see herself in the courtyard, almost as the crows would have seen her, and as she watched herself scream fire, her body was engulfed in flames. The fire seemed to have its own agenda and carried her forward, almost launching her as a projectile weapon against the crows, leaving a scorching trail in her wake.
Ilsa felt uneasy, not knowing if the memory was something real or imagined, but somehow knowing it was true. As she stepped further into the barn she noted that Cetar was gone. She felt ashamed that she was responsible for her own horse’s demise, thought she hadn’t consciously planned the attack.
Glutar whinnied at her in the next stall, and she took a moment to pat his nose. Onur was looking at her with his usual unnatural stare. She looked around the rest of the barn and saw that her father was laying atop the table, which was now pressed against the doors. He seemed to be very still, and she was about to approach him to check he was breathing when Onur stopped her by saying, “leave him, he’s exhausted.”
Ilsa limped to Onur’s stall, “how long has he slept?”
“Only a few hours, I promised to wake him if I heard anything. He’s been awake for two days and refused to wake you.”
“Two days? You mean I slept for two days?”
Onur dipped his head.
She wanted to object, but knew that the horse had no reason to lie to her. “Barey?”
“Your father checked her, but said she still showed no sign of waking.”
“I’ll go see her,” Ilsa limped away, suddenly driven by an urge to talk with the Seer. When she reached the washroom she found the bathtub as it had been, only now the surface of Barey’s grave had hardened to a clay, and little clumps of daisies seemed to be growing in patches.
The Seer moved her head beneath the mound of earth, and Ilsa was so startled by the movement she staggered backwards a little. When she recovered her senses she crouched down to the mound of earth and realized the Seer would be alarmed by the solidified mud forcing her mouth and eyes closed, and so began to break the clay around her mouth by brushing her hands against it. As soon as the lips were uncovered Barey gasped and Ilsa saw that the entire mound was shaking as Barey was trying to free herself.
“Be still and be calm,” Ilsa said softly, and the Seer stopped struggling. Ilsa worked at breaking the mud off of the mound that encased her face and head first, and once the Seer had her eyes free of dirt, she opened them and watched as Ilsa worked.
Once her head was free, Ilsa dug through the compacted earth to free her arm and hand, which immediately began to help the digging process. Barey was almost in a frenzy to free herself from the mud, and Ilsa stepped back once the Seer had both arms restored.
Barey dug frantically at her legs and once enough of her was uncovered she got to her feet an stood in front of Ilsa, shaking from the effort, and dropping clumps of hardened mud everywhere. “Leave me,” she whispered, and Ilsa backed away.
Barey looked down at her hands, and began rubbing the dirt that clung to her skin. With wonder, Ilsa saw that her skin was now the same hue as that dirt, and Barey seemed equally awed by this fact.
Ilsa left the washroom and staggered with the intention of going to the well to draw water so that Barey could bathe, but was stopped in her tracks when she saw that a dozen crows were holding sentry on an overlooking rooftop. She hurried as fast as her legs would carry her back to Barey. “Crows, outside.”
Barey followed Ilsa to the doorway and looked up at the crows, who all screeched when they saw them. Barey took Ilsa’s hand in her own, then walked confidently to the barn and inside. “We have to leave this city.”
Ilsa wondered exactly how they were going to do that without Elmington knowing.
Barey we
nt straight to Onur and rubbed his nose, “I didn’t think I was going to live,” she said quietly to the horse.
Onur makes a chuffing sound, “you have Ilsa to thank.”
Barey made no move to thank Ilsa, or even look at her, but continued to look at Onur.
After many moments, Ilsa realized that they were communicating silently. Outside she could hear more protestation from the crows, and she hurried over to her father, shaking him gently.
He lurched from the table and Ilsa had to step back to avoid his sword which swung out in a wide arch of attack as he leapt off the table. “Who goes there?”
Barey turned to them both, “we have to leave the city, Elmington is determined to detain us all.”
“How can we leave and get beyond his reach?” Ilsa knew that if he discovered Barey beyond the city walls she would be put to death immediately.
Barey bit her lip, which was still covered in dusty mud, “I do not know.”
Ilsa felt herself being scrutinized by the Seer, “neither do I.”
Just then the doors seemed to melt away, and Ellard swung his sword around, its point coming in line with Elmington’s nose. The keeper of the city had his shrouded servant beside him once more, plus several armed guards.
Ellard held his sword in front of Elmington’s face, and Ilsa felt along her side reflexively for her sword, which wasn’t there.
Seer Barey walked over to the doors and held her tiny form rigid. “What is the meaning of this?”
Elmington took in her dirty appearance and smiled, “Seer Barey, how nice to see you in that…color.”
She made no comment about that, but it was clear that Elmington understood precisely what had happened to Barey. “Leave my doorstep Seer,” she said boldly. “I did not appreciate being attacked by your crows, and I hope you are not here to try and penalize me for burning them where they stood.”
Elmington looked taken aback at this lie, and Ilsa put all her concentration into thinking about anything other than the true memory of the crows. She pictured Seer Barey producing the fire instead of herself, but even though she didn’t feel anyone trying to break into her mind, she didn’t feel safe.