The day passed swiftly, and almost before he knew it, Fergus found himself wiping his brow as he dropped off his last customer. He sighed, but it was a pleasant sigh — his purse was half full, and his family would be pleased when he was able to return home the next day with a boat full of fresh food.
Pushing off, he felt the river breeze blow gently on his cheek and heard the gurgle of the water as it splashed against the sides of the boat. The setting sun was silhouetted against the graceful arches of the Winebridge in the distance. Further still, the Crystal Palace began its evening display, cycling through a multitude of colours — emerald, turquoise, crimson and gold.
This was Fergus’s favourite time of day, when the world seemed to take a short rest; a time for reflection on the day’s achievements and preparation for a night with family and friends.
Fergus was a clever ferryman, and unlike many of his fellows, his small house was located downriver rather than upriver. This meant that at the end of the day he could make his way by steerage only, gently nudging the boat to the left or the right as the current took him along. Tired as he always was, he could enjoy a pipe and watch the sun as it sank below the horizon.
He leaned back against the gunwale and took an igniter from a trouser pocket. Its runes were a little faded but it was Fergus’s most treasured possession, worth an entire month’s gilden. From another pocket he withdrew a wooden pipe and a pouch of redleaf. He tapped some of the hairy leaf into the bowl of the pipe and then carefully put the pouch away. Fergus named the activation rune, and the symbols etched into the igniter suddenly lit up with power; he felt the heat radiating from its tip. Touching the igniter to the bowl of the pipe, Fergus inhaled, and then exhaled a cloud of sweet smoke.
The river widened, and the boat’s stately progress slowed, but Fergus decided against hurrying. He’d had a good day, and he deserved this quiet time. He watched the banks of the river change from cultivated land to wilderness. Tree-covered hills rose on both sides and birds cawed as they flitted from one branch to another. Fergus sighed with contentment and, stretching out on the boat, he began to dream.
It was still light enough to see, but even so he wouldn’t have noticed the length of cloth twisted amongst the reeds of the riverbank except for the colour — deep orange. Fergus thought it a strange colour to be seeing with the greens and browns. Still, it was just some cloth that had made its way downriver, why should he investigate?
He drew on his pipe and blew out a trail of smoke. It wasn’t just a piece of orange cloth, he could see that now. The cloth was wrapped around something. Fergus looked up at the sky; there certainly wasn’t much light left in the day; the sun was a red ball on the horizon and slanted rays reflected from the river in a golden shimmer. However his curiosity was nagging him like an old woman, and if he wanted to find out what it was, he needed to do it now.
Finally it was the fact that he was upstream of the object that won the argument. It took only a light sweep of the oars to get him steering in the right direction.
Fergus let the river take him closer. He would wait until he was nearly on top of the object before he tried to take a proper look. If it was something worth salvaging — perhaps some goods had slipped off a trading barge — he wanted to know for certain.
The ferry boat bumped gently into the riverbank. The boat was flat-bottomed, and as sure-footed as Fergus was he had no difficulty walking to the front.
Fergus leaned out. The orange material was just out of reach. Whatever the cloth was wrapped around, it was submerged beneath the reeds. He stretched and stretched, one hand holding to the gunwale and the other clutching in vain at the material. He was so close, barely a hands breadth. He took the igniter from his pocket and tried again. With the extra length provided by its long stem he could nearly touch the cloth.
He almost lost his balance and regained his footing, his breath heaving. He tried again. Finally he caught hold of it with the end of the igniter, pulling the cloth close enough to grasp with his fingertips. What in the Skylord’s name was it?
He could see now that the cloth was silk — expensive and unaffected by the water. Fergus tried pulling on the orange material but it was caught, weighed down by whatever it covered. He took it in a firm grip and leaned back, careless of how his balance was affected. With a sucking sound the cloth moved, tearing from the reeds the thing from below.
Fergus cried out and fell back into the boat. His eyes went wide with shock, and the igniter fell out of his fingers, landing in the river with a plop. He clutched the sides of the boat with both hands, his fingers painfully gripping the wood, as if to wake him up from a horrible dream.
The body was that of a woman, middle-aged and beautiful. She was clothed in the most expensive of garments and wore dainty little bedroom slippers on her feet. There was no colour in her skin, and her hands were wrinkled from the water. She could have been asleep except for her eyes. She had stared at Fergus with a far off look that spoke of terrible pain.
Fergus’s chest heaved; his breath came ragged. His mind whirled while he tried to decide what to do. He knew what he was supposed to do, but the thought filled him with fear.
He knew who the woman was. Lord of the Sky — everyone knew who she was.
He cursed his curiosity. What should he do?
~
MORNING dawned over Sarostar, grand capital of Altura.
The city rested snugly in a low valley, surrounded on all sides by green hills. The River Sarsen entered the valley through a gap between the hills, passing untamed wilds. It wound its way through the city’s heart before exiting the great basin at the other side. The river felt the light first and carried it sedately in, a golden saddle on its green back.
The sun rose ponderously at first, its light touching each of Sarostar’s nine bridges in turn. It lit the Crystal Palace, instantly diffused with a sparkle. The markets of the Poloplats woke and shook off the night’s chill. The wealthier districts of the Woltenplats basked in its glory, while the outlying farms and hamlets soaked it up with joy. It touched on the lawns and buildings of the Academy of Enchanters, and for an instant the Green Tower was silhouetted against the sky.
The farmers always woke first, then the market vendors and craftsmen, and finally the lords and wealthy merchants. And so the city came alive from its rim to its heart —the outlying areas were a flurry of activity long before any movement was spied at the Crystal Palace.
A lone figure walked on the Tenbridge, tallest of the nine bridges. She was a young woman, and she carried a basket of flowers in her arms.
A passer by would have assumed she was older than she was — it was something about the depths in her green eyes. But if she smiled, then they would have seen her youth. She was slight of build and clad in a simple tunic, such as a farmer’s daughter might wear. She wore her pale blonde hair long.
However at this early hour there were few passers by and Ella had the entire bridge to herself. She shivered in the crisp morning air and looked forward to summer.
The basket was uncomfortable in her arms and she shifted it to her other hip. She had a hard day ahead of her and she quickened her pace when she saw the length of the shadows cast by the buildings.
Before long Ella reached the waking markets of the Poloplats. Vendors were drinking coffee and speaking quietly — something about early mornings always made them speak in softened tones. She knew how loud they could be though, calling their wares when the market opened in earnest.
A few men and women nodded to Ella as she walked past with her basket of flowers, wondering where she would set up today. She had been coming to the market for so long that it was as familiar to her as the house she lived in, yet it never stayed the same from one day to another.
Ella’s home was close to the Dunwood, far from the centre of Sarostar. She woke every morning while it was still dark and hunted for flowers, and she knew all of the best places to find them. Sometimes she found few, and her takings were meagre. Other times
she was lucky, and she was able to return home with a handful of copper cendeens.
Winter was always the hardest. Ella hunted for pretty mosses and winter blooms but she was never able to gather as many, and people were less willing to pay good gilden. As well as rising early she stayed awake long into the night, trudging through the dark forest, seeing by the runes of a faded pathfinder.
The sun shone in Ella’s face as she exited a narrow lane and she smiled. Winter was over now, and she had a good feeling about the day.
Please, Ella thought, let her come today.
Nearly two years had passed since she had last seen Lady Katherine. She had replayed that encounter again and again in her mind. What had really happened that day? Why hadn’t Lady Katherine come to see her anymore?
Some of the market girls had laughed when Ella told them Lady Katherine used to visit her. Why would the High Lord’s wife visit a flower girl? They called her a liar, saying she just wanted to make up for the mother she never had.
Please, let her come today.
Ella’s dream was to study at the Academy of Enchanters, and to one day become an enchantress. Uncle Brandon couldn’t understand it, and although her brother Miro tried, he was too busy learning to be a soldier to really help. The only person who had ever encouraged Ella was Lady Katherine.
For some reason the High Lord’s wife had shown an interest in her. Lady Katherine loaned Ella books, and when Ella returned them the noblewoman always took them back with a soft smile. Lady Katherine brought some of her friends from court to Ella’s market stall, and with them came their friends. The High Lord’s wife was always different when her friends were around, and Ella guessed this must be to do with the difference in their stations, and acted especially deferential. Ella owed much of her success to Lady Katherine.
Please, she thought, willing it to become true. Let her come today.
Ella thought about the time her brother almost died.
When Ella was young there was a bitterly cold winter, and the Sarsen froze from one bank to the other. A group of boys had gathered on the bank and were throwing stones at the river, trying to break through the ice. Each boy tried to pick up a heavier stone than the others, and to throw his stone further. Ella and Miro watched them for a time, and as small as she was, Ella could still see the loneliness in her brother’s eyes.
"Go on. Go and play with them," she said.
Miro left without another word, running over to the group of boys and trying to join their game. His face set with determination, he had picked up a grey boulder, bigger than any of the others.
As Ella looked on, Miro tried to make his throw, but slipped on the treacherous ground, his feet scrabbling before he fell heavily over. The boys laughed.
Expecting Miro to run away, or burst into tears, Ella was instead surprised to see him pick himself up off the ground, his face red with anger, hands held in fists at his sides.
Without another word, Miro ran out onto the ice. His footsteps left cracks behind them, each wider than those before. The other boys stopped everything, dropping their stones to the earth with a series of thuds. Before long they were calling out encouragement, as Miro did what none of them had the nerve to do.
He reached the far bank, and raised his arms in the air triumphantly. The boys cheered. Then on the way back to where Ella stood watching, her fingers twisting nervously, the icy surface of the river broke.
It didn’t happen slowly; it happened all at once. Miro plunged through the ice, his body vanishing in moments. Ella screamed, a piercing, little girl’s scream, but ear-splitting nonetheless. She frantically looked around her, trying to find some kind of rope, or a long stick. There was nothing that would come close to being long enough to reach the place where Miro had fallen through.
Miro struggled, desperately trying to find some purchase. All Ella could see was the occasional flash of his arm, or his white eyes, wide with fear. There was nothing for it. Ella took a step out onto the ice.
"I wouldn’t do that, young lady," a booming voice rang out.
A hand grabbed Ella by the arm in an unbreakable grip.
"Let me go!" Ella screamed, watching her brother’s movements weaken.
"If you want to save him, you will need to stop struggling," the man said in a steady voice. "I need both hands for this."
Ella looked at the newcomer for the first time. He was dressed in the green robes of an enchanter. At his side he held a stout length of wood, inscribed with arcane symbols — runes, Ella knew they were called. He had a crisp white beard, gentle brown eyes and a long face.
He let go of Ella and she stilled, suddenly transfixed, watching the thrashing of her brother and then looking at the enchanter, wondering what he would do, praying it would be something to save Miro.
The enchanter took his staff in both hands and moved it to a horizontal position, his body sideways so that his left shoulder pointed towards the river. He began to chant in a sonorous voice, strange syllables coming from his mouth in a lilting rhythm. The runes on the staff lit up as the man chanted, bright colours in silvery lines running up and down its length.
Ella gaped as the staff began to grow. The man grunted with effort as he angled its increasing length in the direction of Miro’s twisting form. The end of the staff reached the crack in the ice and stopped there.
"Grab hold!" Ella cried. "Miro, grab hold! Please!"
There was nothing but stillness. The group on the riverbank — the young boys, Ella, and the robed enchanter — cried and bellowed, but there was no activity.
Then an arm thrust out of the water and took hold of the staff. When a second hand also took hold, Miro shakily pulled his body out of the water. The enchanter began to speak the words again, and the staff began to shorten, bringing Miro with it. Her brother was saved.
From that day Ella wanted nothing more than to become an enchantress. The young girl spoke of nothing else. It hadn’t taken Uncle Brandon long to shatter her hopes.
It cost nearly five thousand silver deens to study at the Academy of Enchanters. Aspiring students sat a gruelling round of examinations, and the knowledge that was tested was more than just what was taught at the temple school. No, it was better that she learn the skills they taught at the sky temple — weaving, sewing, numbers and letters. If she was lucky she could get a position as a maid, or a nanny. Without gilden she would never be able to become an enchantress.
Ella had thought about it long and hard. She didn’t make the decision rashly, whatever Uncle Brandon said.
At fourteen, the earliest age it was allowed, Ella left the temple school altogether. Her mind set on the five thousand silver deens, she started a stall selling flowers in the Poloplats market. The arguments with Uncle Brandon were long and bitter, but Ella could not be dissuaded. She worked from early in the morning until late at night, and she began to save. It was difficult at first, and business was slow, but Ella applied herself, and soon the copper cendeens began to trickle in.
She put most of the gilden aside, in a cache that grew slowly but steadily. With some of it she bought books from the market. Any book she could lay her hands on, provided the price was right — books about history, books about language, and books about the laws of nature. Most of all Ella kept up with what she was supposed to be learning at the temple school. And Ella read books about enchantment.
If any were too difficult — and that applied to most of them — Ella put it to the side, and kept it for another day. Over the years it constantly amazed her how a book that made little sense to her could be comprehensible at a later date if she had since built on her foundation of knowledge.
She thought about all she had learned as she set up her stall and arranged the flowers in attractive formations. Please, she thought desperately, willing it to become true. Let Lady Katherine come today!
For the last four years Ella had worked at the market day after day, and finally the time approached when young men and women of Ella’s age would have their on
e opportunity to sit the entrance examinations at the Academy of Enchanters. Ella had done it — she’d saved her five thousand deens, and she had taken every spare moment when she wasn’t selling flowers to study.
Only last week, Ella took her gilden to the Academy, and lined up with the finely dressed merchants’ sons and noblemen’s daughters. They sent her strange looks, dressed as she was in her simple tunic, holding a bulging sack in both hands. Ella had tried not to show her feelings, but she was terrified.
Suddenly she was the next in line, and then she was walking towards the huge wooden desk, where a man with shaggy eyebrows frowned as she approached.
Grunting with effort, Ella planted her gilden onto the desk with a mighty clunk. She heard snickers from behind her but didn’t turn around.
"And what have you got there?" the clerk said, pursing his lips.
"It’s… it’s the gilden, for the fees," Ella said.
The snickers grew louder.
"My dear," said the clerk, shaking his head, "I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. Firstly, what were your parents thinking, allowing you to walk about town with that much gilden? It should be on account with one of the lenders. And don’t you think it’s a little presumptuous to arrive with your fees when you have yet to sit your entrance examinations?"
Ella heard laughter behind her and turned a deep shade of red.
"However, never fear, we can still get you enrolled to sit your turn. May I have your letter of recommendation?"
A chill ran through Ella’s heart. "Letter of recommendation?"
"Yes," the clerk said; his patience was obviously being tested. "From a member of the court, to say you are of good character, or from a priest at the sky temple, to say you completed your studies." He looked Ella up and down. "I’m guessing in your case it will be the latter. Which temple did you complete your studies at?"
Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One) Page 2