Return to Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘Another mud bath,’ Polina remarked ruefully. ‘You aren’t having much luck, Zastra.’

  Kylen blew out her cheeks. ‘I’ve never seen one do that before. He must really not like you. No! Don’t get off.’

  Zastra had begun to loosen her hold fractionally in order to descend and collect her belongings, but she froze at Kylen’s warning. The Sendoran flung her backpack towards her. Zastra scooped it up with one hand, maintaining a tight grip on the back of the fellgryff’s neck with the other. Her fingers were cramping with the effort of holding on.

  ‘I don’t trust him to let you remount,’ Kylen said as she jumped aboard her own fellgryff, controlling her with an ease that Zastra could only envy. ‘If we are going, we should go now.’

  ‘What about us?’ Polina objected. ‘You can’t be thinking of tackling Brutila alone?’

  Zastra shrugged herself into her backpack.

  ‘We cannot wait. You’ll have to follow as fast as you can.’

  Kylen spun her fellgryff round and they bounded down the road. Zastra urged her reluctant mount to follow. She just hoped they could catch Brutila in time.

  Despite his apparent submission, Zastra could not get the bull fellgryff to behave. He took every opportunity to duck into the forest, delighting in ploughing through the thickest parts so she would be snagged by twigs, or banged and scraped by hanging low branches. She was soon covered in scratches and her backside became so sore that every jolt was its own special torture. Kylen had no such trouble, utterly attuned with her friendly fellgryff as they galloped gleefully along. Zastra let her companion seek out the tracks left by Brutila’s soldiers while she focused purely on clinging on. At least they made good speed. The sun had sunk to an orange semi-circle on the horizon when Kylen pulled up. In the distance, a cluster of lights hung in the air like a nest of fireflies.

  ‘That’s Finistron. We were closer than I thought.’

  ‘Any sign of Brutila?’

  ‘The tracks are fresh. They can’t be far ahead.’

  The fellgryff hooves beat out an uneven rhythm on the soft ground as Zastra and Kylen spurred them on. The last of the sunlight had almost gone when they saw a small group of travellers not far ahead. One of them lit a jula lamp and in the orange glow, Zastra counted six figures, one much smaller than the others. Findar! She urged her fellgryff into a charge. They were outnumbered but she didn’t care. Beside her, matching her stride for stride, was Kylen, urging her mount forward with whooping cries. As they closed on the group, a piercing shriek rent the air. The fellgryffs bellowed and bolted into the forest.

  ‘No!’ Zastra exclaimed in dismay. High above Finistron, a migaradon flapped its membranous wings and emitted another high-pitched cry. The fellgryffs bellowed in return and fled all the faster. By the time Zastra and Kylen were able to pull them up, Finistron was far behind. They tried to urge the fellgryffs back towards the track, but the animals refused to budge.

  ‘It’s no good!’ Zastra leapt down. The instant her feet hit the ground, her mount shot into the forest. Kylen also dismounted and allowed her fellgryff to follow its mate. Zastra started back towards the track, but Kylen grabbed her arm.

  ‘This way. Maybe we can still cut them off.’

  They cut across the forest at a sharp angle to the track, darting between the trees in the direction of the fortress. Lungs burning, they emerged from the forest at the top of an escarpment. Beneath their position, makeshift huts and tents of patched fabric sprawled out in front of a square, featureless fortress. A track ran through this shanty town towards a wooden drawbridge that lay before a set of gates, where a brazier illuminated a group of five travellers and a boy with fair hair. They were waved through and into the safety of the castle. Moments later, gates were closed and the drawbridge raised. Zastra sank to the ground in despair. They were too late.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joril was ready to burst with excitement. Today she would begin her lessons. Following the results of her blood test, she had been allocated quarters on the top floor of the mindweavers’ tower. She shared the room with Berynder, a merchant’s daughter, who had been at the castle for two years. Joril had been given three new sets of clothes and Master Jallal had ordered her old ones taken away and burned. She ran her cheek against the sleeve of her new woven bamboo shirt, revelling in its smoothness. Her tunic was made from mountain goatswool and was soft and fine, not scratchy and coarse like her old one. Best of all, she had been given a wide purple sash that marked her out as unproven, the official term for children like her who had blue blood but were not yet mindweavers. If only Lylian and the other village children could see me now. The only thing that had dampened Joril’s joy was being told she would be unlikely to display any mindweaving skills until she was thirteen. She wasn’t sure she could bear to wait that long.

  She had been scrubbed clean in a bath filled from steaming kettles brought by castle servants. Not a speck of flour remained. She had only ever had one bath in her life before, when Auntie Bodel had treated the family to a visit to the Hurlbridge bath-house to celebrate Spring Harvest. Now she could have one whenever she wanted. Never again would she have to wash in a bowl of cold water.

  The castle gong rang out to indicate the start of lessons. Joril placed her purple sash over her shoulder, smoothed it out with her hand and followed Berynder down the stairs. As they reached the lower levels, they were joined by the trainees in their purple shirts. Interspersed between them were mindweavers in their everyday black robes. Berynder pulled her aside to let one past. Mindweavers took precedence over trainees, who in turn took precedence over the unproven. Even so, it was still better than being in the bakery and having to serve every rude farmer or blacksmith’s boy that came in. Joril felt a momentary guilt. It was the first time she had thought of the bakery since the test. She hadn’t had time to go home and explain what had happened, or even to find Tomik in the castle stables. There had been too much to see and learn. In any case, Jallal had told her that the unproven were expected to give up their old lives and commit to their new role and Joril had no problem with that. Lylian would surely have told everyone the news. Her parents were no doubt proudly receiving the congratulations of the whole village.

  She followed Berynder across the courtyard and up two flights of stairs. The unproven and trainees took lessons in adjacent classrooms overlooking the courtyard. As they passed the trainees’ room, Joril peeked inside. Cushioned chairs were arranged around elegant oval-topped tables, laid out in a pleasantly informal way. A plush rug with an intricate pattern covered the floor. Her own classroom was disappointing in comparison. Square desks were laid out in rows across a stone-flagged floor and the plain wooden chairs had no cushions. Joril looked for a place near the windows, but those were already taken and she had to content herself with a seat near the front. Master Jallal came in and clapped her hands together.

  ‘Good morning everyone.’

  She waited for silence.

  ‘We have some new recruits today. I’m sure you will welcome them to our happy band. Would you like to introduce yourselves?’

  She looked encouragingly at Joril and waited for her to stand up and face the class.

  ‘Um, hello, everyone. My name is Joril.’

  ‘Anything else you’d like to say about yourself?’

  Joril shook her head and quickly sat down. There was nothing about her previous life she wanted to share.

  ‘How about you, Herak? Up you pop, my dear.’

  A plump boy with freckles stood up, stammered something incomprehensible and sat down as quickly as possible.

  ‘Yes, well, it’s a big day for some of us,’ Jallal remarked with her crooked smile. ‘Now, why don’t the rest of you introduce yourselves to our new friends?’

  The rest of the class called out their names one by one. One of the boys was noticeably taller than the rest and his beard was starting to grow in. He had the dark skin of a Southlander and introduced himself glumly as Myka. Jallal reste
d a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Myka is an unusual case. Even though he’s fifteen, we have yet to discover any mindweaving or mindmoving powers. We all must encourage Myka to unlock his talents so he can move up to the trainees’ class.’

  Joril raised her hand.

  ‘Is the test always right?’

  ‘Excellent question, Joril, my dear. You are not the first to wonder. All I can say is that we have retested Myka’s blood several times and it always turns blue in the vial. We just have to keep doing our best, don’t we, Myka?’

  Some of the class sniggered. Myka stared at his desk. Joril gave him a pitying look. Imagine having blue blood but no mindweaving powers. She vowed that such a thing would never happen to her. The only other classmate that roused Joril’s interest was a thickset boy of about her own age. His black hair was wavy with dark red streaks running through it. He introduced himself briefly as Yldred.

  ‘Don’t be modest, dearie,’ Jallal trilled. ‘Yldred is Thorlberd’s son. Second only to Lord Rastran in the succession.’

  Joril could hardly believe her luck. To think that I’m in the same class as Lord Rastran’s brother! She tried to catch Yldred’s eye. It would be something if they became friends. Maybe he would introduce her to the rest of his family. Unfortunately, Yldred seemed more interested in fiddling with his stick of charcoal than looking about him.

  ‘For the benefit of our new students, let me remind everyone why you are here,’ Jallal continued. ‘You are fortunate young people. With the exception of poor dear Myka, bluebloods will manifest mindweaving powers when they reach the age of thirteen, perhaps sooner if you try very hard. You will have the honour of helping Grand Marl Thorlberd make Golmeira a great and powerful land. Your service will be well rewarded. Some of you come from poorer backgrounds…’ Here she paused to cast a sympathetic look at Joril, ‘…and in this class you will be taught to read and write. You will also learn the discipline that a mindweaver will need if he or she is to reach the limits of their powers.’

  Joril raised her hand again.

  ‘When will we meet Grand Marl Thorlberd?’

  ‘The Grand Marl and Lord Rastran are not currently resident at Golmer Castle. They are doing something… very important. But he does take an interest in some of our trainees, particularly those with strong or unusual powers. Work hard and you may catch his notice.’

  Jallal handed out pieces of paper with a list of words of increasing length. It was a reading test. When she discovered that Joril already knew her letters and could read half the words on the list, she was delighted.

  ‘This is a pleasant surprise. Who taught you to read, dearie?’

  ‘My auntie.’

  ‘I see. Unusual, for a village girl. What does your auntie do?’

  The classroom door burst open and to Joril’s utter horror, they were interrupted by the very person they were talking about. Bodel scanned the room until her eyes lighted on Joril. Behind her, Tomik scraped his cap from his head and offered Master Jallal an apologetic bow. His politeness had no effect.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Jallal exclaimed, glaring at the intruders. ‘This is a private lesson.’

  She could have been a statue for all the attention Bodel paid her. Her aunt strode across the room and plucked Joril from her seat.

  ‘There you are! Are you all right? Have they hurt you?’

  Joril flushed with shock and embarrassment and tried to wriggle out of Bodel’s grip.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to take you home.’

  ‘No! I don’t want to.’ Joril directed her plea towards Jallal. ‘She can’t make me, can she?’

  Her teacher smoothed her hair and composed her features into an accommodating smile.

  ‘Is there a problem here?’

  ‘Problem?’ Bodel rounded on her. ‘I should say so. My niece disappears – her poor Ma is so upset we had to close the bakery. We’ve been worried out of our minds. I’ve spent the last two days searching all the castle villages. It was only when Joril’s father thought to ask the miller’s daughter that we found out where she was.’

  A wave of whispers and nudges swept round the class. Joril wanted to sink beneath the stone flagging, such was her shame.

  ‘Perhaps we should discuss this outside?’ Jallal suggested smoothly.

  ‘Certainly.’ Bodel turned imperiously and headed for the door. ‘Come along, Joril.’

  Joril found herself obeying without thinking. Once the door closed behind them, Bodel opened her arms to try and hug her.

  ‘We’ve been so worried.’

  Joril shrugged off the attempted embrace.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Jallal. ‘Joril is a very special girl and will be well looked after. She has a great future.’

  ‘She is a thoughtless, disobedient child, who’s coming home with me.’ Joril shrank back as Bodel reached for her hand.

  ‘You can’t make me. I want to stay here and learn to be a mindweaver.’

  ‘Dearest, it isn’t safe. They will turn you into something evil. Someone who steals private thoughts and makes folk do things against their will.’

  ‘You’re just jealous!’ Joril burst into tears. ‘You lied to me. You said I was tested and I didn’t have blue blood, only I do.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Jallal’s smile slipped. ‘It is treason to hide the results of a test.’

  For the first time, Bodel faltered.

  ‘The truth is you had never been tested before,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted to keep it that way. There’s—’

  She broke off abruptly and glared at Jallal.

  ‘Get out of my head!’

  Jallal’s fragile smile disappeared completely. Joril turned to Tomik.

  ‘Father, you’ll let me stay, won’t you?’

  Tomik cleared his throat with a sideways look at Bodel.

  ‘I’d be happy for you stay, duckie, but your Ma is very upset. You know how she gets.’

  Joril felt a stab of shame. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t send a message. It’s just there was so much to do and in all the excitement I forgot. Can’t you explain to her? Surely she’ll be happy for me? What if I come and tell her myself?’

  ‘They’ll not let you go, once they’ve got their claws into you,’ Bodel interjected sourly. Jallal rediscovered her lopsided smile, although with some effort.

  ‘Joril is free to leave the castle at any time, subject of course to the availability of an appropriate chaperone. She can visit her mother at next Moonscross.’

  ‘She’ll come right now,’ Bodel insisted.

  ‘Impossible. We’re in the middle of a lesson. And if there are any more disruptions, I shall be forced to have the guards throw you out.’

  Jallal re-opened the classroom door and gave Joril a gentle shove in her back, before sweeping in after her and closing the door firmly in Bodel’s face.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The gong sounded for lunch, but Joril hung at the back of the class until she was sure the corridor was clear. For all she knew, Bodel might be waiting to ambush her. Berynder and another girl giggled as they went past, and Joril made out the words ‘bakery’ and ‘Mad Dalka’ beneath the laughter. Jallal came and crouched next to Joril.

  ‘That must have been upsetting.’

  Joril felt her eyes fill up. She didn’t understand why she felt like crying. It was bad enough that Bodel had embarrassed her without making even more of a fool of herself by blubbing like a baby. Her teacher reached inside her robes for a handkerchief.

  ‘There’s no need to be upset, my dear. Your Auntie Bodel seems nice. Does she live with you?’

  Joril sniffled.

  ‘Yes, m-most of the time.’

  ‘And what about the rest of the time?’

  ‘Sometimes she goes away to gather her herbs. She’s a healer.’

  ‘Of course, of course, nothing suspicious there. I wonder, what does she say about Grand Marl Thorlberd? Perhaps she has some doubts about the way he ru
ns things? If so, I’m sure we can explain things to her. Clear things up.’

  Joril blew her nose into Jallal’s handkerchief. ‘Sometimes. She and Tomik argue about it.’

  ‘I see. What do they say?’

  Joril shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know, I never paid any attention. She can’t make me leave, can she?’

  ‘Oh dear me, no. You are quite safe. No one can take you away from us.’

  Joril blew her nose again and offered to return the handkerchief. Her teacher grimaced and pushed Joril’s hand away.

  ‘No, no. You keep it, my dear.’ Joril balled the damp cloth in her hand.

  ‘I suppose I should go and see my mother.’

  ‘If that’s what you want. Which bakery do your family run?’

  ‘Dalka’s in Highcastle village. Everyone knows it.’ She felt no need to add that its fame was due to her mother’s peculiarities as much as for the quality of her bread.

  ‘I’m sure we can arrange something. Hurry along or there’ll be no lunch left.’

  Joril was last in the line for food. She collected a plate of bread and cheese, added a dollop of pickled guber-root and looked around for her classmates. All tables appeared full. Berynder was sitting with Herak and Yldred. Joril approached her.