Fearsome Dreamer

by Laure Eve

  White was special.

  ‘Look. I don’t have time to care about finding the best person for the job,’ he said. ‘What I need is the most Talented person showing everyone else how to do what he can do. As far as I can tell, that is exactly what has been happening already. They flock to you, White.’

  ‘They hate me!’

  ‘No, they don’t. Areline is half in love with you, as are the rest of them. She’s just less cautious about showing it. Much to her regret now.’

  ‘What of … what of Wren?’

  ‘Wren will be found.’

  White looked away.

  ‘I did not mean to,’ he said. ‘He tried to hurt me.’

  ‘So you hurt him back. It’s the way of the world.’

  Silence.

  Frith felt his patience drain to its end, at last.

  He stood. ‘I’m tired, White. And now I have to spend the night looking for an over-emotional teenage boy. As for you. You have nowhere else to go, do you?’

  White flinched at that, though he didn’t deny it.

  Frith sighed.

  ‘So. It’s really quite simple,’ he said. ‘I want you to teach here. Say yes, so I don’t have to worry about it any more. Go to bed. Get some sleep. We’ll talk about the details tomorrow.’

  Frith watched White’s face, working through some internal struggle.

  Five seconds was all he would give him to make up his mind.

  It took four.

  Three days later, Frith was given a small, plain envelope that had been left in the communal study at Red House. His name was printed in careful handwriting on the outside.

  Then he opened it, and saw who it was from.

  It had to have been Jumped there.

  There was no other way it could have found its way here from World so fast.

  The message inside was written in a flowing, cursive hand, and it read:

  One for you. One for me.

  Snearing

  PART TWO

  What if all the world you think you know

  Is an elaborate dream?

  Trent Reznor

  CHAPTER 15

  ANGLE TAR

  Rue

  ‘What an exceedingly rude young man,’ said someone above her.

  Rue looked up at the man’s voice.

  It was the day of the monthly fair, where several villages from around the area congregated in her village square. Stalls with local produce from across the way, boulangers and charcuters and patissers, farmers with animals and meat to sell. Puppet shows for the children and a small travelling theatre usually added to the noisy throng, and today was no exception. The fair tended to attract all sorts of people who weren’t local, and this man seemed to fit neatly into that category.

  Rue had been sitting on the stone wall that bordered the square, waiting for Fern to finish up with a gaggle of children she had been treating for food poisoning back at the house. It was surprisingly cold for this time of year, and she’d been alone, wrapped in her flimsy beaded shawl and trying not to shiver, when it happened.

  A boy had been meandering towards her sitting place, someone she vaguely recognised as one of several brothers who lived in the middle of the village. He wasn’t even her age. Fourteen, if that. And as he’d sauntered past, he’d smiled and called her a ‘witch whore’.

  The words had fallen out of his mouth like he’d been remarking pleasantly on the weather. So casually in fact, that she hadn’t at first understood what he’d said. It was only when he’d walked too far for her to hurl a pithy insult at him that it had registered.

  It happened, occasionally. She kept out of the way of any villagers her age, these days – easier than getting into fights, with her spitting and hissing like a cat and looking stupid. Fernie told her to rise above it, which was the most ridiculously impossible advice she’d ever heard.

  But she tried. She’d threatened a hex or two, which usually sent the younger ones running. It stopped her from doing what she really wanted to do, which was tear all their ignorant, ugly faces off.

  She shrugged, regarding the stranger. He was quite slight, and older than usually caught Rue’s attention. He had curling hair and a pleasantly non-descript face. Definitely too old, though. She wondered how she would politely disentangle herself from this one, and then decided that she wouldn’t be so polite about it if he pressed.

  ‘He’s just a boy,’ she said. ‘They’re stupid. They don’t understand much.’

  ‘And you’re looking for a man,’ said the stranger, with a faint smile.

  ‘Not your sort of man,’ Rue said with what she hoped was a derisive sniff. To her surprise, he laughed.

  ‘I should hope not. My sort of man is definitely undesirable.’

  ‘You town?’

  The man spread his hands. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’ve had everyone looking at me like a mark; the poor city fool with pockets full of money and no sense in how to spend it.’

  ‘City, is it?’ said Rue with a spark of interest. ‘I’ve met city folk before; well, but only old Mussyer Hodger, and he left his city twenty years ago to come here, got some woman in trouble and booted out to the countryside by her family is the rumour, though you wouldn’t think it to look at him.’

  The man smiled widely. ‘I can see you’re the person to talk to around here.’ He gestured beside her, and she realised he was asking her permission to sit with her on the wall. She smiled.

  The man sat himself. ‘May I ask your name?’ he said.

  ‘It’s Vela Rue. And yours?’

  ‘De Forde Say Frith.’

  ‘How do you spell that, then?’

  He told her.

  ‘Four names?’ said Rue, impressed.

  ‘Actually the de Forde is just one name. My family name. It’s very old.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You don’t recognise it?’

  Rue shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, I apologise. I’m being ignorant of how the country works differently to town. I rarely visit.’

  ‘You famous?’

  Mussyer de Forde smiled. He seemed quite charming when he smiled. Rue was enjoying herself.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Only to people who don’t count. It’s the name that’s well known. It would be nice, sometimes, to have a different one.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t wish it,’ Rue replied. ‘I knew a girl a couple of villages over across the moors, and her child name was Rainsplat.’

  Mussyer de Forde gazed at Rue, his eyes round.

  ‘Her mother lived in a boggy area, see,’ said Rue. ‘So when it rained it made a splatting sound. She said it was her favourite noise. So she named her baby after it. Course the poor girl insisted everyone called her Rain. Mostly she got called Splat.’

  ‘She would have been crucified anywhere else,’ said Mussyer de Forde.

  Rue smiled hesitantly, unwilling to admit that she hadn’t understood the word.

  ‘So you’ve your two names, Vela Rue. Are you studying to get your third?’

  ‘I’m to be a hedgewitch.’

  ‘Really? That’s quite an ambition.’

  Rue shrugged. ‘It’s the only thing worth wanting to be.’

  ‘You wish to help people.’

  Rue only smiled in reply. It was one thing to boast, it was another to give away all her secrets.

  ‘Or perhaps you just wish to be more powerful than other people,’ said Mussyer de Forde, looking out across the square.

  Rue watched him for a moment. ‘That’s a nasty thing to wish,’ she said in her most neutral voice.

  He laughed. ‘Now you’re testing me,’ he said. ‘It’s all right to wish for more power, Zelle Vela. Some people are built that way. Out in the country, with limited options, it’s natural that many of those would gravitate to hedgewitchment. A hedgewitch is the most powerful and respected figure in the community, save the Mayor.’

  Rue rolled her eyes. ‘The Mayor’s the fattest one with the most farmland,’ she
said. ‘But hedgewitchment, you can only do that with talent. I was picked out of hundreds.’

  ‘Really?’ said Mussyer de Forde in admiration.

  Rue felt the past few words catch up with her and blushed. ‘Well, not hundreds. But there were lots of us. And Fern said I was the only one there with potential. Fernie’s the witch around here. She does this village and the two other villages on the hills. Across the border it’s another man.’

  ‘I would love to meet her, but I’m sure she’s much too busy.’

  ‘Mostly,’ Rue said, ‘but she’ll be here in a minute to take a turn round the fair; she always does if she can. You could meet her then.’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ he said.

  When it came to it, Rue thought Fernie might have been mad with her for introducing her to a stranger. Fernie was a little cold with him and didn’t invite conversation. But when Mussyer de Forde suddenly (and quite bravely, Rue thought, considering how the meet had been going thus far) announced that he would love to visit them both at the house at a time suitable, Fern agreed.

  He would call tomorrow afternoon.

  ‘Didn’t you like him, then?’ said Rue, after he had gone off into the throng of the fair.

  Fern sighed. ‘You are a forthright little thing, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. You don’t have a way with strangers, that’s all – I was just surprised that you’d made friends with him so fast.’

  Rue decided not to be irritated at Fernie’s inference, as she rather fancied it a compliment that usually she wasn’t friendly with people she didn’t know.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But he’s from the city, he says. I thought it might be interesting to talk to him.’

  Fernie only smiled vaguely in reply, and changed the subject.

  As it happened, Rue didn’t have much time to dwell on the Mussyer, as she was busy until late into the night. Fernie had two visitors that evening, and insisted on keeping Rue with her throughout both meetings. The visitors had taken quite a bit of persuading, but Fernie was clever at it. Firm, unyielding but understanding, making Rue out to be quiet and secretive. Not the sort to blab, in other words. Fernie’s reputation was enough to seal it, with the added realisation of each visitor that they wouldn’t get what they’d come for until they agreed to include Rue.

  One was straightforward enough – an embarrassing ailment that could only be whispered about under cover of darkness. The remedy had already been made up. The recipient was duly awed. No one ever realised that their problems were as common as mud. The second was a woman from the Flats who claimed she was so much in love that she was dying inside. Rue almost believed her – the woman was haggard and frail, and only in her thirties. Fernie stayed up late to counsel her, and Rue soon grew bored. The only thing that consoled her through it was her silent determination never to cause herself such ludicrous misery.

  In the morning, Fernie had her go to a farm over three miles away to collect a package of pickles and jam that was owed. It was a tediously long trip, but after the first half hour she grew into it, sucking in the pleasure of being alone and unfettered. And she would still make it back with plenty of time to spare before Mussyer de Forde was due to come by.

  On the way back, she started to feel the first pangs of real hunger and stopped at a blackberry bush to eat her fill. She had well over an hour before the visit, she was pleased to note as she approached the back of Fernie’s cottage. She needed to give her purple-stained fingers a good scrub, tidy her hair and wash the mud off her boots.

  It was the voice that stopped her. A man’s voice. She’d gone through Fernie’s back gate without thinking; only visitors used the front door. She walked through towards the kitchen, and then she heard it.

  ‘… not just you, Zelle Penhallow,’ said the man through the kitchen door. ‘They are all required to do it. I’ve already visited every informant in this district and not one of them has anything of worth to offer. She’s mine by law, and you know it.’

  Rue halted outside the closed door, caught.

  There was a long silence. Then came Fernie’s voice, and Rue felt odd hearing it. She’d never once heard Fernie speak with such a tone: bitter and flat.

  ‘I’m aware of the law, Mussyer de Forde, but don’t you pretend that what you’re doing’s for the law. And I know what I’ve found. I knew it a long time ago when she first came to me. And you can’t bring me up for that neither, for if you hadn’t visited out of the blue, I would never’ve told you about it and you would never’ve known, so there we are. But when you’re here, I know I can’t lie to you and I hate you for it.’

  ‘I know you do,’ said Frith, sounding amused rather than angry. ‘I admire you for it. But I don’t understand why you don’t want to give her up.’

  ‘Because I know what’ll happen to her if I do. She’s a good girl, if a little flighty, but she’ll grow out of that. She’s got the head for hedgewitchment.’

  ‘You mean to say, she’s arrogant enough for it,’ said Frith. ‘In which case, you’re correct.’

  There was silence.

  Rue stood, heart beating fit to burst. They couldn’t be talking about her. They couldn’t be.

  ‘I’ll not give her up to you,’ said Fernie in a low voice, though she sounded like she had no fight left. ‘The gods only know what you’ll do to her.’

  ‘I’m not really sure what you’re so upset about,’ came Frith’s voice. ‘All we want to do is educate her. Give her a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be part of something greater. Teach her to be powerful. Teach her about the world.’

  ‘Oh, will you indeed? You’ll tell her all about it and what it’s like? You’ll tell her about what happens to people like her in a world that ain’t ready for ’em? Will you tell her about Oaker?’

  More silence. Rue held on to her breath.

  ‘You’d better come in, Rue,’ said Fernie in a louder voice. ‘I know you’re there.’

  Rue’s stomach rolled over. She pushed the door open and crept in.

  Fernie and Mussyer de Forde sat at the kitchen table together as if they’d known one another for years. It was clear now to Rue that she had been played by this man, that he and Fernie were just about the oldest acquaintances you could have, thick as thieves in fact; and wasn’t that interesting and just a little bit humiliating?

  ‘You know each other, then,’ she said. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Fernie, looking tired. Mussyer de Forde was leaning back in his chair, alert and serious. ‘We’ve only met once or twice, a long time ago.’

  ‘So tell me,’ said Rue, her voice coming out unsure. How was she supposed to be at this moment? What was the right reaction?

  ‘Why don’t you explain it?’ said Fernie, tossing her head to Frith with an angry glance.

  He seemed only too happy. He rocked forwards, fixing his eyes on Rue. She tried to stare back, to show him what would happen if he lied to her, to show him she was strong and hard and could take it.

  ‘Sit, please, Zelle Vela.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Very well. I come from the city, as you know.’

  ‘Oh, so that was true, was it?’ Rue said.

  ‘Certainly. I work for the university in Parisette.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘You know it as Capital.’

  ‘Capital City?’

  ‘The very one. The biggest and most powerful university in Angle Tar in the biggest and most powerful city. We have a special department for the development and training of what is called Talent, in general terms.’

  Rue digested this.

  ‘And I have it,’ she said finally. ‘Talent?’

  ‘It’s possible. It would take a lot of testing and development to see whether you really do, or to be more accurate – whether you do over a certain level of ability. A lot of people are Talented, but almost none of them can do what we’re looking for.’

  ‘What is it, this Talent?
What does it do?’

  Mussyer de Forde held up a hand. ‘First, before we can discuss anything further, I need your consent.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To take you to Capital for testing.’

  Rue looked at Fernie, who was gazing steadily at the flagstone floor and wouldn’t raise her eyes.

  ‘Fern?’

  Fernie didn’t blink.

  ‘Zelle Penhallow knows you have to make this decision on your own,’ said Mussyer de Forde smoothly. ‘I would like you to think about it. I’ll be here for another two days, I’d say. You have that long.’

  ‘If I say yes,’ said Rue slowly, ‘you’d answer all my questions before we get to Capital?’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  Rue looked at him closely. His face was open.

  ‘And this testing … how long would it take?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. Several months. Longer, perhaps.’

  Rue’s mouth fell open. That was long. That was a long time. No wonder Fernie looked unhappy.

  ‘Why would it take so long?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss it.’

  ‘But you think I have something special, something really rare.’

  ‘No. Your mistress does.’

  Rue looked at the older woman and saw a stranger. She’d always seen someone round and wise, and kinder than she ought to be, and sometimes annoying, but there, always just there and real. Now she looked like an old woman Rue had never met before.

  ‘Fern?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you never say anything?’

  Fernie shook her head. Her lips were thin and tight.

  Mussyer de Forde stood up. ‘I’ll leave you alone to discuss things. Zelle Penhallow knows what she can and cannot talk about. You may ask her anything you wish but she may not choose to answer. Don’t think her being hard with you – I’m the cause. There are some things she is not allowed to say. She’ll let you know where I’m staying, for your decision.’

  Fernie tossed him a look of pure contempt. Rue felt momentarily scared seeing it. He had bowed his head and now turned to leave.

  ‘Good evening to you both.’

  He closed the kitchen door gently.

  Fernie sighed, massaged her cheeks.