Scrivener's Tale

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘Don’t lecture me, Gabriel,’ Reynard snapped. It was the first time Gabe had seen anything but the genial personality of the man. ‘We’re dealing with a girl who can’t express herself in —’

  ‘Wait. I’ll stop you there,’ Gabe said reasonably. ‘Reynard, you should know that Angelina has spoken to me.’

  He watched the colour drain out of Reynard’s face.

  Gabe continued. ‘She speaks as easily as you and I are conversing now.’

  Angelina was dressing in her warm clothes as she stared outside, entirely unisinterested in the pair of them. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he was hooked.

  They were still standing by the door, blocking any run for freedom she might suddenly decide to make. ‘Reynard, why are you so scared of Angelina?’ he said, softly enough for their hearing only.

  ‘Scared?’ Reynard growled, cutting him an incredulous look.

  Gabe realised he needed to temper his approach. ‘Perhaps I should say that you are overly anxious for her. Talking briefly with Angelina today she seems, um … “airy” for want of a better word, but not insane and certainly not dangerous.’

  ‘Then you are seeing a different Angelina. She believes herself threatened by some outward force and would rather kill herself than be hunted down.’

  ‘How has she told you this?’

  ‘She wrote it.’

  ‘Wrote it?’

  ‘Not once, Gabriel, but hundreds, thousands, maybe a million times. She wrote it on paper, her walls, her floors, her clothes, her skin! She even wrote it on a hamster, a pet of one of our patients at the clinic. She never stops writing it. The girl is unbalanced and definitely suicidal.’

  Gabe shook his head, absolutely certain of what he was about to say. ‘She is not suicidal. I assure you.’

  ‘You have no —’

  ‘Reynard, you asked for my professional opinion and now you have it. What you do with it is your business. I have done what you asked. In my reckoning, Angelina is thinking clearly and not about death. However, she is moving in a world of her own. I don’t want to call her delusional because it smacks of crazy. She is convinced of a threat, but not the one you think, and she is no danger to herself, let me reiterate that.’

  ‘I cannot believe she is speaking with you.’

  ‘Believe it. I’m not shocked. Many youngsters choose their moment to reveal themselves. Sometimes it’s with the most unlikely partner. She obviously feels safe here.’

  Reynard stared at him. ‘And your advice is?’

  He shrugged. ‘Bring her back. I was on the brink of learning more when you interrupted. Let me have a second session with her and see what can be achieved.’

  Reynard looked tired and old suddenly. Gone was the pleasantness and confidence of the previous evening. Now he looked intense and worried.

  ‘It’s entirely up to you. If you want me to see her again, I will. But I won’t push.’ Reverse psychology, Gabe thought.

  ‘All right. When?’

  ‘Thursday. It will have to be the evening. I’m sorry that I can’t offer more convenient sessions.’

  ‘I understand. In two days then.’

  ‘Seven okay?’

  Reynard nodded. ‘We’ll be here. Remember my warning, though, Gabriel. It is not given lightly. Come then, Angelina.’

  She drifted over to them like a child with her attention riveted in her own thoughts.

  ‘Why don’t you say a proper farewell. I gather that you can,’ Reynard said with only a hint of sarcasm.

  She looked at him with loathing. A quick glance was all Gabe was given but it was enough. He saw only humour in it.

  ‘Thank you,’ Reynard said to him, trying to smile but failing. ‘I can’t be sitting out in a draughty hallway each time,’ he added.

  ‘Well, you could just trust me with Angelina,’ Gabe replied.

  Reynard pulled Gabe aside and dropped his voice. ‘It’s not about trusting you, Gabriel. It’s about not trusting her.’

  ‘There you go again. What are you so frightened of?’

  ‘She will bring you harm,’ Reynard hissed in warning as they watched her hit the lift button.

  Gabe shook his head. ‘Not on my watch, she won’t.’

  ‘Well, see you Thursday,’ Reynard said.

  Gabe was tiring of him. ‘You can read the papers or just people-watch in the café across the street. No interruptions this time. You must trust me.’ He looked at Angelina. ‘See you soon.’ He watched the light flash to say the lift was imminent. ‘Ah, wait. Hold the doors,’ he urged, dashing back into the apartment to grab the pastries, which he threw back into their bag. He returned just as the lift doors opened. ‘Take this for a sugary hit later,’ he said, winking at Angelina and noticed the glimmer of a smile touch her eyes.

  He wondered briefly if he should charge a fee for this work. He decided he wouldn’t. He would regard it purely as a favour and then he owed Reynard nothing — they were square. Gabe closed the metal doors and watched the lift jerk before its captives began their descent.

  He turned back into the apartment and was surprised to see a crow seated as still as a statue on the tall tree that reached up to his apartment. Its winter-bare branches clawed the air but provided good purchase for the crow. He’d never seen one in this neighbourhood previously; they tended to show themselves in and around the main tourist traps. He stepped closer to the window. It didn’t so much as blink.

  And it had a lightish grey end to its beak, not at all like the highly glossy beak of the crows he was familiar with, and it was smaller. It seemed to be staring through his window and right into his soul.

  He clapped his hands. ‘Shoo!’ he exclaimed. He stepped forward and banged on the window.

  It jumped into the air at his yell and with an almost slow-motion beat of its wings, effortlessly dragged itself away from his building. The winter light caught its feathers and he saw a purple glow shine off its back, which was oddly beautiful. His interest piqued, Gabe immediately opened his laptop and searched the net for ‘crows’, unexpectedly becoming fascinated by the family Corvidae.

  He finally found what he was looking for. His spy had not been a carrion crow as he’d first thought. He was now sure that the visitor was a raven, which had feathers that were described as iridescent. His bird’s beak was definitely curved, as the information said it should be, and it certainly had shaggy plumage at the throat. He’d noticed the bird’s feathers at the low point of the neck were pale, near enough to grey. Yes, definitely a raven.

  Odd that it was alone, for apparently these birds moved like wolves, with certain laws of the pack guiding their lives. Perhaps it was a sentinel? His reading told him that while others trawled for food at lower levels, a few of the birds stayed higher in trees to keep watch.

  And yet this one seemed to be watching him, not its companions, if there were any.

  Gabe lost himself in an hour of research on ravens, strongly attracted to these mysterious old-world birds, once commonplace in Europe during the Middle Ages, now less so. He noted in particular their place in myth and legend, especially their association with death as escorts to the departing soul.

  It never occurred to him to recall the death dream.

  FIVE

  Loup arrived silently at dusk but Cassien was waiting, sitting quietly on the stoop of the hut; he had sensed the man’s approach long before. He felt a flutter of nervous energy at what he planned to say, wondering if Loup could write an angry response fast enough. He didn’t plan on taking ‘No’ for an answer.

  Loup nodded at Cassien’s wave.

  ‘Good evening, Loup. Welcome back.’

  The man stopped at the edge of the clearing where Cassien’s hut stood. ‘It’s always good to see you, Cassien,’ he said.

  Cassien’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as he stared at Loup, who gave him a sheepish look.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘All these years,’ Cassien murmured, shock racing through hi
m.

  ‘I half wondered if you might sense it.’ Loup looked down at his big hands. ‘They were my orders.’

  ‘Brother Josse must be so proud of you.’ He was disgusted at the deception and wanted this man to know it.

  ‘As he is you,’ Loup said, still not coming nearer.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Cassien replied.

  ‘I am as obedient and committed as you are, Cassien,’ Loup grumbled.

  Cassien stood abruptly and turned away. ‘There’s food in the pot,’ he growled over his shoulder. ‘Forgive me, I need to be alone.’ And then he was gone, grabbing his dagger and bow, blending into the forest in a blink and running silently, as far from Loup as possible.

  It never failed to impress him that Romaine could know his mood. Many times she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere when he had found himself particularly unhappy, or hurting deeply from his injuries. Romaine would come, sometimes across many miles. She would lick his wounds and sit close to him, allowing Cassien to hug her, bury his face into her thick fur if he wept. The training had so often felt as though it had no purpose and now he felt betrayed. Loup — his one connection with the world outside the forest — had been lying to him. He was walking now, had stopped running as soon as he’d distanced himself from the man.

  He heard a soft growl and Romaine emerged from the darkness. Light was fading from the day anyway, but here, this deep into the forest, it was almost always dark. Her pale coat looked luminous in the faint light.

  ‘Romaine,’ he whispered.

  She whined softly with pleasure as he crouched down to embrace her.

  ‘Oh, those cubs are close,’ he said, forgetting his troubles and gently touching her swollen belly. ‘But you came to find me anyway, didn’t you, girl?’ Now he stroked the broad, almost arrow-shaped head, which tapered to her nose and pale grey muzzle.

  She ran a large, dry tongue over his face in welcome as he dug his fingers into the bushy fur at the base of her head; she welcomed his rough scratching around her neck and ears.

  ‘You are so beautiful. You never let me down. How are you feeling? When will you have your family?’

  She whined in response.

  ‘Soon, I think,’ he answered for her.

  Romaine had always stood out from her small pack — not just because of her affectionate attitude toward him, but more particularly because of her colouring. Most of her kind were nondescript grey with a darker stripe of fur running the length of their back. Romaine was a creamy grey, lightening to a near-white around her flank. But each hair seemed to have a black tip, which gave her the extraordinary colouring of smoke.

  Her yellow eyes looked deeply into his and he absently stroked her forehead.

  ‘I’ve been tricked,’ he moaned in answer, and went on to tell her of Josse’s orders and how angered he was by Loup’s deception. ‘It’s the final insult,’ he continued. ‘We are Brothers, raised to be loyal and that loyalty is our religion. You know how it is with your pack. You all trust each other. Without that to rely on, I don’t think I want to be part of this family any longer.’

  She growled again, as if she wanted to convey a message.

  ‘Romaine is warning you that your decision may not be wise,’ said a voice.

  At the first word, Cassien had flipped backwards and was on his feet in one agile move, which included drawing his dagger from its sheath. He was poised, crouched slightly, tensed and ready to strike in less than a heartbeat.

  ‘Who are you?’ his scratchy voice echoed back from the trees, inwardly seething that he hadn’t heard or picked up any stray sound or smell. Why hadn’t Romaine warned him?

  ‘No-one you should fear,’ came the reply. The voice was mild and friendly.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Here.’ A small, spare man stepped out from behind one of the great oaks and stood beside Romaine. He touched her head and Cassien was astonished to see her lean against his leg as though they were long-time companions. Her mouth parted and she panted in that happy way of hers, her tongue lolling slightly. These two were friends.

  Cassien backed away a few silent steps to rapidly gauge his surroundings. His senses strained to hear and see what threats might have accompanied the stranger.

  The man seemed to know what he was thinking. ‘I am alone, unarmed.’

  ‘You came with Loup,’ Cassien accused, frustrated by Romaine’s easiness around this stranger.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘To kill me?’

  The man smiled. ‘May we sit? My name is Fynch. Loup knows to leave us be.’

  The stranger called Fynch looked as relaxed and unthreatened as a person could be.

  ‘Please,’ Fynch urged, ‘sit with me.’

  Cassien lowered himself fluidly in one movement to sit cross-legged. He could throw the knife accurately from a seated position; the man would get no more than half a step before it was lodged in his throat.

  ‘Thank you,’ Fynch said. ‘I’m sure you have questions but I come to ask for your help.’

  ‘Help,’ Cassien repeated.

  ‘A mission.’

  ‘Does Brother Josse know?’

  ‘He has sanctioned it. If it helps to ease your burden, he was sending Loup for you anyway … to bring you back to the priory because your testing is over. You are ready. I happened to come along the evening before Loup was due to leave, with a proposal.’

  Cassien cleared his throat. All this talking was making it sound even grittier. ‘What sort of proposal?’

  ‘The secret sort,’ Fynch said. ‘Our new queen is under threat.’

  ‘We have a queen?’

  Fynch’s grin broadened. ‘They haven’t been fair to you at all, have they?’ he replied, referring to Cassien’s isolation. ‘Lucky you have Romaine, if just for company.’

  Cassien’s expression clouded further. ‘That’s my name for her. How do you know it? Loup doesn’t.’

  Fynch stared at him. ‘She told me.’

  Cassien blinked. ‘You and my wolf talk,’ he said, his tone acerbic.

  ‘You and my wolf are friends. I respect that. But yes, she and I talk.’

  Cassien shifted his gaze to the wolf as she leaned even harder against Fynch’s legs. There was no doubting the bond between the stranger and Romaine. He felt hollow. Even his wolf was in on the betrayal.

  ‘Romaine is loyal to you,’ Fynch said, as though he’d listened in on Cassien’s thoughts. ‘I am her spiritual leader, you could say, and she has been known to me since she was still in her mother’s womb. I gave her to you. She has looked out for you and kept me informed of your progress.’

  ‘Romaine is a spy?’ he qualified.

  ‘No, Romaine is your friend and guard. She would never let anything bad happen — other than Loup and his fists and weapons,’ Fynch said, his tone tinged with regret. ‘She hated how he hurt you and it took all my reassurance to urge her to let it be … that the injuries would heal.’

  Cassien shook his dark hair with disbelief. ‘What are you?’

  Fynch shrugged. ‘An old man, as you see. A loyalist to the imperial throne. I called Emperor Cailech friend. I knew him when he was a youngster with red hair and freckles. His great-granddaughter is therefore like family — certainly someone I care deeply for — and I will do all in my power to protect her and the Crown.’

  Cassien evaluated what had just been said. None of the paintings of Cailech he’d seen as a child had shown red hair. The great King of the Razors of yesteryear and emperor of the three realms had been a fierce, towering bulk of a man with golden hair … not a freckle in sight. But more confusing was the claim that this slight man, old but not aged or infirm, knew Cailech in his youth and was still alive decades beyond his time.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Fynch said.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I believe I do. Let me ask you this. Do you believe in magic, Cassien?’

  It was the last question he could have possibly imagined being asked. Somet
hing in the man’s look demanded he be honest. ‘Yes.’

  Again Fynch nodded, this time thoughtfully and as though pleased.

  ‘Do you?’ Cassien threw back at him.

  ‘Without question,’ the older man replied. ‘I am surely living testimony to it,’ he added with a wink.

  ‘I need that explained.’

  ‘I’m sure. You may go, Romaine. I feel your time is far closer than even you realise.’

  Romaine obediently departed, first licking Fynch’s hand affectionately before trotting over to lick Cassien’s face as he bent down to ruffle her fur. It felt like an apology.

  ‘She is now the lead female in her pack,’ Fynch continued conversationally, as they watched her dark tail disappear between the trees. ‘She must keep the family going. Her pups will be the only litter for this year. But then I’m sure you know the salient facts — being so attuned to life in the forest.’

  ‘Her mate is the big dark wolf. All others fear him for miles around here. But he is as tender as any lover to Romaine.’

  ‘As he should be,’ Fynch said, ‘or he would answer to me.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand why he would.’

  ‘I know. There is a lot to tell you in a short time. Are you hungry?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we shall begin,’ he said, seating himself comfortably on an ancient fallen tree. ‘You know my name, you sense my age is impossible and I have informed you of my connection to the royals. Do you trust what I have told you?’

  He didn’t have a choice but also, if he were honest, there was only one answer. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because as much as I don’t like it, Romaine trusts you. What are you?’

  ‘That is probably the hardest question to answer.’

  ‘Then let’s get it out of the way,’ Cassien offered.

  Fynch gave a wry, brief smile. ‘Who is the king of all the beasts in your estimation?’

  ‘Folklore would say the dragon.’ Cassien frowned. ‘No, wait, I must qualify that. It’s not just folklore. It is at the heart of spiritual belief in Morgravia. The dragon is the beast closest to Shar in our estimation. Plus, the dragon is the creature that belongs only to royalty.’