The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘The spell cannot be lifted?’

  ‘Not with any magic I own,’ he answered ruefully. ‘Though I have tried, Wyl, I have tried.’

  ‘We are both cursed then.’

  ‘You speak true,’ Elysius admitted. ‘You are only the third person I have seen since I came here.’

  ‘And Fynch is the second, so that means… ah yes, of course, Emil. I remember now, the boatkeeper gave me her name but I didn’t make the connection. So Myrren’s mother came to you?’

  ‘Yes. She braved the Thicket and the Darkstream to find me.’

  ‘How did she know where to find you if everyone thought you were lost?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have, but I used a seer I knew to seek her out.’

  ‘Widow Ilyk!’ Wyl cried, immediately hushing himself for fear of waking Fynch.

  The manwitch nodded. ‘I knew she was safe to use because her powers were weak. Whatever enhancement I added by opening myself up to her would not make her dangerous — I believed she would take only what she needed to make herself more skilled in her craft, but then I was still rather young and desperate to make contact with Emil so you could say my power of reasoning and subsequent decisions were juvenile.’

  Wyl wrapped Ylena’s thin arms about her body and shivered. ‘Tell me about the widow.’

  ‘Well, she and I had met on several occasions during her visits through the southern region and once in Pearlis. I had always liked her and so I took the chance. I cast myself wide and was able to reach out and find her. I could not do the same for my brother who was well shielded by then. Naturally she was amazed to hear my voice in her head, but she was a believer in magic so I suppose she overcame her fright rapidly. She agreed to find Emil and give her a message. In return she took some of my power — not very much, she too was not greedy — which allowed her to become gifted with her sight into people’s lives.’

  Wyl sipped the strongly brewed tea. ‘Extraordinary.’

  ‘Emil came when she received the message. She was shocked and terrified, of course, by the state I was in. I learned of my daughter, and she learned that the child she had borne might be cursed with the same magic. She could not bear to look upon me and all my hopes of finding some love or companionship again evaporated the moment I felt her revulsion. With some help from me she was able to navigate her way back through the Thicket without the boatkeeper noting her return and we have had no further contact. I am presuming she never told anyone that I am still alive.’

  Wyl shook his head. ‘I imagine not. How did Myrren react to learning her father was not her real one?’

  Elysius grimaced. ‘It was as if she had suspected as much all her life — and yet how could she? Nevertheless, she took the news calmly when I finally found the courage to speak with her in the dungeon — it felt almost like relief that she knew the truth. The next time we spoke it was very brief and after her torture, so she was near enough dead. She told me she wanted vengeance on the prince through you. I think she believed you might relish the opportunity. I could not refuse her.’

  ‘Her gift seems to be more suited to her uncle’s magic if you don’t mind me saying so, although perhaps you both share some powers?’

  ‘You are right on both counts. There are certain skills we can both wield. And it might be that Myrren did inherit some of our combined magic, and when she took my power perhaps she corrupted it with the sort of dark twist Rashlyn would use. She made the conditions of the gift, not I. I simply channelled her the power to achieve her desire.’

  ‘And so I have no choice in this? My destiny is mapped out as to who I must become,’ Wyl said into the gloom. A slash of brightness through the window suggested dawn was not far away.

  ‘You also have no choice in how the gift plays out. An accident could kill you once and for all, Wyl, so chance comes into it. Remember this: you cannot force or invite death. It does not work that way. Myrren’s gift has its own momentum, its own force you could say. You do not control it; it controls you.’

  ‘So if I threaten Celimus, invite him to stick his blade into my belly, the gift won’t work?’

  Elysius shook his head slowly. ‘What is more, it will make you pay a penalty, because I could not risk you running around inviting people to kill you. Now that I know you, I realise you would never do such a thing. Power is not what you crave. Still, you cannot welcome death through someone else and thus manoeuvre it to your own ends; that was my condition to Myrren — that and the fact that the gift is subject to the whims of the world around it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I am not someone to use his power for dark purposes and this vengeance had a blackness that goes against the spirit of my magic. So I maintained that, although you could not control the gift yourself, it was subject to choice.’

  ‘Other people’s choices, you mean?’

  ‘Exactly. Death must visit you because the perpetrator decides it, not because you or the gift do. Other people will influence how the magic applies itself, in other words.’

  ‘And that made it all right in your mind?’ Wyl asked, aghast, his tone leaden with disgust.

  Elysius felt the anger and frustration of his victim. ‘It made it easier, Wyl, that’s all. I thought that if others had some choice in the matter, you might be spared.’

  Wyl laughed humourlessly. ‘And as you can see, I have been spared.’

  Elysius remained quiet. There were no words of comfort to offer.

  ‘And it will stop when I rule Morgravia?’ Wyl said into the thick silence.

  ‘Yes. This I do know. It was Myrren’s greatest desire that Wyl Thirsk rule the realm that caused her death.’

  ‘Because she knew I would stop the persecution of witches once and for all?’

  ‘Because she knew you would stop the torturing of any souls and, especially, stamp out the persecution of empowered people,’ Elysius said softly.

  Wyl sighed. ‘Of course she wasn’t to know that the same King who permitted her death would campaign to stop all further persecution. She could have saved me a lot of trauma.’

  Elysius nodded. ‘Magnus was a good King, despite allowing my daughter to die.’

  ‘Elysius, is there anything remotely positive about your daughter’s gift to me?’

  ‘Only one factor — an odd one. Myrren was determined that any child of yours would truly be yours.’

  Wyl frowned with confusion. ‘But what does she mean by that?’

  Elysius shrugged. ‘If I understand her correctly, it means that when you father an heir to the throne of Morgravia, no matter whose body encloses you the child will truly have Thirsk blood running in its veins.’

  It was cold comfort for Wyl but comfort nonetheless in an otherwise cheerless tale.

  THIRTY-SIX

  ALEDA HAD SLEPT AS deeply as the doctor had predicted. When she surfaced it was into a dulled confusion; she did not recognise where she was but there was a woman staring at her. She felt weak, knew her time was upon her.

  ‘Welcome back,’ the woman murmured, her expression one of relief.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Safe. In a town called Brackstead.’

  ‘In Briavel?’ Aleda asked anxiously.

  The woman soothed her. ‘Yes. My name is Bel. Let me help you to sit up. You need to drink this — all of it.’ She held out a mug.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A special tea. Physic Geryld insists. I’ll tell you about him.’

  Images flooded back as her mind cleared. ‘Did he go to Werryl?’

  ‘Hush,’ Bel said. ‘Physic Geryld rode to Werryl for help.’

  ‘I have to find my son,’ Aleda whimpered.

  ‘You’re in no state to do anything.’ Bel did not want to tell her that she would probably never leave this bed. ‘Let’s wait for news from the capital.’

  Aleda already knew her fate. She was too weak to sit up. ‘If I can last that long. I can feel the bleeding has begun again.’

  ‘You must ho
ld on,’ Bel urged. ‘Please… drink.’

  Aleda struggled with a few sips then let her head fall back on to the pillow.

  ‘You must keep drinking the tea if you want to live,’ Bel urged, terrified of losing the woman and being blamed.

  ‘I have nothing to live for. My family is dead, murdered. You can’t know what that feels like,’ she groaned.

  Bel fell into an awkward silence and hoped the noblewoman slept. She might even have dozed herself until a noise disturbed her.

  ‘Riders!’ she said, sitting up.

  There was a cacophony of excited voices from below. Then footsteps, a man’s tread, heavy and eager, thundering up the stairs. The door burst open.

  ‘Mother!’ Crys cried, his voice thick with emotion, and then he was across the room in a few strides, his head buried in his mother’s arms. A smile of pure joy stretched across the older woman’s face. ‘My boy.’ She was so weak she could only whisper. ‘You made it.’

  The Queen was not far behind Crys. Bel, in her excitement and confusion at being burst in upon, did not realise who the tall woman was as she was summarily escorted from the room by Liryk.

  Crys wept into Aleda’s chest only momentarily, sensing that he would lose her very soon. He looked up into the face which had always made him feel safe and loved. ‘Pil found us, told us… Elspyth made me ride to Briavel rather than home.’

  She could see his despair at having made that decision, knew he wondered whether he could have saved his family if he had ridden in the other direction. ‘You chose right — thank Shar for Elspyth’s clear head. You live, Crys, and you are now Duke of Felrawthy. Make that count.’ Aleda refused to dissolve into the tears she felt were just as determined to fall. ‘They never gave us a chance. They were sent by Celimus to slaughter us and you would be dead too if you had returned. But you must fight back now, son. Rally an army, as Ylena advised, and make that treacherous sovereign of ours pay for what he has done to our family and to the Thirsks.’

  Crys marvelled through his grief that his mother could set aside her pain and loss in her final moments of life to talk to him about duty. He could almost hear his father’s voice joining with hers, urging him to live up to the family name, but this time to fight against rather than for the Crown. It was a chilling thought.

  ‘I love you,’ was all he could say to his mother in the moment before she died with bittersweet joy in her heart that her son lived and Celimus might yet face retribution.

  At first the commotion was only about the sudden arrival of Briavellian soldiers. The folk of Brackstead were thrilled to see the purple and emerald colours so rich and bright on a cold spring morning. Then word got around that Commander Liryk himself was in town. Whatever was happening at The Lucky Bowman was obviously of great import for the highest-ranking soldier in the realm to descend upon the inn without warning.

  ‘It’s to do with the stranger,’ Bel offered knowingly to any who would give her an ear. She had been thanked for her time and paid handsomely, then asked to leave. ‘I should know, I was asked to look after her. She’s noble for sure and with a Morgravian accent. What she’s doing travelling alone is anyone’s guess, and that youngblood who suddenly appeared was apparently her son,’ she said, nodding as if she had solved the puzzle. When pushed it was obvious Bel knew very little more; nonetheless she enjoyed far closer attention than she was used to as the locals clamoured for news.

  When an observant onlooker suggested he was sure it had been their young Queen riding into town and leaping off her horse with long-legged agility and a toss of her ponytail, the tempo of the conversation increased to near boiling point. Such high excitement had not been experienced in Brackstead since King Valor himself had dropped in for an ale on his way back to Werryl from the north three years back.

  Confirmation had to be sought. Bel considered it was her duty, now that she had been elevated to such stellar heights, and she accosted the irritated innkeeper whose rooms had been suddenly cleared of patrons by the Briavellian soldiers on account of the official-looking people in room four.

  ‘Just tell us, Nan,’ Bel urged. ‘Or I’ll never be able to get them to leave the place,’ she added conspiratorially, as if she held such sway over the townsfolk.

  Nan remained tight-lipped for a moment longer before realising that her friend was right. A crowd would just keep gathering and hindering proceedings if she did not come clean. ‘Yes, yes, all right. It is her.’

  Bel swung around to the waiting people. ‘It’s true! Our Queen is here!’

  A roar went up and Nan understood all too clearly her mistake. The frenzy was too high, no one would leave. Her admission had only made it worse as runners were sent off to take messages to more of the townsfolk.

  She sighed. ‘Reduced-price ale for everyone but it’s served outside,’ she said to Bel. ‘Anyone not drinking will have to leave,’ she warned. ‘I might as well make myself a penny or two if you’re all going to clog my footpath.’ More cheers as Bel passed on this news. ‘But, Bel, you’d better keep them quiet for now. They’ve asked for hush and that’s from the top.’

  The woman’s eyes widened with excitement. As she turned to relay the instructions to an eager audience, Nan stomped back inside and dropped a curtsy to Commander Liryk who happened to be blocking her way.

  ‘Sir, I’ve done my best but they’re not leaving until they see her… er, the Queen. I’ve offered cheap ale and they in turn have promised quiet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said gruffly.

  He had no doubt Valentyna would oblige her people eventually and took one more look around the inn to check all entrances were guarded and all windows blocked by burly men. Once satisfied he gave the word for the Queen and her companions to come down to the common room. She was resting her hand on the Morgravian duke’s arm, no doubt offering condolences. He appeared composed — stoic, in fact, Liryk noticed — which was to be expected of a duke of the realm.

  ‘Please, Crys, be at ease. The regret is mine that I did not have the chance to meet her and offer my thanks,’ Liryk heard Valentyna say. ‘She brought proof, that’s enough,’ she added. The Commander of Briavel had to wonder what this new turn of events would mean for their realm and its hopes of uniting with Morgravia.

  Crys Donal, still struggling to come to terms with the death of his family, let alone having his mother die in his arms after such a courageous and tragic journey into enemy territory, was hiding his grief admirably. His father would be proud. Hearing himself addressed as Duke of Felrawthy was still a bitter sound to his ear and he had asked the Queen to call him by his given name rather than his title, even in this company.

  He was glad she had obliged so readily and could hardly believe how adeptly Valentyna had turned the awkward situation into something more bearable. Her ability to put people at ease was a true skill. She had used it well with himself, Pil and Elspyth when they had turned up so unexpectedly with such shattering news, and she was using it again now to ensure that everyone remained calm.

  He watched her stretching out her stiff limbs and yawning, issuing requests for food and warm drinks, making everyone relax. It was a deliberate and calculated move and he admired her judgement and stored it away as something he must learn himself. His father had tended towards a more authoritarian style of managing his people but Crys appreciated the pragmatic way Valentyna dealt with those around her. She remained very much in control — she was their sovereign, after all — but she listened to people, and even in the short time he had known her Crys could see that she strived to ensure everyone’s needs were acknowledged.

  As he was thinking this he saw Liryk step up and mention to her majesty that the townsfolk were eager to see her. She nodded and said something back and Crys knew that she had agreed to do what would please her people without considering her own fatigue.

  She turned towards Crys now and he snapped himself out of his thoughts.

  ‘I haven’t yet formally offered my sympathies,’ she said and to
ok his hand.

  ‘At least I saw her… had the chance to hold her as she died,’ he said bravely. ‘Which is more than I could do for my father or brothers.’

  ‘Do not torture yourself,’ the Queen said. ‘I speak from experience. It makes no difference and will not bring them back. You must take up where your fine father left off and fill his boots.’

  He smiled. ‘As you had to.’

  He sensed the sadness behind the soft smile she gave back. He felt as if he was the only person in the room with her right now. ‘Yes. And his boots felt very large indeed at first. Allow yourself to make mistakes; forgive yourself when you do. And follow your instincts, Crys. I have no doubt that your parents have groomed you your entire life to take on this challenge, as my father did for me. The know-how does not come easily but we are both more ready than either of us trust, I am sure.’

  It seemed that Valentyna knew precisely what to say at the right time. She made him feel strong when the detracting voices inside were doing their best to weaken him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, wishing he could kiss her and not just out of gratitude. The same voices told him immediately to get that idea out of his head.

  ‘You are welcome,’ she replied. ‘And no matter what happens, Briavel will always be a friend to the Duchy of Felrawthy.’

  And with that final comment which lifted his spirits and filled his heart with hope, the Queen of Briavel released his hand and called for a hearty breakfast to be served once she had had the opportunity to say hello to the people of Brackstead and apologise for the lack of warning in descending upon them.

  Her comment regarding the need for food made people nearby grin. It was a well-known fact in Briavel that their Queen, despite her lean figure, possessed a fierce appetite. The guards loved her for it, all the more so on the nights she strolled on to the battlements and never failed to show interest in what was on for supper, more than happy to crouch with them and share a small bite of whatever they were eating or drink a mug of ale with them. Somehow it never felt unseemly; she had the knack of making everyone feel comfortable in her presence whilst never relinquishing her grace or regal bearing.