‘So this wild beauty was already here? Harmless and gorgeous… and feared.’
Elysius nodded. ‘And I seem to be the only one who enjoys it. It suited my purposes in the early years to live a hermit’s existence, but loneliness is a curse. It would be a pity for Briavel to discover how harmless the Wild is — it would quickly become an annexe of that realm. Just imagine its trees cut down, its streams dammed and diverted, its sheer wildness harnessed. On the other hand, I do miss people. Sometimes I fly with the birds so I can look through their eyes over Briavel or Morgravia and get a sense of being back amongst a community.’
‘Then go. Can’t you cast a glamour about yourself and leave?’
The manwitch smiled. ‘I cannot work magic on myself of that nature, no. Irritating but true.’
Wyl frowned. ‘So if the Wild is not enchanted, why did people of old fear it?’
‘There is magic here, Wyl, be very sure of that. I can’t explain it; I simply accept it. The Thicket, for example, is something rather extraordinary which, from what I can tell, exists purely to keep people away from the Wild. Perhaps if we delved back into history, scholars might throw some light on why no one has explored the region, what exactly they feared so irrationally or perhaps knew to be true.’
‘Old superstitions, I’d guess.’
‘More than that. The Thicket is real and thinks for itself. It allowed me to pass through all those years ago, then Emil, and then you and Fynch, but I suspect it actually does frighten away many who might attempt to enter. It certainly dealt with your friend.’ He saw Wyl’s expression fall at this comment. ‘I’m sorry, that was clumsy of me. I don’t believe your friend has been hurt — I feel sure the Thicket has never injured anyone — but it has the power of choice and it chose for him to be repelled.’
‘What has it done with him?’
Elysius sighed. ‘You are the first person I have shared this with. You will not be the last though — one other must know,’ he said cryptically. ‘The Thicket is more than just a barrier — it is a gate.’
‘To what?’
‘I don’t know. Other regions, I imagine,’ Elysius mused. ‘Perhaps other worlds.’
Now Wyl was astonished. ‘What?’
‘I don’t know enough about it. I have never made use of it, nor will I.’
‘So Aremys might be in a different world, you’re saying?’ Wyl said, aghast.
‘No, I’m not saying that. I understand it so little that I would never suggest such a thing. The Thicket acts as an entry to other places, to cause travel, is all I’m hazarding.’
‘And Aremys has been pushed through that gate?’
‘I’m sorry, Wyl, that I can’t enlighten you further. For all we know he could be on the other side, taking an ale in Timpkenny. It is not important.’
‘Not to you perhaps,’ Wyl said tersely, moving to check on Fynch who was playing in the nearby stream with Knave.
‘And that was clumsy of me again. What I mean to say is that I believe he is safe, wherever he is, and that what is of importance right now is you and the decisions you make.’
‘I came here for an answer, Elysius, and I have it now.’ Wyl scowled, spoiling Ylena’s pretty face. ‘There are no further decisions to make. I must leave for Briavel.’
‘You know Valentyna must marry Celimus, don’t you?’
‘It doesn’t have to be so,’ Wyl countered. ‘And how could you know that so surely whilst you’re stuck out here?’
‘I know many things, Wyl, and I have explained that I travel with the animals — I see and hear much.’
Elysius’s calm countenance could be frustrating. ‘How? How can you know with such certainty that she must marry the madman of Morgravia?’
‘It is prophesied.’
‘By whom?’ Wyl demanded, his tone slightly mocking.
‘The Stones tell me so. They always speak the truth.’
‘The Stones! The same pebbles your brother uses to advise Cailech on how to roast people alive?’ He was yelling now.
Elysius was wise enough to understand Wyl’s sense of helplessness and his fears. He did not react to his wrath. ‘The Stones do not advise, they simply give answers to questions. Their answers are not always clear, I grant you, but in this they are firm. Queen Valentyna of Briavel will marry King Celimus of Morgravia, come what may.’
‘Then we had better hope he kills me first,’ Wyl said bitterly, ‘for I won’t allow it. I will use everything I have within myself to prevent such a marriage taking place.’
He hated the sympathy on the manwitch’s face, as if he already knew this to be a hopeless cause.
‘I’ll take my leave now, Elysius. I thank you for your hospitality and your explanations.’
‘I am deeply saddened, Wyl. I wish I could offer more comfort, at least more guidance, but the way ahead for you is not clear — other than Myrren’s choice for your final destination. Your journey there is shrouded.’
Wyl nodded, too depressed to respond, and walked away.
Elysius called to him. Reluctantly Wyl halted and looked back. ‘We will not meet again, Wyl Thirsk. The Thicket will permit you through. Take food from the cottage and leave before dark. Remember my warning: Myrren’s gift cannot be manipulated or it will punish you in ways you cannot imagine. She insisted you rule Morgravia. Rule you must.’
Wyl felt a tremor run through Ylena’s thin body at such prophetic words. He could not speak, simply raised a resigned hand in farewell.
‘Trust Fynch, although he too has his own path now,’ Elysius called after him somewhat cryptically. He wanted to say more but he feared it might persuade Wyl that the Quickening could be foiled. Elysius knew better. He watched the retreating back of the only person in the land who could save Morgravia, Briavel and the Mountain Kingdom. He watched until Wyl was long gone and his own ugly wet cheeks had dried from the tears he had shed.
Fynch sat in Ylena’s lap, her thin arms hugging him to her chest. Knave had positioned himself so close that he was touching both of them.
‘I don’t mind that you’d like to remain here a while. It’s so beautiful, I could live here forever,’ Wyl admitted.
‘But why can’t you stay longer?’ the small boy asked.
‘I must go to Valentyna, Fynch. I have to get a grasp on what’s been happening.’ He scratched his head. ‘I don’t even know if time passes the same in the Wild — who knows what might have occurred since we were last in Briavel?’
‘Time is the same,’ Fynch assured. ‘And you’re sure you don’t mind if I stay here a little longer?’
‘I promise,’ Wyl said, meaning it. ‘Is there a reason beyond the peace and solitude, though?’
Fynch nodded. ‘I can’t explain it, but I feel compelled to remain.’
Wyl noticed Knave was staring at him. He wondered if Elysius was with them, seeing through the animal. The dark eyes seemed to be imploring Wyl to trust the boy.
‘Come straight to Werryl once you leave here. I hope I’ll be there, but you know you have friends at the palace, no matter what.’
Again Fynch nodded, his mind already turning to more practical matters. ‘How will you travel?’
‘I’ll buy a horse at Timpkenny.’
‘I have plenty of coin if you need it.’
Wyl laughed. It was the first time in a while that he had heard Ylena’s tinkling laughter. ‘You’re an extraordinary child, Fynch, do you know that?’ he said, ruffling the lad’s hair. ‘And I suppose you have Knave so you don’t need to worry about transport.’
‘That’s right,’ Fynch said, turning in Ylena’s arms. ‘Be careful, Wyl… please.’
Wyl nodded. ‘I promise to try and remain Ylena,’ he said and was rewarded with a smile from his friend. ‘Although you know this thing isn’t over yet. Elysius says it will continue —’
‘Until you rule Morgravia,’ Fynch interrupted. ‘Yes, I know. But who knows what might happen yet.’
‘He says that is the outcome.’
‘Then he’s ignoring the notion of free will. Remember, Myrren’s gift is still bound by the will of others, if not your own.’
Wyl hugged the boy again. How odd that no adult could bring the comfort that this child could. Fynch always seemed to say the right thing at the right time.
‘I must go.’
They stood and Wyl leaned down and kissed Fynch. He looked towards Knave. ‘Bring him safely to me.’
The dog growled softly in answer.
Wyl wasted no further time. He packed a small sack of bread and dried meat, together with some hard biscuit and a bladder of water. It would do. He left the cottage with a single backward glance, in case Elysius had come to add something heartening. Only Fynch stood there, one hand on Knave, his other in the air waving.
Leave soon, Fynch, Wyl suddenly thought, even though an hour earlier, with the boy hugged close, he had felt the lad was safer in the Wild than in any of the neighbouring realms. He could not put his finger on the reason for this about-face but he had a sense that Fynch would be changed the next time they met. As he raised his hand in farewell, he took a moment to fix in his mind the picture of the innocent, serious little boy and the large, mysterious dog. He felt an urge to warn Fynch but he was already too far away. It would mean climbing back up the hill and the small boat was bobbing invitingly just steps away on the Darkstream. The craft must know he was preparing to leave, he realised, for it to be waiting so patiently for him.
Against his inclination, he made the decision to press on. As much as he felt a fear for Fynch he knew it was irrational, and Wyl would be the first to admit that both of them were caught up in something so dark and strange that no one could predict the outcome. He wanted to believe he could stop Valentyna uniting Briavel with Morgravia through marriage but there was something about Elysius’s sorrowful look that told him the prophecy was true and he was fighting a hopeless cause. Still, he must die trying, and he smiled grimly, for death was all that was ahead for him until he became the person he was destined to be.
As for Fynch, he was on his own path of destiny and although their paths were firmly linked at certain points, for the most part they ran parallel. He would just have to hope nothing untoward leapt into Fynch’s way. With Knave at his side, Wyl doubted that anything — even magic — could deter Fynch from his journey, whatever that was.
He lowered himself into the boat and undid the small rope. Immediately the craft set off against the current, which was fascinating in itself. It moved effortlessly through the dark waters towards the great mouth of the mountain which had swallowed him once already.
He sent a prayer to Shar that he would hold his nerve this time and make it through to the other side without succumbing to the Darkstream’s invitation to drown.
THIRTY-NINE
FYNCH SAT QUIETLY WITH Elysius outside his dwelling watching the birds darting in and out of the trees and swooping across the picturesque meadows. He made a chain of daisies and looped it around Knave’s neck. The dog did not seem to mind — he was more intent on snuffling around for a smooth round stone he could persuade Fynch to throw for him in the absence of a ball. In the comfortable quiet Elysius considered with a heavy heart how to approach the frightening topic that needed to be discussed.
‘How long will you stay here, Fynch?’ he asked finally.
‘As long as it takes,’ the boy replied, stringing a second daisy chain over Knave’s head.
‘For what?’
‘For you to tell me what it is that burns at your lips and makes you so anxious.’
Elysius was stunned. He was right about the child. ‘How do you know?’
Fynch shrugged. ‘I sense it. Near to you, it’s easier for my senses to tap into your mood. And Knave’s magic is strong because you are so close. I think he helps me to understand all sorts of things. And then there’s the Thicket. Even through the rockface it seems to whisper to me.’
Elysius nodded, amazed. ‘You sense right, child.’
Fynch scattered the flowers he held. ‘Then tell me. Don’t be scared.’
‘Have your senses told you what it is that sits between us?’
The boy shook his head. ‘It’s important, though, isn’t it?’
‘It is also a secret.’
‘You didn’t tell Wyl?’ This obviously surprised Fynch because he frowned, then sighed as if accepting something unpleasant.
‘No. Trust me when I say it would endanger him if I had.’
Fynch accepted this without further question. ‘Should I be scared?’ he asked, eyeing his companion.
Elysius did not know how to answer this. Fynch was such a sharp child, it would not be right to give him anything but a direct answer. ‘Well, I am scared at sharing it with you.’
Fynch nodded gravely. ‘Tell me then.’
Elysius wasted no further time. ‘I am dying. It will happen soon.’
The boy did not react other than to stare at the ground. Elysius saw him lace his fingers together as if to steady himself whilst Knave stopped his search and lay down silently next to Fynch.
‘Have you read it in the Stones?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But they assure me in their strange roundabout way that the magic need not die.’ He leaned forward. ‘Must not die, in fact,’ he added emphatically.
Fynch sighed heavily and lifted his gaze to look directly into the milky eyes of his dying friend. ‘And you can pass it on to me.’
Elysius felt an enormous outpouring of gratitude and pity for Fynch. The brave little boy had worked it out for himself. He could hear the regret in the child’s voice and wished he could avoid placing this terrible burden on a youngster who had already given more than enough to Myrren’s cause. But then this was not for Myrren — this was another sort of gift; a terrible and heavy responsibility to entrust to a child. But he was the right one. Elysius had known this from the moment Knave had encountered the tiny gong boy at his work in Stoneheart all that time ago.
‘Fynch, will you accept it?’
‘I fear it,’ Fynch replied without committing himself.
Elysius was surprised that the boy had not baulked. ‘You need not, if you wield it wisely.’
‘I don’t understand how I can use magic,’ Fynch said, shifting to stroke Knave’s large head and velvety ears.
‘Yes you do, child. You have always known in your heart. You told me that your mother was fey. She passed her talents and her own sentient ability on to you. In truth, I do believe you chose me.’
Fynch took no notice of the gentle accusation. ‘And I must use it to protect Wyl. See to it that he rules Morgravia. Is this right?’
Elysius hesitated and Fynch’s gaze flicked up from Knave’s head to stare at his freakish friend.
‘You will help Wyl, of this I am sure, but Myrren’s gift has its own momentum. It will take him to his destiny come what may. You… well, you have a much more complex task, son, and I wish I could spare you it.’
‘What is it that I must do?’ Fynch asked, dread in his voice.
‘You are soon to be custodian of the magic belonging to the Thicket,’ Elysius explained.
It was not a time for further apology or placations. Elysius knew this weight of responsibility must fall on the narrow shoulders of this small child. ‘When I first came to the Wild, guided by the birds and animals, they called me the Gate Wielder. It took me a long time to understand what they meant, and then I spent years trying to ignore it. The rest of my life I have devoted to avoiding it — I have never believed I am strong enough.’
‘Gate Wielder,’ Fynch said, testing the words on his tongue. ‘And what does it mean?’
Elysius told Fynch about the Thicket acting as a gate, as he had detailed to Wyl earlier.
‘Has there always been a Gate Wielder then?’
It was an astute question and Elysius acknowledged it with a smile. ‘No. In past times there have been, I suspect. But I was the first in a very long time. The Thicket takes care of itself
and ordinarily can keep people out via its own means. Those who may be allowed to pass through for whatever reason then have Samm to contend with.’
‘Samm is persuasive,’ Fynch agreed. ‘So why change now? Why did the Thicket need you?’
‘My guess is that until fairly recent times it hasn’t needed someone with magic powers.’
Fynch looked at him, confused. ‘Your guess?’
‘Fynch, the Thicket has never spoken to me as I gather it speaks to you. My communication with it has been via the birds and animals. From the few things you’ve said, it sounds to me as though the Thicket itself talks to you. My feeling is that you are no ordinary Gate Wielder, if there is such a thing.’ He laughed briefly, sadly. ‘I believe that you are someone very special.’
‘What do you mean?’ Fynch asked, scared afresh.
‘I don’t know what I mean. I am speculating. Perhaps the Thicket needs you for more than simply watching over a gate that almost never gets used.’
That notion hung heavily between them for several long moments.
‘If the Thicket has its own powers, why does it need you?’ Fynch asked eventually.
‘Well, again I can only surmise. My hunch is that it needs to channel its magic through someone to achieve change outside of itself.’
‘You mean change in the world beyond its own borders?’
‘Exactly.’
Elysius reached for a flask of juice he had squeezed that morning. He gestured to Fynch who nodded. As he poured them each a cup, he tried to make this difficult notion clearer for the child whose burden suddenly felt so much heavier than his own.
‘I think it needs the wilder magic my mother spoke of, and that means someone whose talent revolves around nature. It found that in me and I presume any previous Gate Wielders offered similar qualities. I am passing my nature magic to you, so that would answer one part of this strange equation, but the other is how and why the Thicket speaks to you. I can’t imagine how it will use you.’
The Quickening Page 97