CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  “Yes, it is,” Alayna replied frankly.

  “And, no doubt, the two of you are regarded as being quite special because you are bound to them; that is probably why they included you in this delegation. Tell me this,” Theron continued, motioning petulantly at the bird on his shoulder, “others have bound to birds like Jevlar, haven’t they?” He did not wait for an answer. “Of course they have. But these birds are not known as Theron’s Hawk, are they?”

  “You’re remembered for your curse, Owl-Master,” Jaryd told him, amazed, as he heard himself speak, by his own presumption, “and for the torment you inflicted on the people of Rholde. Yours is the most feared name in Tobyn-Ser. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Silence!”Theron roared, his eyes blazing. For a second time, Jaryd wondered if he was about to be killed. But then the Owl-Master began to chuckle, softly at first, and then building until he threw back his head to laugh at the sky. His bright emerald eyes, though, remained hard and without mirth. “Yes,” the spirit said at length, laughing no more but grinning sardonically. “That is what I wanted.” His grin faded and he looked from Jaryd to Alayna. “But you suspect that I have grown tired of merely being feared, that, perhaps, I am no longer satisfied with fright alone. For that reason, you believe I have committed these attacks that concern you so. Am I right?”

  Jaryd and Alayna exchanged a glance. “For that reason,” Jaryd said, “or maybe to get our attention.”

  “Ah, of course,” Theron remarked with heavy irony, “because I value your consideration so.”

  “Did you have another reason?” Alayna asked. “One we might not have contemplated?”

  Theron regarded her for some time, saying nothing. Then he swung his glowing eyes back to Jaryd. “Tell me, Hawk-Mage,” he demanded, his tone suddenly low and elusive, “why is there a ceryll in that tree limb you bear? That does not look like any mage’s staff I have ever seen.”

  Jaryd stared at the piece of wood, with the gleaming sapphire ceryll half concealed within it. He had not given the ceryll much thought; there hadn’t been time. But now, as he pondered Theron’s question, fragmented images from this terrifying night began to fall into place. Sartol killed Jessamyn and Peredur. Why? What was he up to? What was he doing? Jessamyn had asked him to gather torches. No! Jaryd realized with a start. She approached the three of us about covering the supplies and finding torches. Sartol volunteered to do the latter!

  “Sartol put the ceryll in this branch!” he said excitedly, meeting Theron’s gaze. He turned to Alayna. “This was supposed to be a torch, and he put a ceryll in it!”

  Alayna began to nod as she followed his line of thought. “That must be why he killed Jessamyn,” she suggested. “She went to find him and caught him as he was altering the torch. That’s also why we can still see the ceryll: he never got the chance to finish.”

  “But where would he get a ceryll?” Jaryd asked. “Don’t mages have only one?”

  “They’re supposed to have only one,” Alayna corrected. “But mages get their stones from the Ceryll Cavern on Ceryllon. There’s nothing to stop them from taking as many as they want; it’s just considered a point of honor. At least, that’s how Sartol explained it to me,” she added, grimacing at the irony.

  “Why would the traitor place a stone in that branch?” Theron boomed irritably, commanding their attention once more.

  Jaryd faced the spirit again. “Our delegation had planned to leave our cerylls outside the grove. We believed that, without access to a ceryll, you’d be unable to harm us. So Sartol must have wanted you to kill us.”

  “And why would he have wanted that?”

  “Any number of reasons,” Alayna replied. “With Jessamyn dead, he’d be the leading candidate to replace her as Owl-Sage. He’d get Jessamyn out of the way, and you’d be blamed for it.” She stopped, and regarded the Owl-Master for what seemed a long time. She ran her fingers through her long, rain-soaked hair, pulling it back from her face. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. “That’s your whole point, isn’t it?” she asked finally. “You’re being blamed for these attacks, just as Sartol planned to blame you for our deaths.”

  “And if you killed the delegation,” Jaryd added, “the rest of the Order would have seen it as confirmation of your responsibility for the attacks.”

  “Very good,” Theron snorted derisively. “You have managed to establish my innocence. And all I had to do was lead you to that conclusion as if you were oxen, with rings in your noses. The Owl-Sage and her first come all this way, and it is the babes who solve the mystery.”

  “Would it have worked?” Jaryd asked the Owl-Master, ignoring the taunts. “Given what we planned to say to you, given the membership of the delegation, would you have used that ceryll to kill us?”

  “Possibly,” Theron answered, a cold smile on his lips. “I still might.”

  Jaryd hesitated, but only for an instant. “I don’t think so,” he ventured. He was taking a tremendous chance, he knew, but he had thought about Theron a great deal since Baden first told him the story of the Owl-Master’s curse. “You created the Order,” he went on, “you and Amarid, and you don’t want to see it destroyed any more than we do. You certainly don’t want to be held responsible for its destruction. I don’t think you would have killed the delegation, and I don’t think you’re going to kill us. We’re the only ones who can help you stop Sartol.”

  “You should not place too much faith in my affection for the Order!” Theron said sharply. “As for Sartol, I understand him.”

  “You mean because he once took payment for his service to the land?” Alayna asked.

  For the first time, the Owl-Master looked surprised. “I knew nothing of this,” he admitted. “I was referring to his contempt for the weakness and lassitude of today’s mages.” He glanced at Jaryd. “Even if I still take pride in the creation of the Order, as you suggest, I no longer see in it much that I respect. It does not deserve to survive this crisis.”

  “You say that you understand Sartol,” Jaryd challenged, “but you referred to him earlier as ‘the traitor.’ Surely, if you cared nothing for the Order, you wouldn’t characterize his actions as a betrayal.”

  Theron stared at him for some time, tugging gently at his long beard. “You remind me of Amarid,” he said at length, his tone wintry, “and not just because of your hawk and that blue ceryll.”

  “Nonetheless,” Jaryd returned, his confidence growing.

  “What is your point?” Theron demanded testily.

  “Simply that you care about the Order, and the Order needs your help.”

  “I told you a moment ago,” Theron maintained, “I feel no allegiance to the Order, and I feel absolutely no obligation to save you and your fellow mages! Yes, I wished to be feared, once!” he went on, his voice rising. “But I never thought that I would be ignored, that my place in the history of this Order would be dismissed as it has! I deserved better than that!” He paused, gathering himself. When he spoke again, his tone was more controlled. “I was the first to bind to an owl, you know. I may even have been the first to bind to any creature. We never figured that out for certain.”

  We, Jaryd thought. Theron and Amarid. It was hard to remember sometimes that their friendship lay beneath all that followed. There seemed to be so many dimensions to this tragedy. “We found the Summoning Stone together,” Theron said quietly. “We created the Order together, and then, without warning, he had no more use for me.” The spirit paused, seeming suddenly to remember that Jaryd and Alayna were there. “Well,” he continued a moment later, his tone growing cold again, “soon the Order will be destroyed, and the rest of you can join me in my obscurity and superfluousness.”

  “Or you can help us,” Alayna offered, “and reclaim your legacy.”

  The spirit made no reply, but Jaryd saw a flicker of doubt in his shining green eyes.

  “What is this crisis, as you called it?” Alayna coaxed gently. “Why are you so sure that the Order will be des
troyed?”

  “Are there others like the two of you?” Theron asked, ignoring Alayna’s prodding. “Young and bold and clever?”

  “Yes,” Jaryd replied, “there are others. There are many in the Order, particularly among the Hawk-Mages, who have grown impatient with the inaction of the older masters. We aren’t all weak and lazy.”

  “And not all of us have forgotten your place in our history,” Alayna broke in. “We haven’t been as diligent in educating the rest of Tobyn-Ser as we should have been, but we haven’t forgotten.”

  “Well, now it is too late,” the Owl-Master commented.

  Jaryd shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “You misunderstand,” Theron responded. “It is not too late because of anything I might do or not do. The attacks on Tobyn-Ser have discredited the Order, made it an object of fear. For the mages to embrace my memory now would be imprudent. The people of this land would see it as proof of the Order’s corruption.” Theron’s tone betrayed no emotion, but the longing in his eyes bespoke a pain so old, and so deep, that Jaryd could find no words with which to reassure, no arguments with which to counter the truths that lay at the core of what the Owl-Master had said. He had faced the spirit’s ire, and endured his contempt. But Jaryd could find no reply to Theron’s grief.

  “It seems,” Alayna remarked, gazing at Theron, “that we share a common enemy after all.”

  The luminous spirit stood motionless, considering this as his eyes held Alayna’s. “That may prove to be the case,” Theron conceded at length. “But I am not yet ready to embrace the Order as an ally in this.”

  “From what you’ve told us tonight,” Jaryd said, again taking a chance, “I’m not sure that we can wait for you to make up your mind.”

  Too much of a chance, it seemed. “I will not be compelled by guilt in this matter!” the Owl-Master answered indignantly, his eyes blazing once more. “You would do well to remember to whom you speak!”

  Jaryd gave a small laugh as he indicated the brightly lit grove with a gesture, much as Theron had done a short while ago. “I’m unlikely to forget, Owl-Master.” Then, his tone hardening, Jaryd went on. “But with your help or without it, Alayna and I must try to keep Sartol from destroying the Order. So if you plan to kill us, do it now. Or else, let us go. Either way, we’ve already wasted too much time here.”

  Jaryd heard Alayna take a deep breath beside him, but, otherwise, she remained perfectly still. Theron glowered at him, his face rigid, one hand absently stroking his thick beard and the other wrapped tightly around the shaft of the scarred staff. Then the Owl-Master’s expression changed, and the hint of a smile touched his lips. “You are bold, Hawk-Mage,” the spirit rumbled, “I will grant you that. But I wonder how much of that bravado will remain after you have spent a night in Theron’s Grove.”

  And saying this, Theron raised his arm and swung it forward, as if hurling a stone. Again a ball of green fire flew from his fingers, this time crashing into the ground between Jaryd and Alayna with an explosion that shook the earth and knocked Jaryd to the forest floor. Ishalla leaped into the air with a shriek and started circling overhead. Jaryd heard Alayna cry out his name and he scrambled to his feet, but already the young mages were separated by a wall of flame that climbed into the night, making the raindrops that still fell on the grove sizzle.

  “Let us see how you endure a night as my guests!” Theron said, laughing in the thunderous voice.

  Jaryd quickly scanned the grove, looking for the Owl-Master’s spirit, but Theron was nowhere to be seen.

  “Jaryd!” Alayna called again. Her voice sounded distant already.

  “Alayna!” he replied. “Stay where you are! I’ll try to reach you!” She didn’t respond. Jaryd wondered if she had even heard him. He raised his arm for Ishalla, allowing her to settle back onto his shoulder. Then he tried to edge closer to the flames to see if he could catch a glimpse of Alayna, but the heat was too intense. Moreover, the flames were spreading, driving him away from her. Indeed, Jaryd realized in that moment, that was the fire’s intent. This was no random blaze responding to changes in the wind or terrain. These flames seemed to act with purpose, like a pack of wolves stalking prey: they knew exactly where they wanted him to go. Jaryd gave ground grudgingly, refusing to flee, but he was fighting a losing battle. He felt himself being herded to some unknown destination; he could do nothing to resist.

  The flames continued to creep forward for what felt like a long time, leaping from tree trunk to tree trunk, sweeping over the low brush that covered the floor of the grove, and all the time forcing Jaryd to retreat. There was no smoke, but Jaryd could feel the heat on his face and chest as he backed away. Occasionally he cried out for Alayna, but he sensed that she was out of earshot. He had no idea where he was; he had lost all sense of direction. Eventually the rain stopped, but the fire kept pushing him, until finally he reached a small hollow that was more open than the rest of the grove had been. There the flames halted their advance and spread along the perimeter of the hollow until Jaryd was completely encircled.

  Jaryd’s frustration and anger had mounted as the flames drove him farther and farther from Alayna, but now, standing in the hollow, waiting for whatever it was that Theron had in store for him, he felt those feelings giving way to a cold sense of dread. “Let us see how you endure a night as my guests,” the Owl-Master had said. Jaryd shuddered.

  “Jaryd,” came a thin voice from behind him, catapulting his heart into his throat.

  Jaryd spun around and gasped at what he saw. “No!” he breathed.

  A small boy stood before him. His hair was long and straight like Jaryd’s and he had a round face with a small upturned nose. His eyes, however, were utterly black, and a pale green luminescence clung to him like the smell of death. Ishalla let out a frightened cry.

  “Do you remember me?” the boy asked, his voice sounding distant and small.

  Jaryd nodded. His mouth had gone dry and his entire body trembled. Of course he remembered. This was the little boy who disappeared just before Jaryd had his first vision two winters ago. And the day after Jaryd dreamed of drowning in cold, turbulent waters, they found the boy’s body floating in the Mountsea River. “You’re Arley,” Jaryd managed to say.

  The boy smiled ghoulishly. “You do remember! Maybe you also remember my friend.”

  A second figure stepped into the clearing, appearing to materialize out of the flames. He was tall and thin, with a bald head and a bushy mustache. Like Arley, he glowed with a soft emerald light, except for his eyes, which were as black as night. Iram, Jaryd thought, surprising himself with his composure and clarity. Yes, he would be here too. It makes sense. Iram had been Accalia’s apothecary until the fire that Jaryd foresaw with his second vision destroyed Iram’s shop and claimed his life.

  “Yes,” Jaryd whispered, looking at the boy again. “I remember him, too.”

  “It’s not enough to remember!” Iram said harshly, his voice, like Arley’s, seeming to come from a great distance. “You owe us more than that!”

  “Owe you more?” Jaryd repeated. He shivered as if from a sudden chill, and he felt his stomach tightening. “I don’t understand.”

  “Iram’s mad because you didn’t save us,” Arley explained, the horrible black eyes gazing at Jaryd. “You saw, but you didn’t do anything.”

  Jaryd shook his head, his vision clouded now by tears. “Saw? You mean the dreams?”

  Arley took a step forward, his head cocked slightly to the side. He looked so young, so innocent. But his eyes . . . “You saw what was going to happen to us, and you still let it happen.”

  Again Jaryd shook his head, unable to speak.

  “You let us die!” Iram accused in a voice like a cutting wind. “You had the power to protect us and you let us die!”

  “That’s not true!” Jaryd insisted.

  “Look at us!” Iram raged, his arms open wide. “Do you deny that we are dead? Do you deny having visions of what killed us?
”

  The young mage dropped to his knees, his arms limp by his side. Tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t look at the ghosts. “I didn’t know what the dreams meant,” he pleaded. “I didn’t understand until after the fire.”

  “And so we died,” Iram pressed.

  Jaryd took a long breath and met the apothecary’s black gaze. “Yes.”

  Iram looked like he might say more, but then he stopped himself. At the same time, Jaryd saw two more figures step into the hollow. He rose, turning to face them. And again he gasped at what he saw.

  “Sage Jessamyn!” he cried. “First Peredur!” He took a step toward them and then stopped. The sage and her first were suffused with green light, but while Jessamyn’s eyes were as black as those of the other two ghosts, Peredur’s eyes shone with a pearl-colored luminescence that matched the color of his ceryll. Both mages carried their staffs, and Jessamyn’s great white owl still sat on her shoulder. Peredur, however, was accompanied by a small hawk that Jaryd did not recognize.

  “I died unbound,” the first explained in a far-off voice, as Jaryd stared at the bird. “Because of you, I am one of the Unsettled now.”

  Jaryd staggered backward as if he had been struck. “Because of me!”

  “The sage gave you a choice,” Peredur reminded him sternly, “you and the other one. And the two of you let the renegade see to the torches. We would be alive but for that choice.”

  “But how could I know?” Jaryd implored, feeling his tears flow once more. “I trusted Sartol! We all did! What was I supposed to do?”

  “We do not always understand the consequences of our choices when we make them,” Jessamyn told him. “But that does not make us any less responsible.”

  “But I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!”

  “You allowed the renegade to alter the torch.” Peredur’s tone offered no hope of forgiveness. “Jessamyn found him doing this and he killed her. Then he killed me. Had you gone to gather the torches, leaving the renegade and the other young one to cover the supplies, we would be alive.”