Shadows of the Realm (The Circle of Talia)

by Lister, Dionne

  Even here the mist embraced all. Her journey led her past elegant homes, some of which were two story, now three, attached together, row upon row, ornate façades peeking through the fog, marble stairs beckoning her as she passed. There were few people now. Bronwyn brushed past a pretty, young woman in a pale blue dress, her eyes blank, feet walking a determined path in the opposite direction. The higher she climbed, the thicker the mist. The houses became freestanding, of neatly-cut timber, bricks and large slabs of stone. Soon she reached the castle’s outer walls. She looked up and saw … nothing.

  Dense fog embraced the castle like a jealous lover. The mass looked solid and unmovable, rendering the castle invisible. Although she couldn’t see it, she knew the castle was there. Bronwyn was drawn to the structure despite the fear that germinated in her belly. She heard a woman sobbing, each sob muffled by the muddy gloom. Bronwyn could hear the anguish in the woman’s voice. “I miss you. Where are you? Can you hear me?” Her voice was broken, devastated. Bronwyn took a step forward, her legs moving slowly as if pushing through thick porridge. She wanted to speak to the woman, to tell her not to cry, that she was here and would help. Her lips parted but her voice would not emerge. The woman continued weeping.

  Bronwyn was almost there and thought she could feel the warmth of the sorrowful lady reaching out to her through the damp air. She tried to take another step, but the resistance was too much. She couldn’t move.

  “Turn around.” The voice behind her seemed familiar. “Come on, Bronny. Come here.”

  She turned and saw a tall, thin woman. Her shoulder-length black hair was shot through with dramatic lines of white. The face was old, yet not. Few wrinkles lined her face. A niggling thought told her she knew this woman, but she couldn’t remember, no matter how hard she tried.

  “Come on, dear. We have to get back to the markets. We haven’t much time.”

  Bronwyn’s feet moved of their own accord, toward the stranger who was not a stranger. The closer she came to the woman, the easier her legs moved. The haze in her mind cleared gradually, as they made their way down through the city to the markets. Halfway down, in front of the modest terraces, Bronwyn realised who the stranger was.

  “Aunt?”

  “Yes, dear. Who did you think it was?” She embraced Bronwyn. “It’s almost time to wake up now. When you wake you won’t remember any of this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I said.”

  “Oh.”

  They continued down the cobbled streets and reached the market. Avruellen embraced her niece and bade her farewell.

  Avruellen woke shortly before Bronwyn. In order to make sure her niece forgot the dream, she had to tamper with her memory, which she didn’t like to do. The dream was not a normal dream, but a Realm dream. (Realm dreams were real, although to what extent nobody knew). It appeared Bronwyn had been pulled into someone else’s dream; Avruellen was afraid she knew whose. Avruellen wasn’t ready to answer the questions Bronwyn was sure to have, so she did the safest thing and hid the memory from her. She would have to be more careful from now on, warding their sleep every night. The further they travelled, the more tiring it became. She realised she would have to take her niece aside (away from Corrille) and teach her how to ward her own dreams. Avruellen should have taught Bronwyn before, but hadn’t seen the need. Oh well, the first moment they had alone would have to do.

  Bronwyn woke to a clear, crisp day. She could hear birds chirping their good mornings before she opened her eyes. Her head was fuzzy, as if she hadn’t slept, and she felt confused. Slowly she sat up and peered around the camp through grainy eyes. After satisfying herself as to her whereabouts, she disentangled her body from the blankets. “You’re finally up.” Corrille took a closer look at her friend. “You don’t look so good. Are you OK?” She led her friend to the campfire and breakfast.

  “Mmm, I’ve got a bit of a headache. I don’t think I slept very well, although I can’t remember waking up in the night.” Corrille sat her down on a log, and Avruellen handed her a cup of tea.

  “I’ve put some herbs in there that should get rid of your headache. It shouldn’t taste too bad.”

  “I’ve heard that before. How did you know I’d have a headache?”

  “You woke me a few times last night with all your tossing and turning. I knew you’d be tired—and this remedy also happens to be good for clearing a foggy head.”

  Bronwyn placed the cup to her lips, screwing up her face. Amazingly it didn’t smell too bad, and when she sipped the brew she relaxed. “This is actually not too bad.”

  “If we made cures taste good everyone would drink them just for fun, and we can’t have that.”

  After breakfast, of which Bronwyn ate little, they packed up. By the time they started off, Bronwyn’s headache was gone. They resumed their positions, Avruellen leading, Corrille and Bronwyn behind her, and Flux at the rear. Traffic had been building gradually over the past two days. This close to the city was busy, and the group had taken to walking by the side of the road so as not to have to jump on and off for the horses, carts, and carriages. Avruellen was tense but could sense the girls’ rising excitement.

  The nearer they walked, the more they could see, although at this stage it was mostly the towering wall surrounding Bayerlon. A faint outline of the structures within hinted at the city’s magnificence. The buildings gradually rose above the walls as they hugged the hill that led to the castle, which overlooked all. They were close enough for Bronwyn to make out archers standing at equally spaced posts around the top of the wall. Toward the centre of the city, two golden spires gloriously interrupted the predominately grey backdrop of many buildings. Here and there, narrow trails of smoke rose up against the blue sky. Tendrils of city odours tickled her nose, although it wasn’t as bad as her aunt had made out.

  “Auntie, how long do those men have to stand up there?”

  When the realmist looked at the city, she was reminded of the secrets she still kept from her niece, secrets that would break Bronwyn’s heart but also, she hoped, bring her joy. These long-held secrets would have to be divulged one day; she was thankful that day was certainly not today, and Avruellen was relieved Bronwyn’s question was easy to answer. “Which men? Oh, you mean the archers? They stand up there from dawn until dusk, when they are replaced by men who stand there from dusk to midnight, then different men stand there from midnight to dawn. Rather boring job I imagine, although I’m glad to see Edmund has been keeping up the security. We’ve had peace for so long, I doubt any of his army have actually been in a real war. It’s easy in times like these to get complacent.”

  “Do you know the king?”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. How would I know the king? I just don’t like titles. A bit pompous don’t you think? Oh, don’t pull faces; you would have thought I had just blasphemed. The king, whilst he is royalty, is nevertheless, only human.” Avruellen turned away from the girls and kept going. She had to remind herself to be more careful. She still felt the less Corrille knew, the better.

  There were things Avruellen should be teaching her niece about what could and couldn’t be done in the Second Realm, but they couldn’t take any chances that her friend would find out. The problem now was their enemy almost certainly knew The Circle was a great part of Talia’s defence. This put them in even more danger. Avruellen had no doubt there would be large amounts of gold circulating for the capture, or worse, of anyone who claimed to practice realmistry.

  They were close now and could see a large crowd jostling at the gates. The guards were yelling at everyone, trying to make a space through the centre of the mayhem. Avruellen stopped. “Girls, I think this is close enough. There seems to be some sort of commotion. We’ll wait here for it to pass.” She bent down to talk to Flux, mind to mind. Go and have a look, but when you’ve finished I’m afraid you’ll have to stay out here. If anything would stand out in the city, it’s a fox. We could all use a night in a proper bed for a change, and I’m
meeting with Hermas tonight. I’ll speak to you in the morning. Flux nuzzled her cheek and trotted off.

  “What was your aunt doing?”

  “Just saying goodbye to Flux. I suppose foxes and cities don’t really go together too well.”

  “How does he understand what she wants when she doesn’t even speak to him?”

  Bronwyn wasn’t about to divulge the nature of a creatura. “Ah, yes, well, he’s well trained. Didn’t you see her hand gestures?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you just have to know what you’re looking for. Anyway, who cares about some silly fox; we’re about to go into Bayerlon.” Both girls grinned and had to force themselves not to start running toward the gates.

  Flux found himself a spot a few feet from the gates, under a dark blue carriage whose occupants were waiting for entrance into Bayerlon. The carriage had been forced off the road by the guards and was sitting to one side of the gates. Flux crouched low and could see the entrance to the city through the large spokes of the wheel.

  One of the guards shouted for everyone’s attention. “All make way for Prince Leon. All make way for the prince to pass.” Flux relayed the information to Avruellen. With the crowd waving, cheering and straining to see the prince, no one noticed the small red fox sneak from under the carriage and head for the distant trees.

  A bugle sounded, drawing the girls’ attention toward the city. Soldiers on well-groomed horses were passing through the gates three abreast. They sat tall and proud in their saddles, surveying the crowd, protecting their prince. At the head of the second group of soldiers was a fair-haired man who waved and smiled at the people. Prince Leon wore a bright-red coat, gold fabric adorning the shoulders, gold buttons shining in the sun. He rode a large, white, imperious beast that pranced whilst walking. As he drew closer, Bronwyn could see the jewels on his sword handle glinting in the sun. She couldn’t help but be impressed, as she had never seen anyone that grand before.

  “Aunt, who is that?”

  “That, my dear, is Prince Leon, third in line to the throne. He’s quite impressive in that outfit, although the sword handle looks somewhat impractical. If you ran out of money on the road, it would come in handy. I’m sure it would buy a decent feed.” They all laughed.

  “He’s single, isn’t he?” Corrille enquired

  “Trust you to think of that. As if he would marry a nobody like one of us. He has to marry a beautiful princess from another place.” Bronwyn’s answer did nothing to displace Corrille’s dreamy expression.

  The prince took his time lapping up everyone’s adoration. He eventually passed not far from their group. He smiled at the two attractive young girls and the lady whose face was turned to the ground as she curtsied. “Did you see that, Bron? He smiled at me.”

  “Yeah, and he smiled at everyone else too.”

  Corrille frowned at her friend and hit her on the arm.

  “Where are your manners, girls? You should curtsey for a member of the royal family.” Bronwyn and her friend reddened at their mistake.

  By the time the rest of his party passed, the air was filled with dust. Avruellen turned to the girls. “OK, we’d best get going. It could take a while for that line to pass through. Hold each other’s hands; I don’t want us to get separated.” Avruellen grabbed her niece’s hand and led the way into Bayerlon.

  10

  The large crowd jostled Bronwyn through the gates. She gripped her companions’ hands as though her life depended on it. Unused to the proximity of so many people at once, not to mention the abundance of body odour, her excitement turned to fear, and she felt queasy. She was trying to move with the crowd, but people behind her were in more of a hurry and were pushing, shoving, and treading on the back of her feet. At one point she tripped and was only held up by Avruellen. If she had fallen, the crowd would have trampled her like a forgotten napkin after a feast. Once through the gates, Avruellen pulled them abruptly to the left. They had to push through people to find a small space of relative calm.

  They reluctantly released hands once they had gathered their breath. Bronwyn and Corrille looked around, trying to see everything at once. The smells were indeed strong, but there were some nice ones mixed in with the others Bronwyn had been warned about. If she turned her head to the left, sewerage assaulted her nose, to the right she smelled freshly baked bread and biscuits. People were everywhere; some rushing into the city, some bravely squeezing their way out against the flow. A long queue had built from the delay caused by the prince’s departure, and now everyone was trying to make up for lost time.

  It took Avruellen only moments to get her bearings. She hadn’t been to Bayerlon for many years. She had lived here long ago for more time than she cared to remember. She would start by finding a room for the night. They were at the bottom end of town, literally and socially. Any visitor to the city was greeted by basic accommodation, which progressively improved the further up the hill one walked. Generally, proximity to the castle dictated how affluent one was: the closer you were, the better; the further down the hill the less affluent, the more effluent.

  A gravity-fed waste system serviced the city. Many houses were equipped with underground pipes, which travelled further than the city’s walls. The poorer houses, on the other hand, let things travel as they would, down the road. Many an unwary person had suffered a bucketful of stinking slop dumped on their shoes by an impoverished inhabitant who didn’t particularly care. Avruellen kept to the middle of the road as they wandered up the gradual incline.

  As they walked, hand in hand, Bronwyn and her friend saw more of the great city. There were indeed women in beautiful dresses, although at this end of town they were outnumbered by woman who wore little better than tattered cloth. Grimy children clad in rags ran around on bare feet.

  “Aren’t they cold? Where are their shoes?”

  “They’ve never had any. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’re used to it.”

  “That sounds awfully mean, Auntie. Doesn’t it bother you that they’re so poor?”

  “You were always the sensitive one. Yes, it does bother me, but I’ve seen much worse. The king can’t look after everyone. There are just too many people. There used to be a time when each poor family was given a loaf of bread, eggs, and oats every week, but it’s been such a long time since I was here last, I have no idea if that still happens. I promise you, if we are ever in a position to help these people, we will. You must understand though, that whilst some of them are truly unfortunate, some just don’t care and wouldn’t do a day’s honest work whether you paid them or not.”

  “Well, I guess if they don’t want to work they shouldn’t get anything. But why should their children suffer?”

  “I don’t know. Can we stop talking about this? I have enough trouble worrying about the three of us, let alone the rest of the city.”

  “Come on, Bron, just enjoy the experience. Look, there aren’t any more poor people up here.” Corrille pointed at neatly dressed men and women.

  The houses around them had changed from those of a shantytown to more respectable dwellings. Bronwyn wanted to say that just because they couldn’t see any poor people, didn’t mean they didn’t exist. She managed to keep her mouth shut and tried to appreciate the growing beauty of the city as they left the poorer districts behind.

  About halfway to the castle Avruellen turned right, into a narrow, cobbled street. She stopped in front of a three-level, grey-blue stone terrace house. They walked up four stairs to the tiled veranda. The sign out the front announced “Evelyn’s Comfortable Inn.” They entered directly into the serving room.

  Avruellen seated the girls at a table near the fire and approached a highly polished slab of timber that doubled as the bar. The girl behind the counter was dipping tankards into a newly-opened cask of wine. “Be with you in a minute.” She rushed away with the drinks but promptly returned. “What can I do for you?”

  “Does Evelyn still own this place?”

  “Yes, but sh
e’s out at the moment. I’m in charge when she’s not here. My name’s Bethwyn.”

  “Hello Bethwyn, I’m Avruellen. I would like a room for the night for me and my two girls.” Avruellen nodded toward their table.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. I think we’ve got three left. Do you want one with or without a view?”

  “Does one cost more than the other?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take the view then.” Avruellen paid a deposit to reserve one room.

  Bethwyn led them to the top floor. Their room had an expansive view over the city and out to fields beyond, where small white and grey dots grazed. They could see a shadow of the Semmern ranges in the distance. The room was large. The white-painted timber floors, pale blue walls, and four neatly made single beds, lent the room a homey feel. A washbasin stood in one corner and a small table draped with a blue cloth in the other. Although the room was clean and well presented, Avruellen pulled back the sheets to check for bedbugs. She nodded and replaced the covers. “We’ll leave our things here. Our hands will be full enough when we come back from the markets.”

  The markets were near the bottom of town. The location was for the convenience of farmers and traders due to their position near the main gates. The richer citizens of Bayerlon could attend smaller markets toward the middle of the city, where the produce was more expensive. The tight-fisted, rich households sent a servant to the larger markets to get the day’s groceries. Because of the steep return journey up the hill, fully laden with goods, this duty usually fell to the most junior staff.

  On the way down, Avruellen walked slowly so the girls could have a look around. “If, by any chance, we’re separated at the markets, go straight back to the inn. It’s easy to find; just follow this main road. It runs straight through the city. When you get to Middle Street, turn right and you’ll eventually see ‘Evelyn’s’.” Bronwyn noticed the main street was planted on either side with large hedges. The city was emerging from winter. The sleepy trees had been trimmed and were ready to awaken and sprout new shoots. Bronwyn imagined the boulevard would look spectacular in summer. The houses were mostly terrace style at this end of the city and there was limited space for gardens. Now and then, a couple of terraces were missing from the row, and in their place sat tranquil breathing spaces—well-tended parks and gardens—which Bronwyn found almost irresistible.