The only thing I seemed to be good at was influencing time. I could make it slower or faster, and as the recent event in the King’s throne room had shown, I could also meddle with other people’s perception of time. I thought of the times I had used magic in the past. Always, it had involved slowing time, except for the one time I had managed to make my guards fall asleep. And, a spiteful voice in my head told me, the one time I had killed a man. No wonder I had nightmares, I deserved them. Did the guard that I had killed have a family, a wife, maybe even children? What were they doing now, bereft of their father, husband, breadwinner, were they starving somewhere? Did they know how he had died? He had done nothing wrong except for following orders and being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Had he volunteered for that mission? Yes, I had not planned to kill him, but I had also not regretted it much when it had happened. It had been an accident, I had lost control over my own powers. I had sworn to myself then that I would learn to control them so that such an accident could never again happen. Yet where was I now? Not able to do anything a proper magician should know, making no progress at all. Yes, the power reservoir inside of me had increased, and I no longer had to rely on plants for energy. But how did that help if I couldn’t even do simple tasks like lighting a fire. Lassadar always sounded optimistic and encouraged me. He said that we would find other uses for my magic. But what uses would that be? Torturing even more innocent people? Killing for the King?
Stop it. Thinking makes sad.
I startled. The peryton hadn’t spoken to me for the past two weeks, ever since I had helped with the flogging of the prisoner. I had still felt the feeble link between us, but when I had tried to initiate a conversation, he hadn’t responded. Lassadar had taken him into his room, and I only saw him during my lessons, but rarely had time to do more than look at him. I yearned to take him in my arms, to pet him and explain to him about how it had not been my intention to torture the prisoner. But I was never alone with the peryton, Lassadar was always there, always jealously guarding the little creature. He had grown a lot during the last two weeks. He was almost three times the size he had been at the beginning. His fur and scales had a healthy shimmer to them, especially when light reflected on his smooth scales. His thin body had filled with muscle and flesh, his ribs no longer protruded as strongly as they had when he had hatched from his egg. His legs had become more muscular, and I had seen him walking around the room a few times, parading his smooth gait and his sure footing. His wings had grown strong and flexible, and he often flexed and spread them, yet they still looked too small to support his weight. However, if they continued to grow at this pace, he would soon be able to fly.
Fly with me.
I would love to, one day.
Soon. He sent me an image of himself, but much bigger and older, as tall and as noble looking as a stag, but with an eagle’s wings, strong and beautiful. His crimson scales rippled with every beat of his wings, and his large antlers were shimmering in the moonlight. He was flying through the night, with only the moon and stars to guide him. His broad back was bare, yet there would have been enough space for me to sit on him, flying. It was such a beautiful image that I had to smile, and for the first time in two weeks, it was a genuinely happy smile.
How have you been? Is everything alright?
I’m bored. Dark man never talks with me. He’s always busy.
Dark man? I already imagined who the peryton might mean with that, but it was so nice to be talking to him once more, that I tried to keep the conversation inflow, even though the peryton’s thoughts were still quite simple.
Lassadar. He’s a dangerous man.
That he is, but only to those who oppose him.
Do you?
Of course not! He helped me, he saved me! I would never stand against him. Why should I? He’s been supporting me, teaching me, giving me a place to live when no one else would. He’s helping me explore my powers, and I’m grateful, no, honoured, that he himself teaches me.
Good teacher? I thought I could detect irony in the peryton’s thought, but I pushed that feeling aside. A talking winged deer with a sense of humour? Weird.
Yes, it’s not his fault that I can’t do anything. It’s not his fault that everything he tries to teach me is too difficult for him.
It isn’t?
Of course it isn’t! I’m sure he’s a great teacher, at least for everybody else.
I’m sure he is. Again, a touch of sarcasm. It showed me that I didn’t know this little peryton at all.
I’m not little. At least, not in my mind. It’s just, that sometimes I forget that the limits of my small body do not confine my mind in the same way. I have the memories of generations and the dreams of ages. I have lived a thousand lives; I have flown to all four corners of the world. I have seen the most amazing and the most terrifying things that you can’t possibly imagine, I have loved and I have hated, I have lived and I have died. I am not little. I am as large as anything you will ever know! You are little, human, not me.
He paused dramatically, letting his words sink in. There was nothing left of the cute little deer’s thoughts. This was the speech of an adult, of someone wise beyond the peryton’s years.
How have you changed so suddenly?
I have never been different. I just didn’t know if I could trust you. When I hatched from my egg, I was in surroundings that were unfamiliar to me. I had expected to see the green forests of my ancestors where my parents conceived me. Instead of warm meadows and peaceful glades, the first thing I saw was a house of stones, cold and unfriendly. Had I not felt the presence of a kind and gentle soul before, I would not have hatched in such a place. I would have stayed in my egg until I had returned to the forests of my kind. Yet when a peryton egg is near a special soul, it will imprint on this soul, a process that is irreversible. We can only imprint once in our lives, and it always happens before we hatch. It happens before we have eyes to see, before we have ears to hear, before we can be deceived in any way. We imprint based on what we feel. And we always trust our feelings. As should you.
It’s not always easy, I objected.
Assent came from the peryton. No, it is not. And it shouldn’t be. Otherwise, what would be the purpose of feelings? They are not something that can be black and white, right or wrong. They are linked to yourself, your innermost essence, and depend on your experiences and memories, yet still, they are independent of all that. They cannot be put into words because they are purer than words ever can be. To be able to feel means being able to live. Trust your feelings. I do. And this is why I am going to tell you something secret. Something, that I will not tell many people.
What is it?
My name. I’m going to tell you my name. I’m sure you’ve wondered about that. Don’t deny it, you thought about what you might call me, back when I hatched in front of you. But I am not a pet that can be named by a human. I am a peryton. I chose my own name. And here it is: Oisín. I trust you not to give it away, as it is not yours to give. The name of a peryton is something special, something that we do not divulge easily. I will not tell you now why this is so. Maybe one day, when we know each other better.
Tears welled up in my eyes. Through our link, I felt what it meant to the peryton, to Oisín, to share this secret with me. I felt the honour and the trust he put in me, and it warmed my heart. When had I last felt such a bond between myself and another person? Back with my grandmother? Now, with Jon, the healer? No, it was different with him, he was nice and I really liked him, but when we talked, we seldom got to deeper topics, rarely left the realms of small talk and chit-chat. There was a bond between us, but more one of camaraderie and the exchange of knowledge, not one of the heart. This was something new, something special.
You said you didn’t trust me at first. What changed?
I felt your anguish and guilt over what you had done. Being able to feel guilty means that you have a conscience. Showing remorse is the first step towards betterment. And I didn’t say that I
didn’t trust you. I said that I wasn’t sure if I could. It was about me, not about you. I had felt your touch when I was still inside the egg, and I felt that a link had been created between us when you first came close. I expected you to be different. When I hatched and I saw you, I knew it was you, the one I had imprinted on. But I also saw that you were human. No peryton I know of has ever imprinted on a human. It’s something unheard of, something new. My kind bonds with elves, not with humans. Elves know us, and we know them. We have a long shared history that binds us even closer together. There is no such thing between me and you. I have my history, it was shared with me through the fluids in the egg I slept in, I have the memories of generations of perytons, most of which perished long ago. I have their knowledge and their skills. Yes, I will still need to learn and to practice my skills, but it will be much quicker than it would be without those memories. Elves are alike in this way, they have shared memories too, but as to how this is done, it is not my place to tell. Anyway, you are human, and I have bonded with you. It is strange, but we will have to live with it.
He paused, waiting for me to reply. It was a lot to take in.
I’m still not entirely sure what you mean by ‘imprinted’. I can feel the bond to you, I’ve felt it ever since I touched your egg, but to what ends does it exist?
To what ends? To share our life, of course. A peryton chooses his companion, not the other way round. It’s a partnership, although words don’t completely grasp the intensity of the connection that will be between us. The bond between us will only get stronger, with each day that we spend in each other’s company. The exchange of thoughts and feelings will get easier, until it happens automatically, without any effort on our part. Our bond will be something deeper than even that of a married couple. At some point, we will be able to share our energy with each other, although that is something that must be practised very carefully, as it is very easy to deplete the other’s reservoir without even noticing in time. Usually, a peryton and his companion would be taught by their elders on how to do this and other things, other advantages that our bond brings with it. However, as there is no one here to teach us, we’ll have to see if we can manage it all on our own.
Could Lassadar teach us?
Lassadar?! Why should a dark magician, maybe even a sorcerer, be suitable for that purpose? I’ve been wondering why you’re so infatuated with him, why you cannot see this other side of him, and -
I interrupted him, I had to.
Lassadar is no sorcerer! How can you say that? Do you not see how noble and generous he is, how he not only took in myself but also your mother and you, feeding you, carrying you around on his own arm, serving your every need? Are you not grateful to him?
Is a prisoner grateful to his executioner?
It took away my breath. Through our bond, I could feel that he meant what he said, that he believed his own words. Was he really so prejudiced to interpret Lassadar’s doings in a negative way? Surely, he should see that the King’s advisor was a gentle man, a wise man, who was doing everything in his power to serve the king. Yes, the King might have some faults, but there was a reason why he was called the King Gynt the Wise. And his wisest decision yet probably was taking on Lassadar as his first advisor. The magician could not only protect the King with his skills, he could also choose new servants that were most suitable for their field of work, just as Jon had been chosen to be trained as a healer. Was that not a good thing, one that made Lassadar even more honourable and wise?
Don’t compare him to an executioner. He is too kind, too gentle to ever hurt a man. I am the one who has killed and caused pain, not him.
But was it not him who made you help the king torture that prisoner? He chose you to do evil in his name. And making other people do your dirty work is even more despicable as doing it on your own, as you inflict great damage on those people’s souls. But enough of that, I don’t want to argue with you while you’re still tired. I have told you my name, but you have not told me yours.
I thought you had already heard it being said while we were together with Lassadar or the king.
I did, but that is not the same as hearing you say it. A name has a special power over us, and it is only when we are given it by the person it belongs to that it unfolds its greatest power.
Well then. My name is Eona.
11
The Calendar of the Kingdom of Fer
The Fer’an Calendar resembles that of the Free Cities in most aspects save a select few. Both place the first day of the year at winter solstice, which is the time at which the midday sun appears at its lowest altitude above the horizon. Winter lasts until spring equinox, spring until the midsummer solstice, summer until the autumn equinox and autumn until the winter solstice. (In the Free Cities, spring is also known as the warming season, while autumn is called the cooling season).
There are several festivals specific to Fer and celebrated throughout the year, many of which have their origins in traditional legends and mythology. One example is Isoan, usually celebrated about one month after spring equinox. It is said that Isoan was the noblest horse that ever walked the earth, so noble that no man ever dared to ride on his back. One day, Isoan was galloping across a field of wheat and in a proud celebration of his own speed and agility, he did not see a young maid that was working in the field. When the noble stallion jumped over a stone amidst the grain, he landed heavily on the young maid, whose name was Laevah. He injured her so badly that she could not walk back to her home. Isoan pitied her and as a self-imposed penance, he bowed down low so that Laevah could crawl onto his back. He carried her home, and on the way, he fell in love with the innocent girl. As a token of his admiration, he let her cut three hairs from his long tail, which she braided and wore as a necklace. With that, he left her. Soon afterwards she found that she was pregnant, and when she gave birth to her child, she found that he was as noble, as beautiful, and as wise as Isoan himself.
Every year at Isoan, young girls who are not yet married braid themselves a necklace made from the tail hair of a stallion, in the hope of not only attracting a handsome partner but also of becoming as fertile as Laevah. It is said to be good fortune to hold a wedding at Isoan, and many say that the children that stem from such a wedding will prosper in the best way possible.
- A History of Fer, Jonas de Tourtur
Sparks were flying high into the night, dancing with each other before they disappeared. One of them drifted up until it met a red lantern, but it went out before it could ignite the thin paper. The bonfire was burning brightly, its flames reaching high into the night sky, flickering and reaching out, higher and higher. The flames licked at the stars, or so it seemed. More and more wood was brought forward to feed the fire’s unrestrained hunger. The circle of people dancing around the bonfire became bigger, as more dancers joined the crowd. Their dark silhouettes in front of the fire’s bright shine were all I could see from my vantage point on top of the roof. Music drifted up to us, a lively tune dominated by a fiddler’s energetic play.
“Isn’t it beautiful,” Jon said beside me, leaning back until his back touched the warm roof tiles on which we sat.
“Yes, it is. It reminds me of the performances we would do with our travelling group. Sometimes, in the summer, we would start the show late in the night when everything was dark. There would be no light in the tent, it was all pitch black. But then every act had something to do with light that would brighten the ring for just a moment before the tent was filled with darkness once more. Marco did his fire-spitting as usual, but in the dark, the flickering long tongue of fire that seemed to come out of his mouth was even more impressive, as his entire body stayed invisible in the dark until the moment he breathed fire. The dwarves would juggle flaming torches instead of their usual knives or rocks, faster and faster their juggling would go until it looked almost like two flaming circles interacting with each other. I would walk the tightrope holding a balance pole that was alight on both ends, giving the audience the
impression of two flaming lines racing over the rope. It was a difficult performance, as us artists didn’t see where we were going, so everything had to be practised over and over again until we could do our acts blindly. Yet it was always worth the effort.”
“It sounds like you had a good time with the travelling group.”
“I did, yes. At the beginning, it was all so strange to me. I had been brought up in a rural area, there was nothing entertaining there, a village pub was the only place you could go to meet other people, but of course, I was only a child and would not be allowed into the tavern anyway. My only friends were the goats we had, or I would play with the little chicks my grandmother kept in a pen behind the cottage. My grandmother was a friendly woman, yet living and depending on her own had made her somewhat strict. Having fun was something she found unnecessary, at least most of the times. In the evenings, she would tell me stories and fairy tales, but that was the only form of entertainment I got. Now imagine, suddenly stepping from the peaceful and reclusive life of a country girl into the crowded and busy life of a travelling family. When I was picked up by them, I was so shy at first. I would hide in Mara’s vardo all day, staring out of the window, curious, but so shy. Whenever someone else approached our wagon, I would hide under the table or under my blanket. I was just not used to being around people. It took a long time for me to get comfortable being around the other members of the Ghorres family. They were so loud, so overly dramatic, so self-obsessed. I just didn’t know how to deal with that. But slowly, I warmed to them and got used to the noise and crowded conditions. Although it took years until I was confident enough to be part of the evening show. Before, I had helped Mara with the cooking or would tend to the horses. I felt I had to give them something back - they had picked me up from the side of the road, I had been half-starved, and they brought me back to life. So I wanted to earn my keep, I wanted to become a part of the family. And I think I did, in the end. It took a long time, and even on the night of the last performance I did with them, I still felt somehow excluded, as if I was not on an equal footing with the other members of the travelling company. Yet now that I think of it, I’m sure that it was not their impression. For the Ghorres family, I was a part of them. It was myself who thought I should be excluded, and therefore I behaved as if I was. Sometimes, what you think you are and what you are can be two very different things. Anyway, I miss them, especially when looking at the people down at the fire. They remind me of the carefree, life-loving attitude that was so typical of the Ghorres family.”
Heart of Time (Ruined Heart Series Book 1) Page 14