Eleanor

by S. F. Burgess

  “You once said I should smile more often,” he said softly.

  “That was before I realised you used it as a weapon.”

  Conlan’s smile vanished. “A weapon?”

  “Yes, a weapon that strips me of my resistance, my rational thought. All you have to do is smile at me and you win; I don’t want to fight anymore.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Yes! It’s a bad thing because one day I’m going to agree to something that gets one of us killed on the strength of that smile.”

  Conlan stared at her; Eleanor refused to back down, her fists still clenched tightly. She had said far more than she had meant to. She had certainly not wanted Conlan to know the effect he had on her, but it had just slipped out.

  Gregor had watched this exchange with a shrewd look on his face. As they continued to stare at each other, he spoke briefly. Whatever he said caused Conlan’s eyes to snap back to the old man, and he looked extremely uncomfortable as he responded.

  “What did he say?” Eleanor asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  Confused, Eleanor waited for him to elaborate, but before he could do so, Gregor started talking again. She still had no idea what he was saying, but Conlan had an expression on his face of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it was actually rather sweet. I need to learn this language. She disliked not knowing what was going on. They continued talking, neither of them raising their voice, but it seemed to Eleanor that they were arguing.

  “Conlan?” she said, trying to interrupt. They both ignored her. She tried again, this time a little louder. Conlan looked at her. He appeared frustrated, but his voice was surprisingly calm.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eleanor stared at him, expecting some sort of explanation, but after a long moment of silence when none was forthcoming she felt her annoyance building. “It’s rude having a conversation in front of someone who has no idea what’s going on, and how much time do we have to be here? I know you need to catch up with your grandfather, but we need answers.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “Answers first, asinine conversation later. Tell me about the shields.”

  Eleanor’s curiosity flickered. She did not think asinine conversation was something Conlan did, grandfather or not, but he did not want to talk about it so she gave him the information he had asked for. “They feel like energy, but they are solid, impenetrable. I didn’t find any cracks or weaknesses. I can’t push through it, but you know when I’m near to you, so I’m assuming it’s connected to you in some way.”

  “What do you think it’s for?”

  Eleanor shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I need more information to make a guess at that – do other people have it? Or is this a family thing? I’m sure the shield has to go, it’s in the way, but I’ve no idea why I’m sure of this; my subconscious must know more than I do right now.”

  Conlan relayed all this back to his grandfather, who nodded and responded with a lengthy monologue. Eleanor watched him talk, her mind trying to make sense of the syllables, knowing it to be hopeless but unable to stop the process. He finished abruptly, stood, smoothing down his elegant, immaculate trousers, and left the room again.

  “Where’s he gone?” Eleanor asked.

  “He has a book that might help us. Apparently he was told that this book contained all anyone would need to resurrect the power of the Five, so he’s gone to get it. He doesn’t know anything about the shields, but he says the book contains details about five ancient Talismans that the original Avatars created. He thinks finding these might be what we need.”

  “Talisman?”

  “An object that’s meant to have magical power; in its truest form a Talisman is created for protection, but what the Avatars created theirs for I have no idea. My grandfather claims to have told me about them, but I don’t remember.”

  “It’s kind of a vital point, Conlan, how could you not remember?”

  “I was eight years old the last time I heard those stories, I’m amazed I remember as much as I do.”

  Gregor came back into the room holding a large black book; he said something to Conlan – the tone made it sound like an order – and then he walked over to Eleanor. Crouching in front of her, he handed over the book, saying something with an earnest look on his face as he did.

  Conlan began translating. “He’s telling you that this book is very special and has been handed down from generation to generation of his family for hundreds of years. All the information we need has been hidden within its pages. This is the first time the book has been passed outside the family, but he’s giving it to you because he believes you’re far more likely to figure out its secrets than his stubborn fool of a grandson.”

  Eleanor smiled. “He called you a stubborn fool?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Conlan did not answer.

  Eleanor sighed. “Why did you bother telling me what he said if you’re not going to tell me why he said it?”

  “Because my grandfather insisted I tell you,” Conlan admitted.

  “He can’t speak English, he wouldn’t have known.”

  “Yes, he would.”

  She looked at Gregor; the shrewd look was back on his face. He had wanted her to know that he thought Conlan was being a stubborn fool, but why? He might not understand what was being said, but he was obviously smart enough to know when Conlan was lying. The old man smiled and Eleanor saw the shadow of Conlan’s smile in it. He reached a hand out, cupped her face and spoke again. Confused, Eleanor tried to remember the words, hoping to translate them for herself in the future, but they slipped through her fingers like sand. With no meaning attached to them her mind seemed unable to retain them. The old man finished talking and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, then he stood and returned to the sofa, a smug smile on his face.

  “Translate, please,” Eleanor demanded.

  Conlan shook his head. “No.”

  Eleanor glared at him, but she recognised his expression. She was not going to get him to change his mind any time soon.

  “OK, OK, keep your secrets,” she muttered at him, working hard to smooth the irritation she knew was showing on her face. She smiled at Gregor instead. “Tell your grandfather, thank you, I will take very good care of the book.”

  The old man nodded and smiled as Conlan translated Eleanor’s words. The two men began talking again – another conversation Conlan showed no signs of translating. Eleanor curled herself around the book, lying in front of the fire. Feeling comfortable, warm and full, sleep claimed her.

  “Eleanor, wake up, it’s time to go.”

  Struggling to open her eyes, Eleanor blinked slowly. She could see the pale pre-dawn light through the study windows. Conlan was knelt next to her, a warm hand on her shoulder. Eleanor rose stiffly to her feet, still clutching the book to her chest. Conlan stood up with her; he looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he turned back to his grandfather and spoke to him. Gregor stood and patted Conlan on the back, muttering something that sounded like affectionate admonishment. Conlan offered an apologetic smile. Eleanor was expecting the same breath-squeezing experience as last time and was surprised when Gregor wrapped his arms carefully around her and held her gently. She did not understand the words he spoke, but she could feel the love they held, and letting go of the book with one hand, she hugged the old man back. When he let go there were tears in his eyes.

  They left the house the same way they had entered, sticking to the shadows, using the tree to climb back over the wall and running down the alley like thieves. Once they were out on the avenue they slowed to a walk, but Eleanor was conscious of how suspicious they would look if someone saw them. Thankfully, the rich did not seem to be early risers and it was not until they moved into the dirtier part of the city, back towards the slums, that they encountered people.

  The streets were not nearly as ful
l as they had been the day before, so as they walked Eleanor half-closed her eyes, extended an energy string and let it trail to the side of her, like using a hand to skim the surface of a river from a slow-moving rowing boat. She felt for the energy of the people she walked past and was amazed to discover that every single person she encountered had an energy shield just like Conlan and Gregor’s. She concentrated harder; the shields were of different strengths, but they all seemed to be impervious. With her eyes half-closed and her concentration elsewhere, Eleanor failed to notice that Conlan had taken a slightly different route along the street, until she walked right into the Protectors walking towards her. She tried to step out of their way as her heart jumped to a thundering beat in her throat. The fatter of the two Protectors grabbed her arm and snarled something at her. He was waiting for an answer. Eleanor shook her head slightly, pointed to her mouth and shook her head again, unfortunately revealing the book as she did so. The fat Protector saw and snatched at it, but she pulled back, both arms wrapped protectively around its bulk. Anger flashed through the man’s eyes. Now what do I do? She could not speak the language, could not reason with them. She was stood in the middle of hostile territory clutching a book to her chest, which, if they found it, would end her life on the spot even if they missed the elemental brand on her wrist. She took another step back, wondering if she could run for it. The Protector grabbed her arm again. Conlan chose that moment to materialise at her side, but her relief at seeing him was short-lived. He grabbed her upper arms roughly with both hands and shook her, pulling her from the Protector’s grip as he did so, yelling at her in Dwarfish, fury in his eyes. He let her go and delivered a solid, backhanded blow to the face, knocking her flying. The bright flash of pain left her dazed and hurting at his feet. Conlan turned, with barely a glance at her, to have a calm and polite conversation with the Protectors. The Protector who had grabbed her laughed at whatever Conlan was saying and then produced a thin cane from a clip on his belt, which he flicked. It made a lethal swishing noise as it cut through the air. He gave it to Conlan, who took it, feeling its weight in his hand, his gaze moving to Eleanor’s. Is he going to hit me with that? The cruel, merciless look in his eyes and evil sneer made her tremble. It was not a look that belonged on his face. Eleanor felt dread grab her insides and twist. Fearing the inevitable she curled herself into a ball around the book, covering her head as best she could in anticipation of the blows. She was surprised when Conlan used the stick to slowly trace the line of her back, down and around the curve of her thigh. He said something again to the Protectors, who both sniggered, nodding to themselves. Conlan handed the stick back and watched as the two men stepped around them and continued on their way.

  “Get up!” Conlan snarled through gritted teeth, watching the retreating grey uniforms.

  Eleanor pulled herself to her feet. She was still trembling and could feel the skin under her right eye starting to sting and swell. He grabbed her by the back of her collar, marched her down the street and shoved her into the nearest alley. When they were safely in the dark shadows of the city’s slums, Conlan let go of her collar and spun her round to face him.

  “What was that about?” he demanded angrily.

  “I wasn’t concentrating,” she admitted, feeling embarrassed and foolish.

  “I nearly had to give you a thrashing, and you’re telling me you lost concentration?!” Anger contorted his face, his scar making the expression menacing.

  “Why didn’t you?” Eleanor asked, watching the anger drain from him.

  “You’ve suffered enough. I won’t add to it if I can help it.”

  Eleanor felt this was a strange reason coming from a man who had once threatened to stick a sword through her head. He was giving her that look, but Eleanor did not feel like discussing what she was thinking.

  “What did you tell them?” she asked instead.

  “I told them you were a particularly inept servant, prone to daydreaming.”

  “Particularly inept servant... well that’s not far from the mark. You didn’t beat me though; they just accepted it, seemed to think it was funny – what did you say?”

  Conlan looked uncomfortable. “I simply suggested that there were better ways to punish you that would be more fun if you were in one piece.”

  Eleanor remembered the feeling of the stick moving slowly down her body, the meaning clear. She raised her eyebrows at him in surprise. “That was very clever.”

  “I can be occasionally.”

  Eleanor ignored his sarcasm. “I take it the Protectors don’t consider it part of their job to protect servants from being raped by their masters?”

  “No. If I’d tried to beat you to death in the street they might have stopped me or perhaps asked me to take it behind closed doors, but there are far too many rich, powerful, well-connected people here. They wouldn’t want to risk offending someone over something as minor as punishing an incompetent servant,” Conlan said.

  “That sucks,” Eleanor muttered.

  Conlan nodded. “So why weren’t you concentrating?”

  “I was testing a theory. I was feeling for other people’s energy, but every single person I passed, including those two Protectors, has a shield just like yours and Gregor’s.”

  “So it’s normal?”

  “Well it’s not exactly a large pool of data, but the people were of a fairly good cross-section of your society, so yes, with the current information I have I’d conclude that this is a natural part of who you are, but it doesn’t change the fact that it has to go.”

  “So we’re back where we started?”

  “Yeah, but now I have a new bruise and a headache,” Eleanor said, gently pushing the palm of her hand against the swelling.

  “Well don’t look at me for sympathy!” Conlan said, turning and walking down the alley and further into the slums.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eleanor muttered at his back as she trudged after him.

  They moved through the alleyways in silence. Eleanor clutched the large book tightly to her chest; its stiff, heavy weight and slightly musty smell were comforting and distracted her from the throbbing in her head. As they walked past the hovels, she caught glimpses of some of the inhabitants through open doors and glassless windows. They huddled around mean fires, their slow movements and blank looks speaking of hopelessness and dark despair. Conlan’s right, these people deserve better.

  They reached the outer wall without further incident and passed quickly out of the gate, the bored-looking Protectors waving them through without a second glance. Rand was where they had left him, happily eating grass. After rooting in his saddle bag, Conlan wordlessly thrust a small jar of Will’s homemade sticky, jelly-like antiseptic into her hand, waiting as Eleanor gingerly applied some to her face, the sting receding. She smiled gratefully, handing the pot back. He nodded and mounted, hauling Eleanor up behind him. Clutching the book tightly against her with one arm, she put the other around Conlan’s waist and laid her throbbing head against his back as they rode off.

  They rode until the sunset, and with each mile they put between themselves and Baydon, Conlan relaxed further. The sun dipped below the horizon and Conlan pulled Rand to a stop. They set up camp a little way off the track. Eleanor lit a fire, put water on to heat and saw to Rand while Conlan went to find them something to eat. Her chores done, she sat cross-legged in front of the fire and placed the large book on her lap. The cover was black leather, worn and cracked in places; there was no title, just a large five-pointed star inside a circle embossed in silver on the front. Eleanor traced the points with her finger, then she carefully opened the book, trying not to bend the spine further. The pages crinkled under her hand, whispering their secrets, the paper was a soft brown colour, with small dark-brown spots of age in places. Eleanor was surprised to discover it was hand-written in a steady, even, flowing script that with disappointment she realised she had no hope of reading. This must be the written language of the Dwarfs. While the words were a myster
y, as she flicked through the pages Eleanor found all sorts of beautifully rendered ink pictures. Near the beginning she found a picture of a man which filled half the page, and even in black and white there was something about him; he had a neatly trimmed beard and a half smile on his face. His intelligent eyes captured her. Eleanor found it most disconcerting; there was something very familiar about the face, but with annoyance she found she had no idea what it was. Moving on through the book she found other pictures; some she recognised, like the mountains she called home, and some she did not, although they all looked like amazing places to visit. There was a picture of a waterfall so high that the water boiled into mist at the bottom as a result of the force of its drop. Another picture showed vast savannah planes, the horizon shimmering in the heat. She also found pictures of what looked like the Talismans they needed; a wand, dark wood twisted round a silver core, a pointed crystal at one end and an egg-shaped one at the other; a sword, a five-pointed star etched into its blade and large stones decorating its hilt; a large oblong diamond on a thick chain; a chalice, tall and elegant, and a crown. It did not look very impressive – a simple band with symbols etched into it – and it was hard to see from the picture but it appeared to be made of silver. Well, at least we know what to look for. The book also contained maps, each one of which she studied carefully, hoping to find some indication as to where they could find the Talismans, but nothing obvious revealed itself. However, the illustration at the end of the book held her attention. It was a map of the whole of Mydren and it indicated one huge continent. Eleanor could see the mountains of home cutting a dark swathe across the top of the map and running like a backbone south through the entire length of Mydren. She traced five large rivers that dissected the land, meeting at a central point in the south where a single massive river headed out to sea. There were several large forests shown on the map, and from the distance they had travelled she tried to work out which one was Millar’s Forest.