by Dawn Peers
This had made their conversations awkward more recently, now Maertn was considered an adult, and Quinn herself was approaching her Naming Day in her seventeenth summer. Quinn was painfully shy. Her intimate knowledge of the emotions of others had been the precise reason why she shied away from close relationships with anyone but Sammah. As her friendship with Maertn had blossomed and she had not returned his feelings in kind, she had been pleasantly surprised to find out that, not only did he not begin to resent her, his feelings grew, if that had been at all possible. The longer she had been exposed to these emotions, the easier it was for her to deal with them. So as time wore on, their awkward exchanges were actually solidifying their long and deep friendship. In many ways, Quinn trusted Maertn more than she did her adoptive father. She wasn’t stupid, no matter what many around the castle staff thought of her, and she didn’t look at the work of her father with the naïve and adoring eyes of a child any more. The interviews she conducted for Sammah hadn’t all been in the name of the king, and all of the high-level courtiers had their own agenda to some lesser or greater extent. Quinn knew she played a role in Sammah’s intrigues, but as things stood, there was no negative consequence. There was no war. There was no threat to Everfell. There was no threat to Sammah, or to her livelihood. She knew she had a reputation in the city, and that people had heard of Sammah having a mysterious person in his employ that could read minds.
Quinn smiled at this. One thing Sammah had told her, very early on, was that people will fill in the gaps for themselves when they come across something that they can’t understand. She was unique, he had told her, and that’s why she felt so lonely. No one could know what she was going through, or what she felt like when she was sent reeling by intense emotion. Quinn couldn’t read minds, and no matter how strong her power grew, this would always be the case. But anyone with a sense of intelligence, Sammah had told her, could feel someone’s raw emotions and make a guess at why that emotion was there at that time. Because her guesses were almost always right, folk assumed she could read minds.
The Satori, they called her. The mind-reader, like the animal the stories said plagued the forests between Everfell and Broadwater. She liked the word. It tasted good on the end of her tongue. The Satori had been terrorising Everfell since the Peace, they told each other. Quinn knew this wasn’t true, though she also knew she couldn’t read minds. This was another lesson from Sammah. Ruling with fear is more powerful than ruling with kindness. King Vance was a good man, but if someone were to come along to replace him, and they ruled with an iron hand, no one would turn against that man for fear of reprisal. Whenever she received this lesson from Sammah, and it was one frequently meted, her mind always wandered back to Shiver. What an apt name for a vile man.
Satori or not, she could not read Sammah, therefore the adult Quinn would never be able to fully trust him, regardless of how much she had revered him as a child. Quinn would follow him, and he had her heart to a great extent, but because she had felt so much from mankind, she could never trust a man that she could not read. It was depressingly rare to find a person completely incapable of deceit.
Sighing audibly, Quinn threw herself back on to her stiff pillow. She had sat searching for a way to sleep, and now her mind was sprinting away with nonsense. She wouldn’t get any rest at this rate, even with Sammah gifting her an entire day of leisure—unheard of! Making a decision, she padded out of bed and dressed swiftly but scruffily. Hopefully everyone would mistake her for an urchin, and they would just ignore her.
Her little journey was going to take her into a building off the side of the courtyard. She’d be passing a lot of people in the meantime, and she’d need to brace herself against the buffeting she knew she’d receive. At the end of the journey though was Maertn, and she knew that he’d be able to brew her something that could send her exactly where she needed to go—a deep and heavy sleep.
15
“I have no idea what you’re talking about Sammah.”
Sammah gritted his teeth as Shiver turned his back, choosing instead to pay attention to his men drilling in formation. The lord still stank of ale and wine, despite Sammah’s instructions to send him to the baths, and his bloodshot eyes suggested that he was still feeling more than a few of the effects of his drinking the night before. Sammah tried not to stand too close, though this was difficult when he didn’t want their conversation to be overheard.
“I know you’re lying to me Shiver. There’s no way you’ve got all of your men out of the city this quickly. What are you trying to hide?”
“I’m hiding nothing. I only had the one man here, because of the taxes being levied. I have no interest in breaking our agreement Sammah, and won’t endanger it now for the sake of some extra coins.”
“You’re being strangely affable, and that’s not like you. I had your man last night seen by the Satori, and he wasn’t capable enough to be working on his own.”
Shiver turned around slowly. “Am I seriously meant to believe that tale? There’s a stranger that roams the streets of Everfell abducting folk and reading minds? Push off with you man, I’m trying to do important things here.”
If you weren’t the Lord of Sevenspells I’d have you abducted myself, Sammah thought. Such aggression wouldn’t help here, however. Instead, he spoke firmly but quietly, so only Shiver could hear. Eden was heading towards them, hot and tousled from the weapons drills. Their conversation needed to be over.
“His name was Bann. He was about your age, and a messy man. Cries too much, from what my men told me.”
Shiver looked over his shoulder at the ambassador from Sha’sek. A slimy man, he’d always thought. Too clean. Too precise. Too untouchable. But by the spirits, his information was right, and if Shiver let him know that then he was in trouble.
“You’re an ambitious man, Shiver. I respect that. I even admire it. There’s not a lot in this world that I admire any more. You’ve heard a lot about me and I daresay most of it is true. I’ve heard enough about you to know we can work well together, otherwise I wouldn’t even be entertaining involving you.
Meet me this evening, in my quarters. Come alone. We need to talk.”
The way Sammah stated this, a command, not a question, made Shiver go cold. No one spoke to him like that. He didn’t consider denying this request. He did gulp though, and ask a question he never believed he’d leave his lips. “Will your Satori be there?”
Sammah seemed to consider this for a moment. “If he needs to be.”
Shiver shook his head steadily. “He won’t be.”
“He won’t what?”
* * *
Eden had arrived within earshot, and was interested in their conversation. Both men returned their tense stances to congenial faces. “Ah, nothing, young Eden. Just stale matters of state, I’m afraid. You’re improving with the drilling, I see.”
“Am I?” Eden swung his wooden training sword around absentmindedly. Sammah’s eyes slid up and down the boy once. Sammah was sure his eyes didn’t betray him. The lad—no, captain—had certainly grown significantly since his last visit to Everfell.
“Firm movements in the pincer. Good control, good voice. Showing the essentials of a leader I see, just like your father.”
Eden was about to respond when a burst of catcalling came from the other side of the training ground. In the midst of it was the shrill scream of a women. The noise chilled Eden to the core. Whoever it was, she must be in great pain. He turned to sprint towards it, but Sammah held him fast.
“Stay there lad. This is my business.”
Faster than Eden thought the emissary capable, Sammah set in a dead sprint towards the noise. Eden looked at his father, who seemed ashen. Eden put this down to the hangover of ale and wine, which he was sure would still be repeating on the old man even now. He grasped his arm.
“Come on. Let’s get you some bread and meat to soak up some of that bitterness.”
16
There was never training in the gro
unds. Why were they there?
Quinn had thought that taking her usual shortcut through the back of the grounds, avoiding the luscious courtyard favoured by the queen and the jabbering hens of the court, would be as quick and easy as it always was. She sometimes came across the stablehands and the occasional messenger, maybe even a soldier or two on errand, but they were not a problem for her.
What she hadn’t expected to come across was a full set of soldiers in drill. The noise and dust they were kicking up was nothing compared to the impact she felt on her head.
It felt like her skull was being crushed. The pressure was unbearable. As each of them watched the other, guarded themselves against a stroke, sought to find a response, ducked, and looked for their next stage of defence or their next point of attack, her temples got closer and closer, the pressure on them unbearable. Quinn collapsed to her knees, her hands clasping over her ears as she desperately tried to block them out. She felt something hot and wet spill over her upper lip, and she curled in to the foetal position to try to stop the pain. As she screamed—as if by the touch of the spirits—she felt the pain easing. Her eyes were blurred so badly she couldn’t see. Tears, she thought at first, before realising in a panic that the blurring had changed to blackness. Had she gone blind? A hand clamped on her shoulder but she thrashed, unable to sense the feelings of confusion and worry beyond the pain that was still rampaging in her skull.
Someone scooped her up. It didn’t take much effort, she thought. Was she that small? Was she dead? Were the spirits taking her away?
They started walking with her. She bobbed away. Other emotions starting coming to her, but they were so many and so varied that they jabbed at her, flaring the pain anew. Quinn writhed in the arms of her saviour, or captor, she didn’t know. They held her tighter. Another pair of arms…another…four? It felt like all the hands in the world were upon her. Some of them slapped at her and others punched. Her body felt torn. This is it, a fractured part of her mind told herself, this is what dying feels like.
She gave in then, to all of the feelings. She gave in to the pain and the hands, the howling and the whistling and the intolerable pressure between her ears. With acceptance came silence. A chasm opened up in her mind, deep and dark, a vicious wound in the side of the earth. Without thinking, Quinn let herself drop in to it. As she plummeted in to the centre of the world, her mind finally let go. At last, Quinn slept.
17
“Why did this happen to her?”
“You’re meant to be able to tell me that, herb man. Where’s your apprentice? He’ll tell me better than you.”
The old man bristled at the insult. The sheer cheek of the man! “Now you listen to me. I don’t care how high up the court you go, you do not bring in a sick girl to my care, and then tell me how to do my work.”
Sammah leaned in close, his voice low and threatening. “But you’re not doing any work, old man. You’re staring at her, asking questions, and shrugging a lot.”
Torran reddened. Sammah had had no choice when he’d put Maertn’s development in the hands of this man. Sammah was not a master of herb lore, though Torran claimed to be. It wouldn’t be long, Sammah knew, before Maertn took his place. Sure, the lad had an unfair advantage over his aging and confused master, but it had only been a matter of time anyway. People around the palace were finding it hard to forget that a well-liked corporal in the Royal Guard had needed a leg amputation last year, simply because Torran had failed to clear out an infection properly. People were finding it hard to trust him. Torran knew it wouldn’t be long before he was out of a job.
“What’s happened? The men from Sevenspells. I…is Quinn okay?”
Maertn threw himself in to the room in his usual way. Sammah wondered if he’d slow down when he stopped growing.
“We don’t know, Maertn. She’s fainted, but it’s not like before. Her nose is bleeding. We need you to look at her.”
Maertn looked to Sammah first, then his master of lore. The right order, Sammah thought. Torran nodded, not that he dare do anything else. Not needing any more encouragement, Maertn hurried to the side of his best friend. He placed his hand on her forehead, taking in the blood that had run from her nose, now covering her lips and chin. She was pale and cold, her body shivering even in sleep. Maertn’s hands moved from her forehead to her temples, his fingertips barely touching the skin. His lips moved gently as he worked, and Sammah knew he was channelling his abilities, without even really knowing it. Maertn was one of his charges who did not know they were gifted. Everyone just assumed he had immense talent. It was true, Maertn did study incredibly deeply in his craft. What Sammah knew that people in Everfell either didn’t, or refused to acknowledge, was that when Maertn touched Quinn, he could feel the problems within her body. He was sensing her ills. There were many talented like Maertn across Sha’sek. They all became eminent healers. It was possible to become one without such a gift, but you would never be as trusted, never get so many customers. When the time was right, Sammah intended to sell Maertn, gifts and all, to the highest bidder. He would fetch a fine return, more than worth the investment Sammah would outlay here to keep the lad alive.
Maertn frowned, looking up to Sammah with concern etched across his young face. “I can’t fix this.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, sir. There’s something in her head. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
“What does he mean by that?”
Sammah waved at Torran. “Get out of here old man. This is work beyond your capability.”
Torran puffed out his fragile chest and opened his mouth to argue when a hand clasped him on the shoulder. Mute and impassive, Elias led the away. They weren’t forceful. Torran, however, was left in no doubt that he was no longer welcome in his own workshop. Sammah moved around the cot where Quinn lay prone so he could speak more closely with Maertn.
“Describe it to me lad, what do you feel?”
Maertn shook his head as if to clear his own thoughts. Obviously what he was feeling was worrying him; usually he would have spoken his mind by now. “Normally, when I’m tending to someone, I get a sense of what’s wrong. Torran doesn’t understand that so I don’t bother trying to explain it to him. I know you understand, sir. But this, I’m not sure you will. It’s a pressure. I know there’s something wrong with her, but it’s not letting me feel it.”
“What do you usually feel when Quinn faints?”
“Before, I could feel something soft. Like her… I can’t explain it without sounding daft. It felt like I was pushing against a cloud. And the more I pushed, the more the cloud went away, like blowing away steam. This time, there’s something stopping me. It’s hard and cold. Like…like I was just touching her skull, and there’s nothing inside it.”
Sammah went cold. There had been an accident once, which he had witnessed when young. A boy had fallen from a cart and landed on his head. The boy had lived, somehow, though he had never been the same afterwards. He was more than simple. He could barely function. The best healers had been called. Not because his parents could afford it, but because he was a marvel amongst Sha’sek. They had all wanted to heal the boy, but one by one they had all been forced to admit there was nothing there. They couldn’t feel his illness. The boy was simply damaged beyond repair.
Had this happened to Quinn? Had she been hurt, and the guardsmen too fearful to admit it? Sammah realised Maertn was looking at him for answers. For once, he had none.
“I’ve heard of this before,” Sammah stammered. “It’s an illness of the brain. Of the mind. I’m not sure how much you can do either.”
Sammah paced the room, clenching and unclenching his fists as he thought. There was no way she had been hurt the same way as that boy. Her body didn’t show any signs of injury Something had made her faint, like all the times she had before when emotions had overwhelmed her. Maertn had given him half the answer; Quinn had passed out before. That time it had been beca
use of her power, and only one person’s heated shouting. What had been happening in that courtyard to, not only cause her to faint, but to give her a nosebleed, and make her scream out in such pain?
“Elias?”
The bodyguard, his lips clamped shut, sought out his master with his eyes, every inch of his body showing rigid alertness. All of Sammah’s guards were mutes. Sammah made sure of it by removing their tongues. It was part of the contract. Every single man agreed to the procedure before it took place.
“I need my notebook. The hidebound journal. Fetch it for me, now. Make haste. Do not stop for anyone. Do not bring anyone back with you.”
The man nodded once and left. Sammah gestured to Maertn. “Keep checking her. See if there is anything else wrong. We can’t just abandon her.”
Maertn nodded and did as he was bidden. He was worried. Sammah sounded just as panicked as he felt, and that was not normal for their impassive adoptive father.
He ran his hands around the rest of Quinn’s face and neck. He hesitated at her shoulders. Sammah caught his hesitation and waved at him. “You’re a healer, Maertn. Stop being a fool. We don’t have the time to waste.”
Blushing at the intrusion, no matter what the capacity, Maertn felt down her arms and legs and her stomach. He placed his hand flat on her chest between her breasts. Her heart was strong, slow and regular. There was nothing else wrong with her. He knew it, as sure as he knew that the sun would rise in the eastern sky the next morning. Confident with his findings, Maertn pulled back his hand, his cheeks still flushing hot and red with embarrassment.