by Jenny Ealey
Tarkyn breathed a sigh of relief and gave a slight smile, “Thanks.” Suddenly, the prince was just a nineteen-year old with too much on his shoulders.
String and Bean looked at each other. Then Bean said, “Must be my turn to make the tea, if we’re going to be here for a little while. Any chance of a small fire?”
Before anyone could answer, Tarkyn and the woodfolk’s minds were assailed by an overwhelming cry for help. But not from Midnight. From Blizzard. As one, despite Stormaway’s stricture, they jumped to their feet and headed off towards its source.
“Follow us,” said Waterstone briefly over his shoulder to the other three sorcerers. Even as he ran, the woodman went briefly out of focus to send a message via other woodfolk to Stormaway.
They raced up the mountain path, all thought of covering their tracks forgotten. As they neared a copse off to the left hand side, they could hear the sounds of angry shouting emanating from among the trees. They swung off the path and came to an abrupt halt at the edge of a small clearing within the copse.
A shocking sight met their eyes.
At one end of the clearing, lashed upright to a thin sycamore was Midnight, head lolling forward, hands dragged behind him and secured at the back of the tree. At first glance, it was impossible to tell whether he was dead or unconscious. Ranged in front of him, were twenty or thirty angry woodfolk, yelling at each other. A furious debate was raging among them. Now and again, one of them would break from the pack towards Midnight, only to be restrained by others. Blizzard was in the midst of it, shouting with the others, but a look of relief passed over his face when he spotted Tarkyn and his group at the edge of the clearing.
Before Tarkyn could act, a strong message came through from Stormaway to refrain from interfering. When Waterstone relayed this, the prince’s face tightened.
“How can I leave him there?” he demanded hotly. “They might kill him if they haven’t already.”
“Think straight,” said Waterstone firmly. “If he were dead, they wouldn’t still be trying to attack him. Just be ready to protect him if any of them breaks away from that group.”
Suddenly, a tattered, wild-eyed woodwoman, clothed in an assortment of furs, sprang into the clearing and threw herself in front of Midnight. She whirled to confront the raging woodfolk, and stood braced for action, knives in both hands, sending forth such a torrent of mental abuse and derision that everyone was shocked into silence.
Then she broke into audible speech, “How dare you attack my son? I left him with you to look after him, secure in the belief that woodfolk look after their own. What has happened to you? What has he done that is so terrible that you would do this to him?”
After an uncomfortable silence, a voice spoke up from within the pack, “He is an abomination. He is half sorcerer.”
For a moment, Hail faltered but then she lifted her head high and looked the speaker straight in the eye. “Yes, for my shame, he is. And I have punished him for it often enough myself. But that was why I left him with you. To protect him from me. I couldn’t see him without seeing the cruelty of his father, but you people didn’t have to bear that burden. I trusted you with him and look what you have done.”
“And how does it happen that you suddenly turn up out of the blue now, so full of concern, having abandoned your son for months without seeing him?” sneered another voice.
“Dry Berry called for me,” she replied shortly. After a moment she added more gently, “And now that you all know, I have come to face my past and your judgement.”
At that, murmuring broke out, which quickly swelled into another heated altercation. Waterstone threw a restraining glance at Tarkyn but saw that he was standing arms crossed, a forbidding expression on his face but with no obvious intention of interceding.
The shouting grew louder. Suddenly, punches were thrown and a brawl broke out among the mountainfolk.
Still Tarkyn stood there unmoving. But slowly, the air inside the clearing seemed to soften and people threw their punches with less vigour. Gradually they fell apart from each other and straightened up, raising their heads high and falling silent. Then they turned to face the prince, some shame-faced at first, but all squaring their shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. For a moment, Waterstone thought they meant to attack him. But Tarkyn met their gaze unflinchingly. Then very slowly, without uncrossing his arms, he lifted one hand to place it on his heart.
Almost as though waking from a trance, people blinked and gave their heads a slight shake. A few placed their hands on their hearts in response but gestures like that were not natural to woodfolk, so most just set about making amends with their neighbours and apologizing to Hail. When she felt sufficiently safe, she asked String and Bean to come forward to cut Midnight free, continuing to keep her eye on the uncertain mountainfolk.
Bean walked around behind her and used a thin streak of burgundy magic to cut through ropes binding the little boy. Still Midnight did not stir and when the ropes fell from him, only String’s hands around his chest kept him from falling forward on to the ground. The scruffy old trappers lowered him gently and String felt anxiously for a pulse in his neck. After a moment, he nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.
Tarkyn’s party looked at each other in confusion, unclear about what had just happened right before their eyes. Waterstone glanced a query at the prince who merely responded, “I’ll explain later. Right now, I need to help Midnight.”
But Hail did not know him and certainly did not trust him so, as he approached, she thrust her knives in his direction. Without a second thought, he murmured “Shturrum,” and froze her.
“I gather you are Midnight’s mother,” said Tarkyn coolly, “I will not waste time on convincing you that you can trust me when time may be of the essence. I will release you from this spell on the condition that you do not interfere with what I am doing. If you make any move to attack me, Danton will imprison you within his shield until I have finished checking Midnight. Clear? I will talk to you later.” He nodded at his liegeman, “Danton, keep your eye on her. Use your shield without hesitation.”
Tarkyn waved his hand to release the spell and moved on past her without waiting to see her reaction. He knelt down next to Midnight and placed his hand on the unconscious boy’s shoulder. After a moment, he looked over his shoulder at the gathered mountainfolk and asked matter-of-factly, “What has happened to him? Was it a slingshot? Why is he not regaining consciousness? Someone, fetch Summer Rain or Stormaway. I may need help.”
“Your Highness,” came the soft voice of Sighing Wind, “I am afraid he has partaken of drugged wine. I fear that the dose may have been too strong for such a small body.”
The forest guardian returned his attention to the little bundle of mischief lying so still beneath his hand. For a moment, his rage threatened to well up and overpower him but he took a deep breath and firmly pushed it down so that he could concentrate on helping Midnight. Tarkyn gathered hisesse to send it slowly and gently through the inert child. For several fraught minutes, nothing happened. Then suddenly, Midnight coughed convulsively and threw up all over Tarkyn.
Tarkyn whipped his arm away but far too late to save his shirt sleeve. His face wrinkled in disgust, “Blast you, Midnight! Look what you’ve done to me.” He shook his arm and frowned at his wet, stinking shirt sleeve. With a resigned sigh, he pulled his sodden shirt over his head, used a clean part of it to wipe Midnight’s mouth and his own arm before throwing it, with a certain malice, behind him into the gathered crowd. With his eyes twinkling, Tarkyn frowned ferociously, “Yuk, Midnight. That was revolting.” Even though his eyes were red rimmed and he was still feeling queasy, the little boy grinned up at him. The prince smiled back at him and ran his hand through the little boy’s hair, “You okay now, little one?” Midnight knew what he was asking, nodded and tried to sit up.
Tarkyn scooped the little boy into his arms and stood up. When he turned around, he found himself face to face with an angry wizard.
Tarkyn gave a Midnight a squeeze. “I didn’t rescue him, although it nearly broke my heart not to,” he replied. His gaze swept around his fellow sorcerers and woodmen. “I didn’t, did I?”
Waterstone put his hands on his hips and frowned suspiciously, “No, you didn’t. At least not directly. But you did something, didn’t you, even though I didn’t see you move.”
Tarkyn smiled proudly, not for himself but for the mountainfolk, “Yes, I sent forth waves of belief in the integrity of the mountainfolk. I figured that, underneath, they were the same as the home guard. So I gave them my trust.” He smiled ruefully, “It was possibly the hardest thing I have ever done, but they vindicated my faith in them and pulled themselves out of the force of the curse.”
Stormaway stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you haven’t studied the art of magic?”
“No. Why?”
“There are two ways to counter a curse; one is to revoke the curse, the other is to strengthen the victims’ resistance to it.” Stormaway smiled with satisfaction, “You managed to strengthen the mountainfolk’s belief in themselves and consequently their resistance to the curse. If you had interfered and rescued Midnight, you would have left them with an irreparable belief in their own maliciousness and destroyed their self-belief, possibly beyond hope of recovery. Instead, you strengthened it. As it is, they have repaired the damage themselves and redeemed themselves.”
Tarkyn smiled, “There you are, you see. No need to stay angry with me, is there?”
Stormaway shook his head, “You dice with forces of which you have no knowledge. I just hope your instinct continues to guide you truly.”
“But the curse has not yet been destroyed, has it?” asked Tarkyn, “Will it not continue to eat away underneath and make life difficult for Midnight and for all of these people?”
“Yes, it will. You have stemmed its force for now, but it will re-emerge over time. We must find a way to destroy it.” Stormaway turned to the people gathered there and began to speak, “Be aware that you are being affected by the curse of which the trappers spoke, placed on you by Midnight’s father as he died.”
“And before we listen to another word you have to say, who on earth are you?” asked one of the mountainfolk belligerently. “Every time we turn around, there is another sorcerer. How many of you are there now? Five! This is beginning to feel like an invasion.”
Tarkyn raised his hand. “I apologise. I should have introduced Stormaway to you but I think we were all a little pre-occupied.” A ripple of dry laughter flowed through his audience. When it subsided, he continued, “This is Stormaway Treemaster, Wizard of the Forest. I think many of you know of him by reputation since he trades your wines on your behalf with the outside world.”
“He’s the creator of that dreadful oath, isn’t he?” demanded another aggressively.
Angry murmurs greeted this remark. Tarkyn put both hands up for silence, “Yes, he is but under my father’s direction. He is also the wizard who fought off the storm with me to save the woodfolk from the sorcerers and wolves who were hunting them.”
Someone near the front shrugged, “Fair enough then. Some good, some bad. Just like the rest of us.” She nodded, “Go on then. Tell us about this curse.”
“Thank you,” said Stormaway gravely. “As you heard earlier from String and Bean, a curse was uttered by Midnight’s father as he died from Hail’s knife attack. This is the curse you have all been living with since then; that the child of that union, young Midnight here, would breed resentment among you, his mother’s people. That resentment would gradually turn into hatred, which in turn would slowly but surely undermine your integrity and destroy you. As you may now realise, that curse has affected your attitudes and behaviour. It has so far led to the deaths of two of your own and nearly killed Tarkyn, Danton and two of the home guard. Thanks to Tarkyn’s faith in you, the effects of the curse have been halted for the time being. But the entire curse pivots on Midnight.”
There was a mass intake of breath and all eyes turned to Midnight. Unconsciously Tarkyn’s arm closed more tightly around the little boy. He felt a tug on the bare skin of his arm and looked down to see Midnight grimacing.
“Oops, sorry,” whispered Tarkyn with a smile, relaxing his grip and swinging Midnight around onto his hip so that he could see what was going on. Midnight took one look at everyone staring at him and turned his head away to bury it into Tarkyn’s bare shoulder. Tarkyn transferred his gaze to Stormaway, “In light of recent events, to save everyone the embarrassment of asking, I will ask the question that is on everyone’s and my mind.” He took a tight breath, “If Midnight is pivotal to this curse, what must happen to him to revoke it?” He paused and looked down at Midnight, “Please don’t tell me that the destruction of the curse depends on his death.”
As Stormaway shook his head, Tarkyn breathed a long sigh of relief. “No. Quite the opposite. If Midnight had been killed, the curse would have been irreversible.”
The gathered mountainfolk looked horrified at how close they had come to their own destruction.
“And more than that, the only person who can revoke the curse on the mountainfolk is Midnight himself.” After a moment, Stormaway continued, “Only the curser can revoke a curse. If he or she is dead, it becomes very difficult to revoke their curse but it may be done by their direct descendant, in this case, Midnight.” He looked at the little boy huddled against Tarkyn’s shoulder. “I can foresee grave difficulties here. Firstly, Tarkyn will have to try to explain to him, without words, what we want him to do and why. Secondly, the task is complex. Not only will it be distressing for him, but he will have to delegate part of it because words must be spoken that he cannot speak. Thirdly, he must choose to do it. Tarkyn cannot order him to do it. It must be of his own free will. So that means that he will have to be prepared to endure a torrid experience for your sakes.” The wizard’s eyes swept around the mountainfolk, “And from what I gather, he is not likely to have your best interests at heart.”
“So what can we do? Are we facing our own inevitable destruction?” asked a voice in the crowd.
“I will not give you hollow reassurances. Possibly. You have your belief in yourselves restored for the time being. Be vigilant with yourselves and each other. Question your motives for everything and strive to defeat the force of this curse. Knowing that it exists will dilute its insidiousness, but your fear of it will give it strength. Make sure everyone knows about it. Work openly with each other. If you have any doubts, I suggest you consult with your fellow woodfolk who have not been cursed. Meanwhile, Tarkyn and I will work with the support of others on revoking it.” He turned to Midnight’s mother who was standing quietly between String and Bean, a knife still in each hand. “Hail, I believe we will need your assistance… and you two.” Stormaway looked once more around his audience. “Do not despair. Difficult is not impossible. We will try our best. If it looks as though we can revoke the curse, all of you will need to come up onto the mountain to the place where Midnight’s father died. That is where the curse was created and where it must be destroyed.”
“Since we woodfolk are heading up that way anyway,” said Tarkyn, “I suggest you mountainfolk accompany us. Whatever the outcome, we can part ways there, you to return to your cellars and we to continue over the mountain.” He glanced around to check that he had everyone’s approval, “Hail, String and Bean will be our guides.”
Hail stared back at him, “I have made no undertakings to you. So, do not assume that I will act as a guide.”
Tarkyn returned her stare for a moment before giving a slight bow, “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I had assumed you would want to help your people and rid yourself of this curse.”
“As it happens, I do wish to help my people and myself but not because you, a sorcerer, have decided it.”
Tarkyn took a slow breath in and managed to contain his irritation, �
��You must not let appearances deceive you. Like your son, I am also woodfolk.”
Hail’s eyes narrowed, intrigued that Tarkyn had allied himself so clearly with her maligned son, but she merely said, “That still does not give you the right to dictate to me.”
“I have no interest in arguing with you but I will leave you to consider that I am also the guardian of the forest so you may perhaps have a vested interest in supporting me.” Tarkyn shrugged but his mouth was set in a tight line, “However, I will not assume I have your support and will look only to String and Bean to guide us.”
Hail still holding knives in each hand locked stares with him for several long seconds. Finally, she said, “And now I must accept the judgement of my people on my past actions.”
Tarkyn raised his eyebrows, “If you say you must, that is entirely between you and the mountainfolk. It is no concern of mine.”
“And I would like my son back,” she said firmly.
There was a stilled hush. Tarkyn looked down at the top of Midnight’s head still burrowed into his bare shoulder. He wondered if Midnight realised his mother was standing right behind him and what his reaction would be. He considered how autocratic he would look if he didn’t give this abused but unpleasant woodwoman back her child. Then he thought about Midnight cowering in the corner of the cave.
He raised his head and met her eyes, “I will not keep him from you but neither will I allow you to take him away. I have vowed to protect him, and protect him I shall. You may have done your best by this child under the aegis of the curse but your best was not good enough.” He nodded at String and Bean, “Had it not been for the kindness of these two, your son could have been damaged beyond hope of reprieve. When you have sorted your affairs with your people, come and see me and we will talk further.” He turned to leave but a sudden movement by Hail made him turn back again. “If you make any attempt to attack me with knives while I am holding your son, you will not be allowed near him again,” he said calmly, flicking a warning glance at Danton before turning once more to stride out of the clearing.