by Fran Jacobs
"Someone came into my mind?" It sounded incredible, but no more so than anything else I had found out about myself and the world that I thought I knew. Why shouldn't someone be coming into my mind, if my mother was a witch and I was a Seer? Why shouldn't this be true, and dragons and demons and unicorns, too, for that matter?
"Yes, it seems that way." Teveriel plucked a thorny looking stick out from the fabric of his breeches carefully, but he still managed to leave a small hole behind. I got the feeling that he had done more than just sit in the library all evening with Calran. He wouldn't have ended up in such a state just crossing the courtyard. Maybe they had gone for a walk? "I'm not an expert, Dale, and I was trying to ask these questions without it looking like I was asking them. But, basically, Calran said it is possible for someone to do that to someone else, appear in their dreams, or in front of them, and touch them, leaving a mark. The bruises on your wrists were a sort of residue, something that was left from when the child touched you. It may not have known that that would happen, when it touched you, but it will, every time, because everything in that state is magnified, apparently. A touch will leave bruises, a grasp could break bones and it wouldn't take much to kill you. You will have to be careful not to let anyone touch you in that state, Candale."
"So I can be killed in these dreams?" I asked in a tight voice.
"Yes, because they're not really dreams. What you are seeing is what they want you to see, most likely, where they are. They're bringing themselves, and the world around them, into your head. It's more than a dream, so, yes, you can be hurt and you can be killed, but you can't leave because it's still inside your head."
"Right." I nodded grimly. "And there isn't anything that I can do?"
"No," Teveriel said softly. "You might want to ask why that child is coming to you, what it wants, how it knows that you're the Seer."
"Ask it," I repeated. It was easy enough to offer that as a suggestion, not so easy to act on it. It would be like asking a spider why it liked flies, when all you wanted to do was hit it with your shoe so it would stop creeping towards you. I shuddered mentally at the thought of it, of standing there, looking into the child's dark eyes, to ask it questions? Just thinking about it made my heart race and my body break out in a cold sweat. "I don't know if I can," I whispered.
"Try," Teveriel said, "because no one else can do this for you."
I nodded sadly. He was right about that. No one else could do this, because no one else had seen the child. Just me. I had to do this alone, like I had my fits alone and, one day, would have my visions alone.
"There was something else that Calran said that I thought that you might be interested in."
"Yes?"
"That projection, psychic gifts like this, they can usually only happen between two people who know each other, or who are connected in some way. Family members, lovers, very close friends or between two psychics. There needs to be some sort of connection for something this intimate to be able to occur."
"But I have never met this child," I said.
"No," Teveriel said. "But what if it was related to you?"
"How?" I asked. "My grandfather's only brother died when he was a child, father is an only child, and then there is me and Aylara and we have no children." I frowned. "Unless it only has to be a distant relative, but if that's the case, then the child could be anyone. Most noble houses in Carnia are related to us somehow, very distant cousins, a hundred times removed, that sort of thing."
Tev shook his head. "I don't think it would be someone distantly related. Calran implied it would be someone closer than that. And there is one possibility that you're forgetting, someone who you're related to but know very little about."
"Oh?"
"Mayrila," he said. "Your mother."
I pulled a face. "Don't remind me of that," I said.
"She is of your blood, Candale."
"But the book says that the Seer will be the son of a witch and will mark the end of her line. Although, it did say that he will have a sister, younger than himself. I'd just assumed that meant Aylara." I furrowed my brow with thought.
Teveriel studied me thoughtfully before answering. "Perhaps," he said, "Mayrila has an older child, and you are the last child that Mayrila will have, therefore the end of her line? Perhaps both you and this other child are destined not to have children, and it's this other child that is reaching out to you?"
"But it is a child reaching me, Tev. If Mayrila had another child who was older, it wouldn't appear to be so much younger than me."
"That's also true." He scratched his forehead. "Then maybe the Seer is the beginning of the end of the witch's line, that is, perhaps, his birth is a sign that the witch's line will end? That means that Mayrila could have more children, but none of them will have children, because your birth means the end of it."
"Yes," I said. That did make some sort of sense.
"And maybe that's why the book mentions the sister separately, because she is separate? Perhaps she's not a full sister, not part of the witch's line, as Aylara isn't, and therefore the same rules don't apply to her."
"Yes," I said, "that makes sense. Only if Mayrila had other children, wouldn't she have told me?"
"Not necessarily. Perhaps your grandfather advised her not to. They would be your half siblings after all and you would probably want to meet them, which would lead to all sorts of problems."
"Yes," I said. "Yes, that's true."
"Then again," Teveriel said, before I warmed too much to the idea that perhaps I had a half-brother, or sister, running around somewhere, "maybe the child you can see is a child that Mayrila will have and, thanks to your gifts, you're picking up the psychic cries for help from a child not yet born?"
That made me shudder. "Gods," I said, "I like that idea even less!"
"It was just an idea," Teveriel said quickly, suddenly noticing another twig, this time on the hem of his tunic. He plucked it free and dropped it onto the floor with all the other leaves and twigs he'd removed from his clothing. I got the feeling he just expected me to pick them all up, either that or leave them there permanently. "The problem is you don't know that much about Mayrila. It's hard enough to work out what someone you know really well is going to do or has done, let alone someone you barely know at all."
"That's true," I said glumly. "I don't know much about her. I wish I hadn't panicked and had her chased away."
"Well, this is a place of answers, Dale, and she did come here herself."
"Yes," I said. I yawned. "I'll ask around, see if I can find out what she was like."
"Hazel?" Teveriel asked, with a bright grin.
"I doubt she'd know," I said pointedly. "Calran might, or Tival. I have to get that letter to my grandfather drafted out. When I finish it, and take it to Tival to send, I can ask him about Mayrila. She saved my life. I can say that I'm curious about her. If he doesn't know anything, I will ask Calran. As you said, he already knows a lot about me, so I rather not ask him until I've exhausted other options."
"I think that's a good idea," Teveriel said. Then he yawned. "It's contagious." He got to his feet. "I will leave you to it. Sleep well, Candale."
"You, too."
"Always do," he said brightly. "My dreams are never anything more than dreams, after all."
He shut the door on the way out, just before my pillow flew. It landed on the floor with a soft plop and I sighed as I went to pick it up. I really had to work on my aim if he was going to keep teasing me, and I was going to keep throwing pillows, because it would be nice if I could hit him, at least once.
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Chapter Seventeen
ACORNS
Over the next few days we all settled in quickly to life at White Oaks, but with our new life came distractions, which meant that we didn't spend nearly as much time together as we had before. Teveriel spent his evenings in the library with Calran, while Trellany spent hers with Haran, the weapons master, something
that didn't really surprise me as they had so much in common. I was surprised that she left me in the suite, however, with Hazel and Silver, and strict instructions not to go anywhere, but I didn't say anything in case she changed her mind and took me with her.
I did enjoy the company of the mages, but I still found myself feeling a little left out. I was used to having Trellany and Teveriel around me, and now it felt as though they had gone off and left me behind. So when Hazel asked me, again, to go with her into the gardens on our first day off, I agreed, more to show Trellany and Teveriel that I had something that could lead me away from the suite, too, than out of any real interest. Even so, when I woke that morning I still looked for them, wanting to take them with me. Only I found a note from Trellany, telling me she had gone to see Haran, and there was no sign of Teveriel at all. I assumed he was asleep, or had gone to visit Calran, although the former being more likely, knowing Tev. But that didn't change anything. I still felt abandoned and that made me feel more determined to go to the gardens without them.
I met Hazel in the dining hall for breakfast. She was dressed in a long skirt and tight fitting bodice, which seemed rather impractical. She was wearing her hair down and loose, also impractical with the way the wind was blowing outside and she had a touch of powder across her eyelids and, when I greeted her, I caught a strong scent of perfume. Was all of this for my benefit?
"You look pretty," I told her.
She flushed bright red and gave me an embarrassed, but happy smile. "Thank you."
Breakfast that morning was a self-service affair, which meant we could eat as much of it as we wanted to. Mushrooms, cheese, bread and some grainy mush in a pot, but it was cold and rather unappetising, not to mention greasy, so I just had some bread, covered in honey and a couple of chunks of cheese, after I'd picked off the faint traces of mould.
When we had finished we headed outside, shivering in the cold morning air. We headed towards the training yard in silence and carefully made our way down the stone stairs that led to the garden. The stairs were cracked in places, overgrown with shrivelled green weeds and wild, thorny plants, and covered in frost, so we had to take our time. Hazel held her skirts in her hands as we walked, so she wouldn't trip, and chattered away happily, telling me how beautiful she thought the gardens were and how much I would enjoy them. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the gardens in Carnia Castle were beautiful, well-designed, with heady flowers that bloomed even in winter. These gardens of White Oaks looked to be nothing more than a rambling, crumbled mess, which held no real interest for me at all.
An avenue of naked winter trees met us when we reached the bottom of the stairs - a dark corridor that we walked along slowly, taking care not to slip on the frost covered stone flags of the floor. There was very little light as we walked through the trees. They were so overgrown, it was hard to see anything beyond them. When we reached the end of the avenue we found ourselves standing at the top of another flight of stairs that led down into a courtyard. Beyond that courtyard I could see the garden spreading out in all directions. It was half hidden in the morning mist, but I could still just about make out trees, overgrown flowerbeds, crumbling stone walls, even strange looking stone statues scattered around. It looked like another world spread out before me.
"It's a really old garden," Hazel said. "That's why I like it so much. I know it's overgrown, but there are secret doors that lead into hidden gardens, strange crumbled statues and dark tunnels that lead to hidden, sunken parts. It's like a maze in places. You can walk down an avenue of trees, or along a stone pathway, and end up by a hidden lake or a stone bench. And you can take a path that you think will lead you back, only it leads you somewhere else entirely."
"It isn't what I thought it would be."
"What did you expect?"
I shrugged uncomfortably. "An overgrown mess of a once organised garden, I suppose. Like at home, only rundown, like the school."
Hazel laughed and her brown eyes sparkled. She really did have nice eyes. "The school is a maze, Candale," she said. "You know that. So how can you think that the gardens would be any different? Things just branched out, were built for no reason, at different times. There's no planning, no organisation, everything is wild and old and I love it out here. You can be completely cut off from everything else." She took my hand, her fingers curling with mine. Her fingers were icy cold, she had no gloves with her, and I'd foolishly left mine back in my room. "You can forget that the rest of the world even exists."
"That would be nice," I told her truthfully.
She gave my fingers a firm squeeze. "Come on, then," she said, and set off down the stairs, dragging me with her.
When we reached the bottom, we started to take a slow, almost leisurely walk around the gardens.
The trees were all naked and bare, blocking the sunlight with their outspread branches and twigs. The bushes were overgrown and wild. Sometimes they reached out to snare me as I walked past, catching hold with sharp little fingers that held on tight unless I ripped free. The stone flags were a rainbow of colours. In some areas the pathways were grey slate, cracked and chipped, in others they were bright bricks set out in patterns, and sometimes they were just marble stones, or gravel. The plants, although all shrivelled away for the winter, were impressive. There were so many different varieties that, if they ever blossomed, they would fill this garden with strong scents and a bright wash of colours. Stone figurines of unicorns, satyrs, dancing men and women, fish and weird sorts of monsters were scattered randomly around the grounds. Some were set out in an organised fashion, dancing happily together on an open courtyard, others were tucked in amongst the wild flowers and you would just catch a glimpse of their rough stone eyes staring at you as you walked past. Some of them were yellow and green with growing moss, and some were missing limbs, or even heads, but others still remained clear and beautiful, timeless.
The mist was the finishing touch to give the garden a mysterious and magical feel, billowing around the plants and trees so that things just seemed to appear as you came to them. And, even though I knew that the mist would fade as the day wore on, I also knew that the garden would still retain that magical feel. I think it was something to do with the fact that it was so old, so overgrown, that it really did seem to be in a different time from the rest of the school, almost as though it was caught up in a bubble. My grandfather had had on his desk, before I had broken it, a heavy glass paperweight. It had been a present from a diplomat from Herandor. Inside the glass dome was a small, perfect model of the Great Palace in Herandor and, when you shook it, sparkling powder fell down around it. This garden reminded me of that. Even though it was old and crumbled, it still seemed timeless, as though it had aged as much as it was going to and had now stopped. I could imagine almost anything happen here. Faeries dancing in the moonlight, unicorns grazing, mystical monsters hiding beneath the battered wooden bridges that passed over the streams that trickled their way into the lake. The lake itself was almost black, with dirty, stagnant water, and it stank. It was hidden away, surrounded by trees; you wouldn't have known it was there unless someone had shown it to you. I wouldn't have been surprised if there were creatures living in that water, waiting to lure in passing innocents, drowning them in the dark depths.
Hazel and I chatted as we walked. Well, she chatted and I listened. I couldn't talk about my past, my home, not without giving something away to her, or inviting her to ask questions that I might not be able to answer so I let her talk. She told me about her parents, about how it had been to first come to this school, how terrified she had been, even with her two siblings here for support. She talked about lessons and magic but mostly, she talked about the gardens, describing how everything looked during the summer when the flowers were in bloom, and I could imagine how beautiful it was. It made me think of my mother, who was a keen gardener, and it made me feel a sharp pang of homesickness. I'd done well to keep myself busy, to not think of my family, but this garden was becoming such a
strong reminder, I couldn't avoid the way it made me feel.
"My mother grows roses," I said. "I think she'd love to see this garden, to see the wild roses growing here, when they're in bloom."
"You miss her?"
"I miss all my family," I replied. "But yes, of course I miss my mother. I never saw her as much as I would like, affairs kept her busy, but the moments we were together counted and she often gave me presents of her roses."
"I miss my mother," Hazel said. "Silver is a help. I enjoy being around him and, despite the arguments, we are close. I hardly ever see Willow. I don't think she misses our parents, our home, or our friends in the village. I don't think she cares about anything except her magic. I don't think she thinks about anything except that."
We walked on and came to stop by a stone bench. My feet were aching, so I was more than grateful when Hazel suggested that we sit. The bench was freezing cold, though, and covered in places with thick green moss.
"I like to come here to draw," Hazel told me.
"You like to draw?" I could see how this place would inspire someone. Teveriel would have to see this garden. I was sure he would be able to write many songs about it. "So do I."
"Yes, I know." Hazel smiled and leaned against my shoulder.
I gave her a startled look, but she didn't see it as she was staring ahead. It was an overly familiar form of contact and it made me feel a little uncomfortable, but, at the same time, there was something nice about knowing that this girl trusted me enough to be so close to me. It felt good, too, having her close, her head pressing against my shoulder and her brown hair trailing down my arm. I could even smell her perfume.
"Trellany said that was all you enjoyed doing, with reading, while you were at home. It's a solitary way to pass your time, reading and drawing, and taking drugs while doing it must have made it hard to concentrate."
"It made things appear different," I said slowly. "So that when I drew, my pictures were strange and surreal. The world I could see through my drug-hazed vision was not the real world around me." It was getting harder and harder to do this, to lie to this girl who I did like being with and talking to. It was harder still to talk like this about something that I really knew nothing about.