The Family Shame

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “I bet,” Callam said. He stood, looking down through the trees. “What is that?”

  I followed his gaze. The trees parted, only a few metres ahead of us, to reveal a pond, the water shimmering in the sunlight. A statue of a young woman, only a few years older than me, stood in the water, staring up at something in the sky. It was strikingly detailed, hardly worn down at all by wind and rain. I took a step forward, then paused. There was magic in the air. A shiver ran down my spine. It felt … wrong.

  Like the others, I thought. It’s just … wrong.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. My instincts were telling me to run. “But I don’t think we should be anywhere near it.”

  Callam gave me an odd look, but followed me as I led the way back towards the abandoned stables. We’d explored much of the grounds together, being careful to remain out of sight of the hall, yet the grounds were so big that we’d barely scratched the surface. I remembered the horror stories that had been drilled into me as a child and shivered, again. There were places tainted by magic, places that could be very dangerous to the unwary. It was clear that Uncle Ira hadn’t bothered to check the grounds for tainted magic, let alone remove it. He’d simply left it alone.

  “That statue looked very real,” he said, when we reached the stables. “Do you think that it was once a real person?”

  I swallowed. It was possible, of course, but unlikely. “I don’t think so,” I said. The other statues had been a bit more worn down, hadn’t they? I wished I had the nerve to go look. “It would be hard to keep the spell in place permanently.”

  “Oh,” Callam said. He didn’t sound as though he believed me. “Good.”

  He met my eyes. “I’m going to have to hurry back now,” he added. “Next time … do you want to come with me? You could visit the town?”

  I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t know - I still didn’t know - how he managed to get onto the grounds, let alone wander freely. And I wanted to know …

  “It wouldn’t take that long to walk down to the town,” Callam added. “You’d be there and back in a handful of hours.”

  “I’m not sure,” I temporised. Uncle Ira had made it clear that I was not to leave the grounds without permission. I was entirely sure he wouldn’t give me permission if I asked. He’d even told me that the lands outside the wards were dangerous. And yet, I wanted to leave the grounds for a few hours. It would give me a sense of freedom I wanted - I needed - if I was to keep from going insane. “I …”

  My thoughts ran in circles. I knew enough spells to take care of myself, if the lands really were dangerous. And yet, if I was caught … I didn’t think Uncle Ira would take it very calmly. I might find myself grounded for life - or worse - if he realised I’d left the grounds. I wasn’t even sure if he had a tracking spell on me or not. I’d done my best to check, but there was so much stray magic around that it was hard to be sure.

  And he probably has ways to hide a tracking spell on me, I thought. Mother had placed one on me when I was a child and I’d only discovered it through sheer chance. There might be one on my clothes or even worked into my magic …

  “Let me think about it,” I said. I did want to go, but … what if I was caught? “What do I need to bring?”

  “A pair of wellies and some spare clothes,” Callam said. “Trust me, you’ll need them.”

  I frowned. “What for?”

  He winked. “Wait and see.”

  “Fine,” I said, crossly. Let him have his secrets. It wasn’t as if I’d told him everything about me, either. I didn’t want to tell him what I’d done to get exiled to Kirkhaven. “Meet me on Thursday, as usual. I’ll see if I can sneak off the grounds or not.”

  I bid him farewell, then walked back to the hall, thinking hard. There were ways to locate tracking spells, but I wasn’t sure I could remove them - if they existed in the first place - without alerting Uncle Ira. Or Morag. They’d have a good reason for putting spells on me if I asked, I was sure. The grounds were wet and slippery enough that I might have a serious accident. And yet … I hated the thought of them keeping an eye on me. I didn’t want to have them following me everywhere.

  But they don’t, I told myself, as I walked into the hall. They’d know about Callam if they kept a close eye on me.

  I headed down to the library and started to dig through the spellbooks. Tracking spells weren’t difficult, depending on what one actually wanted. I scanned the lists of spells, then muttered charms that should have revealed their presence … if, of course, they were there. I didn’t see anything, but that proved nothing. The wards surrounding the hall and the grounds might not be tracking my precise location, yet they might notice if I stepped outside and vanished. That would probably trigger an alert. There were spells that might successfully trick the wards into thinking I was still on the grounds, but most of them were well beyond me. I didn’t think Father could have cast half of them without proper preparation.

  And yet, the charms revealed nothing. There were no tracking spells on my clothes, my shoes or my body. I parsed it as carefully as I could, wondering if Uncle Ira had been cunning enough to hide the spells … or, more likely, if he hadn’t cared enough to cast them in the first place. He had never seemed particularly concerned about me, although he’d taken some care with my education. I couldn’t help wondering if his life would be simpler if I tripped, fell down an embankment and broke my neck. He couldn’t have wanted me in his life.

  I sat back in my chair, thinking hard. I wanted to leave, I wanted to go down to the town … I wanted to escape the grounds, if only for a few hours. I didn’t think Callam was going to try to hurt me - and, if he did, I had enough magic to make him very sorry. I’d walked through the streets of Shallot, knowing that my magic would protect me against minor threats and the family name would shield me from anything greater. Kirkhaven Town held no fears for me.

  You’ve never actually been there, I reminded myself. And you don’t know what it’s like.

  I shook my head. I didn’t know what it was like, but I wanted to go. I wanted to rebel against Uncle Ira and the Arbiters, if only for a few hours. It would be something different. And, if I got caught, I’d take whatever punishment came my way with a smile on my face. I wasn’t going to allow Kirkhaven Hall to beat me down. Perhaps I could just leave, when I came of age, and change my name. I doubted anyone would care enough to call me back.

  Father would, I thought. And so would Mother. And Akin.

  I sagged, feeling tired and helpless. How long would it be until I could hear from them again? Or see them? Or … I wondered if I would ever be welcome back at Shallot. High Society had a long memory, particularly for traitors. Morag had been right. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  And I realised, in a moment of sudden insight, that I had already made up my mind.

  I’ll go, I thought, as I headed down to dinner. I had no idea why Callam wanted me to bring wellies - or a change of clothes - but it wouldn’t be hard to pack a bag. And no one will notice if I stay out until dark.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’m here,” I said a few days later, as I met Callam by the stables. “And I brought everything you wanted.”

  Callam grinned at me. “And are you ready to brave the dangers of Kirkhaven Town?”

  I smiled back. I could tell he was teasing me. “Yeah,” I said. “Shall we go?”

  Callam winked, then led me down towards the bridge. “It took me quite some time to realise that there was a way into the grounds,” he said. “I only found it through sheer luck.”

  I frowned, studying the boundary wall. The wards were clearly visible, just waiting for someone to try to cross them. I could scramble over, I thought, but the wards would detect me and then … I wasn’t sure what would happen. Father’s wards were designed to hold intruders in place, keeping them frozen until they could be interrogated, but I had no idea what Uncle Ira’s wards would do. They might not even be his. I thought they felt old enough to predate
Uncle Ira by centuries.

  “Put your wellies on,” Callam said, as we reached the river. “We’re going wading.”

  I blinked. The water was rushing down towards the wards … and passing through a gap in the wall. A thin arch rose up and over the water, but … the wards should have blocked anyone trying to wade underneath and out into the wider world. Callam produced a pair of wellies from where they’d been concealed, under a bush, and pulled them on. I hastily followed suit, feeling cold. The magic was almost overwhelmingly powerful.

  “This way,” Callam said, tying his boots around his neck and wading into the water. “Keep your head down.”

  I stepped into the water, wishing I’d thought to bring a bigger pair of wellies. Droplets of water splashed against me, wetting my trousers or dripping into my socks. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to follow him. The wards were growing stronger, but there was a gap right underneath the arch. I stared in disbelief. I’d heard that wards sometimes had problems coping with running water, but I’d never seen it. Uncle Ira had clearly never realised that there was a crack in his defences.

  The rushing water seemed stronger, somehow, as I ducked my head and waded after him. I could feel the magic pressing down on me, yet … it didn’t touch me. Callam walked onwards, splashing his way down the river until we were several metres from the wards, then clambered onto the bank. I followed him, feeling relieved to be out of the river. My wellies were full of cold water and my trousers were drenched. Callam didn’t look any better.

  I giggled, despite the cold. “It worked!”

  “I told you so,” Callam said. He looked back at the arch. “Most people probably wouldn’t try to wade up to the wards.”

  I looked at him as I sat down and took off my wellies. “Why did you?”

  Callam looked shifty. “I wanted somewhere I could be on my own,” he said. “And there aren’t many places like that around here.”

  I frowned. He was clearly hiding something, but what? I eyed him for a long moment, then decided I could hardly complain about him refusing to tell me the full story. I’d hidden things from him, after all. Instead, I motioned for him to turn his back and hastily changed my trousers. The old pair were so badly drenched that it was difficult to use magic to dry them.

  “Let’s go,” Callam said, once I’d finished. “I have a lot to show you.”

  He led me down the riverbank, explaining - as we walked - that the river fed into another river that ran down the valley and through the town. I looked around with interest, noting how the path became more solid the further we walked. The land was changing too, the trees slowly thinning out to reveal scrubland and grass. A handful of sheep were quietly grazing on the land, their white coats marked with red dye. Callam told me that the dye helped identify who owned the sheep.

  The pathway widened suddenly as we walked around a corner, allowing us to stare down into the town. Kirkhaven was … grey, completely grey. Every building within eyesight was built of grey stone, ranging from a handful of stone cottages to a small collection of larger buildings that I guessed were shops. It was tiny too, far - far - smaller than Shallot. I couldn’t begin to guess how many people lived there, but I doubted it could be more than a hundred or so. A handful of other stone houses, positioned on the nearby hillside, suggested that the population was more than a little spread out. I couldn’t help wondering if they were farms.

  I sensed a surge of magic and caught Callam’s arm, yanking him back. Panic ran through me. I’d been wrong. There was a tracking spell and Uncle Ira and Morag had found me! I was dead. I was …

  Two redheaded boys stepped out of the bushes and smirked. “Well,” one of them said. His eyes lingered on me for a long moment, as if he couldn’t quite place me. “Who’s your little girlfriend?”

  I felt Callam tense beside me. “Hart,” he said. “I thought you were supposed to be in class.”

  “Skived,” Hart said. He spat into the bushes. “As if we cared about class.”

  I looked from one to the other, trying to conceal my concern. I’d thought Callam - and Akin - were muscular, but Hart and his friend were practically built of muscle. Their clothes seemed a size or two too small, revealing just how muscular they were. I hadn’t seen anyone so muscular apart from a couple of armsmen. They looked strong enough to knock down a tree with a single punch.

  “What’s your father going to do to us?” Hart asked. “Hound and I have better things to do with our time, don’t you know?”

  He jabbed a finger at Callam, casting a spell. I reached out and deflected it, instinctively. He blinked in surprise, staring at me. The spell hadn’t been put together very well. I dreaded to think what Father would have said if I’d cast that spell. It would have blinded its target, but only for a few minutes.

  “Don’t do that,” I snapped. Callam was my friend. “You …”

  The other boy - Hound - pointed a finger at me. Another spell, a marginally more complex spell, shot through the air and exploded harmlessly against my wards. I felt a flash of pure rage as I realised that the spell had been designed to make my clothes fall off. How dare he? How dare he? My anger built as I shaped a spell of my own and threw it at them. They melted into green light, which rapidly coalesced into a pair of frogs. Callam gasped beside me. I glanced at him, surprised. Had he never seen someone changed into a frog before?

  “Well,” I said, as I stepped forward. The frogs stared at me, their beady eyes bulging with shock. Perhaps they hadn’t expected me to be able to fight back. It was pathetic. I’d faced nastier spells when I was eight! I’d gone to parties which had ended with half the guests turned into animals or objects or simply compelled to make utter fools of themselves. “I trust this will be a lesson to you.”

  I kicked the first frog into the river. The second started to hop away, but I caught up with him and tossed it into the river too. I saw them vanish into the cold water, their bodies automatically swimming away from me as fast as they could. The spell wouldn’t last for long, no more than a few hours, but it would give them a few nasty moments. I looked at Callam and flinched. He was staring at me in utter horror.

  “Isabella,” he managed. “What did you do?”

  “Turned them into frogs,” I said. I lowered my voice. “They’ll turn back. Eventually.”

  He swallowed, hard. “I never … I never saw anything like it.”

  “I can teach you how to do it,” I told him. “And” - I hesitated, just for a second - “you were trying to avoid them, weren’t you?”

  Callam nodded, looking away as if he didn’t want to meet my eyes. I didn’t blame him. No one liked to admit they were being bullied, or worse. Students at Jude’s would sooner spend months studying magic, just so they could give the bully a bloody nose, rather than go to one of the tutors and admit they needed help. I looked down as it dawned on me that I might have been a bully myself. Rose would certainly agree that I’d been a little brat. I’d turned her into a frog on her very first day.

  “They’re meant to be in classes with my father,” he said, as we resumed our walk down to the town. “But they really hate it and they take it out on me.”

  I winced. “And so you sneaked into the grounds.”

  “They don’t dare go up to the hall,” Callam said. “And as long as I am there, I am safe.”

  I kept my thoughts to myself. Callam needed to learn magic, the sooner the better. I promised myself that I’d teach him. He probably wasn’t too happy that I’d saved him from a hexing or two, perhaps a beating as well. I was a girl, after all. I’d saved him at the cost of hurting his pride. It sounded stupid, but … I shrugged. Hart and his friend would probably know better than to go after him again.

  Kirkhaven grew larger as we approached, a cluster of buildings divided by a fast-flowing river. I’d expected people to go sailing on the river, but it was clear that it wasn’t remotely large or deep enough for anything larger than a dingy. A handful of young children were playing by the riverbank, laughing an
d calling as they splashed in and out of the water; an older girl, wearing a pair of trousers, watched them with gimlet eyes. I felt a flicker of shock at how casually she was wearing trousers, then caught myself a moment later. I was wearing trousers too.

  We weren’t the only ones, either. I could see quite a few women on the streets, almost all of them wearing trousers. The little girls wore skirts, but their older sisters - and brothers - wore trousers too … save for a single girl who wore a faded green dress that might, once upon a time, have been fashionable. I wondered if she was showing off her wealth, such as it was, or going to her wedding. It didn’t look as if the locals indulged themselves with a week of celebrations every time someone got married. Grey stone buildings spoke of a mindset that was grim and dour rather than taking pleasure in life.

  I frowned as I saw the handful of people gathered outside the little shop. They all looked very similar: pale skin, red hair, muscular builds … there was none of the variety I’d learnt to take for granted at Shallot. I probably stood out more than I wanted; Callam probably stood out more than he wanted. Did everyone in the town have red hair? Their eyes followed me with interest, although they said nothing. I had the nasty feeling that everyone in the town would know that I’d visited by the end of the day.

  As long as they don’t tell Morag, I thought. She’d wonder if they told her about a blonde visitor, wouldn’t she?

  “That’s the local butcher,” Callam said, pointing to a stone building. I could feel a couple of preservation spells surrounding the building, both massively overpowered. “And, beyond him, there’s the baker.”

  I took a deep breath, savouring the smell of bread. Morag probably bought her bread at the shop and carried it all the way back to the hall. I was tempted to go inside and ask for a bite or two - I could smell sweeter things than bread hanging in the air - but I didn’t have any money. Uncle Ira would not be amused if the baker presented him with a bill, particularly as I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the town. I wondered, absently, if he’d pay or if he’d force me to do something to earn the money.