The Drowned Tomb (The Changeling Series Book 2)

by James Fahy

  For the first time, barring the one painting he had of his parents, he was looking at countless pictures of his own kind. Many of the portraits had the same curve of the nose or lift of chin as he did, or some other small echo of his own face, making them all seem familiar. Were his parents’ portraits here too? Were they peering down at him from somewhere in this crowded gallery? Would some part of him know them if he saw them? He noticed that one of the frames he passed was curiously blank, as though the painting had been removed, leaving nothing but a dark space of bare, black wood. The name below the frame had also been scratched out, but Robin could still make out the letter ‘M’ in curling script. Many of the other portraits were named, but just as many were anonymous. He walked along slowly under their silent scrutiny, their faces impassive and unsmiling, and their eyes, brown, green, grey and blue, seeming to track his movements. The Scion of the Arcania, the last changeling, wandering through an arcade of his forebears. Barefoot and damp and not feeling particularly like the saviour of a lost people.

  It was not until he reached the end of the corridor that he realised he was at the top of a small staircase, and that there were people standing in the small hallway below him, talking quietly. Robin, quite unseen by those below, approached the banister, pushing his slick, darkened hair back from his still damp forehead. It was Calypso and Aunt Irene, talking softly together.

  “ … He is progressing, after a fashion,” Calypso was saying softly. “He is slowly mastering the Waterwhip cantrip and the Needlepoint. I believe in September I shall proceed the basic version of Waterwings. If he can ever manage to control his emotions that is.” She gave a delicate shrug and a small sigh “ … In combat? Well, he is a weak attacker, though his defence is very strong.” She sighed again, looking frustrated. “To be perfectly honest with you, Lady Irene, from the Scion, I must admit, I had expected something…” She cast a hand around, searching for words. “ … Spectacular.”

  Irene made a non-committal noise through her nose, shifting the weight of her inevitable load of books and scrolls in her arms. “He needs time, Calypso,” she said softly. “Have patience. He was raised in the mortal realm, remember. Even the most gleaming gold will appear dull after years spent unpolished and badly thumbed. I daresay it will take more than a month or two of the Tower of Water for him to adjust. He achieved great things with the Tower of Wind already, if you recall. I trust to your continued instruction, or else you would not be here in the first place. I engaged you due to your … past with our dear lost Mr Phorbas.”

  “Even so…” Calypso interjected, “I know Eris, I worked for and with her. This boy is just a child, no matter how much training you give him. You must know, that in the end he doesn’t stand—”

  Irene cut her off with a wave of her hand, peering at the beautiful nymph with cool blue eyes.

  “Time will tell, I assure you. With training and guidance, he will learn. With study…”

  Calypso seemed to become exasperated. “Ego nec studium sine divite vena,” she said swiftly in a low whispering voice. “Nec rude quid prosit video ingenium!”

  “You may yet discover some small spark of genius there,” Irene replied coolly after a moment of uncomfortable silence. His aunt was seemingly ruffled. “Please do not use the high tongue in anger, Calypso. I assure you I have nothing but the highest faith in the boy.” She took a deep breath, looking lost in thought. “I knew his parents, and I believe they knew what they were doing. Indulge me.” She clasped the nymph’s hands in her own, quite a feat with all the books resting on her forearms, and graced her with a thin smile. “Have patience, my friend. The boy is young, but his store of mana is greater than yours and mine combined. It is quite remarkable.”

  Calypso shook her head. “Forgive my doubts,” she said. “You are right, of course. I am used to Netherworlders. Folk who have lived with the Towers of the Arcania their whole lives. Phorbas always did have so much more patience that I do. I shall try harder. I know how much is at stake.”

  Irene straightened up. “Very good,” she said. “Now why don’t you get some rest? You know you get more … unfocussed the longer you are out of water, my dear. Tomorrow is a fresh start after all.”

  Calypso replied, but Robin didn’t stay to hear more, his cheeks burned with fury.

  Well, I’m trying! he thought to himself angrily as he climbed the spiral steps to his bedroom. Everyone seemed to expect so much from him. For weeks now he had been focusing his mana in those tiresome lessons listening to whale song and other nonsense, battling back and forth out on the island folly with Calypso until he was black and blue, and testing his control and willpower to the limits in practical casting up in the atrium. He had lost track of how many hours he had spent in the bathroom, trying to divert water streams from the taps until his eyes swam. What more could he do? What more did they want from him? Back in the real world, if Gran had lived, he’d be in school, learning about rainforests and volcanoes and growing cress on a coffee filter like every other kid. Or he’d be off in Dorset with Henry. He wouldn’t be here training in the arts of magic to defend himself from otherworldly creatures who wanted him dead – or worse – for reasons he didn’t understand.

  He thought of the mysterious letter he had first received from Karya when he had arrived at Erlking the previous year. ‘If what the prophecies say is true, you could be our last chance’. Whose last chance though? The Fae’s? The Panthea’s? He thought of all those paintings in the dark gallery, looking down at him expectantly. Their strange, piercing eyes demanding. People were being killed. Innocent bystanders in hotels who didn’t even realise they were caught up in a war from another world. He couldn’t help anyone. He could barely form a shard of ice that wasn’t unintentionally and obscenely shaped, for goodness sake! Robin threw himself into bed wearily and, despite the cosy crackling fire, which Hestia insisted on setting every night no matter the weather, he did not manage to fall asleep for a long while. Above him in the rafters, a large sooty black moth had found its way into the room and batted its wings softly against the ceiling like uneasy whispers.

  PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS

  There was mutiny at the breakfast table.

  “But why not?” Woad demanded sulkily.

  “Because I said so!” Mr Drover replied for the hundredth time, around a mouthful of ham and eggs.

  “But it’s not fair.” The faun stabbed his gammon fiercely. They had discovered it was one of the few human foods he did not approach with distaste and open suspicion, as long as Hestia did not overcook it.

  Karya, who was sitting opposite the faun in the sunny yellow breakfast room, sipping orange juice and scanning the morning papers, looked up calmly with a raised eyebrow. “I’m inclined to agree with Woad, Mr Drover. Robin has been like a prisoner up here, albeit a very luxurious and well-cared-for one. Since we returned from the Netherworlde in January, he hasn’t been anywhere beyond the grounds.” She laid her glass on the table. “Except for the lake, I suppose. Sanctuary or not, it doesn’t matter how wonderful Erlking is, I’m not surprised if he would be inclined to climb the walls.”

  “It’s hardly like the house is being attacked every other day by dark forces!” Woad agreed, pointing a forkful of gammon at Henry’s father. It wobbled tenuously. “The last person who came at all was the postman two weeks ago, and Henry will be back from his jolly days soon. If Pinky is going to get out of the house, even just for one teeny-tiny day, it’s now or never.”

  “‘Holidays’, Woad, not ‘jolly days’,” Karya corrected him dutifully.

  Woad shook his hair out of his eyes and looked hopelessly at Robin, who was sitting at the far end of the table pretending not to listen. Robin buried his nose deeper into the book he had brought down with him, ‘Hammerhand’s Netherworlde Compendium’. Calypso was not the kind of tutor to set homework, but he was trying to learn more about the Netherworlde anyway. His aunt had suggested he look into it as a little ‘light reading’ between studying. There was a lot
of history involving complicated wars and treaties, and towns and creatures Robin had never heard of. At the moment, he was using the book as an excuse not to be drawn into the argument again.

  “It doesn’t matter, Woad,” Robin said quietly, ducking his head behind the pages until only a few tufts of blond hair peeked above the cover. “Leave it.”

  “You bet my blue butt it does!” Woad cried, outraged.

  “Language!” Mr Drover grumbled. “Look…” He set down his fork in a runny egg yolk. “I know it must be hard, lad, being cooped up here at Erlking. But there’s good reason for it, and there are worse places to be cooped up, young Master Robin, believe me.” He smiled sympathetically.

  Robin had been hearing this exchange back and forth for the last few days, ever since Mr Drover had mentioned that Henry’s birthday was approaching. Woad had been constantly trying to wear Mr Drover and Aunt Irene down at every possible opportunity to allow Robin to go down into the village to be allowed to buy a present. Robin had since discovered that when the faun got an idea, he was like a dog with a bone. This was at least the tenth time they’d had this conversation in the last four days.

  Robin knew full well that his guardians had good reasons for keeping him in the safety of Erlking and he had been enjoying himself lately, despite the punishing training schedule of his tutor, but deep down, if he was honest, he was longing for a wander outside his boundaries. But there was no moving Mr Drover. He was resolute.

  “I’m not your father, lad,” he muttered to Robin. “But I feel responsible for you just as much as I do for my own boy. Unless your aunt allows it, there’s no point badgering me anymore.”

  Woad thudded his head onto the tabletop, making everyone’s drinks wobble. “But you could speak to Pinky’s scary aunt,” he muttered into the tablecloth. “She would listen to you. She holds you in high up steam.”

  “High esteem,” Karya corrected absently. “Irene does appear to value your counsel, Mr Drover,” she agreed, going back to her newspaper.

  Mr Drover shook his head ruefully. “I doubt very much that a lady like your Aunt Irene, Robin, has ever had her mind changed against her will. If you want a day off, you’d need to take it up directly with the lady of the house. I’m just the gardener.”

  After breakfast, Karya disappeared in search of Calypso, with whom she wished to consult over old Undine and nymph dialects. As this sounded like something so boring that Robin and Woad may actually die, they declined to accompany her. Instead, Robin and the faun wandered up to the tiny observatory room at the front of the house which held a large brass telescope and here they took turns looking down into the valley at the distant roofs of the village of Barrowood. The stone buildings shimmered in the summer heat haze. The place was so unreachable for Robin, it may as well have been the mirage it appeared to be.

  “It’s not much of a village,” Woad muttered. “Not like the villages in the Netherworlde. I can’t even see any gallows. But at least it would be a change of view for you, wouldn’t it, Pinky? Erlking can’t be a Scion’s prison forever. What are they going to do? Keep you locked up here, rattling around like some old ghost?” The faun looked cautiously at Robin, a frown on his brow. “Do they want revenants? ‘Cause that’s how you get revenants.”

  Robin twirled the telescope around to look at tiny sheep on the distant hills. They looked like cotton balls.

  “I know,” he said. “It doesn’t matter though, Woad, not really, I like it here. Henry will be back soon, and I’ve got you and Karya.”

  And he did love it. Erlking Hall was a wondrous place. He was lucky to live here. But if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind a daytrip out. What he really wanted, in the secret compartments of his heart, was another trip to the Netherworlde, but that was even less likely to be allowed, considering how many different ways he had almost died last time they were there. But the village? That seemed reasonable. One day away from his lessons, free of responsibility.

  “You’ve always got me, dumbasaurus,” Woad said, rolling his eyes. “And Boss too, ‘course, when she’s not too busy.” As though this settled everything. “Henryboy is going to have a super boring birthday if we can’t get him a decent present.”

  Robin watched the few high white clouds scuttle over the moors through the telescope. Their shadows rolling beautifully over the hilltops.

  “Have you even asked your aunt?” Woad needled, refusing to let the matter drop.

  Robin stared at the faun. “Are you serious? Those eyes could burn right through me! I don’t want to push my luck.” What would he even say? ‘Hi Aunt Irene. I know you’ve devoted every ounce of your time and energy to keeping me safe here from nasty things, but do you mind if I just pop out for a bit? There’s a Sainsbury’s down in the village I’m just dying to see!’

  Woad sighed again and collapsed bonelessly onto the deep window ledge, his tail swishing angrily. “I bet that miserable old housekeeper at least would be on our side. She’d love to get us all out from under her feet, if only for an afternoon.”

  Robin couldn’t help but agree with that. Hestia had been complaining even more than usual lately, mainly about Woad and inexplicable patches of ink turning up everywhere.

  Robin had already resigned himself. There was simply no way he was going to raise the subject with his aunt. Just like with the chess pieces in the library set, there was no chance.

  His lesson the following day, practical casting in the atrium with Calypso was exhausting. The nymph had sat on the wooden table with her legs dangling, crossed at the ankle, as she idly watched Robin move water around. He was finally becoming more proficient, and could make the liquid leap back and forth between cups like those novelty fountain shows one gets in Las Vegas. She had now progressed him to the next stage, which was to alter the state of the water to ice or steam in mid-flow. This was mind-bendingly difficult, and so far Robin had only achieved slushies and ice-headaches. Calypso idly toyed with a strand of her long pale hair while she watched Robin’s efforts. At the end of the lesson, when his legs felt weak as jelly and his vision was just beginning to darken at the edges, she announced, seemingly out of nowhere, that in her opinion, they all deserved a rest.

  “You have come a long way, my student Scion,” she announced brightly at the end of the gruelling lesson. “Or possibly several short ways all piled together, which nevertheless make for the same.” She crossed one of the many windows, looking out over Erlking’s domain. “I think after your human friend returns and you have celebrated with him this strange mortal tradition of congratulating each other on having continued to exist for a further year, there will be much for us to do.” She glanced back at him. “You are still terribly poor at control, and your form is shockingly bad.”

  Robin raised his eyebrows. He was used to her blithe bluntness by now. “But you are better than you were,” she allowed gracefully. “A boy your age needs to recharge his marbles, does he not?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or too much work will make you lose your batteries?”

  Robin smiled. “It’s the other way around. But I know what you mean.” It would be nice not to fall asleep exhausted every night for a while, and have his mana stone feel light for once and not like a lump of granite.

  “I am given to understand…” Calypso said with hesitant enquiry, as together they descended the winding stairs back to the house proper. “ … That you and your faun have been getting itchy feet of late.”

  “He’s not my faun,” Robin said automatically. “He’s his own faun.”

  “If that faun is anyone’s, it is yours, I’m afraid,” she said. “You wish for freedom from Erlking?”

  “Well, we’ve been talking about it, yeah,” Robin said wistfully. “I’d love to go down to the village, just for a look around, but I don’t reckon Aunt Irene would go for it.”

  They had reached the corridor where Calypso always left Robin after practical lessons to go and do whatever it was she entertained herself with.

  She stopped
by a marble bust of what appeared to be a cyclops perched on a tall pillar, her elegant hand, with fingernails like pink seashells resting on the banister. She looked at Robin thoughtfully a moment. “I will have a word with your aunt if you like. See what I can do. I can see no harm in a quick trip, not if you are wearing your wards and have your wits about you. There seems no imminent danger, and you would not be alone. Safety in numbers and so on. As long as the proper preparations are made.”

  Robin’s heart leapt. He knew from experience that Calypso apparently had no real concept of imminent danger anyway, but he was hopeful. Seeing the expression on the boy’s face, she held up a hand in warning. “Now, don’t go getting excited!” she warned. “You’ve just spent an afternoon using all your mana and are liable to faint like a Victorian girl in a violet dress! I am promising nothing.” Her face sobered. “The decision of course, will rest with your rather formidable aunt. But I think … yes … a small reward in is order for your diligence to learning your second Tower. You have come a long way. I shall suggest it to her, and we shall see, that is all I’m saying.”