by Cat Bruno
At first, Crispin had not believed his father capable of following through on his threats, yet when he next saw Nicoline he knew he had been wrong. A quarter-moon after his father had ordered him to stay away from the Planusian girl, Crispin’s life changed once again. He had gone to visit her and, when he arrived, had found her stumbling home, wet and shaking. His father, for who else could it be, he concluded, had hired men to find her, which they had done easily. Then, the three men had forced her to walk with them to the marina, then she had been told to board a waiting ship that was headed to Eirrannia. When she had refused, the men bound her hands and feet, and she had thought that they would carry her aboard.
Instead, the men had led her to an empty pier, still bound, put a hood over her face, and had thrown her into the water. If she had not been water-touched, she would have died. However, Nicoline had easily emerged from the water, slipped free of the ropes that had been tied at her wrists and ankles, and hurried home. When he found her at the door, Crispin realized that he had little choice. With his cousin’s help once again, he had purchased a farmhouse for her in southern Planusia.
Little more than a moon later, Nicoline had written to him that she was with child. Crispin had rushed to see her after reading her news, no longer caring what his father might do. Yet, his excitement was short-lived, and half a moon later, when he was safely back in the King’s City, the farmhouse burned to the ground. Nicoline survived, as did the babe, as she had called the rain until she has safely escaped the burning home. But his cousin had taken the blame when his father had demanded to know who had been supporting the girl. As punishment for disobeying the king’s order, Willem had been exiled from the King’s City, which was a lesson that Herrin had wanted Crispin to learn.
Nicoline had left Planusia then and headed north to Eirrannia, out of his father’s reach. It was there that she had birthed his son, a boy that was now nearly ten moon years old. He had never seen the boy and had little contact with Nicoline, fearing her safety and his son’s as well. Willem’s father was an Eirrann, and Willem had visited his father’s kin after he had left the King‘s City, visiting Nicoline and the babe as well, bringing them coin and making certain that they were well. Crispin had never seen his son, although, it had been agreed that when the boy reached his twelfth moon year that he would be sent to the King’s City, under the guise of being kin to Willem, whose mother and father still lived in the Grand Palace.
There were many days that Crispin nearly left Rexterra to head North, yet, as his distrust for Delwin grew, he had decided that he could not leave Rexterra’s future in his brother’s hands. A sacrifice had been made, and his son and Nicoline had suffered for it. Yet, each day Crispin reminded himself that he was closer to meeting his son. His first-born. And while he loved the sons that had followed after his father arranged for him to marry, neither child nor wife could replace what he had lost.
Rousing himself from the melancholy that the memories had stirred, Crispin pushed his plate away and grabbed a sheet of paper that was nearby, thinking that it had been too long since he had written to his cousin, the man to whom he had owed so much but had not been able to help when he had needed it most. More hatred for his brother surfaced then, and Crispin started to write.
39
“Bronwen, will you wait a moment, please? I would like to talk with you.”
After nearly a moon of avoiding most contact with Bronwen, which had been difficult, Willem now had little choice, especially after what Mathias had told him occurred at the clinic. He had gone to her rooms and had found her about to enter. When Bronwen turned around, he was standing very near, close enough that she could read the concern written across his ordinarily smooth features. She waited, but quietly, not knowing what to say, and the discomfort between them grew with each passing moment.
Finally, he said, “What happened the other day at the clinic?”
The way his bright eyes stared at her caused her lies to fall from her lips, the ones that she had prepared so well. Until she could say nothing at all, only stand there mute and stunned in front of him. Willem continued to watch her, and she noticed, in the bright morning sun, a few wrinkles framing the corners of his eyes.
With a shudder, she said, “It was him, the man from the beach. I can not come back to the clinic until he is gone.”
She needed to say no more, for he understood what she did not say.
Willem stared after her as she stepped closer to her door, wondering what god played with her life so cruelly.
*****
Kennet was sitting at his desk, books open around him, piled on top of each other, a small space clear where a sheet of parchment lay with a feathered pen resting on top of it. For the last few days he had been attempting to translate a small book of poems from an Eastern nation, Tinnga, and had been struggling more so than usual. The book was a new addition, and, with it, Master Tywinne had acquired a reference guide, as both he and Kennet were unfamiliar with the Tinnganese language, which complicated the translation process. It had kept him busy, and he hadn’t seen Bronwen or Louissia for several days
As he looked back and forth between the strange book of tiny poems and the glossary of Tinnganese words, Kennet suddenly gazed toward the door and dropped the pen that he had just picked up as he noticed the man standing in the doorway. A man who resembled his father, a taller, thinner version, but the same square jaw, the same intense blues eyes, dark hair graying at the edges. And just as if it had been his father standing before him, Kennet froze, not knowing what to say or how to react, the old fears resurfacing as his uncle stood silently at the edge of his office.
When his uncle spoke, Kennet leaned forward to listen to the strangely accented words.
“So, what have you done with my knobbed-knee, clumsy, pest of a nephew? Surely this cannot be that same boy.”
Kennet allowed himself a small smile, relief flooding over him. Aldric stepped into the room, dragging a large, weathered satchel behind him. He appeared older than Kennet had remembered, which shouldn’t have surprised him, but his uncle seemed as hardened as the bag he carried, and Kennet felt a pang of guilt for ignoring him for so long.
“It is me, uncle, only older and a bit wiser.”
Then, he rose and walked to meet his uncle, and the two embraced in an awkward hug. After they parted, Kennet stepped toward the door and closed it gently, knowing that much of what they discussed must not be overheard.
The two talked for hours, as Kennet explained his time with the Mage-Guild and then his decision to attend the Academy, which had led to talking about his father. When the two had finished, Aldric mentioned that he was hungry, and the two men left the office and headed to the dining hall where they could eat quickly before meeting with Bronwen, who his uncle hadn’t even mentioned yet, much to Kennet’s surprise. As they arrived at the dining hall, it seemed like all the other students on campus were there too, and after navigating their way through the crowd, Kennet and Aldric sat down on the first empty chairs that they could find, eating in near silence.
After they finished, which hadn’t taken long even though Aldric had shocked Kennet with his appetite, Kennet led Aldric toward the back entrance of the hall. As they were exiting, Kennet felt a forceful tapping on his shoulder, and he turned to find Pietro staring at him, unsure of where he had been or how he had found them.
“Kennet, where have you been hiding yourself? Has it been nearly a moon since I saw you last?”
Quickly, Kennet answered, “I have been busy, Pietro. Tywinne has decided to add to the library’s foreign book section and that leaves me the job of translating them all. If you will excuse me, I must be going.”
Surprised at Kennet’s words and distracted by the strange man who stood beside him, Pietro frowned, a small crease marring his forehead. Suddenly, Pietro understood who stood before him, and what Louissia had told him made much more sense. Pietro was determined to find out all he could about Kennet’s uncle, starting with what he wa
s really doing at the Academy. And why Kennet seemed so eager to leave.
Pietro wanted to question Kennet further, but his uncle, silent and guarded, had opened the door and was exiting the hall, and, when Kennet noticed, he turned and followed. Neither glanced back at Pietro, and the Rexterran stood with his mouth agape, unused to being dismissed.
*****
When Kennet and Aldric finally arrived at Bronwen’s door, Kennet had forgotten about Pietro, preoccupied with how Bronwen would react upon meeting his uncle. As he raised his hand to knock on Bronwen’s door, he hesitated, his knuckles hovering near the wooden panel without touching it.
On an impulse, he looked toward his uncle who stood to his side and said, “Uncle, shall we do this thing? Or would it best for us all to walk away now?”
His uncle looked at him with tired eyes, once a brilliant blue but now faded into a deeper shade, and answered, “It is not my place to answer for you, Kennet. I am here, if she needs me. I will find whom she seeks, although it might not be easy. Why she wants him is not my concern. But, I will not have you there when it happens. One of us lost in the dark world is enough for any family to endure. So make your decision now and let us be done with it.”
Still he held his hand in check, closing his eyes for a moment, and leaning his head onto the door, too frightened to move. He loved Bronwen, of that there could be little doubt, even though he had long known that she was not his, long before he had known about Conri. She had never showed much interest in marriage or a family life. Her passion for healing consumed her, and to that end she had one goal, to become a Master, which she had nearly achieved.
Her path had started changing, and Kennet did not need what little mage-talent he had to see that.
“I can’t do this to her,” he whispered, taking a few steps away from her door, backing away until he was now behind his uncle.
“Then, let us go,” his uncle replied, evenly.
Aldric had placed his arm around Kennet’s shoulder, the faded black fabric of his well-worn tunic gray against the white robe that Kennet wore. As the two walked down the short pathway that had led them to Bronwen’s door, a sudden noise caused them to pause.
“Kenny, is that you? I thought that I had heard voices out here.”
When they looked up toward the small cottage, Bronwen stood on a stone pad, her hair flaming in the midday sun as it lay about her face, the simple robe she wore rimmed in light as if it glowed. As she smiled, the whiteness of her teeth contrasted deeply with her shining, copper hair.
Kennet heard his uncle gasp at his side, and looked again to see the bright morning sun angling down upon her. What have I done, he thought, wanting to grab his uncle by the arm and run as far away from Bronwen as he could.
Beside him, his uncle whispered, “We are too late. She has been claimed, and nothing I could do would change her path. We find him now for her or she will find him herself, which would be much more dangerous.”
The words that his uncle had said were echoing in his ears, banging against his head, confusing and sickening, and he felt defeated. As Kennet again looked toward where Bronwen stood, he wondered why she had been so chosen and what it would mean.
As she stepped toward them, bare-footed and hair streaming, Kennet wondered what it was that his uncle had perceived. When she stood within reach, Kennet noticed that she was less radiant, faded, but not dull, her beauty muted, more human.
I would have never been enough for her.
“Kennet, are you listening to me?” she asked, frowning with uncertainty.
After shaking his head for a moment, uncertain how long he had been lost in his thoughts, Kennet looked toward Aldric, noticing that he was still standing where he had been minutes before.
“That is my uncle,” he said, pointing weakly to where the man stood, “But he does not believe that he can help,” he added, hoping that he could yet alter her path.
With a puzzled look on her face she demanded, “What is the meaning of this? You did not come here to tell me so, I think.”
Aldric, too far to have heard Kennet’s words, approached Bronwen, bowing from his waist with the palms of his hands touching at his chest.
In a voice that Kennet feared could be heard across the Academy, his uncle boomed, “You are more than I hoped to find, my lady, and unlike any who have crossed my path, and that is no mere flattery as there have been many.”
Aldric bowed more deeply then, the high sun flickering upon his discolored clothing, until the back of his head was the only part of him that Kennet could see, rising only after the quietness had spread to them all, and the three stared from one to another, waiting to see who would speak next. Aldric, severe in appearance and tone, seemed charmed by Bronwen, and his eyes had a glaze across them that Kennet could not attribute to the high sun.
Bronwen looked upon the man with unmasked curiosity, her brow wrinkled and her smile gone. When he returned to a full standing position, Bronwen let her gaze linger over his face, examining him as if he were lying on a cot at the clinic. His eyes were faded and blue, wrinkles reaching out from the corners, running slightly downward. His cheekbones were sharp and his pointed chin lengthened an already long face. His hands, calloused and hardened, the skin scarred and scabbed, were clasped behind him as if he posed no threat.
After it became clear that Kennet was not going to intervene, Bronwen said, “It seems your nephew has lost the ability to speak. Sir, it is with great gratitude that I welcome you to the Academy. It isn’t much, but my rooms are just here. If you would follow me.”
Kennet shuffled behind her, reluctant and spent, unsure how this moment had come to be, even though it was he who had created it.
When they were all inside, Bronwen asked, “What does it take to contact the Tribe? The Wolf Tribe. The High Lord of the Wolf Tribe, to be exact.”
She had wasted no time, Kennet thought.
“You wish to summon the High Lord of the Wolf Tribe? Lord Conri? One such as he will not even hear my calls, my lady,” Aldric replied, his voice calm, although it was clear that he had been surprised by her request.
“He will hear you, sir, if he knows you are with me,” Bronwen answered, her words forceful and sharp with rebuke.
She then turned to Kennet and asked, “Have you told him so little?”
Finally, Kennet seemed to rouse from his stupor, and he stated, “Bronwen, I told him little more than that you have some need of his skills. Again, I caution you that I do not believe that this is wise. Although I love my uncle, it will only hurt your cause and future to be in association with him,” Kennet turned to where his uncle stood and lowered his head, ashamed to have spoken, although he knew that he had spoken the truth.
Understanding crossed her face, but she turned from him and said, “Aldric, Conri will answer me. What must you do to prepare yourself for what needs to be done? We must find somewhere else to work, as his presence, and your power, I assume, will be noted here on campus. Kennet,” she added, looking back toward her silent, gray-skinned friend, “do you know where we might escape notice?”
He was ashen, even the normal flush that covered his cheeks was gone. A chill had settled over his body, perhaps a bit of mage-touch, he thought, and it hadn’t lessened.
Weakly, he answered, “I do think it best that we stay away from the Academy. Bronwen, where would Conri most often come upon you? Perhaps that location would serve your purposes best.”
“The beach.”
She then looked toward Aldric, who listened without any hint of expression to betray what he was thinking. When he spoke, his quiet words woke Bronwen from the slumber of her own thoughts.
“If it is decided then, we shall try to find him on the morrow. I will need some time to ready myself. My nephew will lead me to this beach, but then he must depart. I do not want him a part of this.”
“What of payment?” she asked.
Shaking his head, the dark mage replied, “None will be necessary.”
&n
bsp; His words were unexpected, and she opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Aldric nodded toward Kennet and the two men walked from the room. She was alone with her thoughts, hoping that she wouldn’t have cause to regret what was now set in motion.
40
On his walk home from an afternoon class, an idea crept into Pietro’s mind, and he changed his course, and, instead of walking the short distance back to his room, he headed toward the library. When he arrived at the two-story doors, he pushed them open and found himself standing in the center of the library’s foyer, with floor-to-ceiling shelves all around him. Surrounded by books of all sizes and colors, Pietro didn’t know where to look for what he needed. However, he believed that there had to be some record of mages that had been expelled from the Mage-Guild.
Recognizing a young Rexterran who had been at the Academy for a few moon years, he asked, “Would you care to help a fellow countryman?”
The curly-haired boy seemed surprised to hear his native tongue being spoken, and it took him a moment to nod, adding a slight bow when he realized it was Pietro who addressed him.
“I was hoping to find a collection of books dealing with our homeland, and, in particular, the Mage-Guild. Is there anything like that here?”
The boy nodded again, his dark curls bouncing about his head, and added in a voice that teetered between boyhood and adolescence, “I think that what you are looking for would be found on the third floor, one level up from here. In the section with books on the history of Cordisia. There is a large collection of Rexterran journals, more even than the king has.”
Not for the first time, Pietro wondered if he would see Rexterra again.