The Boy in the Dark: Book 4 of the Middengard Sagas

by June Wilson

  Suddenly a knock at the door brought her heart into her mouth. It was time. She shouldered the pack and was surprised to find two girls waiting for her in the corridor outside: the twins, Daisy and Rose.

  “We’re coming with you Orla!” Daisy said.

  “We’re so excited!” followed Rose.

  They were dressed as country girls, in plain belted robes and well-worn boots. Their white blond hair had been cut short and stuck up in alarming spikes around their heads.

  “We’re in disguise,” Rose whispered.

  “But don’t worry, we’ve still got our swords. They’re hidden in the wagon,” Daisy added.

  “We’re the Guards for the journey,” Rose went on, a note of pride in her voice. “We can’t mention that, of course. We’re farm girls now.”

  “Only interested in chickens and pigs and what have you.” Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Maybe not pigs so much.”

  Rose dug her in the ribs. “We grow crops, remember? Oats and barley.”

  Orla suppressed a smile. The twins were terrible chatterers, but she had to remember they were fully-fledged members of the Guard. They’d just graduated from the Academy with top marks, following in the footsteps of their older sister Iris.

  “It was Lady Eleanor’s idea,” Rose said. “She said we would stand a much better chance of passing unnoticed. Older Guards are hard to disguise.”

  “Father wasn’t too keen at first – but she persuaded him,” Daisy added. “We’re stronger than we look, you know.”

  “I know you are,” Orla said. “I’ll feel completely safe with you two around.”

  “As you should,” a commanding voice said. Lady Eleanor had appeared at the end of the corridor. She was wearing a Guard’s uniform and her prize sword was slung at her waist. Whether in uniform or plain robes, Eleanor was striking and everyone knew her. One of the Children of the Dawn, her portrait was hanging in half the dwellings in Skellstor.

  “Don’t look so worried Orla. I haven’t had chance to change yet,” Eleanor said, divining her thoughts. She passed her hand over her face and suddenly she was middle-aged, with homely round cheeks and work worn hands. “Meet Helga of Low Cragg – woman of the woods en route to Oerin. Travelling with her daughter and two apprentices.”

  “Your daughter? Me?” Orla blushed. It was only a ruse, but it still felt like an honour.

  “It makes sense. We’ll be able to draw on the old lore without arousing suspicion. People respect the woods women but they’re wary of them too. The fewer people we talk to the better. Now – you’ve got everything you need?”

  Orla nodded. She fastened her cloak and adjusted the pack. She was really going. Leaving Skellstor for the Vale of Tears. But there was one more thing she had to do before she left.

  Orla tiptoed into Isolde’s room. It was in darkness and Orla felt her way carefully. She didn’t want to give the old woman a fright – though it was her own heart that was hammering in her chest. She had no idea what Isolde wanted – maybe it was some last piece of advice?

  “Looking for me girl?”

  Orla gave a start. There was an owl on the windowsill, talons scraping on the stone.

  “Isolde! I thought you were too ill to change?”

  “Sometimes it’s best to let people believe what they want to believe.” The owl flew into the room and settled on a chair. “Regil likes to keep an eye on me. Thinks its better for us all if I stay right under his nose.”

  “But he holds you in the highest regard – everyone knows that.”

  “That’s as maybe. But there was the matter of Mathilde.”

  Orla fidgeted with the straps of her pack. Since Mathilde’s death, Isolde had barely mentioned her. It was hard to know whether the old woman wanted to talk about her daughter or not. But before she could venture a comment, the owl unfurled its wings and in the blink of an eye Isolde appeared in normal form. She was wearing her cloak of old, the one with all the pockets. On impulse, Orla dropped the pack on the floor and gave her a hug.

  “Now, now girl – what’s all this?” Isolde stroked her hair for a moment then held at her arm’s length. “I don’t want you getting all sentimental on me – you’ve got a hard task ahead of you.”

  “I’m just so glad you’re feeling better,” Orla said, swallowing hard. “But Isolde – if you can change, you must be fully recovered. So why aren’t you going to the Vale? You know so much more than I do.”

  “I should hope so girl, given my age. But you’re learning fast – and this path is yours Orla, not mine. For it is a challenge I have already failed, long ago.”

  Isolde had already failed? That didn’t make sense - they hadn’t even set off yet. But before Orla had chance to ask, Isolde walked over to the window and looked out across the city walls.

  “Come,” she commanded. “There are things I need to tell you. Things you must keep to yourself. Tell no one – do you understand?”

  Orla’s eyes widened. “Not even Lady Eleanor?”

  “Especially not Eleanor. Or Stanor. Give me your word, Orla.”

  “I’ll tell no one - I swear.” Orla hated secrets, but she would never disobey Isolde.

  “Don’t look so worried - it’s for their own good. They’ve both had enough grief in their lives and I’m not about to add to it.” She paused and Orla waited, the air prickling with tension.

  “I could be wrong, I could be right,” Isolde said eventually. “Only the Gods know which. But what I’ve seen, I’ve seen. The Pool tells me all.”

  Orla’s stomach flipped. The Pool of Knowledge in Isolde’s cave – the pool that revealed past and future and all the mists of time between. So that’s where she’d been. Whatever Isolde was about to tell her, it was important.

  “Look out there,” Isolde said, gesturing to the city. Moonlight shone on the white walls and towers, gilding the stonework. “Beautiful, isn’t it? You saved it once Orla and now you must save it again. The threat from the Vale is more than I had feared.”

  Isolde gripped her hand. Then she leant in close and whispered.

  MIDDENGARD - 1985

  Chapter 5

  Helaine dawdled through the high meadow, trailing her fingers across the skalte grass. Skalte – such a lovely word, named for its soft and feathery tips. She knew she should hurry, but it was a beautiful day and she couldn’t bear the thought of spending it indoors.

  Then the image of her mother’s face, ravaged by illness, spurred her into a run. She couldn’t let her down, not today. There were important healers coming to the manor – healers who might be able to restore the Lady Enid to health. And she couldn’t admit them without making some attempt at the hospitality due to visitors of such standing.

  She was so focused on checking off her tasks (so much to do – why oh why had she allowed herself to stray into the meadow?) that she ran straight into the path of a galloping horse. Before she even had chance to register the thunder of hooves, she found herself hoisted into the air and held ungallantly round the waist whilst the rider slowed his mount.

  “Don’t you watch where you’re going, my lady? You could have been killed,” an angry but not totally unkind voice said.

  “Let me down!” Helaine wriggled free and landed in a cloud of dust on the ground. Mortified, she covered her face with her hands. She was such an idiot! She’d torn her dress and how was she going to explain that? But it was no good crying – crying was for babies. She rubbed the heels of her hand into her eyes and sniffed. Now she would look awful, puffy-eyed as well as filthy.

  “It wasn’t your fault. I was going too fast,” the man said. He’d dismounted and was kneeling by her side. “I’m training you see, so I can beat her.”

  Helaine looked into a face that was much younger than she’d first thought. The man – well, boy really – didn’t seem much older than she was, despite his impressive horsemanship. And his eyes – they were the most striking green. She felt her heart give a little jump; as if she’d eaten something so cold it took he
r breath away.

  “My name’s Jonas,” the boy said, smiling at her. “Who are you? Apart from the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  She blushed – she couldn’t help it. “I’m Helaine - Helaine of Glassmere. My father was Jarl here.”

  “Was?”

  “He died. Killed in the Haevstor rebellion. It’s just me and my mother now – Lady Enid.”

  Jonas lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry to hear about your father,” he said. “I’m sure he was a brave man.”

  Helaine swallowed. Brave but foolish, that’s what Brigit said - dead for a cause that was not of his making. And now the manor was going to wrack and ruin - the estate was barely tenanted and there was only Hilda and Brigit left to run the house.

  “I really miss him,” she said. “I miss him all the time.” She hung her head, determined not to cry again.

  “I never knew my father – or my mother either. I’m an orphan,” the boy said, tilting her chin towards him.

  She looked into those extraordinary eyes. There was sadness there. “That’s awful,” she said. “Are you lonely?”

  Jonas shrugged. “Sometimes.” He got to his feet and held out his hand.

  “Will you allow me to escort you home? It’s the least I can do.”

  Helaine was still thinking about her encounter with Jonas when Nils, the manor’s ancient retainer, announced that the Skellstor healers had arrived. She’d washed quickly and changed her dress, hiding the torn one from Brigit’s beady eyes. Her mother was in her chambers, calm and placid today, which was a good sign.

  She smoothed down her hair and pinched her cheeks for colour. Her dress was old, but suitably embroidered, and she’d changed her well-worn boots for slippers. She didn’t know if she looked like a lady but at least she didn’t look like a farm girl.

  “The party from Skellstor,” Nils croaked, admitting the visitors into the Great Hall.

  Three of them: two men and a boy. The boy was wearing the finest of Hilderinc robes. The men, in contrast, wore simple homespun and boots. The elder of the two, a man with white hair and alarmingly craggy brows, stepped forward.

  “Lady Helaine – I am Loric of Oerin. This is my assistant, Ban. And this,” Loric inclined his head at the boy, “ – is Lord Magnus of Everdene and Skellstor.

  Lord Magnus is interested in learning our healing arts.”

  “I can speak for myself Loric,” Magnus said as Helaine dropped into a curtsey. “Your servant, my lady.”

  Helaine took the offered hand and blushed. Lord Magnus had golden hair and golden eyes - almost too good-looking to be true. Two boys in the same day! It beggared belief. Helaine felt as if the world had suddenly tilted, leaving her off balance.

  But it wouldn’t do to forget her manners. “The Manor of Glassmere welcomes you. May the Aetheling bless your journey,” she said, making the traditional greeting. “May I offer you food or drink?”

  She noticed it then – the way Magnus’s eyes flicked over the Great Hall and the curl of disdain on his lips. She felt the sting of shame. The Hall was bereft of hangings, its windows cloudy with grime.

  “I’m sorry my mother is not here to welcome you,” she rushed on. “She cannot leave her chamber.” Won’t, she thought privately. Sometimes she despaired of her mother’s moods, which came and went as suddenly as a summer storm. “But she is most grateful, I assure you, for your presence. It’s a long journey from Skellstor and…” Helaine trailed off. There had been no need to bother with the cheek pinching. She must look as red as a beet by now and she was making such a mess of things.

  “It is an honour to be here,” Loric said quietly. “Lady Enid is a great Seer and healer herself, as you must know.”

  Helaine stared at the old man. Seer? Her mother? It was the first she’d heard of it. Why hadn’t Brigit told her? The housekeeper knew everything there was to know about her parents.

  “Well, yes – of course,” she said, turning to hide her confusion. “If you would like to follow me?”

  Her thoughts raced as the party made their way upstairs. Loric must have mixed Enid up with someone else. A Seer was someone with the power to see the shape of the future, or possible futures, like the Norns themselves. They were rare in Middengard and beings to be feared. As for Enid being a healer– surely not. Her mother had a talent for healing in the normal way – use of plants to cure a whole range of ailments – but she wasn’t a healer like Loric. Healers used old lore to draw on the earth power. And her mother wouldn’t be capable of that. Would she?

  Helaine realized she didn’t know. She’d been eight when her father died and a year later her mother fell ill. Before her illness, Enid had been the perfect mother: someone who kissed Helaine better when she scraped her knee; someone who told her stories about the giants and the Gods and the Fae that lived in the woods. She was always at the manor – always. Helaine had no brothers or sisters and Enid never left her alone.

  Or did she? Helaine’s head was aching, trying to remember. Once, when she was very young, she woke to find Brigit sleeping in her room. She’d cried for her mother then, but Brigit had given her some chocolate to drink, and she’d gone to sleep for a long, long time…

  Lost in her thoughts, she was almost surprised to find herself standing outside her mother’s chambers. The three men were looking at her politely. She gave them a weak smile and tapped on the door.

  “Mother? I have visitors for you. May we come in?”

  There was no response. Heart beating, Helaine lifted the latch and opened the door. Enid was sitting by the room’s large window, staring at the mere that gave the manor its name. It was a beautiful lake: silver of surface and smooth as glass. Enid spent whole days like this, ignoring the trays of food that Hilda sent up for her.

  “We have important visitors today mother - healers from Skellstor,” Helaine said, keeping her voice low and gentle. “They might be able to help you.”

  No one can help me. Helaine flinched. The words hadn’t been uttered, but they were somehow in her head.

  Her mother turned round slowly. She stared at Helaine as if she didn’t recognize her. Then her face broke into a smile. “Let them in then dearest – hurry now! It doesn’t do to keep people waiting.”

  Well, that was a relief. She must have imagined the voice in her head. She stood to one side as the three men filed into the room and bowed low.

  “Lady Enid – I am Loric of Oerin. We met long ago, but I do not expect you to remember. I heard of the death of your husband – a great man. I am sorry for his passing.”

  “As are we all,” Enid murmured. “And these others?”

  “My assistant Ban and Lord Magnus of Everdene. He is – ah – apprenticed, you might say.”

  “You are all welcome,” she said. “But this one,” she pointed at Magnus. “He is not to be…”she gave a gasp of pain and put her hand to her head.

  “Mother?” Helaine rushed to her side. The illness often came on her like this. And she couldn’t possibly know anything about the young lord. She’d never seen him before.

  “It’s nothing Helaine,” Enid said, pushing her away. “Where are your manners? Ask our guests to take their places. The music will be starting soon.”

  Helaine saw the three men exchange looks. “She does this sometimes,” she said hurriedly. “Mixes things up. She thinks its time for dancing or riding or going to market.” She thought she’d been right to invite the healers here, but she could see now that she’d been foolish. They were going to think the same as everyone else: that her mother was mad. But Loric was already moving towards Enid, one hand outstretched.

  “Perhaps you would do me the honour, Lady Enid?”

  Helaine looked on in amazement as her mother dipped into a low curtsey, then took the proffered hand. The next minute, Lady Enid was being led round the room in a dance Helaine recognized as Freya’s Footsteps, Loric’s movements surprisingly fluid for one who seemed so old.

  Perplexed, Helaine risked a glance at
Magnus. Perhaps they should dance too? But he had taken up position at the window, a barely disguised smirk on his face. Suddenly he didn’t seem so handsome after all.

  Then, the music seemingly over, Loric made a small bow and led Enid to the couch by her bed. He signaled to the silent Ban, who rummaged in the pouch at his waist to produce two small, glass-stoppered vials.

  “A tincture for better health, Lady Enid,” Loric said, adding a few drops from each vial to the jug of water by her mother’s bed. “You must take it twice a day.”

  “Better health – yes.” Enid stared at the jug absent-mindedly. “Thank you for the dance. It’s a while since minstrels have visited. But I’m a little tired now.”

  “Of course, of course.” Loric bustled towards the door, collecting Ban in his wake. Magnus was staring at Enid, making no attempt to veil his curiosity. Helaine felt like thumping him.

  “Come Lord Magnus,” Loric said pointedly. “There is nothing more to see here.”

  Helaine was pleased to see an angry flush spread across Magnus’s cheeks. He deserved the reprimand – treating her mother like some awful specimen! What did a young Lord with money and lands want with healing anyway? It was probably just an amusement to him. But Helaine was curious herself. Was the tincture really going to bring her mother back to health? Somehow, she had expected more.

  Back in the Great Hall, Loric sent Ban off to ready the horses whilst Magnus stared sullenly at the view of the mere. Loric took Helaine by the arm and steered her out of earshot.

  “You will see she takes the tincture?” he said, looking at her closely from beneath his craggy brows.

  “Of course. But – forgive me - the vials are small. What will I do when they are empty?”

  “Fill them with what you will – a little comfrey, some chamomile perhaps.”

  Helaine’s eyes widened. “You mean there’s nothing in them?” Her last faint hope drained away - there was nothing that could be done.