The Seer

by Kirsten Jones

  He shook his head slowly, a smile easing the corners of his mouth, ‘You cannot read corpses Mistral, so let’s please try to refrain from killing any Rochfortes unless we really have to.’

  Mistral sighed, ‘Shame.’

  Fabian laughed; his voice suddenly light, almost playful, ‘Well, Lady De Winter, this is our last evening on board. Sadly there are no Rochfortes available for you to kill, so how would you care to spend the time? Maybe a gentle stroll along the deck? Or perhaps a game of cards?’

  Mistral grinned, ‘Sometimes, you ask the most stupid questions.’

  The Unicorn Contract

  The next morning dawned clear and bright with a strong breeze that filled the sails and ruffled Mistral’s hair while she and Fabian stood on the deck, watching the dark streak of land growing closer. She leaned against the rails and closed her eyes, savouring the sharp air, listening to the waves crash against the ship’s hull. Opening her eyes with a sigh, she gazed at the land they were heading towards and felt a tingle of anticipation.

  ‘Show me where we’re going.’ Mistral asked, narrowing her eyes against the sea breeze to make out the misty outlines of mountains on the horizon.

  ‘North.’ Fabian pointed in the direction they would be taking. ‘The ride will take most of the day. I have a map to follow but I’m reasonably familiar with the region. The Mage is expecting two Ri warriors but does not know it will be us. I would prefer it if he were not to know that you are a Seer, if you have no objections.’

  ‘None. But I’d like to practise on him though. I need to find out whether I’ll be able to follow thoughts in French. It’ll help me prepare for the Rochfortes.’

  ‘I agree. I will engage him in conversation this evening and provide you with the opportunity to read him. You can try to read him remotely as well and repeat his thoughts for me to translate. It will be valuable practise for the real task.’

  They spent the next hour discussing various plans for rounding up the unicorn herd and driving them back to the ship. Once back on the Isle they were to be herded to the Valley for the Equus to check and brand before being released into The Dawn Forests in the north of the Isle.

  ‘Clovis is really excited about having a herd of unicorns on the Isle. He told me it’s been a life-long ambition of his to handle one.’

  ‘Excited? I don’t think I have ever witnessed Clovis displaying any emotion other than ill-temper.’ Fabian remarked drily.

  ‘He can be a bit grumpy, but his hearts in the right place.’ Mistral smiled affectionately. The Ri’s Equus had been more of a father figure to her than her adoptive father – or Imperato would ever be.

  Fabian gave her a curious look, ‘We could make him a godfather too if you wish.’

  Mistral laughed and shook her head, ‘I think we’ve already burdened our son with enough, don’t you?’

  ‘Maybe for the next one then.’

  Mistral had nothing to say in reply to that and gazed out at the sea instead.

  Fabian and Mistral remained on deck while the crew docked the ship with practised efficiency. The small fishing harbour was busy; the stone quayside doubled as a market place and the shouts of the vendors vied with the coarse laughter of the fishwives. They sat close to the edge of the quay on low stools, surrounded by piles of strong-smelling fishing nets and a flock of hopeful seagulls. Mistral was fascinated by the swiftness with which their gnarled hands moved, deftly separating the tangled nets and occasionally tossing the odd lifeless catch back into the sea to be dived upon by one of the gulls. She was so transfixed by watching the old women that she jumped when Gleacher appeared silently beside them.

  ‘Your horses are ready to be unloaded. We will await your return and keep the ship ready to sail.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Fabian’s softly spoken response was punctuated by an echoing thud as the ramp was lowered onto the quayside. Mistral leaned over the rail and looked down at the quay to see that their arrival had attracted only a little attention. Apart from a small group of excited boys, no-one appeared interested in a large black-flagged ship that was blatantly not a fishing vessel. The lack of interest was odd, almost suspicious. She turned to say as much to Fabian but his next words to Gleacher immediately made her forget her concern.

  ‘With your permission I would like Mistral to read you to keep us informed of any unexpected events that may arise.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Mistral felt a flash of annoyance. Malachi … Leo … Bellicose, and now Gleacher? How much fun could one girl have?

  Despite her chagrin at Fabian expecting her to read Gleacher without even asking her first, Mistral couldn’t deny the burst of excitement she felt when she led Cirrus from the dark confines of the hold into the bright sunlight of a foreign country. The sights and sounds that assailed her senses were both bewildering and intoxicating. Voices shouted in a language she didn’t understand, market stalls laden with unfamiliar produce drew her curious stare. She mounted Cirrus and followed Fabian across the bustling quay, staring around with wide eyes at all the strange sights. A chorus of harsh cries drew her attention back to the group of fishwives; the flock of gulls scavenging around them had flown up into air and were wheeling about in an agitated fashion. Shielding her eyes against the bright glare of the sun, Mistral watched the flock and was intrigued to see that they were mobbing a smaller bird. It dropped into a steep dive to avoid their attack and Mistral was surprised to recognise the distinctive outline of a falcon. Puzzled by the presence of a hunting bird above a fishing harbour, she watched it speed away northwards until it was just a speck in the blue sky.

  ‘Bonjour monsieur, je suis Pierre.’

  Mistral turned away from watching the falcon to look at the old man who had addressed Fabian. His leathery skin and watery blue eyes spoke of a life spent outside and the hand he offered was calloused by hard work. Mistral glanced at the sturdy mountain pony he was sat astride and immediately guessed that this was the elderly Mage who had sold his herd of unicorns to Mage Grapple. But what was he doing here? They hadn’t expected to be met ...

  Fabian immediately began speaking to the Mage in French and Mistral was left sitting mutely on Cirrus while they conversed in a language she had no knowledge of. Quickly growing bored, she gazed around at the market stalls near to her, immediately pressing a hand to her mouth when she breathed in the sweet smell from the nearest one bearing the sign “Patisserie”.

  ‘Sorry!’ she gasped. Kicking Cirrus into a trot she forced her way through the crowds to be violently sick into the sea at the edge of the quay. Honey ... She silently cursed the substance that had been her obsession only a few weeks ago. How could she have even stood to be in the same room as the stuff, never mind spooned it straight from the jar into her mouth? The very thought brought on another round of retching and it was only when she’d finished that she realised Fabian was waiting quietly beside her, holding a skin of water.

  ‘Mistral? Are you well enough to travel?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Mistral replied in a faint voice while she rinsed out her mouth with water.

  Fabian regarded her dubiously, ‘Pierre has offered for us to travel under Expediency to his farm. I think we should accept.’

  ‘If you think so.’

  Mistral’s unusually meek response seemed to confirm Fabian’s suspicions about her health. He reached out to take hold of Cirrus’ bridle, leading him back across the quay to where Pierre was waiting.

  ‘Nous acceptons votre offre, merci.’

  The ride under the power of Expediency did little to dispel Mistral’s nausea. She closed her eyes and hung on to Cirrus’ mane while the landscape sped past her in a green blur. Pierre was obviously not as powerful a sorcerer as Mage Grapple and the journey still took them until the middle of the afternoon. It was with unconcealed relief that Mistral slid from Cirrus and stood on solid, unmoving ground once again.

  ‘I will stable the horses, you rest.’

  Mistral nodded weakly and wa
tched Fabian lead Cirrus and Spirit away, leaving her alone with the old Mage. He grinned toothlessly and gestured for her to follow him. The stone farmhouse he led her into was cool and dark with stone-flagged floors and low beamed ceilings. Following him into a large kitchen Mistral sank gratefully into one of the chairs and accepted a cup of water. Pierre began speaking to her in French, laughing and pointing at her stomach. She smiled faintly and nodded, guessing that Fabian had told him the cause of her sickness. She had no energy to try and converse with him and was relieved when Fabian appeared in the low doorway and strode over to stand protectively behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Tired –’

  ‘I will ask where we are staying and let you have a rest.’

  While Fabian and Pierre held a conversation in French Mistral gazed disinterestedly of a grimy window at the view; noting dimly that Fabian had been right, the flush of spring colouring on the mountainside was very pretty.

  ‘Mais oui, merci.’ Fabian finished his conversation with Pierre then spoke quietly to her. ‘Come with me, I will take you to our room.’

  He lead her from the kitchen and out into a long passageway, passing several wooden doors until he halted outside one with a large iron key protruding from the lock.

  ‘This is our room.’

  Fabian opened it and slipped the key into his pocket then stepped back to allow Mistral to enter first. She walked into the room, not entirely sure what to expect having met their host, but to her surprise she was instantly enchanted. White-washed stone walls rose to meet a sloping beamed ceiling. Two tiny deep-set windows afforded them a stunning view of rugged pastures and the distant snow-capped peaks of the mountains. A large pine bed set against one of the walls and a small wooden chair beside it were the only pieces of furniture in the simple room, but it was all they needed. Mistral glanced at a second door set in the far wall.

  ‘Is that –?’

  ‘A bathroom? Yes.’ Fabian confirmed with a smile.

  ‘Oh good.’ Mistral sighed and immediately walked towards it.

  Leaving the bathroom sometime later feeling considerably revived, Mistral smiled to see Fabian stretched out asleep on the bed, fully clothed with his boots still. ‘Sorry, was I that long?’ she asked, climbing onto the bed and lying beside him.

  ‘It wasn’t your longest bath ever,’ he murmured sleepily. ‘But I was considering sending in a search party.’

  She laughed and propped herself up on one elbow to look at him, ‘What time is dinner?’ I’m starving.’

  ‘When aren’t you?’ He laughed softly and rolled over to kiss her.

  They walked into the kitchen a short while later to be greeted by the sight of Pierre on his hands and knees rummaging through one of the cupboards, muttering angrily to himself. Mistral couldn’t understand his words, but it was obvious that he was searching for something. She raised an eyebrow questioningly at Fabian but he merely shrugged and pulled out a chair for her to sit on. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the stone floor made Pierre jump, then curse loudly when he banged his head. Mistral hid a smile; she didn’t need to understand the language to know what that word meant.

  Fabian apologised while Pierre reversed out of the cupboard and stood up, rubbing his head. He laughed but to Mistral the sound was almost forced, quite unlike his earlier unreserved guffaws. When Pierre knelt down again to retrieve three earthenware bowls from the cupboard Mistral gave Fabian a meaningful look, silently reminding him about providing her with an opportunity to read their host. Fabian gave a ghost of a nod in reply and immediately began to converse with Pierre while he placed the bowls on the table then brought a large dish of stew over from the stove. Placing the dish down onto the table, he lifted the lid and indicated for them to help themselves giving Mistral the same toothless grin of earlier; but this time it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes.

  ‘Et maintenant nous manger!’

  The stew was hot and plentiful, filled with vegetables and chunks of meat that Mistral couldn’t quite identify but was so hungry that she ate it anyway, taking the opportunity to watch Pierre while he talked with Fabian. Maybe she was imagining it, but she was sure their host seemed more on edge than before. She caught him glancing quickly out of the window more than once, and he continually turned the stem of his goblet in a distracted manner whenever he spoke. Mistral finished her meal and listened impatiently to their incomprehensible conversation, wishing Fabian would hurry up and create some sort of diversion so that she could attempt to read Pierre. There was something about him that was starting to make her feel uneasy.

  Her chance eventually came when Pierre rose from the table and walked a little unsteadily to retrieve a third bottle of home-made wine from the dresser. He refilled their goblets and Fabian turned to raise his in Mistral’s direction, as though toasting her. She met his gaze over the brim of his goblet. Seeing the slight lift of one eyebrow she knew that he was about to provide the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Turning his back to her, Fabian angled his body so that she was concealed and leaned across the table to ask Pierre a question in a serious voice. Pierre pursed his lips thoughtfully then placed his own goblet down and bent his head closer to Fabian’s to reply. Seizing the moment, Mistral stared intently at the air above Pierre’s dirty grey hair and willed her mind to empty, leaving it free to focus on calling up the vision of his aura.

  It leapt into view with startling clarity in a rainbow of yellows, blues, greys and greens and a more confusing shimmer of turquoise that made Mistral frown. Why would he be amused? Setting her curiosity aside she pushed her mind further, reaching out into his, to See –

  Ce’st possible! Victoire est possible …

  Mistral listened to his thoughts, trying to disguise the frown that creased her brow. She could hear him; but she couldn’t understand a single word...

  ‘Ah, mon ami, il est temp maintenant pour le lit.’

  Pierre’s loud announcement broke Mistral’s concentration. She blinked dazedly and Fabian’s hand immediately reached out to take hers, the warm pressure pulling her from her trance. ‘Merci Pierre, jusqu'au matin.’

  They walked in silence along the corridor to their room, listening to Pierre clattering around in the kitchen once again. The bang of cupboard doors opening and closing punctuated by the sound of him muttering curses under his breath. Once the door to their bedroom was closed and locked, Fabian took hold of both her hands and gazed intently at her. ‘Could you read him?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mistral sank down on the bed with a disappointed look on her face. ‘But I couldn’t understand a damned word! I tried to listen out for some of the words you were saying to me the other night, but I didn’t recognise any.’

  ‘I should hope not too.’ Fabian murmured. ‘That would be most inappropriate. Could you read his aura?’

  ‘Yes. Thankfully it seems that auras have a universal language. But I don’t think it’ll be very helpful. He was feeling everything from worry to happiness, oh, and something had amused him ... probably me feeling ill –’ Mistral frowned and glanced out of the window. Stars twinkled brightly over the dark outline of the mountains; the setting was beautiful, almost too perfect … something just didn’t feel right. ‘He’s a bit, well ... odd, isn’t he,’ she finally said.

  Fabian smiled, ‘Eccentric maybe. But he has lived a long and almost completely solitary life in the mountains. It is bound to have had an effect on him.’

  ‘Yes, but the way he was looking through the cupboards! It was like he didn’t know where to find something in his own kitchen!’

  ‘How many times have you managed to lose something in your saddlebag?’ Fabian countered. ‘He is unused to having guests Mistral, perhaps he truly didn’t know where to find extra bowls.’

  Mistral stared out of the window for a while longer before she turned to look at Fabian, ‘What does ‘victoire’ mean?’

  Fabian frowned, ‘Victoire? You he
ard him think that?’

  ‘Definitely. It was the one word I could remember. He thought it a couple of times.’

  Fabian gazed thoughtfully at her, ‘It means victory.’

  ‘Dinner was alright but I’d hardly say it warranted that description!’

  Laughing softly, Fabian walked over to sit beside her, ‘I would have to agree with you there, however, there are many possible explanations for why he would be thinking of victory. He could simply be expressing relief that his life’s work will continue to exist in the sanctuary of the Isle.’

  ‘You mean the unicorns? You think that he sees Mage Grapple paying him a pittance for one of the last surviving herds of unicorns as a victory?’

  ‘I doubt he has little regard for money, but I do believe that seeing the ensured safety of his beloved herd is a victory of sorts for him.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Mistral’s tone was unconvinced. ‘But I still think there’s definitely something not quite right about him.’

  ‘Well, now you have successfully read him you will be able to read him remotely and I can translate.’ Fabian reassured her quietly. ‘However, I’m sure he’s just a harmless old Mage, Mistral. There is nothing to worry about until the Rochfortes arrive, and that won’t happen be for at least three days.’

  ‘I could try to read him remotely now if you want,’ she offered half-heartedly. ‘It’s still fairly early, I’m sure he’ll still be awake.’

  Fabian smiled, ‘It is still early, but that’s the way of life in the mountains. They go to bed early and rise before the sun. However, I have no wish for you to read him tonight. I think that we should remember that this is also our honeymoon.’

  For once, Mistral awoke before Fabian. She lifted herself up on one elbow to watch him sleeping. Smiling indulgently, she curled a lock of his dark hair round her finger and released it slowly, letting it fall back down onto the white pillow. He did not stir but continued to sleep, blissfully unaware of her scrutiny. Without the black pools of his eyes claiming her attention she was free to study his face and found herself hoping that their son would inherit his high cheekbones and strong profile. She smiled ruefully; knowing her luck their son might turn out handsome like his father, but no doubt he’d be as reckless and stupid as her.