by Duncan Pile
“I don’t think Gaspi will mind,” Emmy said quickly. Lydia screwed her face up. Emmy’s feelings of guilt seemed to stem more from how much she’d upset Everand than from what she’d done to Gaspi.
“Come on Lydia,” Emmy said with a resigned sigh. “You may as well say whatever’s on your mind.”
“Do you promise to listen?” Lydia asked.
“Yes,” Emmy said, though Lydia thought she could detect a lingering hint of rebellion.
“Remember last year, when Gaspi saw you in the canteen with Everand?”
“Yes,” Emea said, pulling a face like a grumpy child.
“Remember how upset he was?”
“Lydia, I know what you’re getting at, but this is different,” Emmy said stubbornly. “Gaspi and I have grown since then, and I didn’t deliberately do anything to make Everand kiss me. He’ll understand.”
Lydia sighed in exasperation. “You promised to listen!” she said sternly, and Emmy fell silent. “Look, Gaspi can be jealous like anyone else. He’s a great person but sometimes he can be insecure; you know that. If he comes back to find out you’ve been spending a lot of time with a boy who used to bully him and who everybody knows is infatuated with you, and isn’t jealous, then you may as well call it a day and split up, because he should be jealous! And if that isn’t enough, when he finds out you ended up drunk in the snug, being kissed by Everand, he’s going to be mortified.”
“It wasn’t like that!” Emmy protested.
“Are you telling me you aren’t even a little attracted to Everand?” Lydia asked.
Emmy flushed bright pink. “I never wanted anything to happen,” she insisted feebly.
“But it did Emmy, and you could have stopped it at any point if you’d had the common sense to realise what was going on. Forget about Everand’s feelings. It’s Gaspi that matters. Think about it from his perspective. While he was away you spent a lot of time with a boy who you know likes you. Now you’ve got yourself in a right mess and you’ve been a rubbish girlfriend. If you try and tell him about it and expect him not to be upset, I’m pretty sure you won’t like what happens.”
Emmy looked angry and embarrassed. “Don’t hold back Lydia!” she said sarcastically. “Tell me what you really think!”
“Are you listening to me?” Lydia asked sternly.
“Of course I am!” she said indignantly, but Lydia knew better. She wanted to grab her by the shoulders, but it seemed like Emmy had made her mind up on this, and after abandoning her for most of the three months Gaspi had been away, she didn’t want to cause another rift in their friendship.
“Okay Emmy,” she said. “Just remember what I’ve said when Gaspi gets back.”
“I will,” Emmy promised.
Seventeen
Before he got within five miles of the Haunted Citadel, Ferast knew that he’d hit another dead end. There were just too many villages, and they seemed to be increasing in both size and number. If the Haunted Citadel was truly a place to be feared, then it wouldn’t be surrounded by thriving settlements. Filled with numbing disappointment, he kept on riding for the last few miles, his eyes fixed to the citadel’s growing silhouette on the horizon. Evening was fast approaching, and he’d have to bed down for the night soon, but not before he’d seen the citadel for himself.
The last of his hope faded with the waning light as he approached the outer wall of the citadel. The wall itself had collapsed into ruin long ago, and a prosperous town had sprung up in its shadow. The settlement sprawled comfortably across the citadel’s ancient boundary, claiming the lower part of the ruins for its own. A large painted sign stood by the side of the road, and Ferast could just about make out the lettering in the gloaming: WELCOME TO HEADLE. Underneath it, someone had carved the words: GATEWAY TO THE HAUNTED CITADEL.
Ferast slid down off his horse and walked up to the sign. He placed his fingers on its coarse, wooden surface and stood there, breathing slowly and evenly as he came face to face with his failure. Disappointment threatened to bring him to his knees, but he forced himself to step away from the sign and remount his horse. He kicked its sides and rode onwards into Headle, looking for a place to stay for the night. There was nothing to be done except get some sleep and hope that the morning would bring fresh clarity. Some stubborn part of him refused to believe that he wouldn’t find Shirukai Sestin, but right then he was so deflated that he couldn’t even rouse a glimmer of his usual resolve.
A large inn loomed out of the darkness on his left, advertising itself as the Coach and Horses. Ferast rode into the stables and dismounted. He handed the reins to the stableboy without a word and walked around to the front door. He pushed it open and stepped into a spacious, well-appointed common room, free from the usual sights and smells of a tavern. The floor was constructed of polished beams instead of hard packed dirt covered in sawdust, and the long, mahogany bar glowed warmly in the light of many lamps.
“Good evening sir! What’s your pleasure?” the innkeep asked roundly as soon as Ferast had stepped into the room. Ferast grimaced at the overly cheery greeting, glancing resentfully at the speaker. He was a stout fellow with tight, shiny skin and pink cheeks. His apron was scrupulously clean and he was practically bouncing on his heels, eager to serve.
“Wine, stew, and a room for the night,” Ferast mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact. The last thing he needed was an enthusiastic idiot fawning over him all night!
“Right you are,” the innkeep responded, “It’ll take a while to get your room ready, but if you settle in, the musicians will be playing soon.”
Ferast glanced at a stage set up at the back of the room, and saw a number of stringed instruments resting on chairs, ready for whatever merriment had been planned. He’d had enough. Without saying a word, he turned on his heel and stalked back past the innkeep, who was at that moment holding out a goblet of wine for him to take. He bashed his way out of the door and found the frightened stableboy, who thankfully hadn’t even begun to unsaddle his horse. He remounted and rode off down the street, looking for a place more suited to his mood.
He found one after another couple of hundred yards – a low slung, grimy looking place with a sunken roof. He glanced at the sign hanging outside the door – The Dripping Tap. The stable was tiny and there was no evidence of a stableboy, so he tied up his horse and entered the tavern. The place stank, but in that moment, he’d rather deal with human squalor than human cheer, and anything was better than the shiny, noisy effervescence of The Coach and Horses. Striding up to the bar, he secured a room for the night from the innkeep - a surly man in a dirt-smeared apron who was blessedly indifferent to his customers. Ferast paid for a cup of wine, along with whatever they were calling dinner, and slunk to the darkest corner of the room to wait for his food.
Glancing around in distaste, Ferast curled his lip at the sight of the drunken, dirty patrons. He couldn’t wait to finish his dinner so he could go to his room, close his eyes, and bid farewell to a thoroughly miserable day. He almost didn’t dare dwell on the implications of his failed journey. He’d searched all three of the destinations he’d identified as likely locations for Sestin’s hideaway, and come up with nothing. This one was the worst of all. The other two had at least been forbidding - the kind of places the renegade mage might have chosen for his lair - but this place was just a sham. The rumours about the Haunted Citadel may once have been true, but if some force or creature had earned it that fearsome reputation, it was long gone. In its absence, the townsfolk of Headle thrived on the trade of travellers eager to see the fabled city. They probably led tours through the ruins!
A small bowl of stew appeared on the table in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. Glancing up in irritation, Ferast looked into the smudged face of a serving girl. She was so slender she looked fragile, her delicate, sharp-featured face framed by an untamed thatch of thick, dark hair. There was something so arresting about her appearance that all of his irritation faded in an instant.
“Thank
you,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. She turned to go, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, Ferast didn’t want her to leave. He couldn’t think of anything to say, however, and she left his table to attend to other patrons. He watched her as he ate, paying so little attention to the food itself that he couldn’t have said what he was spooning into his mouth.
As Ferast was finishing his meal, the innkeep called the serving girl over to the bar and spoke to her in hushed tones. She listened in silence, and when the innkeep had finished talking to her, she turned away from the bar and started wiping tables with a dirty-looking cloth. Ferast watched the girl surreptitiously, wondering what it was about her he found so bewitching. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself – every movement was careful, as if she was handling delicate objects. She was like a forest creature, innocent and shy. He set his spoon down in his plate with exaggerated care, as if the slightest noise might frighten her away.
Despite his efforts, the spoon clinked ever so gently against the bowl. At that moment, she looked up and met his gaze. Her pupils were large and brown, glinting faintly even in the dim lamplight. Ferast swallowed loudly, feeling utterly unsure of himself. He’d never been comfortable around girls, but he was determined to speak to this one. He cleared his throat.
“Do you want to join me?” he asked, indicating the second chair at his table with a small movement of his hand.
She hesitated a moment before nodding in assent. She left the cloth where it was and stepped over to Ferast’s table. He pulled the chair out a few inches, and she sat down, meeting his gaze.
“I’m Ferast,” he said, taking a sip of wine to moisten his mouth, which was suddenly dry as a bone.
“Poppy,” she responded, tapping her chest with a single finger.
“Would you like a cup of wine?” he asked, trying to emulate the way confident boys like Everand used to talk to girls.
“Thank you,” she responded. “That’d be nice.”
Ferast looked up to catch the innkeep’s attention, only to discover the man was already looking at him. The innkeep made a gesture that was something like a cup being lifted to his mouth, and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Ferast nodded, seeing that his needs had been anticipated. He glanced at Poppy to see if she was impressed. He’d never been very good at the kind of things that made other boys popular, mostly because they all involved communicating comfortably with other people. Everand for example, used to order a fresh round of drinks at the Traveller’s Rest just by catching the innkeep’s eye and drawing a circle in the air with his finger. Ferast had tried it once, but the same innkeep seemed to find it offensive. It didn’t make any sense. How could two people do exactly the same thing in exactly the same place to exactly the same person, and achieve the exact opposite effect? He found it extremely frustrating.
Ferast snapped back to the present just as the innkeep arrived with a jug of wine and a cup for Poppy. Why in the world was he thinking of that pompous ass, Everand, at a time like this? Angry with himself, he shook off his introspection and focused on the present. The innkeep placed the jug down on the table and held out a hand for payment.
“That’ll be three silvers,” he said. Ferast hesitated a moment, not because of the expense, but because he’d only intended to buy a single cup of wine for Poppy. He had no use for a whole jug of the stuff! He suspected the innkeep was being opportunistic, but he didn’t want to look stingy in front of Poppy, so he reached into his pockets and found a few silver coins. He reluctantly dropped them into the innkeep’s palm.
“I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your serving girl,” Ferast said, forcing a smile.
“You can keep ’er!” the innkeep growled. Ferast shot him a hard stare. “Only joking,” the innkeep said, raising both hands defensively. “She’s off duty now, so what she does is up to ’er.” When Ferast didn’t say anything more, he shrugged and shuffled off to the bar.
“Does he always treat you like that?” Ferast asked, eyeing Poppy sharply.
“Don’t worry about Klyff,” Poppy responded quickly. “That’s just his way.” Ferast wasn’t convinced, and he was sure that if he turned around and looked back at the bar, Klyff would still be watching them. But Poppy didn’t seem to want to talk about her employer, so maybe he should move the conversation onto other topics.
He started to ask her questions, but she seemed more interested in talking about him than about herself, and quite soon he was telling her all sorts of things – even things he rarely spoke about at all. She kept their wine glasses full, and Ferast found himself feeling surprisingly comfortable in her company. The only person who’d made him feel that way before was Emmy. Encouraged by Poppy’s unwaning interest in him, it wasn’t long before he revealed that he was a magician. Poppy was suitably impressed!
“A magician? You’re not kidding?” she asked, her eyes opening about as wide as they could go.
“I’m not kidding,” Ferast said, leaning back confidently in his chair.
“Show me!” Poppy insisted. “Do something magical!”
“Not here,” Ferast slurred, glancing round the room at the remaining patrons. Klyff was still clearly watching them from behind the bar.
“In your room then!” Poppy said. Ferast felt a thrill of excitement in his stomach, or was it his loins? With the single exception of Emmy, girls had never paid him any attention, but Poppy was clearly inviting herself to his room. Was it safe to assume she wanted more than just a demonstration of his magic? As if in answer to his question, Poppy stood up and offered him her hand. Ferast reached out and took it, letting her pull him upright. The room swam around him as he found his feet, but then his vision stabilised, and he let himself be led towards the bedrooms. Poppy practically dragged him along the corridor, taking him to the third room on the right. For a brief moment Ferast wondered how she knew which room Klyff had given him, but then he shrugged it off. What did it matter?
He closed the door behind him and turned around to find Poppy sitting on the single bed, watching him intently with her big brown eyes.
“So go on then,” Poppy said, placing her hands behind her and leaning back on her wrists in a pose that Ferast found most provocative.
“What do you want to see?” he asked, breathing heavily. Was this really going to happen? He’d thought something might happen with Emea, but she’d been under the influence of the Nature Mage. Irritated, Ferast shrugged off the unpleasant thought, squinting at Poppy, waiting for him on the bed. Of course she was interested in him. She saw him for what he was – a powerful, magical person – and she was clearly fascinated by him.
“Anything,” Poppy answered, watching him expectantly.
“Okay,” Ferast said. If she wasn’t used to being around magic, then the smallest arcane act would impress her. Drawing on his power, he summoned a globe light, letting it float over his palm. It lit the room with its radiance, reflecting from Poppy’s pale skin and emphasising the rich darkness of her hair and eyes.
“That’s amazing,” she said breathlessly, standing up slowly and walking towards him. She reached out with slender fingers, sliding them slowly into the ball of light. Ferast gently took her hand and turned it over, repositioning the ball so it floated over her palm instead of his. She looked up into his eyes.
“Wonderful,” she whispered. Ferast’s heart was beating hard in his throat. It was now or never. He flicked his finger, sending the globe light out into the middle of the room, where it hung suspended over the bed. He stepped forwards, placing a hand under Poppy’s chin. She let him tilt her head back and met his gaze, her pupils widening. He leaned in, drawing her face towards his with a slight motion of his fingers. His heart beat even harder as the space between them narrowed, and then there was no space at all. For the first time in his life, Ferast, felt the warmth of soft lips pressed against his own.
He savoured it, thrilling in the sensation, but all of a sudden, gruesome images flooded his mind; images of animals slaughtered at his own
hand while he experimented on their minds and bodies; images of shredded nerves, slick blood and white bone. Ferast shook his head to clear the images, but in doing so he broke away from the kiss.
“Are you okay?” Poppy asked, looking at him in confusion.
“I’m fine,” Ferast answered. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Poppy said gently, stepping back up to him and sliding her arms over his shoulders. Once again, Ferast leaned in to kiss her, but in that moment, the images returned, and he felt an overwhelming burden of guilt. Ferast pulled back, holding her at bay while he struggled with emotions he couldn’t understand. Why was he feeling this way? Was it the wine? There was nothing wrong with what he’d done to those animals was there?
“Ferast?” Poppy asked, a look of concern on her face. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s just the alcohol,” he mumbled, trying once again to push away the unwelcome feelings. “Let’s sit on the bed. I’ll feel better sitting down.”
“Okay,” Poppy responded, taking him by the hand and walking over to the bed. They sat down together. “But let’s sort out the payment before we get into bed,” she added
“What?” Ferast asked. Why was she talking about payment?
“I’m sorry Ferast, but Klyff always insists on payment up front.”
“I already paid for the room!” Ferast explained indignantly. “Didn’t Klyff tell you?”
“Please don’t embarrass me,” Poppy pleaded in a small voice. “Let’s just get the payment sorted out and then we can forget about it.”
Finally the penny dropped. “You mean…you’re a…?”
“You didn’t realise?” she asked quietly. She looked upset. “I’m really sorry Ferast, but I don’t have a choice. Klyff puts a roof over my head and feeds me as long as I…entertain the guests. I thought you understood.”
Ferast surged to his feet and stalked to the other side of the bedroom, leaving Poppy sitting on her own, looking fragile.