by Lynn Egan
Though he sat in the building that housed his youth, the feeling of belonging the place should give him had been stolen. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the deep ache of bitter loss for one fleeting moment: I want to be home!
A stifled gasp behind him brought his head up to face the princess, who was leaning against the door frame with her hand halfway to her heart and her eyes fixed on a middle distance.
"What is it?" His voice echoed from the empty place in his belly, devoid of emotion.
Murud shook her head and avoided his gaze. "It is nothing. Your pain… it just… I have not felt another's pain since… For a long time." She turned away, still supporting herself on the door frame. Her eyes closed and her breathing was deliberate.
The darkness bubbled up in him; how could she know such pain, how dare she invade his grief, what right had she to pry? He pushed such thoughts away roughly. They led to a path he could not tread. She could hear his thoughts, perhaps that extended to being able to feel his feelings. He hadn't thought to hide his sorrow-filled longing for a feeling of safety, of belonging, of home. The crushing knowledge of being utterly alone, and the desperate need to feel connected, to belong to something solid, must have been a shock for the sheltered princess.
"It is not," She whispered, still facing away. "I, too, have lost." She took a deep breath and faced him with her enigmatic black eyes. "What would you do now, Duke Michael of Ishald?"
He didn't wonder how she now knew who he was.
Chapter Eleven
The place had been burned, but it looked like nothing had been taken. Twisted silverware on the table along with dishes cracked from heat lay strewn on what was left of the long dining table. The end nearest the door, where his mother had always dined, had her own personal implements peeking out from under a broken slate. He fished them out, unsure if he did so out of sentimentality or the practical applications he could make of the sapphires set in the handles. He loathed the thought of digging through the bone pile, had no wish to disturb the spirits of those whose lives had been ripped from them. His father's signet ring, now his, would get him some privilege on the mainland. His mother's would get him more. He could hide in comfort on the vast continent, travel, even accept a position at the college. He then realized that he had to find it. The note from Sparro Senior, and all his other identification, was in his satchel with the Royal Guards.
Michael sighed in defeat and started making a neat pile of the odds and ends he'd gathered, with the things from the centipede pile he'd been carrying around. Murud watched curiously and he explained what he needed to do. She nodded, offered her aid, and soon a large mottled gray wildcat and inky raven were picking respectfully through the grisly blackened remnants of the once vibrant people of the Ishald Estates.
They made an efficient team; she seemed to be able to smell metal and his sharp eyes and beak could fish it out. Soon they had a small pile of trinkets and jewelry, most cracked or twisted, but some intact. Richard's ducal signet had been a find that didn't affect Michael with much emotion, as the two had never been close, but finding the Feysguir family ring had been a real wrench. He had placed it gently aside and played with it pensively, in the way a wild raven will fiddle with something shiny. Murud watched him with her black cat eyes, her paws and coat now also black with soot and ash.
The atmosphere of the place felt suddenly confining; there was too much here, and too little. He couldn't stand it anymore, and with a caw and a desperate heave of his wings, he leapt into the air and climbed as high as he could, before extending his pinions to glide spiraling downwards. For several minutes, he winged in wide circles, unseeing, reveling in the feel of the air and freedom up here. Flying allowed him to push his thoughts aside, to still them for a few minutes so his soul could breathe. After a time, he looked down.
From this height, he could see the sparkle of the southern coast, not far from the edges of Ishald's domain. The Kingsmount with its royal palace dominated the northeast of his view, and was far enough away that he feared no eye would spot a lone raven in the sky. Northwest, he knew, was the Seasguir road, though he couldn't see it through the trees. The orchards they had come through were east, and some of the trees were heavy with fruit. West was the forest he'd explored in his youth, watched over by the balcony of his mother's tower.
He now closed in and circled the building, looking with sharp eyes at the devastation. There was the tower, and the mansion. There was a lighter gray speck amid the blackened rubble; the princess waiting. There were the trees his mother had planted close by her tower nest, which had grown tall over the years she had lived there, captive but not imprisoned. Their fresh green tops made a stark contrast to the gray and black ruin they brushed against. He tilted his head. Something wasn't right. He dove purposefully and soon landed back in the Great Hall with a bunch of leaves in his beak, and returned to his own form, while Murud followed suit.
"Was it a still night when the fire happened?"
"No, I think there was wind. There had been rain, but it blew out towards the Seasguir side."
He pushed aside the knowledge that the same storm had caught his ship on the way home, because he was trying to focus on an anomaly.
"And was anyone sent to put the fire out?"
"I do not think so. Some guards came back to say it was too late, and they would go back when it had cooled, a week perhaps. They may be soon returning here."
"Do you know anything about fires, or camping, or trees?"
She seemed taken aback at this seeming break in his line of questioning, looked about to take offense and defend her cultured learning, then shook her head.
Michael explained. "Fire is something you have to be careful with. Even a wet tree will burn with a hot enough flame, and nothing short of a real furnace can reduce bodies to bone and ash. The stones must have only recently cooled." He waved the fresh leaves he'd plucked. "These are perfect, and were right up against the wall. They aren't charred or discolored, or even wrinkled. They can't have been affected at all!"
The princess shrugged, "Perhaps due to the rain, or the wind."
"No! Because these were the leeward side, the wind blew towards them. In fact, they should be MORE affected than other trees because of how close they were and how the heat and embers would be blown through the whole treetop. Murud, all the trees around the place are perfect. There isn't a single burnt leaf on any side of the Manor."
She didn't seem to understand, and shook her head. Michael became frustrated.
"Princess, it means the fire was deliberately and magically contained! There are no animals or remains of animals on the whole estate, and the grounds and forest have been preserved. This one act has destroyed the people and the mansion, but not a single other resource of the duchy. If I had died in prison no one would be left to claim the place, and it would go to the Crown. The only person who could possibly benefit from this act is your father!"
"Impossible!" was her predictable reply, "He is an honorable man and a good king!"
"Who else is there who gains by Ishald having no heirs? Only the Crown and royal family!" here he paused. "Wouldn't it be just wonderful if you saved me from prison so you could knife me in the back in my own burned-out manor!"
She drew herself up proudly, expressing her offense in haughty silence, and he knew he'd gone too far. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, weary to the bone. He managed to get a word in before she could respond to his venom with acid, "Sorry! Sorry. That was uncalled for. But who else is there?" he rubbed his eyes, heedless of the smudges he left with his fingers.
Murud calmed a bit and looked thoughtful, "No one. There is only his wife and her daughter. But they are courtly idiots."
Michael found her phrasing odd, and mentioned it. "His wife and her daughter? Not your mother? Not your sister?"
"No," said the woman with an unreadable expression, "not my mother. But yes, my half-sister. You were not born yet when he remarried."
Micha
el sensed that this was unsteady ground to tread, and did not press her on that point. "But they aren't the type to scheme?"
Murud gave a short laugh, "No, Jana knows better than to scheme between Father and I, and Katryn is useless. Head in the clouds and nose in a book. Dresses and parties."
Michael forbore to mention his own love of literature and reverence for the printed word. There were no leads here, and Murud seemed sincere. Perhaps there was another courtier, advisor, or ranking guard who coveted the lands and plotted behind the scenes. He was sure that staying at the wrecked hulk of a house would lead them straight to the answer, but in a way where they wouldn't be able to tell anyone afterwards.
"All right. Let's go. I'm done here." They worked their way out of the rubble and headed around the building to the West. Michael could feel the slender mass of his mother's tower as they passed it, but he could not look up. His eyes were fixed firmly downwards, half unfocused. It was for this reason that a gleam of silver several yards into the forest caught his attention, and he swerved to determine what it was. He kneeled and brushed a few leaves from a ravaged pile of bone and feathers to find a slender metal cylinder that was sealed with wax. He felt even his heart go still as he recognized it.
He had no idea what time had passed when he felt Murud's gentle hand on his shoulder and her worried voice, "Michael!"
His own voice came to him from a distance, "Yes?"
The princess let her breath out in a relieved sigh. "You disappeared in my mind. I became concerned." She peered at the ground where he was looking. "What is that?"
His hand, which he had expected to be shaking, reached out smoothly and picked the thing up from the litter of the forest floor, and gently removed the remnant of the bird's leg from the cuff that held the message canister to the poor dead thing.
"It was my mother's. A message." His voice was quiet and far away.
"To you."
"I don't know. These may have been her last words. A warning, a clue, who knows?"
"Then open it and find out!" Her voice conveyed excitement even though it was quiet.
Michael looked back at the scattered feathers and moved some aside with his fingers. He pulled from them a strangely barbed arrow which he then examined.
"That is an arrow. Someone shot a message bird."
"But they didn't take the message. Either they couldn't find the body or the message didn't matter." He fingered the tip thoughtfully and stood up, the message canister seemingly forgotten in his other hand.
Now that he knew where in his mind the princess could not hear him, he made sure to leave his thoughts there to brew for now. He needn't worry - or warn - her with his suspicions.
Chapter Twelve
They journeyed in a gentle curve that led generally westward through the forests he'd roamed since childhood. Ishald owned most of the forested land on the crescent south of the Seasguir road. It was this wooded area that was the most valuable land on the Island since the saava groves were failing.
Michael was starting to suspect that this was the main reason to eliminate the current House Ishald. Technically the woods weren't Ishald's property except through Ellia Feysguir, his mother. They had been dowered with her when she had wed Duke Richard of Ishald. Even the office of Sparro and Sons acknowledged the funds as being in separate accounts - the estate of Ishald and the timber rights of Feysguir.
Both came to Michael upon their deaths, and that made him a very valuable man to have dead or alive.
He had made a path for a hut he knew was in the area, hoping to find something of use there. When they came upon it he smiled in relief and Murud grinned widely. He wondered a little bit at that, but was more concerned with seeing what was inside. He knocked at the door, although he knew the poor forester who called it home was probably back at the manor with the rest of the unfortunates there. When there was the expected silence, he pushed the door carefully open.
"Hello? Excuse me?" His greeting was met with only the rustle of small creatures finding places to hide. Despite the daylight outside, it was dim inside the structure, and Murud obligingly hung her buckler on her sword and lifted her now free hand, which glowed with a white light. The crowns had ceased to work when they had left the cave system behind.
The interior was small and cramped, with only a low bed and a chair near the fireplace. There were axes and saws and other implements for working with wood and brush, as well as skins and furs in various stages of preservation. The smell that permeated the structure was of musty feet, soot, old straw, leather, and drying wood.
Murud wrinkled her nose, "Bards never speak of the smells!"
Michael paused with his hand halfway to a ham he'd spied hanging from the rafters. He turned to her, "Bards?"
She nodded. "Oh yes, the stories of adventures. The cottages of woodcutters are common but it is never told that they smell so." She looked around, seeming full of curiosity.
He wasn't sure how to take her statement, so he shrugged and continued to look around. There was a satchel he could use in the corner, and here were blankets on the bed - none too clean but warm and serviceable. There was the ham and some root vegetables hanging from the rafters, and a sack of meal. He didn't think they would be out here in the forest for more than one more night, but it was best to be on the safe side. He tossed a belt to the princess, indicating that she could use it for her sword, and found another one himself. She seemed excited and yet confused to see him making up two packs of the things he had found.
"You do not need to pack, we will stay here tonight. In stories, one always spends the night in a woodcutter's cottage."
A glimmer of a thought occurred to Michael, and he tightened the strap he had made for the pack he was making up. "Murud, what do you think we're doing?"
"Why, we are on an adventure!"
"And what does that mean, exactly?"
She again looked confused. "It is… adventure. Everyone knows what that is. Excitement and mystery and travel to far-off places, as in song and story."
He looked over his shoulder at the tall, beautiful blonde maiden with her hand glowing with magic, her sword at her side, and realized that it did look like a picture from a book of stories one would read to a child. But this was harsh reality, and not a tale.
"Princess. Please realize that you are a fugitive running from murderous men who, if they are feeling kind, will kill us if they find us. You are running with and giving aid to a man whom someone in the royal court wants very dead. This man will do anything in his own power to remain alive for as long as possible, and hopefully will find out who that person is who wants him dead and kill them first. If you treat this lightly, like a story where everything will work out all right if the characters in it just follow some magical fairy to a spooky forest and kill the witch, then he will knock you on the head and leave you here for those murderous men to find! Actually, that sounds like a brilliant idea, because then you can say I kidnapped you and then go back to being happy princess in her pretty castle forever and ever and listen to romantic stories about people who make very bad life choices!" He realized that his tone became more patronizing and sarcastic the further he went, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. The words fell out of him without passing through his usual filters.
The glowing hand that slapped him in the face at the end of his tirade had nothing of happiness or romance in it.
Her words came out in a near hiss, "How dare you speak to me this way! No one has the right to speak to any creature thus! You mock me without knowing me after I have risked myself and shared my secrets with you! Your gratitude is thin, sir, and your character as well. I should have left you in the cells to rot!" With these words, she whirled around on her heel and stormed out of the door, taking her light with her.
Silence rang in the enclosed space, and Michael rubbed his burning cheek thoughtfully. He had overstepped his bounds, but her attitude had seemed very casual towards their situation, and he'd felt a need to wake her up. He knew he
could have done it a bit more gracefully. He didn't lose his temper often, but somehow here on the Island he felt on edge. It was more than knowing he was a wanted man and not knowing why; there was some strange feeling here, something oppressive.
That must be the difference, he thought. That's why the Island looks different, and isn't well cared for. Maybe that's why the saava are dying: this undercurrent of subtle malevolence.
He closed his eyes and reached deep inside himself for the core of his being. It was hard to get to, somehow. Something got in the way, or shielded it, or deflected his efforts. It felt so strange that finally he stopped in frustration.
He got up and went outside, finding the princess's sword and buckler discarded on the ground and claw marks on the nearest tree. He looked up into the foliage and thought he could see the end of a gray tail twitching high up. He ran a hand through his hair.
"So, I seem to be doing this a lot, but I apologize for blowing up at you. I don't normally. I'm usually fairly pleasant to be around. It's just that it's not every week I get arrested, thrown in a dungeon, and have my family and household eradicated by the people who should be protecting it. Also, I'm reasonably certain there's more to this place that's affecting everyone who lives here. I'm sorry, can you come down now? I'll try to be nicer."
:That should be an easy task.: The ice in her mental tone made even the warm afternoon feel chilly.
"I know, I've set a low standard. You were very helpful to get me out of the cell and out of the cave. Princess, I really think there's some force at work on your Island that neither of us understand. I have to get off this rock and feel the difference, and so should you."
:What force?:
"Murud, there's an evil presence here."
He heard movement and felt bits of bark hitting him. When they stopped, he looked up. The princess's huge black cat eyes stared directly into his own from only a foot or two away.