Lucien

by James Moloney

  The Elders had told me plainly that Lucien would suffer before the Wyrdborn magic was driven from his body, but somehow I had not expected it to be that way for Tamlyn as well.

  I called his name, only for Geran to turn on me with a sharp warning. ‘Don’t disturb the wizards. It will only make things worse.’

  Tamlyn swayed within the brilliant circle, then dropped onto his haunches. One hand found the floor to steady himself, then the other. He was on all fours now, like a distempered dog. Finally, he fell onto his side.

  ‘They’re killing him,’ I hissed at Geran.

  How was I to know it wasn’t true? We had delivered ourselves into their hands on the say-so of my intuition, which was human and hardly perfect.

  Geran gripped my shoulder and turned me away from Tamlyn’s suffering. ‘This is the way it must be, Silvermay.’

  ‘How do you know? You said this magic has never been tried in your lifetime.’ A more frightening thought came to me. ‘None of these Elders has performed this magic before, have they?’

  ‘It’s true,’ she whispered, trying to keep our voices from disturbing the Elders.

  ‘They don’t know what they’re doing! They might make a mess of the magic, like Delgar said!’

  I pulled away to see if Tamlyn had recovered, but far from returning to his feet, he’d stopped moving entirely.

  ‘He’s not dead, Silvermay,’ Geran insisted. ‘He’s sleeping. The Elders tried to explain. They must drain so much from his body that all his strength to stand is taken, too.’

  ‘And the energy he needs to breathe — will they take that, too?’

  Geran had no answer for me, and if the agony had gone on much longer, I might have fought my way past the stiff-backed Elders and rushed to feel Tamlyn’s heartbeat. But the Elders dropped their arms.

  ‘What’s happening? They’ve stopped. Why have they stopped?’ I demanded.

  ‘Because it’s done, Silvermay. The magic is finished with him.’

  I made to push my way forward, but again Geran anticipated me.

  ‘No, Silvermay,’ she said, placing her entire body in my path. ‘You must trust he is alive. Leave him to the apothecaries.’

  I could not overpower Geran, and even if I’d managed such an unlikely feat, there were other Felan close by who would have quickly hauled me back into place. Tamlyn was already being lifted onto a stretcher and I could do nothing but watch as he was carried from the circle towards a door on the far side of the hall.

  ‘Where are they taking him?’ I asked.

  ‘To the hospice. It’s not far from here.’

  ‘Hospice?’

  ‘A home for the sick.’

  I’d never heard of such a thing. In Athlane, the sick remained in their own homes and the healer came to them. Once again, I had to trust what I could not understand.

  If it wasn’t enough that Tamlyn was taken from me, now I saw a nod from the bald-headed leader towards Geran and immediately she turned to me again, her face cooled by the solemn words she was about to pronounce.

  ‘It’s time for Lucien to take his place in the centre.’

  ‘No, I can’t let a baby suffer like Tamlyn did.’

  ‘There’s no other way, Silvermay. This is what you brought him here for.’ And leaning closer, so that only I would hear, she delivered a blunt warning. ‘If he stays a Wyrdborn, even for another day, I’ll have to tell my people who he is.’

  6

  Lucien in the Circle

  I took Lucien from Ryall’s arms and held him close. I knew this was a risk, in this place especially, where the image of Nerigold nursing her baby looked down from the walls, but how could I make a decision if I didn’t feel his warm flesh against my skin.

  ‘Silvermay,’ Ryall called from behind Geran’s shoulder, ‘to save my life, Birdie did a lot worse to me. It was awful at the time, and I hated you all for it, but today I am glad she had the courage to do it. You’re Lucien’s mother,’ he said, repeating our lie. ‘You must show the same courage. In the years to come, he will thank you every day. And he will still have two arms,’ he added with a grim smile.

  There were different kinds of courage, it was true. One helped people to endure great pain, while another helped them to cause pain in others when they knew it had to be done. My mother, Birdie, had shown me the way all my life and she would again today.

  Without a word, I set out towards the white circle with Lucien huddled protectively against my chest. As I approached the Elders, two stepped aside to let me pass, and Ryall and Geran as well because they followed behind. Whether they were there to help me or stop me from changing my mind, I wasn’t sure. Lucien didn’t seem afraid at all, which only reminded me of what I’d said earlier: he was too young to understand what was about to happen to him.

  I set him down on the gleaming white stones and he instantly wandered away.

  ‘No, you must stay here, little one,’ I told him, gently at first, then, when he tried to escape a second time, with more force in my voice. Even that didn’t work. How could something so momentous be thwarted by the natural instinct of a little child to roam about in play, I wondered.

  ‘Here, Lucien,’ Ryall called.

  When I turned, I saw that he’d taken the contraption from his arm and placed it in the centre of the stones. It was just the trick we needed. Lucien pounced on it in delight and began to pull at the wires to make the claw-hand turn. With my little Smiler distracted, Ryall, Geran and I backed away.

  The Circle of Elders extended their arms once more, first towards one another, then their right arms alone towards Lucien, who was picked out so starkly by the light from above.

  He began to cry almost immediately. ‘Maymay!’ he called.

  This was his name for me, the first word that had ever passed his lips, and he reverted to it whenever he was tired, or frightened. It was a cry that softened my heart every time I heard it, and never more than now.

  I was afraid he would run to me and ruin the spell these wizards were slowly building, so, despite the warning from Geran earlier, I answered him. ‘Stay, Lucien. I’ll be with you soon.’

  The sound of my voice only encouraged him and he stood up, but before he could step out of the light, the magic took hold, robbing him of all energy. He slumped down onto his bottom, sniffling, then lay on his side. He was a good sleeper, a baby who drifted quickly into the deepest slumber, and as far as I could tell, he had done so again now. My eyes ranged over every part of his body, but nothing moved. He would feel no pain and no more distress at being alone. He need only keep breathing, in and out, in and out, while the wizards worked their magic and the dream I had dared harbour since Tamlyn and I had made our vow to Nerigold would finally be real.

  By now, the octagonal walls surrounding us housed utter silence and at first I told myself this was what made the minutes stretch out like bread dough. Was I the only one who thought the magic was taking longer this time?

  Then movement at last. Yet it wasn’t Lucien who had flinched, nor one of the awestruck crowd. No, an Elder had dropped to one knee. I was wondering what had caused him to buckle like this when a woman let her arm fall to her side, at the same time putting the other hand to her brow as though she’d become light-headed.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I whispered to Geran.

  She shook her head, clearly bewildered. ‘I’ve never seen this before.’

  More of the Elders were dropping their arms to their sides, and many faces showed signs of exhaustion and distress. One man simply fainted.

  The men who waited to carry Lucien away rushed to help the stricken figure, and had no sooner reached him than another Elder collapsed on the opposite side of the Circle.

  ‘Cease now, everyone,’ called the bald-headed Elder.

  All lowered their arms, some quicker than others, but all in obvious relief. There were one or two who looked close to joining their comrades who’d passed out.

  I was more concerned for Lucien. If the magic had
not been completed, what effect would this have on him?

  Geran was distracted by the Elders’ exhaustion and, with no one to stop me, I moved quickly. Lucien was beginning to stir by the time I reached him, although that didn’t mean he’d suffered no harm. I bent low to gather him into my arms.

  ‘It’s all right, little one, Silvermay has you now,’ I whispered, snuggling his considerable weight into my body.

  There was no sign of injury; in fact, he was coming awake in the same lazy way he did from an afternoon nap. He even managed a smile and nestled himself into my embrace, content to absorb the warmth of my body for the time being.

  I looked up to see how the Elders were recovering. Not half as well as Lucien, it seemed. The two who had fainted were still flat on their backs, although I could see one man’s head moving a little from side to side, so he wasn’t dead. Others were drained of colour and wandered ghostlike among their fellows, too stunned to speak.

  Those who had recovered were gathering around the bald man who had called a halt to the magic. Geran stood next to him, apparently distressed at how unsteady he seemed on his feet. Curious, I wandered close enough to hear her speak.

  ‘Are you all right, Father? What happened?’

  Father! Her concern made more sense now. My questions about what had happened would have to wait. For now, they were busy trying to find answers of their own.

  ‘… suffered harm ourselves,’ I heard from one bewildered voice nearby.

  ‘That is why I called a halt,’ said Geran’s father. He was shorter than most of the Elders, yet held himself with a dignity that made it clear he was a dominant figure among them. ‘I could feel a rent in my own magic,’ he went on, ‘as though the harder I pressed, the more damage I did to myself.’

  ‘Like a mountainside that wouldn’t budge,’ said another.

  ‘Yes, immovable,’ said a third. ‘I feared I would break myself against it. I’ve never known anything like it before.’

  The question that hung in the air like an unwelcome fog was ‘Why?’ Although none of the Elders spoke that simple word, they all looked towards Lucien where he nestled in my arms.

  ‘How do you explain it, Birchon?’ one of them asked Geran’s father.

  ‘The boy is special in some way,’ said Birchon. ‘The magic in him is stronger than his father’s, stronger than any of us would ever have guessed.’

  ‘Wyrdborn magic,’ added a woman.

  To the Felan, this was a dark and ugly word and to hear it uttered in this place, a temple to all they held dear, must have seemed like a curse against their gods. Fear crept into their voices now.

  ‘A stronger magic, yes,’ said Birchon. ‘A single Wyrdborn is a match for three or four of us, sometimes five if he is particularly determined, but against forty!’

  A familiar voice spoke for the first time since the magic had ceased. Delgar had joined the group without me noticing. ‘The boy is still a Wyrdborn despite the enchantment we worked on him. I can feel the curse in him and it is strong, as you say.’

  ‘How can that be when he’s so young?’ said the woman who’d spoken earlier, and seeing me at the edge of their gathering she asked, ‘How old is the boy?’

  ‘Four years old,’ I replied instantly.

  It was what we had agreed on during the voyage from Athlane, based on Lucien’s size and the easy way he was talking.

  ‘Four, you say!’ This was Delgar again, and as he spoke he pushed his way past others to confront me. ‘The boy’s age worried me earlier, but I know little about youngsters and so I said nothing. Now I must.’

  ‘What is it, Delgar?’ asked Birchon. ‘Four seems the right age to me.’

  ‘The problem is not the boy’s age, it’s the mother’s. She told me the other young man was her brother, her older brother,’ Delgar said, pointing towards Ryall. ‘Yet when I asked him, he gave his age as seventeen. That’s right, isn’t it?’ he called to Ryall.

  ‘Yes, seventeen,’ said Ryall, with a worried glance towards me.

  Why was Ryall’s age suddenly so important, I wondered.

  ‘Then Silvermay can be no more than sixteen years old,’ Delgar said. ‘And four years ago, when this little fellow was born, she would have been merely twelve.’

  Panic turned my head to wood. We’d been caught out and, worse still, it was a silly comment from me that had given us away. Oh, why had I been so quick to claim Ryall as my big brother? Think, Silvermay, think.

  In that instant, I saw there was only one thing to do.

  ‘No, I am not Lucien’s mother, not in the normal sense,’ I announced. The admission brought a strange relief that helped to clear my muddled mind. That was something, at least. ‘Lucien’s mother was my friend Nerigold, and when she died, there was no one else to care for him. I had to step in and I have never regretted it. He might not have been born out of my body, but I am his mother all the same and that is why we told you so.’

  If I had expected forgiveness in exchange for my confession, I was to be disappointed. Delgar’s face darkened with anger and something more worrying — suspicion.

  The same mood leapt from him to the other Elders and then swept more widely to the crowd that encircled us. I could feel their hostility as a seething heat against my face.

  That same hostility was soon turned on Geran.

  ‘You brought these people to us, you vouched for them, and now we discover they have lied. What are we supposed to make of this?’ Delgar demanded. ‘A Wyrdborn child like none we have ever encountered, and a woman who claims him as her son when she is too young even to be a wife.’

  ‘I was part of the deception, Delgar,’ Geran admitted bravely. When she found no more forgiveness on his face than I had, she turned to someone who might offer a better hearing. ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ she said to Birchon. ‘It seemed simpler to present these four as a family, when the way they have come together and then found their way here is so much harder to explain. But what does it matter if Silvermay is not truly the boy’s mother? Everything they said in their appeal to the Circle was sincere. There is no need to fear them, and no need to do them any harm.’

  ‘Harm!’ said Geran’s father. ‘You’ve put us all in a danger we don’t understand.’ He waved an arm towards his forty companions, some still recovering from the ordeal. ‘And you’ve made a fool of me before the Circle.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Father. This isn’t how I hoped it would go.’

  As more Elders threw off the ill-effects of their failed magic they moved closer to join the discussion. One question seemed to intrigue them more than any other, for I heard it repeated in many forms — how had a tiny boy resisted their strongest magic?

  None of the explanations was spoken with enough conviction to convince the rest. Half-formed ideas floated briefly among them only to be sunk by a sharp comment or a snort of derision.

  ‘Is the boy actually one of us, a Felan,’ one man asked. ‘Is that why the spells haven’t worked?’

  This occupied them more seriously than any other suggestion. I was beginning to wonder how long they would rack their brains when a cry of fright and fury erupted from behind me. Some of the Elders ducked, as though the dome had exploded above our heads.

  We turned as one to see what had caused this anguished shout and saw Delgar standing alone in the open space between the circle of leaves and vines and the pristine white circle. His fingers threaded through his grey hair, seemingly intent on pulling out tufts by the roots, and his face grimaced with violent emotion.

  ‘The boy!’ he cried, disentangling one hand to point at Lucien. ‘He is the one.’

  None of the others knew what he was saying at first.

  He tore the other hand from his head and turned to gesture at the wall behind him. ‘Don’t you see?’

  Facing us again, he winced at the blank stares that greeted him. To force their understanding, he pointed first at me and then back at the wall.

  I had no need for a second look. I’d alread
y studied that wall before the ceremony began. I could do nothing but watch in horror as understanding slowly dawned in face after face. For those who still hadn’t seen what he was showing them, he laid it out in stark words.

  ‘The girl calls herself his mother, a mother from among the commonfolk of Athlane. The child is Wyrdborn. Surely you see now. It is the prophecy, the nightmare that visited our seers so long ago, the horror we put on this wall to remind us of what we left behind. Our ancestors fled Athlane in case this prophecy became real. It has followed us here to Erebis Felan and we have welcomed it into our most sacred place. This child is the great evil we hoped never to face.’

  7

  A Monster’s Magic

  The Great Hall was the centre of Felan life and ceremony, a place of reverence and quiet, yet, in the moments after Delgar cried out his warning, it descended into the greatest tumult I had ever known. The many hundreds gathered around the outer circle had witnessed everything, and now their mounting alarm became shouts and screams. Bodies fled into the sunlight, struggling against the curious and concerned who’d heard the commotion from outside and now rushed in to know the cause.

  ‘There is no need for fear,’ Geran shouted above the din. ‘The boy is still a child. He cannot wreak the havoc shown in the mosaics until he is older. There is time to stop the evil before it grows within him. That’s why I brought him here.’

  ‘Then you knew who this boy was before you set sail,’ said Delgar.

  Geran couldn’t deny it and, although she had nothing to be ashamed of, her head sagged. ‘Yes, I knew, but it was the right thing to do, Lord Delgar. If the boy’s Wyrdborn nature is stripped from him at this early age —’

  ‘You saw what happened,’ said Delgar, cutting her off. ‘His magic is too strong. It has been since birth, just as the mosaics predicted, yet you brought him here, among us.’

  ‘No, you must listen,’ Geran appealed. ‘Father, make them understand.’

  Birchon shook his head. ‘Quiet, girl. You’ve said all we want to hear from you. You’ve brought a great danger among your own people and the deepest disgrace to me. Leave the hall at once, and you’re not to have anything more to do with these people.’