Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris)

by A. C. Smyth

  Casian took hold of the king’s palfrey’s bridle while Deygan dismounted, bowing in the Irenthi fashion to the king and his son. It was interesting that the Aerie chose to have Casian so in evidence at their arrival. Were they trying to make the point that the Aerie was no longer the sole preserve of Irmos and Chesammos, and thus Irenthi had less reason to see it as a threat? Casian was an embarrassment or an opportunity, depending on how one looked at him. He was an embarrassment to his father, certainly. Irenthi nobility still regarded changer children as an unfortunate accident, and one as highly-placed as the heir to Lucranne was hard to cover up. Garvan had chosen to embrace it: to encourage his son to learn changer ways and make up his own mind which path to follow. Deygan was not sure he would be as broad-minded, in similar circumstances.

  “Master Jesely,” said Deygan. “It is good to see you. My son has been in a fever of excitement to see you again.” Jaevan’s broad smile was unreserved. The boy would need to learn to disguise his emotions—he could hardly play politics with his feelings writ large across his face. But he was young yet. Let him be a boy for a while longer.

  “Casian,” Deygan acknowledged the elder son of his friend and rival. Casian dipped another quick bow. He was graceful and smooth, born to privilege.

  “Your Majesty. Welcome to the Aerie.” Although Deygan expected that being a changer would be a matter of embarrassment to an Irenthi, Casian gave no sign of awkwardness that the changer city had been his home for the past—what—four years? Five? Soon it would be time for him to decide where his loyalties lay, then, and either commit to the changers and set aside his claim to Lucranne, or renounce his abilities and return to prepare for his inheritance. Deygan couldn’t help but study the young man a moment, as if by that scrutiny he might determine which way his decision would tip.

  “But you are Irenthi. Are you really a changer?” said Jaevan, blurting the words out. Deygan hissed his irritation. Jaevan might be a boy, but he needed to learn when to hold his tongue. Casian smiled and inclined his head.

  “Indeed I am, Your Highness. The only Irenthi at the Aerie at present. I am something of a curiosity, which I think is why I am here to greet you. If your father allows, I would be happy to show you around and answer any questions you might have.”

  Deygan felt a strange prickle in the back of his mind, like a troublesome fly on a hot afternoon. He rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. It was not a long distance from Banunis to the Aerie, but the terrain was arduous, and he felt as though he had been in the saddle all day. What was it Casian had said? Show the boy around? He could see no reason why not. Better an Irenthi to take care of him than one of these damned Chesammos the Aerie kept harbouring. He waved a gloved hand.

  “Yes, of course. Excellent idea. See to it, will you, Jesely?” Deygan could not understand the look of displeasure that flitted across Jesely’s face. That prickling feeling itched at the back of his skull, then vanished as quickly as it had come. “Maybe we could go inside. I, for one, could do with a wash and a bite to eat.”

  Deygan might have been mistaken, but he thought Casian flashed Jesely a look of satisfaction as the royal party headed for the great hall. Politics. Always there was politics.

  Jaevan started the changer council meeting well enough, clearly understanding what was being said, asking pertinent questions when his father allowed him to speak. But as the second hour dragged into the third his face grew paler, and his well-trained erect posture became a weary slouch. The boy was flagging—anyone with eyes in their head could see that.

  Much as the king might want him to sit through entire council meetings, ones such as this with the Aerie’s policy on the Chesammos people being put to debate were torturous enough for the regular participants, much less a twelve-year-old boy. Jesely thought no one but him had spotted it, but Ayriene caught his eye and raised her eyebrows. Yes, she would notice. She would be the one called upon to revive the lad if he passed out at the table. Jesely gave the slightest of nods. He would call attention to the lad’s plight.

  “Sire, if I may make a suggestion, should we not take a short break to refresh ourselves? His Highness looks tired.” There were refreshments available, and Jaevan had taken some fruit and a cup of wine, well watered, but it seemed to Jesely that wine might make him sleepy rather than give him the injection of energy he needed to get through the rest of the meeting.

  “I am all right, Master Jesely. Really, I am,” Jaevan said, trying to sit more upright in his high-backed chair, but the hand that reached for his cup trembled, and the boy’s naturally pale Irenthi skin seemed almost translucent.

  His father studied Jaevan’s face, taking in the boy’s pallor, the tired droop of his shoulders.

  “Maybe a walk around the courtyard, Sire? I would be glad to accompany His Highness, since he knows me a little.”

  The lad clearly did not want to lose face in front of the council, but he brightened at the suggestion. He was trying so hard to be a man, and doing remarkably well for his age. He had the willowy look of all the Irenthi, as if a strong gust of wind would take his legs from under him, but he had the steel and determination of his father. Not many would cross Deygan, and the council was getting a grilling that Jesely would be glad to escape, if only for a few minutes.

  “Please, Father? You did say I could look around. The Aerie buildings are older even than Banunis, my books say, and I’d like to see some of them.”

  Jesely pushed back his chair, attempting not to show the relief he felt. His temper was steadily fraying as Deygan spoke of the Chesammos. The king’s words were all of controlling and repressing. They were Jesely’s own blood, for all Deygan clearly saw him as a changer rather than a Chesammos. He could see from Cowin’s face that the other master would have escaped the meeting too, if he could have seen a way out. Jesely saw little chance of compromise in Deygan’s attitude.

  “No need to take you away from our discussion, Master Jesely. Lord Casian offered to show my son around. Maybe he could be prevailed upon to make good his offer?”

  Jesely was not sure he liked Casian being given his Irenthi title in the Aerie. After all, here he was just a journeyman, whatever his birth. Even so, he had Casian sent for. The Lady knew he could have chosen a better chaperone for the boy—whatever reservations he had about Casian associating with Sylas applied equally to Jaevan—but Casian would be one of Jaevan’s holders in time. Better the two young men had the opportunity to develop a friendship now, if only for the sake of Chandris’s future. And it was natural that Deygan would want his son cared for by another Irenthi when out of his sight.

  So if it were all so right and proper, why did Jesely’s spirits drop at the door closing behind Jaevan and Casian? There was more to the feeling than simply the prospect of more hours in council. Jesely wished he had been allowed to supervise the young prince. Sighing, he refilled his cup and settled back in his chair to listen to the debate.

  “I thought they were never going to stop talking.” Jaevan flashed a smile that bordered on cheeky, sheer relief at being out in the fresh air shining in his eyes. Casian knew from experience the sort of training he would be going through, designed to produce the epitome of an Irenthi nobleman. It was nice to see a spark of individuality from the boy.

  After so long surrounded by Irmos and Chesammos, it felt vaguely strange to be speaking to another Irenthi here.

  “They will likely talk for some hours yet, Highness. Your father does not visit the Aerie often, but when he does he covers a great deal of business.”

  “That’s what I said, only you are more polite. I suppose all this stuff about the Chesammos is important, but it was a little awkward with Master Jesely and Master Donmar and Master Cowin sitting there. My father does not seem to see them in the same way as the Chesammos he talks about. I suppose changers are different.” The lad’s brow furrowed, the mark of a boy tryin
g to understand men’s affairs.

  “In more ways than you know, Highness.” Jaevan seemed an open sort of lad, guileless and naive for all his training. Casian didn’t think he had ever been naive. Garvan’s training insisted his sons were alert for any double-meaning, any seemingly innocent question designed to extract information that the speaker had never meant to let slip. He wondered if now might be the right time to try out his talent on Jaevan, with the boy so grateful to be rescued from the council meeting that he might spill secrets in his desire to be liked.

  “He doesn’t like the Aerie, you know,” said Jaevan. “I think if he could find a way to stop the changers having any influence he would. He says the Aerie helps the Chesammos—sends them extra food and clothing so they don’t have to work as hard. Is that true?”

  Casian spread his hands. “Highness, here I am just a journeyman, not even a master yet, for all my birth. You have heard more of the highest counsels than I have. It is not for me to question what my elders and betters discuss at these meetings.” But it might be useful for him to know, he thought, particularly if Jaevan were to be present at many such meetings in future.

  He called on his kye and extended a tiny tendril of the aiea-dera in Jaevan’s direction. “What did the masters discuss today, Highness? The Chesammos question, you said?”

  The boy flinched. Had he felt Casian’s touch? But he had hardly started yet. Then a sensation in the aiea threads made Casian withdraw. Casian hadn’t tested anyone for talent yet—that was left to masters—but he had been tested on his arrival at the Aerie, when they determined he was a changer talent. He had felt it from the other side: that merging of two changers’ aiea that took place when the auras surrounding talented changers met, the feeling that led to the expression ‘talent knows talent.’ Casian frowned. He must have misinterpreted the signals.

  “I’m sorry, Casian. I suppose things discussed in council should not go beyond the walls of the chamber.”

  So, a failure, if a small one. Casian took it with good grace. “Of course, Highness. I would not ask you to break a confidence. We will have to work together in the future, after all. Shall we go and look at the great hall? You said you would like to see it. You will see it at the feast in your father’s honour tonight, of course, but this way you can look at your leisure without the curious staring at you.”

  He led the prince across the courtyard, towards the oldest part of the Aerie: a cloistered area leading to the great hall. Casian drifted another thread of aiea towards the lad, with the same disconcerting effect. If he didn’t know better, he would swear the boy was a talent. This could set an interesting precedent. His father could not possibly insist on Casian standing down if Deygan’s heir was also a changer, unless Deygan set Jaevan aside, and he was hardly likely to do that. Anyone could see that the king loved his eldest son.

  As they walked, a shrill note sounded on the other side of the wall separating the outer courtyard from the lake and fields beyond. Out there somewhere one of the novices or apprentices was learning to change, finding their own kye in the Outlands and joining with it to transform into a bird. Not yet able to do it without the pipe, evidently—that was the next stage. Finding one’s kye without it being called to you by the linandra was harder, yet most changers managed it reliably within a few weeks.

  Casian turned to explain all this to Jaevan, then chuckled quietly to himself. No need. The boy would not have heard it. Only changers could hear the call of a linandra pipe: changers and their kye. But when he saw the boy, he froze. Jaevan stood, head tilted towards the sound and his arms clasped across his abdomen. Casian did not want to believe what he was seeing.

  “Are you all right, Highness? Can I get you a drink of something?” No, this could not be happening. Not here. Not now. Not with the prince in his care.

  The lad’s eyes were full of tears, but he blinked them away. “That noise. It cut through my head and then it hurt here.” He clamped his hands tighter to his stomach.

  Casian stared at the boy, hardly able to believe it. Jaevan had clearly heard the pipe and the only way that was possible was if he was a changer. Jaevan was how old? Twelve? Thirteen? On the young side for the change yet. But occasionally a youngster would have symptoms for some time before the onset of the change. Casian had experienced them himself—somewhat like growing pains, odd cramps that came and went. It could be months, even years, yet before the young prince would need to come to the Aerie to be trained. From the terrified look in his eyes, the boy had worked it out for himself. Could he have guessed before the visit?

  “Please, Casian,” he whispered, straightening cautiously and wincing as if in anticipation of pain as he released his hold on his body. “Please don’t tell my father. Don’t get me wrong; I’d love to be a changer. I’d love to learn to fly like you do. But I can’t be one. It isn’t possible. I’m his heir. Please promise me you’ll not tell him.”

  Casian promised, but he thought his vow would likely bring the boy more trouble in the long run. As the change progressed, a stray call within earshot could make him transform whether he wanted to or not. Without a master to guide him he would be vulnerable to predators or to overflying. But until the boy’s changing became common knowledge, as it surely would, Casian had a hold over him. His failure to compel the boy at this first meeting was just a setback. He could learn to manipulate him, he was sure, and then he would have the future king of Chandris at his command. One step on his own route to the throne.

  Chapter 14

  Several months had passed, and Ayriene and Sylas were settling into a routine—getting to know each other better. So far, Ayriene thought, it had gone well. Sylas had been quiet for the first week or so out of the Aerie. He missed Casian, that was clear enough, although at least the pair had been on good terms when she and Sylas left. Part of it was nerves, she was sure. His confidence was so battered by his recent experiences that he faltered over the simplest tasks. It was only when he realised she meant to teach him, and did not expect him to know everything straight away, that he began to thrive.

  That evening they found a place to make camp. Rain had come and passed, and they found shelter under a rock overhang. Sylas’s skill with the sling brought meat to eat, and a brace of skinned and gutted dheva sizzled and dripped fat as they cooked on a makeshift spit over the fire.

  Ayriene reached behind her and grasped a handful of spongy green vegetation. She grimaced as it squished between her fingers.

  “And this is.?”

  Sylas smiled. Even while he was cooking their dinner his lessons continued, but Ayriene could rarely catch him out. He proved to have a prodigious memory for plants and their uses, and every night he stretched out with Ayriene’s herbal and committed yet more to memory.

  “Imanha moss. Low-growing plant that likes riverbanks and other damp spots.”

  Riverbanks indeed. It was not so long since he had recoiled in horror at a stream a mere pace across, thinking it would be like the poison rain that fell in the desert. The first time he saw Ayriene scoop water up in cupped hands he pulled her away, thinking she was certain to die if she drank it.

  “Usage?”

  “As a poultice for drawing out infection, or as a salve. The salve doesn’t last long, though. You need to make new batches regularly, or it loses its efficacy.”

  “Anything else?”

  He reddened slightly. “As a balm after childbirth if the mother has torn. It helps prevent infection there, too.”

  She chuckled, then caught the laugh back when she saw his crestfallen face. “I’m sorry. I just find it hard to believe that your family lived all together in one room, then came to the Aerie where changers appear naked in front of you when they transform back, and are still so easily embarrassed.”

  “I won’t have to handle a birthing, will I?”

  “Most villages have women who serve as mi
dwives, but in an emergency you should know what needs to be done.” She pulled off a leg of meat and handed it to him. “You did well. You have earned yourself your meat tonight.”

  Not that she would ever have withheld it, if he had not been word perfect on his lesson. The boy was diligent, as Jesely had said. For all his difficulties at writing, which he assured her were because he used his left hand, his reading was adequate and getting better with practice. And like every young man she had ever known, his stomach seemed permanently empty.

  He had grown another finger’s width in the months since they had left the Aerie, but thank the Creator he seemed to have stopped, at least for the time being. If Cowin and Jesely were typical Chesammos he still had some bulking up to do; he did not yet have their breadth of shoulder and depth of chest.

  For a mercy, he did not spend his spare time chasing the girls—or boys—in the villages they passed through. She expected he had found company along the way—girls often smiled encouragement at her good-looking apprentice, and so did some of the young men. But there had been no lasting involvements, and for the time being, that suited her fine. The more attention he paid to his studies, the better the healer he would become, and the sooner he could support himself if necessary.