by Beach, B. J.
After many minutes of wordless contemplation, Karryl murmured “It’s such a pity to remove them.”
Inclining his head, Symon regarded his young protégé. “We don’t have to you know. If you still want to go into the garden we can go in from the other side.”
Karryl’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. “You never said there was an ‘other side’!”
Symon chuckled. Beckoning him to follow, he led the way further along the snow sprinkled pathway, and around a large stand of dark foliaged conifers. This area was rather more open, and the tips of the lowest branches, weighed down by domes and plates of pristine snowfall, had brushed blue shadowed grooves in the layer beneath. Behind, and slightly to the left of the trees, stood a tall hedge of copper beech, its desiccated russet leaves clinging tenaciously to densely clustered twigs and tangled branches. The conifers had afforded the hedge a modicum of shelter, and the complex pattern of tiny delicate footprints in the thin covering of snow at its foot yielded tell-tale evidence of foraging birds and small rodents. Symon instantly provided Karryl with an impromptu lesson in the recognition of wild-life footprints and the two proceeded side by side, bent almost double as they examined the lines of tiny marks.
Reaching the end of the hedge, Symon straightened up, rubbed his knees vigorously then shook snow off the hem of his brown woollen robe. “Would you like to remove the spell of concealment, bearing in mind that one row of holly trees is probably sufficient for our seasonal needs?”
Karryl gave him a side-long glance and frowned. “It is the hedge?”
Symon gave a brief nod, and prudently took a pace backward as Karryl began the spell. To the magician’s great surprise and satisfaction, the spell was uttered and pronounced perfectly. The beech hedge melted away with barely a shimmer.
Symon stepped round the end of the tool-shed and into the garden. “Have you been practicing?”
Karryl shook his head and thrust his chilled hands into the pockets of his coat. “No. I haven’t tried it at all since the holly trees, but I could still remember it quite clearly. And I did think about what you said about the request to the spirit of natural things.”
Symon patted his palms together. “Good, good. We’ll make a magician of you yet.”
Karryl grinned, blissfully unaware of how profound a prophecy this was to turn out to be.
They pottered about in the rather desolate looking garden for half an hour. At the base of a gnarled old tree, Karryl found half a dozen small red apples, barely concealed by a covering of soft powdery snow. Gathering them up, he took them over to Symon. The magician was using a short stick to swish a rather more heavy covering off some sprout tops, their bare stems poking up forlornly at one end of the vegetable patch.
Hearing Karryl crunch up beside him he pointed at the sprout plants with his stick. “We can use these if you’ll fetch me a knife from the shed.” He turned round and saw the apples. “Ah! And those too!” He took one and rubbed it gently round between his palms before giving it an appreciative sniff. “They may be a tad soft but they’ll be lovely and sweet.”
They foraged a little longer. Although the open ground was under a fairly deep covering of snow, the soil beneath remained workable, and they came away from the secluded garden with a worthwhile haul of carrots, parsnips and sprout tops, carried, of necessity, in an old iron-hooped wooden bucket.
Karryl stuffed the apples into his pockets. Deftly casting the spell of concealment, he watched with undisguised pleasure as the hedge materialised before them. Beginning to feel decidedly chilled, magician and apprentice hurried back to the warmth of Symon’s tower. After removing their coats, Karryl livened the fire while Symon disappeared into his tiny kitchen to brew tea, and prepare lunch and a casserole for their evening meal.
CHAPTER TWENTYSEVEN
In anticipation of his upcoming long weekend, Karryl spent the best part of the remainder of the day tidying his room and sorting out what he needed to take with him. When he had finished he joined Symon by the fire, and they settled down to read. It wasn’t long before Symon noticed his young apprentice dozing off, his head drooping forward, the book slipping from his relaxed fingers to slide quietly down his out-stretched legs. The magician sat quietly, puffing at his pipe as he studied the sleeping boy. He would be seventeen tomorrow but anyone could be forgiven for thinking he was older. He had matured considerably in the short time he had been apprenticed, Symon mused, and he thought that the time was ripe to start putting theories into practice and for giving him a little more responsibility. Although he had not admitted it to Karryl, Symon was impressed by the calm fluid way in which the spells on the garden hedge had been cast, and he began mentally to devise a course of practical studies, starting with spells which, although considered far simpler than the one he had dealt with so easily this morning, were still deemed the basic essentials of the magician’s craft.
Karryl woke with a start and a grunt. With a sheepish grin at Symon, he reached down to retrieve his book which had slithered down to rest on his ankles.
Symon pushed himself up out of his chair and patted his palms together. “I think we’ll have supper now, and then I think it would be a good idea if you had an early night. You’ve more than likely got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow.”
* * *
The pale winter light insinuating itself through half drawn curtains nudged Karryl gently into wakefulness. He stretched, yawned, and easing his feet over the edge of the bed, felt around with his toes for his slippers. Pulling the curtains fully open, he peered down onto the small clearing and the cluster of woodland margin shrubs which comprised his view. No more snow had fallen during the night. The steady drip, drip, drip from leaves and branches spoke of a thaw, as it eroded dark holes in the layer of previously unsullied snow.
After washing his face in the chilly water from the jug beside his bed he dressed quickly, before putting a few last minute items into his bag. Leaving it on the end of his bed, he went into the living room intending to help Symon with breakfast. The fire was already crackling merrily and he could hear Symon bustling about in the kitchen, humming a lively tune.
Karryl poked his head round the door, to have his nostrils assailed by the appetising aroma of frying sausages. “‘Morning. I see the snow’s melting.”
Symon looked up, his grey eyes twinkling. “Yes, indeed it is. It promises to be a fine day, so your little journey won’t be so uncomfortable. Now, if you’ll lay the table, breakfast is almost ready.”
When they had finished, Symon stood up from the table and crossed over to a small cupboard set high on the wall. Karryl gave a slight frown. It was the same cupboard Symon had used during his first visit here, and he was surprised he had not noticed it since. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as the magician stood on tiptoes, stretched up and retrieved something from the back of it.
Standing by the table, he held out a small dark blue velvet bag closed at the neck with a matching cord. “Happy Birthday Karryl.”
He struggled to stand up in order to take the proffered gift respectfully but Symon motioned him to remain seated. His face flushed with embarrassment, Karryl slipped back down onto his chair and held out his hands for Symon to place the long narrow bag across his palms.
His fingers closed around it, and for a moment he savoured the luxurious softness of the velvet. “Th…thank you. I…er…shall I open it now?”
Symon raised an eyebrow as the corners of his mouth twitched. “Well, you’ll never find out what it is if you don’t.”
Gently, Karryl pulled the cord. As the neck of the bag fell open he reached inside and slowly withdrew an intricately carved rectangular wooden box. Secured with a small bronze clasp, the flat lid was inlaid from end to end with a simple repeating design worked in pieces of iridescent green shell. Placing the box on the table Karryl carefully unfastened it with forefinger and thumb and lifted the lid. Matching the velvet of the bag, a piece of dark blue silk tantalisingly concealed the c
ontents. With bated breath he folded back the silk covering.
As he saw what lay beneath, his hand went to his mouth and he looked up at Symon with sparkling eyes.”It’s the Naborian quill-knife from the Guild Shop! The one I was telling you about! Thank you!”
Symon inclined his head in acknowledgement and stood quietly watching, an indulgent smile on his round face. Lifting the knife from its box, Karryl laid it lengthways down the palm of his hand. With one finger he stroked the tiny semi-precious jewels which were set into the ivory handle, tilting his hand so they caught the light and refracted tiny dots of colour onto his skin. He turned the knife over and his heart gave a little jump as he saw, engraved into the handle’s slightly rounded reverse, the letter ‘K’ exquisitely worked in archaic style. A question written in his wide eyes, he looked up at Symon again.
Before he could voice it, Symon volunteered. “I added your initial. It helped to occupy my mind, and my hands, during the long hours waiting for you to wake up.”
Karryl could think of nothing to say but “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Gently he moved a finger over his initial then tentatively stroked the sharp shining blade, before placing the knife, which he had once despaired of ever being able to own, back into its velvet lined form within the box. Almost reverently he folded its silk covering back over it and closed the lid. He then fastened the clasp before smoothing his hand over the decorated and polished wood.
His brow furrowed as he slid the box into its velvet bag and drew the cord. “Master Symon. Er…did you notice anything unusual about the knife?”
Symon’s eyes twinkled, pleased that Karryl had detected it. “I believe it has been magically enhanced, although it is not very powerful. It may be that the blade will never rust or will remain perpetually sharpened. You’ll have to wait and see.”
Satisfied, Karryl nodded and stood up from the table. “I’ll go and put it in with my things. I’m sure Aunt Vana and Harrel would like to see it.” He hugged it close to his chest in a pantomime gesture. “I promise I won’t lose it!”
Symon gave a hearty chuckle, pleased that Karryl was pleased. “You’d better be quick about it or your uncle will be going without you. Time is wearing on.”
* * *
They arrived at the gate just in time to see Harrel’s dray, the heavy draught horse plodding steadily towards them up the long hill. Polished brasses on the harness glinted in the morning sunlight, and collar bells jingled as broad hooves clopped out a steady rhythm. Iron shod wheels clattered and rumbled over the cobbled surface until, in a great crescendo of metal on stone, Harrel guided the horse into a sweeping turn and reined in alongside them, pulling on the huge wooden brake.
He looped the reins over the front rail and jumped down. “‘Morning Master Symon. ‘Morning Karryl. Happy Birthday!”
The broad shouldered drayman gave his new nephew a hefty pat on the back then scooped up his bag and swung it into the dray while Karryl regained his balance. “Thank you Uncle. Any more greetings like that and I might not survive the rest of the day.”
Letting out a great barking laugh, Harrel seized Karryl round the waist and hoisted him bodily onto the seat of the dray.
Symon stepped forward and looked up at him.” I almost forgot. Another birthday surprise should turn up sometime today.”
Karryl’s eyes widened but before he could say anything, Symon raised his hand. “Have a good weekend. You may not be fully recovered so take things easy, and I will see you in three days time.”
Karryl nodded and grinned down at his white haired mentor. “Thank you, S… er …Master Symon. And thank you once again for the present.”
Symon nodded, then stepped back to stand beside the gate as Harrel climbed on to the dray. With a click of his tongue and a flick of the reins, he turned the big gentle horse homeward.
CHAPTER TWENTYEIGHT
Karryl was busy unwrapping his present from Harrel and Vana when he heard someone tapping lightly on the door. A slight pause followed the clatter of the latch.
Karryl heard Vana’s voice raised in welcome. “Oh! Hello! Please come in! I didn’t recognise you for a moment!”
A soft female voice replied “Thank you.”
As Vana stood to one side to admit their visitor, Harrel and Karryl scrambled to their feet, Karryl nearly knocking over his chair in his haste.
A tall slender young woman, with the most amazing eyes Karryl had ever seen, walked slowly and sedately into the room. She wore a short hooded cloak of fine pale grey wool, and slung over one shoulder she carried a large, soft leather bag.
Placing this on the table she looked directly at Karryl as Vana introduced her. “Karryl, this young lady is the one who came to tell us where you were and about your accident. She’s from the palace.” Vana turned to the young woman. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I never learned your name.”
Their visitor smiled and raised a hand as if it was of no consequence. Still looking at Karryl, she pushed back the hood of her cloak. A mass of almost luminous, light silver grey hair tumbled over her shoulders.
Her voice was warm and light. “My name is Detelia. When I am at the palace I am pleased to be one of His Majesty’s most trusted messengers.”
Somewhat mystified, Karryl gazed at her. Something about her struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. Now her presence seemed to fill the room, surrounding them with a light delicate perfume reminiscent of honeysuckle and spring blossoms. Detelia held out her slender hand. After some hesitation Karryl took it, feeling suddenly awkward and ungainly under her amethyst gaze. His voice caught in his throat, not only because she was such a striking woman but also, as her hand touched his, Karryl was certain he detected the slightest tell-tale prickling of his skin.
She gave him a knowing smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Stepping back, she turned to Vana and indicated a chair.”May I sit down?”
“Yes, of course. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Detelia smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, but not just now. First, I would like you both to see what I have brought for Karryl.”
Sitting down in the chair next to him, she turned her large jewel-like eyes on him and gave him a girlish grin, totally dispelling her previous air of serene mystery.
Her bright eyes held him in a steady gaze as she reached into her bag. “Happy Birthday. I should have said that first, because I have brought you a gift.”
A small, soft, dark red leather pouch was retrieved from the depths of the bag and placed on the table in front of Karryl. He reached out and pressed it gently with his fingers, a puzzled expression on his face. Tentatively he picked it up.
Hefting the pouch in his hand, his eyebrows rose in surprise. “It feels heavy. What is it?”
Detelia gave a little sigh. “Why not open it and see?”
His curiosity burning, Karryl loosened the narrow leather drawstring. Resting one hand palm upwards on the table, he gently shook out the contents of the pouch into it.
He stared. “Jewellery? I’ve never had any kind of jewellery before.”
Detelia smiled. “This is a very special piece of jewellery.”
Reaching out, she lifted the piece by its heavy silver chain. Suspended from her fingers, it swung gently, catching the wintry sunlight.
Karryl studied it closely. Narrow flat strands of silver had been interwoven into an apparently simple, spherical lattice-work cage, yet not so closely worked as to completely conceal something suspended inside. Karryl leaned forward, trying to see what the pendant contained. As he drew closer, the fine silver lattice-work seemed to shimmer and shift, obscuring his view. He held out his hand and Detelia lowered the pendant into it.
Once again he was surprised by its weight. “Is it whatever’s inside it that makes it so heavy?”
Detelia rested her chin on the back of her linked fingers. “It is made of the very purest silver. Beneath the top layer of lattice-work is another layer which matches it exactly, so only one
layer is ever visible. That, and the chain, account for its weight. As to what it contains, I am not at liberty to tell you.”
Slowly, Karryl closed his fingers round it. “Does it have magical properties?”
Detelia gave him another knowing look. “The item certainly is imbued with unique properties, and is very rare. However, I am instructed to tell you that those properties will not become apparent until the time is right for them to do so, and that will be in a time of greatest need.”
Karryl opened his hand and gazed steadily at the latticework ball, vainly trying to make out what was inside. “Does that mean I’m in some kind of danger then?”
Noting the look of consternation on the faces of Harrell and Vana, she gave them a gentle smile, as if to lighten the moment. “There is no need to worry unduly. It was felt that he should have the item sooner rather than later. I have touched only briefly on its unique properties, and he has plenty of time to become accustomed to wearing it.”
Karryl grinned. “In that case I might as well start now. If it’s got magical properties it might want to get to know me.”
Detelia gave him a long look but did not reply. Holding up the pendant by its rope-twist chain, Karryl slipped it over his thick dark hair. The silver ball dropped down inside his tunic, to nestle against the centre of his breastbone.
He looked wide-eyed at Detelia. “There’s no weight at all now I’m wearing it!”
The royal messenger’s amethyst eyes sparkled. “Maybe you’ll forget it’s even there. Now, perhaps you would like to show me your other presents?”
Karryl gave her a broad grin. “Oh! Yes, of course.” Leaning across the table, he quickly opened a roll of soft kid-skin. “These are what aunt Vana and Harrel gave me.”