by Beach, B. J.
He held out a set of sleek feathered, silver nibbed quills for her to see. As Detelia began to admire them, Vana stood up from the table. “I think now would be a good time for us to have a cup of tea.”
Harrel also stood up, and crossing over to the fireplace, took a pipe out of a rack on the mantelpiece. “Well, I think I’ll have my tea and a pipe of leaf, then I have some deliveries to make. Hopefully they won’t take too long.”
By the time Vana came in with the tea tray, Karryl and Detelia were engaged in animated conversation, interspersed with exclamations and laughter. Vana smiled at Karryl as she poured the tea, happy that her nephew was having such an enjoyable birthday. Half an hour later, Detelia donned her pale grey cloak, shouldered her bag, then after clasping each one’s hands warmly in turn, took her leave. Karryl stood in the open doorway and watched her, smiling broadly as she turned to wave before disappearing round the bend in the path. Already deep in thought, he closed the door, his fingers tracing the outline of the curious pendant beneath his tunic.
The remainder of the day passed quietly, until his younger cousin Marcus came clattering in from school. For a few tense moments the two stood warily eyeing each other, assessing the changes each had undergone in eight years. Then they both grinned.
Tension dispelled, Marcus dashed forward to reach out and tousle his elder cousin’s dark hair. “Happy birthday Kal. I’ve got a present here for you somewhere. I’ll go and get it.”
He was almost out of the room when heavy footsteps rang on the flagstones of the yard. Marcus turned and grinned widely at Karryl.”I’ll bet that’s Harrel.”
His guess was confirmed as the door opened. Comfortable and relaxed in his drayman’s clothes, Harrel strode into the room, closely followed by a slightly built, blond haired boy of about Karryl’s age. Peering round Harrel’s elbow, the boy’s blue eyes met Karryl’s dark ones. There was no hesitation.
With spontaneous cries of “Joel!” and “Karryl!” the two friends fell on each other, backslapping and laughing, while Marcus and Harrel laughed with them for the sheer joy of it.
First to break the clinch, Karryl held Joel at arm’s length and looked him up and down. “How did you know? That I was here I mean.”
Glancing up at Harrel, Joel’s face reddened slightly. “I’m not allowed to say.”
Already suspecting Symon may have had a hand in it, Karryl shrugged as he gave his friend a reassuring smile. “No matter. It’s terrific to see you again.”
Joel’s shoulders drooped a little. “And you, Kal. I’m sorry, I haven’t got you a present, but happy birthday anyway.”
Feeling the full weight of his seventeen years, Karryl placed a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “You’ve brought yourself, Joel. That’s good enough for me.”
* * *
Considering it was over eight years since Vana had washed her hands of Karryl, she now felt under some kind of obligation to make a supreme effort to make him feel welcome and wanted. Many sleepless nights had been spent regretting the way she had handled the situation that afternoon. Even though she had discovered later she would have been able to get help for herself and the child, her long hours searching the streets and calling frequently at friends’ houses, had proven fruitless. She never saw him again until her visit to Symon’s tower.
The shame of discovering from Symon that Karryl had been running with the street-boys, had been almost more than she could bear. After a long discussion with Harrel, they had agreed it should never again be mentioned, and that Marcus would not even be told. She had her doubts about that. Karryl would more than likely talk about it sooner or later. As she busied herself in the kitchen she glanced out frequently at the three boys, squashed companionably together on the window seat.
They sat talking and laughing, and Joel was all ears when he heard about the location of the stream. “We could go there in the Summer! It might be good fishing.”
Karryl shook his head. “I already thought of that, but somehow I don’t think Master Symon would be very pleased if I went down there again.”
It was now getting too dark to see properly, so the boys went to join Harrel beside the fire. Lamps were lit and, assisted by Marcus, Vana began setting out a birthday spread on the table. Karryl hadn’t realised how hungry he was. When they all sat down to eat, he set to with enthusiasm, his gaze frequently drifting to the large cake decorated with nuts and cherries, which graced the centre of the table.
He was about to bite into a savoury pastry when Vana spoke. “I’m surprised you didn’t invite Master Symon.”
Karryl put the pastry back on his plate. “I did, and he said he would have come only there’s a banquet at the palace tonight, and I sort of got the impression that he had to attend.”
“Ooh!” exclaimed Marcus, who was sitting next to him “I’d love to go to a banquet!”
Karryl gave him a playful nudge, then answered him in mock seriousness. “When you’re a handsome Master of Horse perhaps you’ll be invited to one.”
Vana looked up sharply and scowled at her son. Marcus’s ambition to be Master of Horse in the Palace Guard did not sit well with her, and she went to great lengths to avoid the topic. However, Karryl would not allow his spirits to be dampened and he bit into his pastry, pretending not to notice.
There remained very little to be cleared away afterwards, and everyone agreed that it was an excellent spread. Karryl made sure a piece of the rich fruit cake was saved to take back for Symon, and as he climbed into bed much later that evening, he felt a warm glow of satisfaction. It had been a good day, probably his best birthday ever. Snuggled into the bedclothes he quickly fell asleep, thinking of banquets and magic pendants.
CHAPTER TWENTYNINE
While Karryl was away, Symon decided to deal with the matter which had been at the back of his mind since the day of the accident. During the banquet at the palace he had taken the opportunity to have a few quiet words with King Vailin. The young monarch had agreed that the matter should be resolved as soon as possible, giving his magician carte blanche to handle it in the way he thought best. Now, as he entered the shop of the Scribes’ Guild, Symon wondered if the Scrollmaster would react favourably to the legal requirements which were about to become part of his life.
The jingling of the bell above the door had just about faded away when a young man wearing a plain pale blue robe and cap, entered from the side door.
He moved to stand in front of Symon. Palms flat together, he made a respectful bow. “Good day to you sir. How may I help you?”
Symon returned the greeting, recognising by the colour of the narrow sash he wore over the shoulder of his robe, that this young man was one of those who would be shortly taking his journeyman examinations. “Is Scrollmaster Andir available? There are certain matters that I wish to discuss with him.”
The student looked thoughtful for a moment then his face brightened. “Ah! Yes. The Scrollmaster has a class of novices in the Guild Workshops but I can take over for him. I will inform him of your arrival. Who shall I say wishes to see him?”
Symon produced a small white card emblazoned with the Royal crest and handed it to the young man. “I’m sure he will recognise this.”
Taking the card, the student brought forward a chair for Symon, then quickly left through the side door.
A few minutes later and looking slightly harassed, Andir entered through the same door and thrust out a hand in greeting. “Master Symon! I’ve been meaning to come and see you, but with preparing the students for their examinations, and a class of novices that started this term, I just never seemed to find the time.”
The magician smiled and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I quite understand. However, I’m afraid the matter cannot remain unresolved any longer and there are certain things we absolutely must discuss. Do you have someone free to mind the shop?”
Andir hurried out, returning a few minutes later with another young man attired in pale blue. After giving him some brief
instructions, the Scrollmaster ushered Symon through the side door. Leading him down a short passageway he opened a door into a cosy sitting room where a log fire popped and crackled merrily. Two tastefully upholstered easy chairs flanked the hearth. Settling Symon in one of these, Andir poured two glasses of a deep red wine.
Handing one to his old friend, he settled himself in the chair opposite. “I must admit I have not been looking forward to this moment. After what you said on the day of Karryl’s accident, I have given the matter a considerable amount of thought. I must admit I’m almost dreading what you are going to tell me.”
Symon took an appreciative sip of his wine before replying. “Well, it’s quite simple really. All we have to do is establish whether or not you are a gifted seer. The warning you had about Karryl may just have been a one time premonition brought about by extreme circumstances.”
Andir wrung his long bony hands and looked positively shamefaced. “No. Loath as I am to admit it, I’m afraid you’re wrong. It’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember, and there have been times when it has caused me no small amount of distress.” He leaned forward and looked earnestly into Symon’s face. “I do ask you to believe that I was unaware that this curse, which you call a gift, was governed by any law. I know you will probably say ignorance of the law is no defence but I think my greatest crime is not having acted on these forebodings. Perhaps if I had, some things may have turned out differently. In my ignorance I decided nothing I said or did would change anything.”
Symon placed his wineglass on the hearth, leaned back in his chair and regarded the distressed Scrollmaster over steepled fingers. “That is where you are wrong. These ‘forebodings’ as you call them are only indicators of possibilities. It is only when they are reinforced by prophecy that no action can be taken to alter the outcome.
“What already is can sometimes be altered to a certain extent, and future events can certainly be changed if the appropriate action is taken. I must admit my old friend, that I am somewhat surprised at your naiveté. I’m also disappointed that you did not trust me sufficiently to confide in me. How many years have we known each other?”
Andir seemed close to tears and, reaching for his glass of wine, took a large gulp. His voice barely rose above a whisper. “I’m so sorry. The histories are littered with incidents of seers being stoned or put to death, and I took it all to heart.”
Symon’s response was an unsympathetic snort. “The histories? Peppered with the unfortunate consequences of ancient superstitions! Surely you must have realised that we are living in a time of equality and acceptance, where any magical ability is encouraged and nurtured, even covered by legal statutes to prevent misuse.
“Do you know what happens to those who refuse to come under the umbrella of the law? They are banished. There are places in the world where there is nothing but ruin and anarchy simply because no form of control or supervision has been placed over their magicians and wilders. The general population lives in a state of constant fear. Some of their magicians are very powerful and unscrupulous. That is not the kind of life to which you or I wish to be subjected.”
Andir shook his head. “What can I do? I can’t turn back time.”
Symon studied the Scrollmaster for a long moment. “Perhaps not, but your gift, or curse if you prefer, must be acknowledged in the law of the land, and any further seeings you have must be reported and duly recorded.”
To Andir’s amazement Symon started to chuckle. “Wouldn’t it be something if the Official Recorder turns out to be an ex-student of yours?”
Andir groaned and forced a weak little smile. “Please. That doesn’t bear thinking about.” His brow furrowing he looked intently at Symon. “So what do I do now? Am I to be banished for my failings?”
Symon picked up his glass from the hearth and sipped his wine while he thought things over. He knew there was no way he could allow Andir to remain unpenalised for his failings, human though they were. Once the Scrollmaster was registered as a Seer his past would be questioned. If Symon had been seen to turn a blind eye, then his own credibility would also suffer.
The little magician leaned forward. “I have an idea. I will put your case to the Council of Magicians and request a pardon. They will probably call for a hearing. If we can show them no harm has been done, and no actual crime committed then you will be formally registered as a Seer, with no stain on your character. However, before that happens you must make a provisional registration, in case you have any seeings while we’re waiting for the hearing.”
Andir leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his long face. “That’s not very likely. I only have one or two in a year, and sometimes they’re not very clear. There have been times when I didn’t understand them at all.”
Symon raised an admonishing finger. “Well, if you’d done things the proper way you would have been able to discuss it with those who have more experience and they could have guided you. Now, there is no more time to lose. Are you comfortable about leaving your student in charge of the shop for a couple of hours?”
It was a very subdued and thoughtful Scrollmaster who accompanied the Royal Magician to the office of the Guild of Magicians at City Hall.
CHAPTER THIRTY
After his long weekend, during which he was fussed over and generally pampered by his friends and family, Karryl returned to the tower more or less his usual self, although something his best friend Joel had told him was sitting uncomfortably in the back of his mind. He decided to let it sit there for a while, until an opportunity presented itself and he could bring it out into the open.
His experience at the stream seemed to have done him no lasting harm, and he soon settled back into his routine of studies. The interrupted search for the book of Ingalian history was resumed, much to Karryl’s amusement, because he had no recollection of ever having read such a book. “If I was quoting from it while I was asleep, then it must be in my memory somewhere, mustn’t it?”
Symon looked down from the top of the stepladder he had climbed to reach the highest shelf, stuffed with scrolls in hard leather cases and dark bound, serious looking tomes. “I don’t know why I’m looking up here. Have you ever read anything from this shelf? You’d have had to get the ladder to reach, even though you’re already inches taller than me.”
Karryl grinned. “Yes. I have dipped into one or two of them, but I hitched them down with the broom handle. At the time, I didn’t know you had a ladder.”
Symon frowned and tutted. “I don’t suppose you’d recognise which ones they were would you?”
Karryl slowly shook his head. “No. Sorry. Shall I come up and look? It might jog my memory if I saw them close to.”
Symon gave him a long look. “I think it would be advisable if you kept your feet firmly on the floor my lad. Perhaps when you’ve learned the art of levitation I shall feel more comfortable about you being above ground level.”
Karryl gave the little magician a mischievous grin. “Why are you using a ladder then?”
Symon gave a deep sigh, and came slowly down the steps to stand in front of his still grinning apprentice. With an air of infinite patience and long suffering, he looked up into Karryl’s face. “I am using the ladder because the levitation spell requires a considerable amount of concentration. As it is quite some time since I last used it I doubt whether I could maintain the spell and search for books at the same time. I have no great desire to emulate the exploits of a certain young gentleman I could mention.”
Karryl threw his head back and roared with laughter. Symon inclined his head as was his way, and tried in vain to keep a straight face. Karryl’s infectious laugh soon overcame his determination, and throwing up his hands in mock despair Symon scuttled off, chuckling, to the kitchen.
Later that evening, the two of them were sitting in their fireside armchairs reading, their feet stretched out to benefit from the cheery blaze. Outside the snow was falling again, thickly and steadily, covering everything in a so
ft white muffler as if preparing for the Winter Festival. The sound of the logs cracking and popping in the fireplace lent the evening an air of comfort and security. Symon puffed contentedly on his pipe, occasionally stealing a glance at his young apprentice who, although ostensibly reading, seemed to be turning the pages of his book rather more quickly than usual.
Symon was curious. “What are you reading?”
Karryl replied without looking up. “A Comparison of the Four Disciplines. I think I must have read it before because it seems very familiar.
Closing the book he rested it on his lap, then looked at Symon. “It’s almost as if I know it off by heart.”
Symon patted his palms together. “Well, let’s see if you do.”
For the next hour Symon questioned his young apprentice on the contents of the book. As Symon did know the book off by heart, the questioning became gradually more rapid and intensive. Karryl answered each of Symon’s questions faultlessly and without hesitation, his eyes beginning to shine as he revelled in his grasp of the more complex facets of the subject. Although he was impressed, Symon deliberately kept his expression neutral as he stood and went over to a bookshelf.
Taking down a large volume bound in dark brown leather, he handed it to Karryl. “I noticed you reading this a while ago. ‘Portal’s History of the Postwar Coalition between Teloria and Ingalia.’ An unusual choice. Did you find it interesting?”
Frowning slightly, Karryl turned a few of the pages, stopping to read a paragraph here and there as if refreshing his memory. “Ah! Yes. I remember it now. Some of it was very interesting. I liked the part where he described the tremendous spells they used to restore the disturbed weather patterns, and the battles that were fought in the jungles of Ingalia. Oh yes, and how they brought those hundreds of refugees down from the mountains after that massive quake. That was good! The politics was a bit heavy though.”
Sitting back in his chair he stared dreamily into the middle distance for a few moments, before turning a wistful gaze on Symon. “I’d love to be able to cast that spell where they put a shield round everyone, so they wouldn’t freeze in the mountains after their homes collapsed.” He gave an assertive nod. “I think helpful spells are the best.”