The ambition of my child astonishes me, as does his power. He has heeded my words, that much is certain. It pleases me to know that I have been heard. I have thought of telling him who he is and how he has been betrayed, but I sense that the time is not yet right. A few more months of prison means little after so many years.
Two days later, just before noon, Jon and Leo entered Linde. Leo was an occasional visitor to the town, and the villagers recognized him at a distance as one of the Guardian monks. Since he wanted no one to associate the silver-haired boy with the order, this time Leo traveled disguised as a portly missionary. He fell into his role completely, walking piously ahead of Jon as they entered the town. As for Jon, this was the first time he had ever entered a town, and the people around him were the first strangers, other than Ivar and the girls at the river, that he had ever seen. He clutched his single bundle of clothes tightly to his chest, trying not to gape at the tiny painted cottages, the many different flowers that lined the road, or the people, adults as well as children, who paused in their work to stare openly at the boy and the black-robed man.
Even inside the inn, Leo kept the cowl of his robe over his head. He spoke to Andor in a booming voice suited to his apparent calling, managing to tell everyone that he was on his way to preach to the heathens in G’Henna, then asking if Andor would take his son as a servant until he returned. When Andor agreed, Leo slid a small pile of coins across the bar to pay for the first few weeks of the boy’s keep.
“Will you stay until tomorrow?” Andor asked.
“My work doesn’t allow for such comfort. There are many more hours of daylight. I’d rather travel on,” Leo responded.
“Take care to enter G’Henna before nightfall or you’ll be wasting your words on the hungry beasties instead,” one of the patrons called to him.
“As if he won’t be wasting them later. The bloody priests of G’Henna’ll eat human flesh and souls,” his companion added, with a wicked chuckle.
“They sound like they’re jesting,” Andor said, continuing the ruse. “But they speak truth. I doubt we’ll see you again.”
“I’ve had more than my share of luck before. Still, I wouldn’t take my son. As to money, the coins were all I had,” Leo responded. He pulled his cowl closer around his face and left Jon with only a single farewell.
Jon watched Leo go, then stood inside the door, his hands shaking. He hid them behind his back and kept his body pressed against the wall. Certain that any words he spoke would only make him look foolish, Jon waited silently. At last, Dirca came for him, leading him up the stairs to the tiny room already prepared for him. Its window faced south, and, in the distance, he could see the hills he loved so well. He looked from them to Dirca, who stood in the doorway, an odd, wistful expression on her face. “I’ll bring you something to eat,” she said.
“Is Ivar here?” Jon asked, his nervousness making his voice louder than he intended. They were the first words he’d spoken to anyone since he arrived.
“Ivar? No, he’s with Andor in the winery, overseeing the pressing. He’ll be back tonight. In the meantime, you should rest,” she said. Then she turned and left him, brushing something from her face as she went.
Jon unpacked quickly, placing his clothes in the cupboard. Then, he went downstairs again, meeting Dirca in the kitchen, where she was preparing a tray for him. “I’m not tired,” he said, explaining his presence, and sat at the table. All the time he ate, he sensed Dirca’s watching eyes, but when he looked at her, she fearfully averted her gaze. Perhaps that was how women treated men, he thought, and decided to watch her later in her husband’s presence.
Jon had just finished when the girl he had saved in the forest entered the kitchen through the rear door. Her forearms were stained purple, nearly to the elbows. Her ragged smock was covered with spots of the same color and clearly had been used for this work before. She stopped when she saw him, hiding her arms behind her back.
“I think it’s a beautiful color,” he said, his eyes bright.
She flushed. “They told me you were here,” she said. “But I didn’t think you would be here.”
“Jonathan, this is my niece, Sondra.”
“We’ve met,” he said and smiled at the girl. “Perhaps I might help in the winery?”
“Jon, you’ve already walked a long way this morning,” Dirca said.
“I’m not an invalid,” he replied sharply, then softened his tone. “I’m accustomed to work. I prefer to help.”
“There’s plenty to do,” Sondra said. “You can start by helping me prepare the workers’ lunch.”
The pair carried the food to the winery, where Andor introduced his new servant to the men working the press. The smell of cloudberry juice filled the room, a sweet cloying scent that hinted at the magnificence of the wine to come. As they ate, the men said little, eyeing Jon suspiciously. In a town surrounded by flesh-eating predators, and steeped in stories of shape-shifting monsters, strangers were never trusted. When the workers finished the meal, Jon helped load the berries into the winepress while Sondra stood beneath it, cleaning the skins and seeds from the narrow spout.
Two men poured the pails of juice into vats while Ivar mixed the beet sugar and honey that would sweeten the wine and add to its potency. The men left as soon as the evening bells rang. Ivar, Sondra, and Jon remained until the pressing was done. Afterward, they ate a late dinner in the kitchen.
When they’d finished, Ivar retired, leaving his daughter and Jon alone. The girl could think of little to say to the silver-haired boy. Then, she remembered the sad story of a relative who once lived in Tepest.
“I had an aunt, a beautiful girl I have heard, who lived in Viktal in Tepest,” Sondra began in the settling silence. Jon leaned forward to hear. “When the time came for her to marry, she decided she wanted her own ceremony rather than the group vows taken each spring in Viktal. A week before her wedding day, she vanished. Her betrothed disappeared from his cottage a few days later. No sign was ever found of them. Such things happen often in Viktal and Kellee, but rarely here. My aunt’s parents were mad with grief. One night they also disappeared. It’s believed that they were lured from the inn by the beasties—the goblins—and devoured,” she said.
“Do you believe those creatures are capable of such trickery?” Jonathan asked, trying to allay her fear.
Lifting the lamp, she led him into the drinking hall. There, she pointed with a shaking hand at the repair in the roof. “The beasties entered the inn through there,” she said and told him the story of Mihal.
“Your father has magi—means to deal with those beasts. Don’t you want to learn?” he asked.
“No,” she replied bitterly. “His gift brought only misery to my mother. Because of magic, he was forced to abandon her. He did the best he could for her and left behind a few coins he had changed from copper to gold. But when she tried to spend them, Gundar’s men recognized the sorcery that had created them. They took the coins and everything else of value that we possessed. Then, for revenge on my father, they forbade anyone from helping her. Though I was young, I remember too well how she died. She starved.” Sondra paused then added, “I don’t condemn what Father is, but I couldn’t bear the burden of his power, or his conscience.”
Her sorrow was so deep and lasting, it seemed Jon could feel it inside him. To lighten her thoughts, he lifted a lute from its hanging place beside the dining hall door. “Do people often play?” he asked as he tuned the strings.
“Never. They say that Maeve, the woman who sheltered your mother while she lived here, once used it. Father ordered her to stay away from the inn before I ever came here. Arlette told me they were once friends, but bad blood developed between them—that he cursed her. Maeve in turn has vowed revenge on anyone who dares bring music into The Nocturne. She often sings at the seasonal festivals. I have never heard a lovelier voice.”
“Do you know any songs?”
“A few. I have no voice, though,” she said.
>
“Have you heard this one?” He began a simple melody, singing the familiar, tragic legend of a healer who, driven by pride, placed himself above the gods and gave life to dead flesh. The gods retaliated, destroying everything he loved and leaving him alone, half mad with grief.
The song shifted to an even sadder lament, that of the monster he had created, condemned to live on the edge of humanity, longing forever for the warmth of human love.
Maeve’s voice was beautiful, but it didn’t touch Sondra’s heart as this youth’s did. He sang the first part with exquisite clarity, but the last verses displayed the real emotion behind his song.
When he finished, Sondra blurted, “That’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.” She touched his face with her fingertips, her hand fluttering like a small wild bird against his cheek.
The song had awakened Andor, and he lay beside his sleeping wife listening with his sensitive ears to the beautifully-sung lament of the monster.
When the lightning flashes, I think of the night I was born.
When the storm strikes, the memories return.
When the winds fade, I long for the death that will not claim me.
Andor found himself thinking of those terrible, destructive years before that fateful night when Ivar arrived at the inn, before the wolf’s-head pendants. The cold moonlight leaking through the cracks in the barred shutters roused the beast in Andor—a beast that still thrilled to the exhilarating memories of the old hunts, the magnificent taste of fresh blood.
During the next few days, Ivar and Jonathan worked together in the winery. Jon knew he was being tested and obeyed every order, following instructions without flaw. Finally, on the night the wine was given its final straining and was placed in the aging kegs, Ivar asked the boy to join him in the cave beneath the inn. “And bring your spell book,” he added.
Jonathan, nervously holding the book in both hands, followed the white-haired man down the winding stairs. Neither of them spoke as Ivar motioned the boy to a seat across from him at the cavern’s only table. A half-dozen candles lit the space, and Jon set the book between them. Before Ivar opened it, he ran his fingers over the leather cover Jon had made for it, examined the braided binding. The boy had done much with his meagre supplies. He clearly loved his chosen craft.
The first pages were filled with the intricate directions and incantations even the simplest spells required. Most dealt with fire, a fact that hardly surprised Ivar. “You have so few pages in your book,” Ivar commented. “Did you plan to learn so little?”
“I was afraid …” Jon began, his eyes colored amber from the soft glow of the candle flames.
“Afraid?”
“To seem too ambitious or to ask too much of Leo. Each time I did, he would stop teaching me. I thought that if I agreed to come here, you would be my teacher. I want so much to learn.”
The boy’s voice was even, his eyes glittered, and Ivar wondered if he were about to cry. Though it tore at him to be so harsh with one so talented and to whom he already owed so much, Ivar pressed on. “Did Leo explain why he was reluctant to train you?” he asked without a trace of sympathy in his voice.
“A little. He said that no matter how much I learned, I couldn’t use it without endangering myself and those I cared for.”
“He’s correct. In these lands, the small powers are the easiest to practice. The land twists the great ones to its own evil ends.”
“Then what is the use of learning at all?”
“Part of your training will be discretion. Another part will be knowing when to take a risk. I would use my spells to save an innocent’s life. And, for the risk you took for Sondra, I owe you a great deal.”
“So you will teach me?” The boy sounded hopeful.
Ivar hadn’t trained an apprentice since Leo abruptly left him. The temptation was great even though he expected this boy to show the same abrupt signs of the calling as Leo, so many years before. Perhaps that was his function, Ivar thought. Perhaps the Guardians needed the learning he could provide. If so, he should move the boy forward as quickly as possible. “No one in Linde save Andor and his family knows that this cavern exists. Should you reveal the secret to anyone, I will do far more than stop your lessons. This is the first part of our pact.”
“I promise,” Jon said, his voice rising with expectation.
“Your spellbook will be kept here or hidden in your room. You must show it to no one, give strangers no hint it exists. That’s the second part of our pact.”
This time Jon nodded, afraid to speak.
“Your spells will be learned here. You may practice them only alone here or in my company outside of these walls. But you never use magic alone unless I give you leave, unless you or another innocent will die if you don’t. That is the third part of our pact.”
“I agree.”
“And finally, you must tell no one outside of our family of my power or your own. Swear to all of it.” Jon agreed too quickly, and Ivar spoke sharply, “Swear by your power to do everything I ask.”
“I do,” the boy said. “By my power, I swear it.”
“Good.” Ivar smiled tightly and turned the book to face his pupil. “Now show me what you know. Take whatever time you need to prepare.”
Jonathan scanned his spellbook, then collected the materials he needed for casting. He had never been able to push his powers to their limits before—Leo seemed to fear them. Now, he set to the task with relish. The small fire on the hearth grew brighter. Its color changed from golden to red to deep blue.
Flames few from Jon’s fingertips to light the candles on the table. An ordered breeze extinguished them. The fire in the hearth died. Jon reached for the glowing phosphorus on the table and blew a pinch of it into the wind. Instantly, magical will-o’-the-wisps danced across the darkened floor and flowed into the hearth, starting the fire once more. Jon’s form grew taller, shorter, stooped, and aged. At last, exhausted by his display, he closed his book, dropped his hands to the table and stared at Ivar. A smile of delight played across his lips, a smile that grew when he saw that Ivar’s expression mirrored his own.
The wizard reached across the table and fingered the scar Dominic’s amulet had left on the boy’s cheek. “This is a fire sign. It came to you at your naming. In some places, it would be considered an omen.”
“Of good?” Jon asked.
“Of power. It will be a pleasure to teach you, and perhaps to one day learn from you.”
Later, as Jonathan lay in bed with the promise of many more hours in the cavern, he laughed, muffling the sound with his pillow. He had finally found a teacher who respected him. Now he would learn. Nothing was as important as that.
In the weeks that followed, Ivar and Jon worked in the winery, nursing the vats of purple and amber through the final days of fermentation. At night, they would study together in the cavern. Finally, with the last of the amber wine corked and shipped throughout Tepest and into Nova Vaasa, the deep purple blends sealed in their aging casks, they turned more of their time to Jon’s education.
Jon proved a brilliant apprentice. The speed and accuracy with which the boy memorized simple spells made Ivar certain that his pupil could master more difficult ones almost as easily. Nonetheless, the boy was obsessed with light and fire. Any spell dealing with these held his interest. Others, no matter how well he learned them, did not. Yet, Ivar told himself, the boy had managed to summon the wolves, a difficult spell under ordinary circumstances, nearly impossible given the scarcity of the beasts in these lands.
“Tell me the words you used to bring wolves to my daughter’s aid,” Ivar finally ordered.
Jon hesitated. Ivar sensed that the boy thought of lying, then decided he would be caught. “It wasn’t my doing,” Jon admitted, refusing to meet his master’s eyes. “I’d been wandering the woods when I noticed them trailing me.” He described the wolves and went on. “When I heard the girls run by, screaming, I went to the clearing and saw Sondra. The wolves followed
. I … I spoke to them and they seemed to listen. I honestly don’t know if that was a spell.”
“Sondra said you summoned them.”
“I didn’t tell her that, or deny it, either.”
“Nor did you deny it to me when I questioned you.”
“I knew enough fire spells to destroy the goblins. I would’ve done so had the wolves not attacked first.”
“Do you care for Sondra? Is that why you lied?”
“I’m too young to care for anyone, but when I saw her in the woods, facing those things, I admit …” His voice trailed off uneasily.
“She faces danger well, doesn’t she?”
Jonathan nodded.
“Most of the young men in Tepest are married by the time they’re seventeen. I’d give permission for you to court Sondra, should you choose to ask.”
His pupil grew so flustered that Ivar knew his instinct had been correct. Jon answered, “Not yet.”
A sensible reply, and one that strangely saddened Ivar, for he longed for one of his own blood to teach. It was said that he had obtained his skills because his father possessed them. Ivar had never known the man. Instead his mother had helped him with his first tentative castings.
Ivar stretched and yawned. “I feel weary,” he told the boy, as he prepared to leave. “Go on with your lesson. You’re more than able to manage on your own.”
Jon remained alone in the cavern, working with little determination to magically erase the words on the parchment in front of him. He saw no use for the spell. It wouldn’t protect him, wouldn’t give him knowledge, and seemed to subtract rather than add to his power. He suspected that Ivar had required him to learn it as a sort of discipline. He managed to make the letters fade and decided to continue his training the following evening when his mind was sharper.
Closing his book, he laid it beside Ivar’s thick tomes and scrolls, doused the fire in the hearth, and blew out the candles. He had climbed the winding stairs to the inn so often that he no longer needed to carry a light.
Tapestry of Dark Souls Page 14