by J. V. Jones
"Open the shutters," she said to Tawl. "Let me see what my wedding day promises."
Tawl, always so quick to do her bidding, was by the window in an instant. He pulled back the shutters to reveal a beautiful blue sky. Melli came and stood by him. The outside air was warm against her face. The great lake was as smooth as glass. "A perfect day," she murmured. Her hand felt for Tawl's. It was waiting for her.
The door opened and in strode her father. Tawl and Melli quickly pulled apart. Maybor was dressed in full splendor. Wearing the family colors of red and gold, he was bedecked from head to foot in rubies and silk. Even his shoes bore two matching stones. "Melliandra," he said, "you look beautiful. Beautiful."
She, too, wore red. A heavy satin dress of deepest crimson with a fortune's worth of pearls sewn upon the skirt. She had developed an almost superstitious dislike for the color, but she wasn't wearing it for herself. She wore it to honor her father. She stepped forward to meet him. Maybor caught her up in a huge bear hug. His smell was so familiar: expensive fragrances and lobanfern red. She felt like a child again.
Placing Melli down on the floor before him, Maybor said, "I am very proud this day, my daughter."
"Even though I'm not marrying a king?" There was so much more gray in his hair now, thought Melli. How much of it was she responsible for?
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "You have made your own choice, and I'll tell you now: 'tis a better one than I made for you." It was her father's way of saying he was sorry.
"You should have known I would pick no pauper." She forced herself to smile. It was neither the time nor the place for tears.
"I am glad I am here today," said Maybor gently.
Melli nodded. She was glad, too. Her father's presence was a blessing; she drew strength from his nearness. After Catherine's outburst on the night of the wedding announcement, the only thing that had kept Melli sitting at the table was Maybor. He held her hand all night. She had wanted to run away from the accusations and the hostile stares of the court. Yet she couldn't let her father down. The great dignity he demonstrated that night had moved her deeply, and she had been determined to follow his example. People might have left that night shaking their heads over Catherine's behavior, but no one could find fault with Maybor and his daughter.
Melli would cherish the memory of her father's welcome to the end of her days. She had gone through her life thinking that Maybor did not love her, that he cared only for his sons, and that she was nothing but a possession to him. The Feast of First Sowing had shown her how wrong she had been. Oh, she was not stupid; of course he was thrilled that she was marrying the most powerful man in the norththings could not have worked out better from his point of view-but wealth and titles hadn't been on his mind when he leapt up to meet her that night. It had been love that was the strength behind those three mighty leaps. She was sure of it.
"Are you ready, my daughter?" Maybor offered her his arm.
Was it time already? Everything was moving so quickly. Since returning from the hunting lodge, she had hardly had time to catch her breath. Melli looked quickly toward Tawl, and then back to her father. If she were to back out now she would be failing both of them. She took Maybor's arm.
Nessa came back into the room and made the final adjustments to her dress. Melli smiled tenderly at her father, who kept patting her arm as if he still couldn't believe she was real. Tawl hadn't moved from the window. She didn't need to look at him to know that he was watching her.
When Nessa backed away, her task complete, Melli began to walk toward the door. Maybor pulled against her arm, halting her. Slipping his hand into his tunic, he pulled out a diamond and ruby necklace. Melli recognized it straightaway. It was her mother's: a wedding gift from Maybor to his new bride. The rubies were the size of cherries, and diamonds surrounded them like petals round a bud. "I brought it as a gift for Catherine," said Maybor. "But when it came time to give it to her, I found I could not do it. The necklace was always meant for you." With large, red hands that wouldn't stop shaking, Maybor fastened the necklace about Melli's neck.
"Let us go now, daughter," he said, smoothing her hair back in place. Melli nodded, unable to speak. Father and daughter walked toward the door. Somehow Tawl was in front of them now, opening the door, then placing a plain woolen cloak over Melli's shoulders. She caught his eye as she left the room. Perhaps Tawl would not have been disappointed if she had backed out of the wedding, after all.
"Tell me about your family, Jack," Stillfox requested. Jack felt a quick flare of anger at the casual inquiry. He hated people asking about his family. And he hated himself for feeling ashamed. "Why do you need to know anything about my family?" he said. "I would never ask about yours." Stillfox's eyebrows went up. "I didn't ask for curiosity's sake, Jack. I asked because I want to find out more about your powers: where they came from, if you inherited them from your father or mother."
They were sitting in Stillfox's cottage, close to the fire. It was a small place and boasted only two rooms: the kitchen and the storeroom. Every shelf in the kitchen was crowded with jars and baskets containing herbs and spices. Sprigs of thyme and mistletoe hung from the rafters, drying slowly in the heat from the fire. Bowls of mushrooms and toadstools rested on the mantel, their pungent odors telling of various stages of decay. There was rosemary pickled in vinegar and sage pickled in brine. There were so many different plants and spices on show that Jack couldn't even begin to guess at the names of most of them. He might have been brought up in a kitchen, but he had never seen a selection as great as this.
"Do you get your powers from the herbs?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.
Stillfox shook his head. "No, lad. Certain herbs can enhance a man's powers, but they can't give him what he was not born with."
"So sorcery is passed down in the blood?" As Jack spoke he thought of his mother. It had been so long since she was last on his mind.
"Sorcery can come from three sources, Jack. Most commonly it is passed from parent to child, from generation to generation. Mostly, as time goes on, the amount of power lessens over time, so a mother with ability will usually give birth to a child with less power than herself. Of course there are exceptions, and if two people with sorcery in their blood join together and have a child, then that child might have greater ability than both of its parents." Stillfox made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "But nothing is certain."
"The second way a person can receive sorcery's gifts is at the exact moment of conception. On certain rare nights the air becomes heavy with fate and prophesy, and sorcery itself speeds the sending of the seed." The herbalist made a soft clicking sound in the back of his throat. "A child begot at such a time may be powerful indeed."
Without meeting Jack's eyes, he turned to the fire and basted the joint. It was a side of lamb that had been rubbed with mint and pepper. Fragrant cooking smells rose from the hearth like smoke.
Jack barely noticed the smell of the meat. He was trying to recall if his mother had ever done anything in his presence that might have been magical. All his memories brought him was guilt. He had been so careless, never listening, never watching, always taking her for granted. Except toward the end, when it had been too late. No, she had done nothing magical, but could he honestly say he would have noticed if she did?
"What is the third way a man can acquire sorcery?" he asked.
Stillfox was turning the spit. The joint was still browning and drops of fat fell sizzling to the flames. "There are some places where sorcery is in the earth itself. I don't claim to know much about such things-their time has long since passed-but there is one place I know of that still exists. An island where the rock, the soil, and even the sea that surrounds it is held in sorcery's thrall. It's the isle of Larn, where the seers are made."
"I don't know how the land became the way it is. Perhaps it was enchanted by a great sorcerer thousands of years ago, perhaps it has always been that way. I do not know. Its power continues on, though,
that I know for sure." Stillfox's gaze shifted from Jack to the flames. The fat sizzled and flared, sending black smoke up the chimney with the gray.
When Stillfox spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. The country lilt was heavy on his tongue. "I heard a tale about a girl who came from Lam once. Her mother was a servant to the priests. The powers that be on the island have ever been wary of feminine temptations and so only allow women who are disfigured at birth to serve them. Not only do they pay a cheap price for such girls, but they also eliminate the chance of one of their priests going astray. These girls are so horribly misshapen that no man would ever look at them."
"Still one man did. For the girl in the tale was born on the island. Her mother had either been raped or seduced by a priest. The baby girl she gave birth to grew up on Lam. Her developing body acted like a sponge, soaking up the magic of the isle, concentrating it in her blood and her tissue and her bone. Sorcery became part of her very soul."
"The magic of the island is what gives the seers their sight. The great hall of seering is alive with sorcery; it runs through the rock like seams of crystal. It is said to be so powerful that the cavern actually glows with the force of it." Stillfox shook his head slowly. "'Tis a sight I would love to see."
Jack shuddered. He never wanted to see such a place. "What happened to the girl?"
"She made the mistake of feeling pity for the seers. Each man is bound to a stone until the end of his days. They are tied for two reasons. First, to focus their minds, the seers are roped so tightly that they cannot move. All they can do is think and foretell. To escape their physical torment, they retreat to a world of delusion and insanity, and it is from there they catch glimpses of the future."
"Secondly, the very stone they are bound to gives them their power. It becomes theirs and theirs alone. A slice of the island bound to their backs. The sorcery is skin close; it creates the seers, drives them to madness, and then ultimately destroys them. The stone is their womb, their cradle, and their grave."
Hiss. More fat on the fire.
"No wonder the girl felt pity for them." Even though he was chilled to the bone, Jack drew his chair away from the hearth. The smell of cooking meat was making him feel sick.
"The girl would steal into the cavern and tend to the seers. She became friendly with one boy. Newly bound he was, barely old enough to be counted a man. She watched him slowly deteriorate, saw the rope bite against his flesh, saw the bleeding, the sores, the unbearable cramping of muscle. She watched it all with the eyes of a girl in love for the first time. She couldn't bear it. One day she went down to him and saw that the rope was no longer cutting through his flesh: it was part of it. Nestling underneath the skin, blood vessels had started to form around the rope as if it were bone. The sight of it drove the girl wild. She had just reached womanhood and her powers were flourishing with her body. She lost control. Her anger was focused against the stones, the cavern, the priests. The great hall of seering shook with her power."
"Then the priests came for her. She fought against them, kicking and screaming. Toward the end of the struggle, when she was close to being overpowered, she swore a terrible oath that one day she would destroy Larn."
"The priests carried her, bound and bleeding, from the hall, a wad of wet cloth thrust down her throat to stop the sorcerous flow. Barely able to breathe, she passed out. When she came to she found herself in a small, darkened room. The smell of incense in the air told her she was marked for death. It was her mother-a woman so badly deformed that she could use no muscles on the right side of her face, nor lift her right arm-who saved her. With her help the girl was cast adrift on a small boat in the treacherous waters that surround the island."
Jack was sitting very still. He had not moved or blinked the whole time Stillfox was speaking. "What happened to the girl?" he asked.
Stillfox shrugged. "She must have reached dry land, else I would not be here telling her tale. I don't know what became of her, though. It was many, many years ago now. The girl is probably long dead, her oath long forgotten. Larn still exists; as powerful and as deadly as ever."
Abruptly Jack stood up. The herbalist's cottage seemed small and confining. The smell of the lamb was unbearable. "Where are you going?" Stillfox was one step behind him.
"Outside. I need some fresh air."
"No. You might be spotted."
Jack shook his head. He would not be hindered. His need to be alone was so great that nothing else mattered. "I will be careful," he said as he stepped through the door.
The herbalist's cottage was on the outskirts of a small village, the last house on the street before the rye fields. Jack headed over the plowed fields, down toward a distant copse of trees. The air was warm and the sky was blue and the soil beneath his feet was dry. He walked for over an hour, deliberately not thinking, just looking straight ahead.
Eventually Jack reached his destination. Sweating and out of breath, he slipped under the cool shade of the trees. Flies buzzed past his face and birds called softly, warning each other of his presence. He found the perfect tree: an oak old beyond telling, its branches low and heavy, its trunk as wide as three men. Jack sat beneath it, his feet resting upon its huge raised roots, the small of his back upon the bark. He bent forward, bringing his head down toward his knees, and took a deep breath. When he let it out, his emotions came with it.
Tarissa, Melli, the garrison, his mother, and strangely enough, the story of the girl from Larn-it was all too much. He sobbed quietly, thinking of Tarissa kneeling on the ground at his feet, begging him to take her along. As the tears ran down his face, his thoughts turned to the guard who had fallen from the battlements at the garrison, and he remembered how hard the man had struggled to touch him. Then there was his mother, sick and close to death, yet refusing the help of the physicians. He would never understand why.
Crying was a relief. He had been carrying so much inside for so long, trying to be brave. Only he wasn't brave, he was scared--frightened of what the future held. Jack wiped his eyes dry. That the future did hold something for him was a fact he no longer doubted.
He and Kylock were connected in some way. Even the mention of the new king's name was enough to send him reeling. Jack looked toward the deepest part of the wood.
Kylock was evil. Had the vision that had shown him that been designed to shape his fate? Was his purpose to oppose Kylock?
Abruptly Jack stood up. He felt restless, overwhelmed with the desire to be doing something, to take action. Striking a path for the fields, he headed back toward the herbalist's cottage. The sun broke out from behind the clouds the moment he cleared the trees. Its warmth was an unmistakable blessing. Jack walked quickly; he was eager to get started. Stillfox had offered to teach him and it was time to learn all he could.
"And in God's holy presence, with the blessing of our savior, his beloved servant Borc, I hereby command those brought here to witness to step forth with their misgivings."
The archbishop of Bren, a tall man with a high nasal voice, swept the room with his glance. No one moved.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tawl saw Catherine's expression. Hate in its purest, most vivid form was clearly written on her face. The other people gathered for the ceremony did not look especially pleased-except, of course, for Maybor, who was beaming ear to ear like a fisherman with a big catch-yet none of them dared show anything except politely frozen smiles.
Melli and the duke stood side by side at the altar, both facing the archbishop. A gaggle of clergy formed a half-circle around the group of three, prayer books and holy water in their hands. On one side of the church no less than four scribes were scribing, busy scratching away at their parchments, recording every detail of the ceremony. Later, when it was finished, all the witnesses-about twenty in numberwould be asked to sign and date each account. The duke was taking no chances. Neither was Tawl: outside the chapel an entire company of troops was patrolling both entrances. There would be no uninvited guests at this wedding.
In her dress of crimson, with matching rubies sparkling at her throat, Melli looked impossibly regal. Every eye was upon her. Soon she would be a duchess. Later, if the duke had his way, she would be a queen. Tawl found he couldn't listen to the ceremony; the vows and prayers sounded false to his ears. He chose not to explore why, fearing that his thoughts might lead him into disloyalty.
Instead he concentrated on the security arrangements. The greatest danger today was the journey from the chapel to the duke's chamber. Once there the newlyweds should be safe. The duke's chamber was patrolled day and night by two guards. Tawl had increased the number to eight. There was only one entrance, and the fact that it was on a lower level than the actual living quarters made the whole place more secure. He personally had seen to all the food and drink preparation. Even as he sat here, two food tasters were sampling every dish from the wedding feast. At his suggestion, the duke and Melli would eat alone in their chambers, where they would be safe from the hostile intent of Lord Baralis and the court.
Tawl couldn't foresee any problems tonight, but tomorrow, when the whole of the city learned of the marriage, and when the duke and his new bride began to perform official duties in public together, the real problems would start. Protecting Melli would be a nightmare then.
Turning his attention back to the ceremony, Tawl was just in time to hear the archbishop pronounce the couple man and wife. As the duke embraced Melli, a cold chill ran down Tawl's spine. He stood up. He had no desire to look upon the happy couple. While everyone else was busy with congratulations, he made his way to the rear of the chapel. He settled back against a wooden beam and waited until the time came to escort the newlyweds to their chambers.
"From here you go alone," hissed Baralis.
Traff was not pleased. "You said you would show me to the passageway." He did not trust him.