Song of the Shiver Barrens

by Glenda Larke

  Garis looked disbelieving. ‘Korden would do that?’

  ‘Either that, or have me ban him from this pavilion for the rest of his life. If he wants me to listen to his advice in the future, he has to offer this concession. Above all, Korden needs to feel empowered. Being my adviser in the past has given him that.’

  Garis was dubious. ‘Still—’

  ‘The Kordens did not come out of this whole affair well,’ Jahan said. ‘Firgan came across as self-serving.’

  Jessah nodded. ‘Arrant himself changed the way people felt. Apparently he was magnificent. You would have been so proud of him, Temel.’

  ‘I am.’ He shook his head in distress. ‘There should have been another way out. There should have been something. Korden should have counselled Arrant to wait. He was my closest friend once; but now—now my closest friends are right here, in this room.’

  Samia ignored the pleased embarrassment of her elders that skipped around the room, and changed the subject. ‘Why did Firgan want Arrant and Lesgath to think the sword Lesgath had held was Arrant’s when it wasn’t?’

  They all turned to look at her. Temellin frowned. ‘I’ve been wondering that too. The only explanation that makes any sense is that he wanted Lesgath to feel secure enough to goad Arrant—without him actually being secure. He wanted Arrant to kill him.’

  ‘That’s daft,’ Samia said.

  Garis glared at her. ‘Don’t be rude, Sam.’

  ‘No, she’s right,’ Temellin said. ‘It is daft. Arrant would never have used his sword against Lesgath. He knew any power that hit that youth would just come straight back at him! And if it was lethal, then Arrant would die, not Lesgath. Arrant’s not an idiot, so why would Firgan think he was? There’s something we still don’t understand about this.’

  ‘Arrant thought it was his fault,’ Samia said. A tear ran down her cheek. ‘That’s why he allowed Korden to cut his cabochon. He didn’t want to hurt people any more.’ She bit her lip, trying not to cry. ‘That’s about the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of.’

  ‘I think you are right,’ Temellin said softly. ‘It was very brave.’

  Later that evening, in the quiet of the apartment they had been given in the pavilion, Samia brought up the same topic with Garis. ‘There’s something missing,’ she said. ‘Arrant couldn’t call up his power at will, it’s true, but only once—when he was nine—did he actually lose control to the extent of hurting anyone. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Firgan couldn’t have thought that Arrant was likely to lose control again. So what was he planning? It just doesn’t make sense, Papa!’

  ‘Things often don’t,’ he pointed out.

  She glowered at him. ‘Be serious!’

  ‘I am. Possibly Firgan’s plan was never carried out. He might have schemed to do something on the day of the test. Perhaps Arrant losing control had nothing to do with Firgan’s plan. It was just a tragedy. That’s evidently what Arrant thought—otherwise he would never have allowed Korden to do this to him.’

  ‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘Sweetheart, there are some things you can’t fix, you know. And sometimes stirring things up can make matters worse.’

  ‘I don’t see how things could be worse,’ she grumbled. ‘Papa, what will happen now? I mean, Arrant…’ She went to put her arms around her father and lean her head on his chest, as if she was a child once more, and a hug could take away the worry. ‘What will he do? He—he’s not a Magor any more. When I took his hand, there was this horrible emptiness. It was like he was missing part of himself. As if his essensa was gone.’

  She shivered in his arms. Her horror tendrilled around him, telling him more than he wanted to know. He wanted to protect her, shield her from all the grief that crouched in waiting in her life. He took a deep breath. ‘I won’t hide the truth from you, Sam. During the war, the Tyranians did this often, especially in the early years. They knew it devastated a Magor, so they did it a lot. They broke cabochons, and turned Magor into slaves, forcing them into the worst sort of work. Most of them killed themselves within weeks of losing their power.’

  The anguish of realisation widened her eyes. ‘You think you’re going to have to guard him from—from himself?’

  ‘I might, yes.’

  She shook her head. ‘Arrant won’t kill himself,’ she said with certainty. ‘He has courage to match any warrior, anywhere.’

  ‘He will need more than battle courage,’ Garis said.

  Tarran? Are you there?

  No answer. He had the idea that he had been calling his brother in his sleep. For hours. Without answer. Wearily he opened his eyes, knowing the reality waiting for him contained more pain than he knew how to handle.

  The first person he saw was Temellin, and he was alone. ‘Papa,’ he said. Temellin’s hand groped for his. Their two cabochons clinked against each other, an empty sound. Temellin’s grip tightened.

  Arrant said, stumbling after the right words, ‘Being non-Magor—it doesn’t matter to me, well, um, at least not as much as you think. I mean, I’ve never been a whole Magor, not really. I’ve hardly ever been able to do all the things that you do without thinking. So I won’t miss it. Honest.’

  ‘That’s not the whole truth, is it, though?’ Temellin asked after a short pause.

  ‘I—well, maybe not. I wanted to please you. I wanted to be the kind of Mirager-heir you’d be proud of. And I was beginning to think it might happen, because of Tarran. I thought—I thought everything might be all right in the end. But now I’ve disappointed you. And that matters.’

  ‘Disappointed me? Dry hells, Arrant, I’ve never been more proud of you than I am right now. And what matters is you. That you are all right. That you can cope with this. That you can build another life where you will be happy.’

  Arrant looked down at his cabochon. At the crack that now sliced through it lengthways. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel any different. And part of me always wanted to be ordinary. It’s easier to be ordinary.’ So why did he have that odd feeling of being incomplete? Yes, it might be easier, but it was also—he groped for the word—unsatisfactory. He looked up. ‘But there are things that matter more than how I am. Perry? Can you tell me if Perry is all right?’

  ‘Perradin is fine, already back on his feet and asking to see you. So are all the others who were injured. Lesgath was the only real casualty.’

  Relief flowed through him in a cleansing flood.

  ‘What about Tarran? Was he with you when all this happened?’ Temellin asked.

  ‘Yes. He disappeared, and I haven’t heard from him since. I call him—but there’s nothing there. I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve changed or—or because he died. Last time I lost control because he was pulled back to the Mirage. But it didn’t happen that way this time. I lost control, and he screamed. Then he disappeared.’

  Temellin sat motionless. Finally he said, ‘There’s a young lad due to collect his Magoroth sword soon. I’ll ask him to ask the Mirage Makers about Tarran.’

  Arrant nodded. Patience. He would have to be patient.

  ‘And I’ve sent word to your mother. She’ll be here soon.’

  ‘Surely not! I mean, what about Tyrans?’

  ‘This time you will come first,’ Temellin replied, as if he already knew it for a fact. ‘You’ll see. Besides, the worst of the rebellion there is over. In her last letter, she said she was working out some compromise with the highborn who wanted slavery brought back, in the form of tax relief for those who employ large numbers of labourers.’

  ‘Really? She won’t have liked having to do that.’

  ‘No, but she has learned to compromise. Most rulers do, I think.’ He smiled. ‘The Magoroth Council has just compromised—they have agreed to your mother being the new Mirager-heir.’

  Arrant’s eyes widened. ‘They approved it?’

  ‘This morning. It was not exact
ly unanimous. About one-third of those present voted against it, and a number abstained. But she is the rightful Miragerin and she already possesses a Mirager’s sword. There is nothing much they can do about that, except grumble, and hope that I live a long healthy life.’

  ‘But she’s not even here.’

  ‘She will be, soon, I promise. Don’t worry about it, Arrant. As we both know, your mother is quite capable of looking after herself. Firgan will have his hands full if he wants to take her on.’

  He smiled at Arrant and Arrant tried to smile back as he drifted into exhausted sleep.

  When Arrant woke next, the face he saw bending over him was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t immediately put a name to the owner of it. A girl. Thirteen or so, and she had her cabochon held against the ruins of his own. A healer, then.

  ‘That won’t do any good,’ he mumbled.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ she said, and held his hand up so he could see his own cabochon. It glowed softly gold.

  He snatched his hand away, and was surprised to realise how weak he felt. ‘What did you do?’ he asked, furious. ‘I don’t want it to work any more.’

  ‘Well, it’s not really working,’ she said. ‘I was just sending you some healing power and that seemed to be the best way to do it. It makes your gem glow, though, even though my power is red, not gold. Odd, isn’t it? I hadn’t expected that.’ She frowned, puzzled, then continued, ‘If I don’t hold my cabochon to yours, my healing power will not be as effective.’ She took his hand back and her hold was firm. ‘Lie still.’

  It was too much of an effort to struggle, so he lay back and felt the power trickle into him. There was nothing of his own rising to meet it, but then, there often wouldn’t have been in the past, either.

  He stared at her, trying to place where he had seen her before. For her age, the strength of her power was surprising, especially as she was only an Illusa. She didn’t blush or giggle when he stared at her; she held his gaze, amused. That was enough to tell him exactly who she was. The freckles across her nose confirmed it. ‘Ah,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ she asked, ‘have you worked it out?’

  ‘Samia,’ he said. ‘You’ve changed.’ She had filled out—gone from being a child to the beginnings of womanhood. ‘You looked more like a Sam last time I saw you.’ His smile flashed, but was quickly gone. ‘Your father is here?’

  ‘Yes. He’s going to be your bodyguard once you are up and about. I think he’s hoping Firgan will try something.’

  ‘He won’t. Not now I’m not standing in his way. In fact, I don’t need a bodyguard any more.’

  ‘No? Well, we’ll see. Perry said to tell you that he is not allowed out yet, which is driving him crazy, because he wants to see you.’

  ‘I’d like to see him too. To say sorry.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t think I could have borne it if he had been—’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t. I’ve seen him and he won’t even have much of a scar. And what there is, across his cheek, he’s actually quite proud of. He reckons he looks like a real warrior now, even though it was a burn, rather than a cut. Which reminds me. What happened to your shoulder, Arrant?’

  He shrugged his left shoulder to see if it still hurt. It did. ‘Firgan said it was my sword power being flung back at me, channelled through him. It was just my bad luck that he happened to be gripping my shoulder at the time.’

  ‘A Magor is not supposed to be hurt by their own power,’ she protested.

  ‘No, that’s true. But they also say that you can be killed by your own Magoroth sword if you use it against someone who has held it.’ He shrugged. ‘A paradox. But then, nothing about my power has ever been normal. Power did channel through me—I felt it go down my arm, burning all the way. Felt like I’d been chopped by an axe. Hades, I recall that.’ His mouth went dry as he remembered. That awful moment in time when everything went wrong and he knew he couldn’t undo what was happening…

  ‘Tell me about it. As much as you can remember.’

  ‘Why? It’s not something I particularly want to talk about. Or remember.’

  ‘I think you should. Because something happened out there that doesn’t make sense, and I think you ought to think about it.’

  He sighed, recalling that Samia could be as irritating as a stone lodged in your sandal. ‘Nothing about my cabochon power has ever made sense, Sam. My mother thought it might have had something to do with all the things that happened to her when she was pregnant with me. Not even the Mirage Makers know why I am the way I am. Was. The way I was. They thought that I was missing the connection between the power and the means to control it.’

  She gave him a wistful smile. ‘I’d really like to know what happened. Then maybe I can help you heal better. You know healing is not so quick for you now that you aren’t Magor.’

  He found he wanted to please her, and was surprised. Why should it matter so much? He mustn’t become too fond of her. Or any Magor. He wasn’t one of them any more, and never would be. If he wanted a girl now, he’d have to look elsewhere.

  ‘I think you probably know most of it already,’ he said. ‘But if you want my point of view, here it is. As far as I can remember.’ He closed his eyes to conjure up the scene once more, and began to describe everything he could recall.

  When he had finished, she looked thoughtful, but didn’t comment.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I still don’t understand how you hurt your shoulder. It’s deeply burned.’

  ‘I lost control. My cabochon mowed down Perry and the others in front of me. My sword power channelled through Firgan and out of his cabochon, burning me.’ He snorted. ‘He probably enjoyed that too. It’s no big mystery, Sam. I should count myself lucky I wasn’t killed. I suppose that’s because I had powered my sword down for the practice fight. There was nothing much there.’

  ‘Yet it made a horrible burn. You’re contradicting yourself.’

  ‘Maybe Firgan added a bit of his own power. Wouldn’t put it past him.’

  ‘But it’s not the only odd thing,’ she persisted. ‘Why did Firgan give you the impression Lesgath had put his cabochon to your sword hilt when he obviously hadn’t? Did Lesgath know he hadn’t, or was he deceived too? And why? Arrant, you don’t think Firgan could be somehow to blame for all this, do you?’

  He said slowly, ‘I think he was planning something, possibly for the next day, during the tests. When it happened this way, he was delighted.’

  ‘Except that anything he was planning must have involved assuming that you are a total idiot, daft enough to use sword power against Lesgath, knowing you’d be hit by the backlash. Shleth droppings!’

  ‘Samia, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters any more.’ And yet…he remembered that moment when he’d felt Firgan’s triumph.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course it matters.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. My mother is going to be Mirager-heir. She and my father have years to sort out who will follow them. Maybe they can even have other children. She’s not that old for a Magoria. Firgan will never be Mirager. And that’s all I really care about.’

  She was silent, so he added, ‘You shouldn’t even feel sorry for me, you know. I don’t mind being non-Magor. It’s better than being Magoroth and knowing that I could kill my best friend. Or you. Or anyone. Quite by accident.’

  A tear trickled down her cheek.

  He stared at her in astonishment. She’d cry for him?

  ‘But what will you do?’ she asked.

  ‘I am going to go back to Tyr,’ he said. He hadn’t given his future much thought, yet the idea came to him fully formed and obvious. ‘I shall study architecture.’

  It was her turn to be astonished.

  ‘I’m lucky, Samia. I know how to be ordinary,’ he said.

  She thought about that, then nodded. ‘What happened to Tarran?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘I know he helped you control
your power. I can keep secrets, so Father tells me everything. I pester him until he does. Anyway, you don’t have to worry. I am far too sensible to be a tell-tattle.’

  ‘Big-headed for a little brat, aren’t you?’

  ‘Papa thinks I’m perfect.’

  ‘Little does he know.’

  ‘Tell me about Tarran.’

  He meant to avoid the question; to refuse to answer, but something in her earnest expression stopped him. It wasn’t curiosity that drove her, but desire to help. And suddenly, he wanted to tell her. He wanted to share the burden. And so he told her everything, from the time he was a child visiting Ordensa, to the horrible moment when Tarran began screaming in his head as Lesgath tumbled through the air, burning.

  When he’d finished, she said, ‘But that is so—so sad. All of it. Tarran suffering. And you. Oh, Arrant, you were probably the strongest Magor there ever was; if only we could have solved the problem of how to make the right connection between your mind and that power, the way you did when Tarran was in your head.’

  ‘“If only”. They are pathetic words, Samia, because we can never go back. And I did have Tarran in my head this time—and look what happened!’

  She was silent, and another couple of tears rolled down her cheeks.

  He saw them, and felt guilty. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. Now I have made you miserable too.’

  ‘I am glad you shared it. You haven’t felt him since your cabochon was cut?’

  ‘Nothing since my magic went out of control in the practice yard. The next person who goes to get their Magoroth sword will be able to tell us what happened to him. Father has already arranged that.’

  ‘It must be terrible not knowing.’

  He nodded. His ignorance of Tarran’s fate eroded any chance he had of peace. He felt as if half his life had been shorn away, and he was left half a man—and it wasn’t only his lack of Magor power that made him feel that way.

  She stood up, releasing his hand. ‘You need your rest. And I’ve pestered you enough.’ She didn’t wait for him to reply, but skipped out of the room, suddenly a child again. He couldn’t make up his mind whether he liked her enormously, or whether she was the most annoying brat he’d ever met. ‘Now I know what it must be like to have a little sister,’ he thought.