Fey 02 - Changeling

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  Touched felt that he alone remained focused on the poison, and even he was going nowhere. Rotin didn't teach him the discipline as she should have — a new Warder always apprenticed to the senior Warders — and he had only his talent and his experience to draw on.

  His talent was considerable — it was what made him a Warder in the first place.

  He had no experience at all.

  The Warders cabin was one of the larger cabins in Shadowlands. It had several rooms off the main one, most of them filled with Red Cap pouches from the honored dead. Pouches that should have been used in experiments but were mostly forgotten. There were also beds and equipment even Touched didn't understand.

  The main room had the long table, enough chairs for all the Warders, and a fireplace. Caseo had kept the fire burning constantly, but Rotin had allowed it to burn out on many occasions. Touched suspected that the loss of the original fire also interfered with the Warders abilities.

  The other Warders made no complaint, and Touched had no one else to turn to. Most of the time the other Warders acted as they did now, staring at the walls, waiting for the meeting to end. They had become faces to Touched, colleagues no longer.

  In the early days on the Isle, when Caseo was alive, the Warders met every day and had heated discussions. Spell-making was a joint art, fraught with jealousies and insecurities, but fascinating all the same. Now the Warders appeared to meditate while waiting for Rotin to excuse them.

  She often forgot to excuse them when she was taking her herbs.

  Touched stood. The sound of his chair sliding back was the only sound in the room.

  "We aren't done, Touched," Rotin said, her words slurred.

  "I am," he said. He couldn't sit a moment longer. He threaded his way behind the other Warders and went out the door.

  The grayness of Shadowlands seemed warm and familiar next to the interior of the cabin. He stepped across the wooden porch, past the spot where Caseo had bled after being stabbed by the crazed Red Cap, and sat on the steps. Touched always avoided the spot where Caseo died. The Domestics had long ago pulled the blood from the wood, but Touched still saw it, like he still saw Caseo's body there when he closed his eyes.

  He certainly wouldn't have been locked in this gray windless weatherless place with these passive Warders if Caseo were still alive. Caseo took the fact that he couldn't neutralize the Islander poison as a personal affront. He had stayed up each and every night, striving to find the solution.

  Striving to find the solution before Touched did.

  Touched still worked on it, but he lacked the experience. Even though he was trying to learn how to do even simple spells no one took the time to teach him. Rotin had laughed at him when he asked.

  Here's your chance to be the greatest Warder of all time, boy. Teach yourself.

  He hadn't realized until Caseo died that Rotin had hated him too.

  Through the silence of Shadowlands, a door slammed. The slam echoed off the invisible walls. This place had the hollowness of a crevice, something Touched believed he would never get used to. After a moment, he saw Rugar. And the sight surprised him.

  Rugar was supposed to be mourning. Jewel's death affected them all except, of course, the Warders. When Touched had brought up the even greater need to solve the riddle of the poison, Rotin had laughed at him.

  Bit late for that now, isn't it, boy? Can't make points with Rugar by saving Jewel. The girl's dead. We don't dabble in revivals.

  As usual she had twisted his words and then had done nothing. The other Warders hadn't backed him. They all hated working with the poison, believing that even touching a vial of it might kill them. They would be happy to have the silent meetings about the poison and do nothing for the rest of their days.

  Rugar leaned against one of the newer cabins, hand over his face, his body motionless. He wasn't wearing his usual cape, and without it, his shoulders looked small and frail. His boots were scuffed and his pants lacked their normal crease. It was as if witnessing Jewel's death had robbed him of what little power he had left.

  Rugar dropped his hand and his gaze met Touched's. Touched felt his cheeks warm, but he didn't look away. Rugar cocked his head as if he had gotten an idea, then walked toward Touched. Rugar's movements had an intensity that Touched hadn't seen a moment earlier.

  Touched didn't move as Rugar came to the Warders cabin. Rugar stopped in front of him, placing a hand on the railing beside the steps. His eyes, sunken into his face, looked dark and angry.

  "Touched," he said. "We haven't talked in a long time."

  "No, sir," Touched said. They had never talked. The only reason Rugar knew his name was because Touched was a Warder. If Touched had been Infantry, Rugar wouldn't know him at all.

  "Is Rotin still running the Warders?" Rugar asked.

  "I guess," Touched said. He couldn't give her credit for something she wasn't really doing.

  Rugar peered at him as if he hadn't quite expected that answer. "And she's inside?"

  "Her body is," Touched said.

  Rugar's jaw worked for a moment, but he said nothing. Finally he glanced away, then sighed. "She's still taking herbs?"

  "She never stopped," Touched said.

  "How much progress has there been on the poison?"

  "None," Touched said. "We don't work on it."

  Rugar swung his head back quickly. "You don't —?" He couldn't seem to finish the question.

  Touched shrugged. "We meet every so often and discuss it. No one is working on spells."

  Rugar took a step up. "Why not?"

  "No leadership. Everyone is afraid of the stuff."

  "Even you?"

  Touched shook his head. "I'm the youngest. The inexperienced one. The one who doesn't understand."

  He said the last three words with great emphasis, repeating the phrase he had heard from both Rotin and Caseo.

  "My daughter just died from that poison."

  "I know," Touched said. "We stay in here because of that poison. We lost the war because of that poison. But it's safe here. And Rotin likes to be safe."

  "What of the others?"

  Touched studied Rugar. He truly appeared not to know. Ah, well. Touched had nothing to lose. He had never gained anything in the first place.

  "The others?" Touched said. "Your father gave you Caseo for reasons I don't understand, but I understand why he gave you the others."

  "Caseo was my personal Warder," Rugar said. "But my father chose the others."

  Touched shook his head. "If Caseo chose the others, he wouldn't have chosen me. He hated me. Thought I was talented, but hated me nonetheless. Upstart, he said. Inexperienced. And I was. I am."

  Rugar frowned, as if trying to assimilate this news. "But the others?"

  "Are no better than Rotin. Your father had to have had a hand in this. He sent the worst of the Warders with you. Me, the youngest ever; Rotin, so addicted to herbs she doesn't care if she sticks her whole hand in a vat of poison; Ceel, who has never been able to do more than Domestic spells — I could go on if you want."

  Rugar shook his head. "I think you're exaggerating."

  "If I were exaggerating, we would not be sitting in Shadowlands," Touched said.

  Rugar walked up the stairs. His weight bent the wood. He rapped on the door, and then opened it.

  Touched didn't move. He didn't even turn around. He knew what Rugar would find, and he knew that it would make him angry. The door snicked closed, and inside he heard voices.

  The air was chill. Shadowlands always made Touched think of a deep fog bank, so deep that a man inside it couldn't see the house on the next rise. The analogy wasn't quite apt — he could see everything in Shadowlands — but it looked as if it grew out of fog. No trees, no ground, no wildlife. Only houses, and Fey, and grayness.

  Rugar's voice sounded loud but his words were impossible to make out. Then Rotin answered him, her voice fainter than his. Rugar responded again and this time Touched heard a word that made a shiver
run down his back.

  Enchanter.

  He had felt an Enchanter years ago, had actually developed a spell for one before Caseo laughed at him and told him the spell was worthless. No Enchanter had come on the ships to Blue Isle. No Enchanter, but the troop did have a second rate Shaman, and a Visionary who was Blind. Even a Blind Visionary should have been able to see that such a journey was doomed.

  Rugar hadn't seen at all.

  Touched had been too young to understand the ramifications, the others too uninformed. Caseo had known, but Caseo, like Rugar, had believed that the Fey were strong enough to beat any odds.

  The conversation rose to shouts, then the door opened and Rugar came out. He slammed the door behind him and whirled, a movement that would have been dramatic had he worn a cape. As it was, the movement made him look even smaller than he had a moment ago.

  "Four years of nothing?" he said to Touched, voice still raised. "Nothing?!"

  Touched shrugged. "Some of us tried. But none of us were capable alone."

  "We stayed here because of four years of nothing." Rugar was speaking softly, almost to himself. "Nothing." Then he looked up. "Do you think you can come up with an antidote to their poison?"

  Touched felt the back of his throat go dry. He had once thought he had a solution, only as Caseo reminded him, there was no one to perform it. "I think so," he said. "If you introduce me to that Enchanter you mentioned."

  Rugar put his hands on his hips. "Were you listening in?"

  Touched shook his head. "It shouldn't matter. I should have been in there in the first place."

  A small smile played at Rugar's lips. "Yes," he said. "You should have." The smile disappeared. "I don't know if we have an Enchanter. If we do, it's in an unlikely source."

  Unlikely source, and one that did not come across the Infrin Sea. Gift? There seemed to be no one else. "I can conduct tests if you like."

  Rugar tilted his head. "I should have the Shaman do that."

  "The Shaman won't conduct the kind of tests we need. We need to know if we have an Enchanter and if the Enchanter is powerful. The Shaman will simply Look and give us a vague pronouncement based on a future she doesn't want to reveal." Touched's heart was pounding. He hadn't moved, but he felt as if he were showing too much eagerness. He had grown up with an Enchanter, and had been there when the Shaman came in and tested him, then when the Warders had. Nothing would erase the moment from his mind when Warders looked at his friend with shock mixed with awe.

  Enchanters were the most powerful, the most feared of the Fey.

  "All right," Rugar said slowly. "The quicker we resolve this, the better." He walked down the steps with the purpose he appeared to have regained.

  Touched got up and followed him. Touched was thinner than Rugar and younger, but at the moment, the older man led him. They made their way to the Domicile. Rugar bade Touched wait, and Rugar went in.

  Touched hadn't expected the Domicile. He had thought they were going to the Wisps' cabin. The Domicile made him nervous. The size of the building was intimidating, and its multitudinous rooms were full of Fey he didn't know or like. The Healers' section up front always made him feel uncomfortable and inadequate, as if he couldn't quite measure up to the gentle part of his art.

  He had never been able to do Domestic spells, although they were supposed to be the easiest of all the spells, the most logical. Perhaps because of how he was raised, and because of his early friendships, "easy" tasks were never easy for him. But he could weave wonderful labyrinthian spells, perfect for Enchanters or other Warders.

  Enchanter Spells are easy for all of us, boy, Caseo had said. They fill in the gaps for us, make spells that are awkward seem elegant.

  Perhaps. Or perhaps that was Caseo's jealousy speaking. Perhaps Enchanter spells were more difficult than the others. Perhaps Touched had had a skill Caseo hadn't.

  It would come into play now.

  The door opened. Rugar came out. Touched moved to one side so that he could see Gift with a new perspective. But Gift did not follow Rugar.

  Coulter did.

  The Islander boy.

  Touched frowned. The Islander boy. When had he first felt that Enchanter signature? When Solanda brought Coulter into camp? Was it that long ago? If it was, the signature had been so faint that no one else had felt it.

  Faint because the sender was a baby?

  "It's not possible," Touched said to Rugar.

  Rugar nodded. "Perhaps we've underestimated them all along."

  Touched crouched in front of the boy. He had never really looked at Coulter before. Coulter did not hide behind Rugar's leg as most children would have done. He stood and stared at Touched as if Touched were the one being judged.

  Coulter was shorter than a child should have been at — what? — five? six? His hair was the pale blond that Touched had only seen in the Islanders. His eyes were an ice blue, and they were round. His eyebrows didn't rise like wings, they hugged the bone over the eye and turned downward, toward his fat cheeks. His nose was small and stubby, his lips pink and full, and his ears had rounded, not pointed tips. If he had any Fey blood at all, it was buried in all his Island ancestry.

  Fey blood told. Not a single race had mingled with the Fey without obvious change. Even Gift, whose father was as blond and icy-eyed as Coulter, had dark skin, upraised brows, and ears whose tips pointed slightly.

  "It's not possible," Touched said again.

  Coulter frowned at him. Something in the boy's eyes made Touched peer deeper. No gold rims to the pupils. This was not even a Doppelgänger. This was a real Islander child.

  Touched cast through his brain, remembered the Enchanter spells he had been taught. Warders, like Enchanters, had a facility for all nature of spells. Unlike Enchanters, however, Warders had a limited range and ability with them. Warders could not actually use the spells to good or long effect. Warders could, though, develop more spells. No other Fey could do that, except accidentally, as new talents emerged.

  Coulter was watching him, mouth a thin line. The boy's eyes were different. They had an adult wariness, and a large intelligence behind them. He seemed to know that Touched was there to evaluate him.

  Touched found the Enchanter spells. He sent a small lick of fire across the air. The flame was blue, almost invisible in the gray of Shadowlands. If it hit the boy, it would burn him slightly, and they would have to take him inside to have Domestic heal him.

  Coulter's gaze darted toward the flame, then back to Touched. A frown creased the boy's forehead. Suddenly he held up his hand and the flame stopped mid-air as if it had collided with a wall. Then the flame went out, leaving a tiny black puff of smoke.

  Rugar had missed the entire exchange. He was still watching Touched, as if Touched were going to say something.

  But Touched wasn't. He had deliberately started with flame, something even an Enchanter should not be able to control at Coulter's age. The powerful Enchantments didn't arrive until after puberty. The children had only lines and ties until then. Binders attached to them through which they could send and receive, but never initiate.

  Touched blinked, then mentally felt through the grayness for a Binder. One led from Coulter to Gift. Touched glanced at Rugar, wondering if he knew. Probably. This was probably what led him to Coulter in the first place. Another led through the Domicile and to the cabins beyond. Touched did not explore that one. It had the blue of a parental bind. Whoever had raised the boy here benefited from that.

  It was the strong blue strands that disappeared out the Circle Door that Touched traced for a moment. These strands were old, a path laid for someone who had not — or could not — follow them.

  "How old were you when you came to Shadowlands?" Touched asked.

  Coulter started. He had not expected Touched to speak aloud. Had he felt Touched's presence on his Binders?

  "Since I could walk." The boy's voice was strong and beautiful. With his Binding sight, Touched could see sparkles along the edge of the
boy's mouth. He had Charm as well.

  These skills were too developed for a child.

  "Solanda brought him here," Rugar said. "He was little more than a toddler."

  Touched ignored Rugar. He didn't want Rugar's answers, he wanted Coulter's.

  "Who taught you spells?" Touched asked.

  "No one," Coulter said. "You all think I'm not like you."

  "You look different," Touched said.

  "Doesn't mean I am."

  —Ah, but you are, Touched sent the message to the boy in a flicker of light. The light left a small trail between them.