The knight’s eyes widened in astonishment - seeing not Tey and his forest friends, but a scruffy, young urchin having a strange sort of fit. Quickly crossing himself, he kicked his warhorse and whirled away up towards the castle gates.
Shaking in humiliation, Tey jammed his heels savagely into the road, stopping his momentum with a jerk. The little splotchy fellow, oblivious to his mood, pushed him again with a grin. Gimbal tugged at his hand to continue.
‘I said stop!’ Tey shouted with all the force he could muster. He pulled back his hand. The splotchy one wilted, its muddy, damp skin seemed to dry to dust under Tey’s scorching gaze. ‘Why did you do that?’ he raged. He glared at the shrinking faery. ‘Why are you here anyway?’
The small one hung its head and its eyes stared dejectedly at the ground. It began to fade until only its yellow and green splotches were visible, then with a subdued pop, they too disappeared.
Tey stamped his foot in frustration, fuming over the missed opportunity to greet a real knight.
Suddenly, Gimbal pinched him and then kicked him hard in the shins.
‘Ow,’ Tey cried. ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone,’ he snapped, rubbing his leg. He glared at the faery until Gimbal the green disappeared with a disdainful pop.
Silence.
A brown bird flitted overhead and Tey watched it pass, his fist clenched, ready for a retaliatory missile or warty slap. A voice of a passerby shouted above the loud clop of a horse’s passing hooves, but that was all.
After a long moment standing alone on the cobbled road, Tey’s heart began to flutter in alarm.
A squelchy pop quivered above and Tey grinned in relief. Of course his friend wouldn’t abandon him. The boy opened his arms in welcome, smiling broadly, but Gimbal merely glared. Hanging high against the stark blue of the sky, his eyes narrowed from their customary bulge, and his bulbous nose began to shrink as his face, though still a pond deep green colour, shifted into a perfect replica of Tey’s mother’s.
This was one of Gimbal’s favourite tricks. He wore her thick, long hair, her elegant cheekbones, and most alarmingly, her fierce, golden eyes. Even though he knew she wasn’t really here, Tey shrank away, feeling as he always did - very young and very, very wrong.
‘I-I-I’m on my way now…’ he stammered to her proud, unrelenting beauty. ‘I just forgot, for only a minute.’ Too fearful to go on, he dropped his gaze to his feet. The air quivered and Tey looked up to see his friend’s beloved fat face bobbing above him once more.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry for being such an idiot,’ he cried. Rushing to give Gimbal a hug, Tey stumbled as his arms swept through the air. He recovered his footing to see a long, red tongue sticking out, hanging motionless, before that too was gone, leaving only the cool wind whistling in its empty place.
Tey smiled widely, sure his friend was only playing a trick. A sodden belch erupted just behind his ear and he turned with a delighted grin. But it was only a plump old farmer, tankard in hand, waddling towards the nearest tavern.
A series of bells began to peal, marking the noon day hour. In the square below, the bulk of the crowd had long cleared and only a tardy few remained, hurrying over the last pick of the day.
Tey waited, his blue eyes scanning above, yet despite his silent entreaties, the air above the cobbled hill remained stubbornly empty. Clenching his fists, he berated himself for being such a pig-headed fool. Why couldn't he have just let the faeries lead him how they wished?
The boy peered out over the narrow maze of streets, trying to remember the way. Jammed in tight, the roads knotted and crossed over four main thoroughfares, twisting towards the high stonewalls that enclosed them all. The spice seller lived somewhere down in all that confusion. Hidden in a room, in an alley so narrow the sun couldn’t show his face. Frowning, Tey tried to think what else his mother had said? And what did that mean anyway? The sun couldn’t show his face? Tey’s lower lip quivered and his eyes stung with tears. He quickly wiped them away and stood staring forlornly over the rooftops.
He couldn’t fail; his father needed him. Without the spice he would die.
NINE
The high stone towers of the castle dominated the skyline, their banners fluttering red and gold in the breeze.
What had she said? Tey scowled as he approached it, trying desperately to recall his mother’s final directions. Did she say something about the spice seller’s home being in the alley by the castle, or the alley being in the shadow of the castle?
Coming from behind the castle walls, he could hear the tantalizing, curious sound of scuffling curses and the echoing ring of steel on steel. He bent down low to peer in through a narrow gap.
In a courtyard, several pairs of boys were lunging with all their strength, short swords flaring in the sun with their small forms protected by leather breastplates. On the far side, a figure astride a grey muscular mount wrenched his horse around and with a defiant yell galloped hard towards a wooden dummy spinning in the centre of the practice ground. Forgetting his woes, Tey watched with delight until his attention was drawn to the jingle of metal, and clatter of hooves on the cobblestones behind him.
He turned to see a golden-haired rider seated astride a shadow black horse cantering out of the castle gates, followed by two companions. The rider’s cloak was plain without the embroidery or rich colours of his rank, but Tey would know that proud face anywhere.
On impulse, the young boy ran after him through the streets. He didn't know exactly why he was following the knight, but the noble was the only thing Tey recognised in all the noisy confusion of the town. Besides, if the golden-haired knight knew where he was going, maybe he’d lead him closer to the spice seller.
Tey didn’t think about it much further as a small man, his face pitted and scarred, staggered into his path. Dodging him with a sharp cry, he ran on just as his quarry rounded a corner and disappeared.
Panting for breath, Tey skidded to a halt. This street was lighter and cleaner than most. Up ahead the knight was dismounting from his horse and entering the door of a small stone chapel. The sun glared over the empty street as the warhorse, snorting and pulling on its bridle, was pulled away by the two companions. They passed Tey standing alone on the cobblestones without a glance.
For a long while he stared at the chapel door, until at last he trudged away, angrily brushing away his tears. Useless. The word thudded, over and over. Useless.
✽✽✽
The sky darkened as Tey turned down a thin, mud-rutted alley crammed with wooden, rickety hovels, smelling like rot and sewerage. The air was thick with smoke rising from cook fires burning out in the open, tended by thin, hungry-eyed children. Overhead, through a gap in the wood, he caught a final glimpse of the sun before it dipped low behind the central turret of the castle, cloaking all around in shadow. Where was he? He shook his head, trying to clear it to think, but it was hard; his mind felt clogged by the cloying reek in the air.
Cupping his nose with his hand, Tey took a few short breaths then froze as a lighter, dusky scent lifted on the breeze, like a thread floating, soft as silk. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The scent was deceptive and hard to hold, but it seemed oddly familiar. Breathing carefully, he slowly licked his lips.
With a half smile, Tey slowly opened his eyes; afraid to believe he could be right. This sharp and pungent scent was a strange mix of smoky-hot and sweet, laced through with something he had smelled once before.
Tey smiled, last night. It was last night, in the dregs of a leather pouch. ‘Take careful notice, my son,’ his mother had said, opening it by the warm embers of the fire. She’d held the pouch for a long moment under his nose. ‘This is what will keep your father alive.’
Reaching for his lucky amulet, Tey walked slowly through the shadows, his senses pinprick sharp. A dozen smaller laneways branched off through the gloom, but he ignored them all, his heart beating with excitement as the air thickened with the redolent scent of the spice. He quickened his pace, feeling
his way carefully down an ever-narrowing maze of pressed mud and loose hanging thatch. It was impossible to see as the alleys were becoming darker. At last he stopped, bathed completely in shadow, his way forward blocked by a high bare wall.
The castle towered directly above, dark and massive against the distant blue of the sky. Tey took a slow tremulous breath, his senses prickling, fearful he had lost the scent. But no, it was emanating strong and clear from behind a small door buried deep within the gloom.
He hesitated, looking around for somewhere to knock, when he noticed sitting in the corner, as still as a rock and with its eyes closed tight, a large hairy creature. It was as tall as Tey’s chest with long pointed ears, and a rather alarming mouth spiked with white teeth.
The creature’s eyes opened one after the other and swiveled upwards, each orb blazing a hot sulfurous yellow. Without warning, it released a breathy shriek that punctured the air, reverberating on and on through the narrow confined space. Yelping, Tey covered his ears with both hands. The wooden door swung open immediately, and a crinkled old woman, taller than the creature but not as tall as the young boy, glared at him with deep, almost polished, black eyes. Tey shrunk back into the alley.
‘Did you call, boy?’ she asked querulously.
‘No, I mean yes,’ he stammered.
She raised her eyebrows.
‘I mean, I would’ve, I wanted to, but your, your…’ Tey gestured lamely at the creature.
‘You can see him, can you?’ The old woman leant closer, her large hooked nose sniffing deeply across his chest.
Tey stepped back in revulsion, his hand automatically reaching for the eagle amulet.
‘What is that?’ She pecked forward, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. But as her long fingers clutched at the figurine, the old woman jumped back, shaking her hand vigorously as though it had been bitten.
‘Ah… sun metal,’ she whispered. ‘But why would one so young as you, carry such a thing?’ She tilted her head back with a frown and gazed up at him, her eyes cool and speculative. ‘Come inside, boy,’ she croaked, ‘and tell me why you are here.’
She made a quick gesture with her hand and the hairy doorkeeper stepped back into the corner and closed its eyes, dark red fur disappearing into the texture and grain of the shadowed door.
Inside, a subdued light cast a halo of warmth over the bare walls and earth pressed floor. With a slow shuffling gait, the old woman led Tey to a straw pallet lying in the centre of the room in front of the hearth. Tey sank down exhausted, aware only of his aching legs and empty belly. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he gazed around the room, wondering if there was anything at all to eat or drink.
Above him the old woman stood hunched and stooped, her black eyes glinting as she appraised his every move. ‘You would like to eat and drink, eh boy?’ she asked. ‘How about a nice light poppy cake, or a jug of pomegranate juice?’
Tey’s heart leapt. Oh what he would give for a jug of cool sweet pomegranate juice. He was so hungry; he hadn’t drunk or eaten anything since the honey cake at dawn.
The tiny old woman smiled, clapped her hands three times and waited, gazing at him steadily. Tey, too nervous to look away, sat mesmerised with her large eyes unblinking in the half-light of the fire. Moments passed. When nothing happened the old woman shrugged her narrow shoulders. ‘It seems I’ll have to get it myself,’ she muttered and shuffled away to a bench hidden by the fireplace. Without speaking, she picked up an empty plate and earthenware jug and slowly carried them back to where he was sitting.
‘Here,’ she said.
Tey glanced at the plate in disappointment. Taking the jug from her hand, he peered warily into its depths, but the light was so poor and the jug so dark he could see nothing at the bottom. Frowning, he tipped the jug back and took a tentative sip. His eyes flew open. Nothing. The jug was as empty as the air.
The old woman crowed with laughter. ‘You should know better than that! The air is never empty. It is as full as you wish it to be. You especially know that!’
Tey stared at her in alarm. This mad old woman knew his mind!
‘You think I’m mad, do you?’ She snapped, her head abruptly still, cocked to the side. The fire dulled as she waited for an answer, her narrow body poised as if to strike.
Terrified, Tey shrank back against the straw, his eyes darting to the red wooden door behind her. The spice seller snorted back a chuckle, before pushing back a strand of grey-streaked hair, the fierce glow in her eyes gentling.
‘Look child,’ she said, her voice hard to hear above the panicked thudding of his heart. ‘You don’t have to have magical powers to be powerful. Power is often nothing more than taking the care to see.’ She looked at him closely. ‘Remember that when you need to.’
Hobbling over to the table by the fire, she shuffled back clutching a plain wooden cup.
‘Here,’ she said, ‘you should find this more to your taste.’
With a suspicious frown, Tey took the cup and held it to his nose, wondering what trick the old woman was playing now. He breathed in as an unexpected sweet smell of honey, mixed with something deeper and sharper, filled his senses. The boy took a wary sip, and then another and another, until the cup had completely drained. Tey glanced up in wonder. The delicious drink seemed to both ease his thirst and slacken the exhaustion that gripped his muscles.
The spice seller eased herself down onto the edge of the pallet with a creaking sigh. Taking the cup out of the boy’s hand, she placed it on the floor then pointed a thin bony finger. ‘Just what is that hanging there?’ Her eyes glinted in the glow of the fire.
Tey’s hand flew to his neck. The old woman scared him as she sat motionless, studying him, her grey-streaked hair pushed behind the black hood of a cloak; her shoulders hunched; and her fragile hands clasped together tightly. Behind her, the fire danced patient shadows on the wall.
His hand shook as he untied the leather thong, and handed the eagle amulet over without taking his eyes off her face. ‘My mother said you would know her if I showed you this.’ Tey whispered at last.
The old woman giggled a strange high-pitched sound that scratched uncomfortably at the edge of his hearing.
‘Ha,’ she crooned softly, ‘you don’t burn me now.’ The golden figure lay in her palm, burnished in the light of the fire. Fashioned out of pure gold, it was small and perfectly made, a winged female form, each feather outstretched for flight above fierce extended talons. ‘Ah,’ the spice seller sighed, as though she’d been holding her breath for a long time. ‘This is what’s known in my country as a soul flyer.’ Her deep black eyes were filled with reverence. ‘In the land of heat and endless sands, these talismans are very rare and precious.’ She stroked it once more, slowly shaking her head. ‘They fly souls to the underworld and sometimes,’ she whispered, ‘very rarely, they are in the possession of those whose very being vies with the Gods themselves for immortality.’
Without warning, the old woman locked onto Tey’s gaze, her eyes a deep bottomless black. The dark, airless room seemed to spin, stringing swirls of light and a low moaning wind, a breathless song…
There was a roar as the fire flared high in the grate and the old woman released her scrutiny. ‘Tell me, boy.’ She had somehow moved and was standing closer to the hearth, her gaze trained on the warm embers of the fire.
‘Is your mother still fierce and proud? Is she still with the falconer, your father?’ She turned towards Tey. ‘Such a good-looking man.’
Tey felt light-headed and slightly sick, but he didn’t want to seem a total dim-witted fool. ‘Yes, of course,’ he declared with more confidence than he felt. ‘But ... my father hasn’t been well. Please,’ he took a deep breath, ‘that’s why my mother sent me. She said he will die without your spices.’
The old woman whooped and cackled with laughter, the sound beating off the walls and deadening the fire until it diminished into a single spluttering glow.
‘Oh she did, did she?’ She grinned
gap-toothed at him. ‘Of course he’ll die. We all die, even you, my boy, though it seems a long way off to one so young.’ She paused and looked down at the golden eagle, balancing its weight in her palm. ‘It’s only a matter of when.’
Tey flinched as she turned quickly and held out the amulet.
‘Give your mother a message, boy.’ The spice seller said sternly. ‘Tell her to come herself next time. There are too few of us left who know the old Gods and Goddesses. They will fade away if not given the proper reverence. Especially from one such as she.’
Tey looked down at his hands. ‘My father was too sick to be left,’ he said softly.
The old woman frowned, then without another word she turned and shuffled back through the room, pausing at the hearth to light a rough tallow candle. Tey heard her soft groan as she bent low, her knees cricking in the silence, and heaved open a chest.
Spice swirled, rising pungent and scarlet above the spluttering, animal stink of the candle. Tey craned his head to get a better look, but he was too far away. He crept across the room quietly to stand at the shoulder of the old woman, holding his ground should she try and send him away. But the spice seller merely nodded.
In the fluttering light, the chest appeared ancient and stained with use, its golden-hued wood smooth from the oil of many hands. The lid was inlaid with a creamy white shell, carved with the markings of creatures in flight, while inside the chest were many tightly-bound pouches.
Muttering to herself, the old woman quickly pulled out each one and placed it on the floor beside her, until all that was left was dust of mustard yellow, burnt orange, and a dark congealed red. She then raised the empty shelf to reveal further pouches secreted away on the bottom of the chest, licking her lips.
The spice seller selected one and peered at it for a long time. Her long nose twitched as she sniffed it carefully. Tey found the scent overwhelming and his head was swimming from the ever thickening cloud surrounding him; but still the old woman hadn’t found what she was searching for. She examined each pouch, closely sticking her nose in, tasting and weighing it in her hand, before placing it on the table with a frown.
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