MAGIC’S HEART
Thomas Oliver
* * *
As part of the Núminway
Chronicles
Copyright ©2011
Thomas Oliver
Published by Thomas Oliver Publishing
Smashwords
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In life, never
underestimate the importance of a good imagination.
It
can transform the world around us...
And sometimes, just
sometimes,
it can allow us to find others that are waiting to be
discovered.
A passage from Concerning Storytelling
One of the Lessons of Sabine
Date unknown (Believed to be around 553)
Table of Contents
Chapter
1
Chapter
2
Chapter
3
Chapter
4
Chapter
5
Chapter
6
Chapter
7
Chapter
8
Chapter
9
Chapter
10
Chapter
11
Chapter
12
Chapter
13
Chapter
14
Chapter
15
Chapter
16
Chapter
17
Chapter
18
Chapter
19
Chapter
20
Chapter
21
Chapter
22
Chapter
23
Chapter
24
Chapter
25
Chapter
26
Chapter
27
Chapter
28
Chapter
29
Chapter
30
Chapter
31
Chapter
32
Chapter
33
Chapter
34
Chapter
35
Chapter
36
Chapter
37
Chapter
38
An Ember in the Waves
Sometimes they were like the type of high, rolling clouds of dreams and paintings; at others like banks of thick mist drifting over soft green fields. This time, however, they seemed more like the currents of some deep ocean, washing softly over and under one another in an endless harmony of effortless beauty. Whatever they were, Yori was deep amongst them, rising and falling as they did, drifting softly and contentedly in whatever direction they saw fit to bear him. He could happily have stayed here for hours, drinking in the blueness around him, savouring the overpowering sense of serenity and simplicity.
Indeed, he may well have already been here for hours; for suddenly he realised he had lost all track of time. This was why he so rarely let himself delve this far… He could barely recall any of what he had been doing before, just as he struggled to picture his home… Even the faces of his family were blurred and distant, like a hazy memory, though he knew in truth that he was scarcely more than a few feet from most of them.
But this is what he loved so much about being here, amongst the waves. Nothing else mattered. Not that he didn’t love his family, and enjoy his life; it was just that here, everything was always so much easier. There was nothing to think of; no questions, or chores, or worries about the future. Just peace. The type of peace which the outside world could never offer.
Just then the whispering of a woman’s voice broke gently through from outside; distant, quiet…
‘Is he alright?’
‘Shh! Let him be…’ came the echo of a man’s reply, somewhere far to the other side of him. He turned slowly, first to one and then the other, but the sources of the voices were nowhere to be seen. He knew they wouldn’t be: they were not here with him. It was just him in here, as it always was. He smiled lazily as another bank of blue swirled over him, fading slowly into the distance.
But the voices had stirred a far-off thought in his mind. He remembered now that he was here for a reason this time… There was something that one of them had asked him to do. His mind drifted as the current he was in slowed and calmed, before being picked up by another, casting him off in yet another direction. The fog around him swelled, taking his spirits with it, and once again he became lost in the eddying beauty of his world.
He couldn’t say how much longer he stayed there, sometimes floating peacefully amongst the waves, at others soaring easily and swiftly through them; but after a time he began to feel that he should be starting to make his way out. He never enjoyed this, often finding reasons to stay a while longer, but with each passing minute he sensed something reaching to him from outside, as if one of several pairs of eyes were gazing at him from just beyond his sight, studying him, pulling him gently but surely out of his world and back into theirs. With a reluctant heart, though content in the knowledge that the waves would always be here for him to return to, he lifted his head and gazed vaguely towards the soft light which glowed gently in the distance far above him. He started to make his way towards it, still flowing with his surroundings, calm as they were.
The light grew slowly brighter; the waves thinner, softer. He had almost reached the surface, turning one last time to gaze down into the blue beneath him. It seemed darker from where he was now. He was within moments of the surface, so close he could almost smell the outside world… But just as he turned back to it a sudden flickering caught the corner of his eye from below. He stopped.
It had come from somewhere far beneath him. Deeper than he had just been. What was it? Often he had seen shades of colour and light in the depths before, but nothing like that. He strained his eyes in search of it, but it had vanished, like the briefest of shooting stars.
‘Is he back?’ came the woman’s voice again. ‘Yori?’ She was worried. He looked above him and for a moment thought he saw the shadows of two people just above the waves, looking down into his world. But he cared little of them. He turned away from the light and began to swim once more into the blue, looking all the time for whatever it was that he had seen.
Down he fell, deeper into the darkness, this time crashing through the waves as he searched with a strange and unbidden sense of desperation for the tiny pinprick of light. The waves began to batter him from left and right; grasping at him, shaking him… but he broke free and continued. It was almost entirely black now, the waves rising to vast, thick columns through which it was almost impossible to keep a straight course. They started to pull and push at him once again, gripping tight like cold hands as they tried to lift him out from the depths. He fought to free himself – and suddenly as he did so it was there again, right in front of him: A tiny, glowing spark, like the remains of a once great star, hovering within arms reach. It burned with a dazzling silvery brightness the likes of which he had never seen, and then it sunk slowly backwards away from him, deeper into the black. People were shouting around him; the woman calling to him again as with all his might Yori freed one of his arms and reached out, his fingers inches from it… but then with an irresistible strength the hands grasped him one final time, tighter than ever, and he was struck by a blast of ice across his face. He heard a light, high-pitched clink...
Yori opened his eyes. He was breathing deeply and painfully, his heart thumping quick and hard against his chest, cold water trickling down his face and into his clothes. It took several seconds for his senses to return…
A woman was standing in front of him, loose strands of golden hair framing the green, frightened eyes which glazed like dimmed emeralds amidst her pale face; hunched over as she studied him intently. A large wooden pail, now empty of the water which a moment ago it had held, hung loose by her side, still dripping onto the floor of dark blue stone.
Beside his Mother, an old man with the tanned and weathered skin of a lifetime of adventures was kneeling, still with a tight grip upon Yori’s arms with those strong, bony fingers. He was being studied by the dark, sharp eyes of a woman of similar age who stood behind him; straw-like hair tied back from her thin cheeks, her arms folded firmly across her chest as she flicked between infuriated scowls at the old man and looks of deepest concern towards Yori. Yori couldn’t help but smile back at his Grandmother: the warmth in her kind face matched, he was sure, by none other in the world. It was a warmth, however, which could turn to frost at the snap of a leaf; and Url, friend and self-appointed advisor to the family all their lives, was receiving the full of it now.
Yori himself was sitting in the wide, almost circular front room of his home; the washbasin and stove lining the opposite wall, the far side of a circular, heavily dented wooden table which filled most of the floor. Somehow, more than anything else it was the piles of cutlery and fruits and various trinkets he saw as he gazed about the room, none of which he usually noticed, which did most to clear his mind. He felt a hand upon his shoulder…
‘How’re you feeling?’ his Father asked, walking round from behind him. His words came slowly, heavily to Yori, whether through his fear or through Yori’s remaining grogginess Yori could not tell. Well-built within his calm and unassuming frame, with wide, brown eyes, and thick hair as dark as his wife’s was bright, he held Yori’s arm with a gentle hand roughened by many long years in the grain fields and spice gardens which surrounded their home.
Still hovering on the verge of dizziness, Yori simply nodded, and gave a weak smile in reply.
‘You found something, didn’t you?’ asked Url, an excited glimmer burning in his eyes. He released Yori to pick up the shard of crystal which lay on the floor by his feet.
‘You…!’ his Mother screeched, before Yori could answer. ‘We could have lost him! That is the last time I let you use him for any – of – your – ridiculous – experiments!’ she shouted, swinging the bucket hard at Url with each vigorously growled word.
‘He’s fine!’ cried Url through the arms he was using to shield as much of his body as possible all at once. ‘Ouch! Wait – listen! You know I’d never let any – Ahh! – any harm come to him!’
‘I’m fine’, said Yori quietly.
His Mother stopped midway through another swipe; Url giving a silent sigh of relief, his expression flashing once again with excited curiosity as he looked to Yori.
‘So, um… did you?’ he asked.
This time he received both a bucket to the stomach and a sharp pinch of his neck from Abetta, still standing behind him, who seemed to have been preparing for the moment…
‘Urlmaeus –’ she said with the measured, threatening snap in her voice that not a man alive could stand against for long, ‘– you ask that again and I’ll be serving your eyes with our soup this evening.’
‘Yes, I did’, said Yori. They all stopped again, studying him silently.
‘You…’ his Mother hesitated, glancing at Url, still holding the bucket menacingly aloft. ‘What do you mean, Yori? What did you see?’
Beside Yori, Url said nothing. He crouched down quickly beside the chair once more, one eye watching the bucket nervously as he did so.
‘I – I don’t know what it was’, said Yori. ‘But… I’ve never seen anything like it before…’
In the heavy afternoon light which was streaming through the window, it was all coming back to Yori now. This wasn’t the first time that Url had asked him to study something which he had found: Over the years he had brought him everything from leaves to various stones, pieces of bark, or small plants and flowers. Once he had even brought a bowl of water from a tiny, hidden rock-pool he had found nestled amongst the hilly woodlands a few miles to the south of here. And each time it was with an excited grin and a bounce in his step of someone less than half his age, whatever that was; always eager to see if Yori could sense anything in his newest find.
For Yori, his mind like that of a skilled, silent scribe to the world around him, had always been able to sense things which others could not. Be it the physical elements of which people, creatures and other items were formed, the emotions of those close to him, or even the very traces of Magic within something, Yori could feel and explore these things with a mastery at which the others could only wonder. Other people had particular affinities for particular parts of the physical or elemental worlds: his Mother and Father, for example, taking great delight from the forests and grasslands and other green places, while his older sister, Aliya, who had just turned seventeen, would spend her days around and amongst lakes, rivers, and waterfalls wherever she could find them. His older brother, Crick, birthbrother to Aliya, had developed the agility and swiftness to complement his never-ending thirst for adventure and exploration, much to their Mother’s dismay. And Abetta, his Grandmother, could, and often did, spend days at a time drinking in the hues of a changing skyline; gazing into the risings and settings of the sun, or standing contentedly amongst anything from the gentle whisperings of a warm breeze to the power of a raging storm. Url, his Grandfather in practice if not by birth, was usually happiest amongst the rocks or the earth, often found digging his way into or out from yet another self-created underground labyrinth; though just as often he would leave to explore the foothills of the mountains to the north-east, or any number of other locations.
But Yori, eleven years old and to his despair forever the baby of the family, was quite different. While those around him would often be drawn off into their usual favourite places or pursuits, he was delighted to simply wander without purpose or destination. Aliya and Crick had taken the straight, dark hair of their Father, but to Yori had come a tangle of fine, blonde locks, brushed and tied with a weary sigh by his Mother or Grandmother most mornings; each knowing that barring some terrible accident or illness, it would be hopelessly loose and knotted by the coming lunch. He would stroll through fields and up into hills, explore forests, rest and swim in the lakes and streams or ford across them to some new place, and overturn rocks and old tree-stumps in search of small creatures. He would marvel at the intricacy and splendour of everything from the smallest flowers to the grandest trees, gazing out over distant horizons, and delving into the darkest caves and tunnels; and much else besides. He could never understand why or how it was that the others took such fulfilment and joy out of just one aspect of the world around them. He could see, perhaps more than they could themselves, why they enjoyed the things they did, but he had never understood why they immersed themselves in them alone, at the expense of all the other wonders which the lands around them had to offer.
It was not only the elemental realm to which Yori’s sensitivity extended: He also found as he grew that he could understand people far better than others could. He could read and understand the briefest of movements in face and body, the hints of variation in voice and look, and even, with time, the sound of their silence; all of which told him with unnerving accuracy how a person was feeling, or even sometimes what they were thinking.
This had not always been a pleasant capacity to have, however. Along with the way that people were often wary of being around him in difficult or worrying times – even, on occasion, his own family – he was also exceptionally affected by the ever-changing dispositions of those around him. His sensitivity for the feelings of others was not something which could be turned on and off at will when desired: It was forever present, flooding him day and night with waves of emotion, of all different types. When someone close to him felt joy or excitement, his spirits would be lifted and he would feel a warm surge of energy rush through his veins. But just as vividly when they were saddened or afraid he would feel these things too, even if the feelings were entirely hidden to everyone else. At these times it would seem as though a dark, cold, impenetrable cloud had descended over Yori, smothering him, draining him of all vitality and happiness, lingering as long as the other person felt that way, or until Yori was far away from them.
Yori had one final gift, however, which more than everything else was what made him truly unique, and had made him the centre of Url’s excitement and attention many times in the past, and again today. It was something which none of his family could fully comprehend; something which only a small number of people could ever truly claim to have experienced. Even Yori himself was unsure how to explain it. The best he could manage, when asked, was to say that it was like being able to see the flow of Magic with which things, people, and places were all filled. While many others could use Magic, Yori could feel it. It was as if, while others were happily playing in the lake without knowing or caring how the water got there, he alone could see and feel the stream which fed into it from some great source far away. Almost without trying, he could delve deep into the soul of anything from a person to the rolling countryside itself, sensing the mysterious energy which gave these things life and Magic. Sometimes the current would be strong, others less so; but it was always there.
But never, in all his eleven years, had he felt or seen anything like this…
He looked down at the shard of crystal which Url was holding gingerly between the fingertips of each hand. Its colour had already begun to fade when Url had run in with it earlier, and now it had gone completely, leaving behind a simple, though nonetheless pretty, silver gem. Everyone was still staring at him: even his Mother was intrigued now, behind her scowl of disapproval; the bucket hanging unthreateningly by her side.
‘I don’t know what it was,’ Yori repeated.
‘Well, I do,’ said Url, standing with the difficulty of his years, still holding the crystal out before him, a grin broadening across his cheeks as he looked from each face to the next.
But his look of excitement fell unreturned into the silence of the room. Indeed, suddenly the others seemed to become positively uninterested. Yori’s Grandmother rolled her eyes, sitting heavily back down to the table and a large pile of half-peeled carrots; a weary look passing between his Mother and Father.
Yori well understood their scepticism. Certainly there was a part at least within him which felt it too. So often had Url claimed to have found a clue to the fabled source of Magic, and every time it had come to nothing. None of the family save Url himself still truly believed in the old tales of the Heart, or at least the idea that it could ever be found; and with each passing discovery Url had received less and less interest and indulgence from the others. Yori knew he should feel the same. And yet…
The ember of light glowed bright in front of him again for an instant; vanishing just as swiftly into the depths. Even merely in memory its power and splendour seemed overpowering.
‘It was… bright,’ said Yori.
‘I’m sure it was nothing to worr–’ began his Grandmother, but Url interrupted her:
‘Go on, lad.’
Yori’s eyes moved wonderingly to the crystal once more, trying to recall what they had seen.
‘It was like a spark… Like a small piece of fire, moving down into the crystal.’ The room fell silent again; Abetta’s hands halting their work. She looked at him with renewed interest, as did his Mother and Father. ‘It was only there for a moment,’ he continued. ‘Then it kept moving away from me, deeper than I’ve ever been before. I…’ He frowned, not knowing how to explain… ‘It was strong. It felt… alive.’
‘We need to get back there!’ Url exclaimed almost before the word had left Yori’s lungs, his eyes now close to bursting with excitement.
‘Where?’ asked Yori’s Mother.
‘The cave! Where I found it! We need to look for more!’
Abetta let out a jaded laugh, while to one side Yori saw the bucket raise to an ominous height once again in his Mother’s hand.
‘Absolutely not!’ she said definitively. ‘Not again. We’ve wasted too many good days over the years searching for your – whatever it is you think you’ve found… We will not be dragged into another waste of time. We’ve dug holes for you, scoured riverbanks, walked for mile upon mile –’
‘Yes, but –’ Url tried, but to no avail.
‘– picked through mounds of leaves, and stones, and branches… You’ve even had Crick stuck halfway up a Gargantree… remember?’
‘Yes, I know –’ Yori could have sworn that he saw the hint of a smile pass briefly across Url’s face, though fortunately his Mother seemed not to have noticed, ‘– but –’
‘But nothing. If you wish and choose to spend your days in search of your Magical fancies then that is indeed your choice. But I won’t have our time wasted any more!’
Url looked around for support, but he found no encouragement save for a hidden, pitying glance from Abetta. Deflated, he looked again at the crystal, sitting back despairingly at the table.
‘I’d like to go,’ said Yori suddenly, already prepared for the stern gaze which, sure enough, his Mother shot in his direction. ‘There was something there,’ he said defiantly as she opened her mouth to dismiss him. ‘I don’t know what it was, but there was definitely something.’
His Mother opened her mouth slightly again, but then closed it slowly, looking slightly deflated herself. Like all the others, she admired and respected Yori’s abilities, despite his youth and the fact that she understand nothing of them. Url was quick as ever to pick up on this momentary change in the balance; the spring returning to his step as he got to his feet again. Yori’s Father put an arm across his wife’s shoulders, letting out his breath in a long, weary sigh.
‘All right, old man,’ he said to Url. ‘We’ll help you. Again.’
‘Ha!’ Url cried, bending to give Yori an enthusiastic hug.
‘But this will be the last time.’
Url stopped, looking up. His face became set with the dogged determination that marked him above all else.
‘It’ll be the only time I need,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘If I’d had a Silver for every –’ Abetta began.
‘Don’t you start, woman!’ growled Url; but he was met with a look of such fierce warning that he couldn’t help but recoil slightly.
‘So, what are you going to need this time?’ asked Yori’s Mother, with a small, resigned shake of her head. Url gazed up at her; a childlike excitement brightening his old eyes…
‘More pairs of hands.’
The Nothingness
Peering around the corner of the high rock wall, damp and broken by thin tendrils of glistening moss beneath his hands, Crick could see nothing but the last section of narrow gorge running down and away from him, and far beyond it the entrance to the Grasslands, glowing with rich, dark greens and oranges in the late-afternoon light. A gentle wind blew quietly through the rocks above and around him, funnelled through the gorge with a constant, high-pitched whistle which seemed to unnerve the horses. Even Railer, his own, was shuffling uneasily and impatiently behind him.
A twelve-year-old, light brown stallion, Railer was by far the bravest and worst-humoured horse Crick had ever known. There were those who were quicker, and many who were easier to control and infinitely more pleasant to ride; but none at all who had the courage and endurance to tolerate Crick’s frequent forays into the dark and dangerous places of the Heartlands as boldly as he had done over the years, since Crick had reached his tenth birthday, begging for the impetuous animal to be trained as his own. But even he was unsettled now amongst the thin, dusty air of these tight grey corridors.
It was always Crick who led the way through this final passage, but it was a task he relished. Sometimes he would take the front without being asked, while at others he would wait for Leyon or Natt to hang back or give him the small nod born from years of Crick’s constant desire to be the first of the three of them to explore anything new or dangerous. Tonight for their entertainment they had decided once more to journey through the rocky foothills of the western tip of the mountains, two days’ ride north of his family’s home. Crick’s two companions were from the nearby village of Reiomarsh, and though their sense of adventure and risk could never quite match Crick’s, they were by far and away the best he had ever been able to find. Neither of them enjoyed this part of the trail. If he was honest, even Crick found it slightly disconcerting. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his breath quiet and deep as he scanned the ground in front of him for a second time. They were past the border and into the Outerlands now. It was not by much, but that was little comfort. Never yet had they encountered anything out here; but then, neither had they ever been here this late before.
It had, predictably, been Crick’s idea to venture out here now, rather than earlier during the day as they usually would. It was the Guardsmen at Fellgate who had given him the idea, with their talk of strange sightings of dark shadows across the far Grasslands, and of distant echoes of the Black Wind itself being felt throughout the hills at the height of the evening. How could he possibly ignore such a wonderfully dangerous challenge? So far, however, despite their many attempts, Crick and the others had seen nothing. On over a dozen days they had ventured into the rocky paths, through Fellgate and past the Guardsmen there who thought Crick a fool and the others more foolish still for following him, up and through the warren of stone corridors and high walkways, and down to the end of this final ravine – the remains of a long-dead river – to a wide platform, below which the trail ran down and disappeared into the Grasslands, and from which they could see for mile upon mile into the hazy distance. For the others, it was excitement enough to be outside the Heartlands. But not for Crick. He wanted to see more. He wanted to see these shadows; these beasts of darkness sired or claimed by the Black Wind. And there was little anyone could say or do to convince him otherwise.
And so it was that he found himself now again outside of the protection of the Heartlands, searching once more for some distant glimpse of something which all others did their utmost never to encounter. And this time it was nearing night. Their time.
‘Crick!’ whispered Natt from behind him. Crick blinked, realising he had been staring around the corner for some time. ‘What’s wrong? What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ said Crick, standing and stretching his arms behind him, shooting a confident grin at the others. ‘It’s fine, there’s nothing here. Come on.’ He offered Railer a reassuring pat on his neck before leaving – the horse snorting quietly but indignantly to let him know that the thought was both unnecessary and unwelcome – walking with a positive, if extremely gentle step around the corner, hopping lightly down the loose bank of the ravine. The others followed awkwardly behind. Crick knew that few people had his skill and ease of movement – at least none who unlike his and so few other families of the realm were open to the old Magics – but every time they traversed this part of the trail he was reminded how particularly clumsy his two friends seemed to him. Stones clattered noisily down the slope and echoed off the rock faces above and around them, making all their attempts at a stealthy approach up to now seem quite pointless. With a weary sigh he jumped the last few feet and made his way along the bottom; the Grasslands growing wider through the gap at the end of the ravine as he approached.
The familiar but nonetheless breathtaking view of the endless plains below greeted him as he emerged onto the ledge: Wide stretches of open ground crossed occasionally by the winding path of a river, specked with isolated trees and patches of scrubland, but otherwise flat and uninterrupted for as far as the eye could see. He took his usual seat against a large boulder at the very lip of the ledge, the others sitting quietly in theirs beside him. For a while none of them spoke. They simply watched. And waited.
‘…How far do you think it is to those trees over there?’ asked Crick at length, stirring the others from their uneasy trances; both staring intently out into the darkening lands ahead of them.
‘Why?’ asked Natt, eyeing Crick warily as he glanced over to the small cluster of low evergreens which Crick had gestured to, nestled amongst a kink in the river which swept away to their left, perhaps a quarter of the way to the horizon. The river was the Maiyen, which, from its source in the mountains just east of the Grasslands, ran west for several hundred miles, forming much of the north and north-western border of the Heartlands.
‘Just wondering,’ said Crick. ‘Well, what do you think?’ Natt considered it for a moment.
‘Ten miles? Twelve, maybe…? And no, I don’t.’
‘Don’t what? You have no idea what I’m going to –’
‘Yes we do,’ interrupted Leyon. Crick turned to face him. ‘In fact, we’ve got far more than an idea. We know exactly what you’re going to say… It’ll be something like, Well it’s not that far… why don’t we go take a look at it? We could be there and back in no time!’
Crick turned from one of them to the other, and back again, wearing the most sincere look of affront he could muster. It didn’t last long.
‘Well, we could!’ he said, to a sigh from Natt and a wearied laugh from Leyon. ‘We could get the horses down there, leave after dawn, and we’d be back by lunch! It’s so flat we could see for miles around us; we’d see anything that was coming. And it’d be in bright sunshine; they wouldn’t even be out! We could –’
‘No,’ said Leyon simply.
‘But don’t you want –’
‘Absolutely not,’ interrupted Natt. Crick opened his mouth to argue again, but he had seen that look in their eyes before. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. In a moment of thoughtless impulsiveness he considered that perhaps he could go himself… But though he despised having to admit it, he would never go down there without the others. The ledge they were sitting on now was quite far enough for three people to be, let alone just one. One man by himself would stand little or no chance that far into the Outerlands, daylight or no daylight. Even Crick, swift, intrigued and willing as he was, knew the difference between adventure and suicide.
‘Well how about we –’ he began; halting as he looked over to Leyon…
It wasn’t Leyon’s raised hand that had silenced him, nor his abrupt ‘Shh!’ It was the look in his eyes… They were wide, scared; his mouth hanging open slightly as he strained his senses in sudden concentration. Leyon was always the first to notice things. And he was rarely mistaken.
‘What?’ asked Crick, quietly.
‘Listen…’ said Leyon.
Crick tried, but he heard nothing. He waited; his breath instinctively slowed and quietened. And suddenly, with a terrible leap of his heart, he realised… There was nothing. No sound, no movement at all. The whistling of the wind through the rocks behind them had been slyly replaced with a deathly silence, as if the very life had been ripped from the air. The beating of Crick’s heart suddenly seemed horribly out of place amongst this… this nothingness.
The Nothingness it was; Crick was certain of it. He had heard tell of it in accounts from the few Guardsmen and venturers and miners who claimed to have journeyed out of the Heartlands: Tales of the cold, sickening void which always preceded the Black Wind and the evil that came with it, in which only fear and madness thrived. Few had experienced it, and far fewer still had ever survived to tell of it. It was everything and nothing like Crick had imagined it.
With a look of purest terror Natt realised as well.
‘But… there’s still light left...?’ whispered Leyon, frozen and gasping for breath.
There was, but only barely. The sun itself had disappeared; only a few of its rays creeping uncertainly back above the horizon. Looking away from the open sky and back into the ravine behind them, Crick realised for the first time just how dark it had become.
But surely it couldn’t be what they all feared: One of the few aspects of the tales which was always the same throughout was that the Black Wind itself only came during the middle of the night, when darkness was at its strongest. Nobody had ever heard or seen it this early before.
‘It’s just a break in the wind,’ said Crick, but his words were hollow and afraid despite his best effort at the unruffled nerve upon which he and the others so often relied. Doubt and fear were etched into the faces of the others. This was no mere break in the wind. This was something else entirely. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. The others needed no convincing; all three companions up and heading back into the ravine by their next breath.
The climb back up was significantly more difficult than their descent had been. The darkness, the loose rock, and the fear which was creeping steadily and inescapably into each of them made them slip and spit frightened curses under their breaths as they struggled to reach the high ground. For the first time in a long while Crick himself lost his footing, doing little to raise any of their spirits. As finally they neared the top of the slope they heard again a gentle trickle of stones being dislodged and falling. This time, however, it was none of them who had caused it. As one they stopped, motionless, staring at each other. Fear gripped them with the crippling claws of its icy fingers as they turned and looked, slowly and reluctantly, behind them…
For a moment there was nothing, Crick daring to hope that they may have been mistaken. But then they heard it again, quiet but now more distinct: the sound of something grasping at the loose stone and earth just beyond the rim of the ledge on which they had been sitting a few short minutes ago. Somewhere inside Crick’s mind a voice screamed RUN! But his body refused. He found it impossible to tear himself away from gazing, terrified, at the opening below. Again they heard it… and again…
Then silence. Crick took in a shallow, silent breath.
But just as he started to let it out something scrambled quickly up and over the ledge: A shadow, darker than those around it, wolf-like in shape but slithering swiftly like a serpent through the ground. It reached the stone against which Crick had been sitting; circling it for a moment, studying it. And then in a violent flash of movement its head jerked upwards towards them, revealing two deep red eyes shining like distant fires against the black. Unbounded menace pulsed in thick waves from those evil, awful eyes as it stared, pawing the ground lightly and purposefully in front of it… and then with an ear-splitting noise somewhere between a screech and a howl it flew straight towards them, jumping a clear twenty feet with its first bound.
Finally Crick found his voice:
‘GO!’ he screamed to the others, scurrying in a blink of one of their eyes up the final few feet of the bank. Trying desperately not to look back down the slope he turned to pull the others up to him, but from the corner of his eyes he saw the shadow leaping and sliding over and through the rocks, closing in upon them with horrifying speed. Its eyes glowed fierce and bright; a constant, terrible snarl filling the air. ‘Move! Don’t stop!’ Crick shouted, pulling first Natt and then Leyon onto the level ground and pushing them on into the passage. In an instant he had overtaken them, rounding the bend behind which the horses were tied. He found two of the animals as overcome with fear as he was. Railer stood frightened but firm amongst them while the other two stamped and reared; Crick pulling a short knife from its sheath along the back of his belt and slashing their reins from the dead tree stump which had held them. He was already mounted as the others appeared, holding the shortened reins of each of their horses either side of him as they ran and vaulted without slowing into their saddles, snatching the leather straps and crashing like lightning away through the passage.
Their careful journey into the hills earlier in the evening had taken nearly an hour, but it was less than a quarter of that before Crick and the others were storming back up to Fellgate, none of them having said a word since the ravine. They slowed, as they had to, for the Guardsmen to scrutinize them before waving them through; but they answered the questions that were thrown at them with little more than nods and breathless pleasantries.
‘Ha! Think the young’uns went a spot further than they should’ve!’ Crick heard one of the Guardsmen shout loudly after them once they had passed. He didn’t bother to turn back. In truth, he barely even noticed him. He knew that if they did tell of what had just happened, the Guardsmen would either not believe them or would tell them angrily that it was their own fault, and that they shouldn’t have been tempting the creatures of the night and the Black Wind itself so close to the border in the first place. And with a fleeting pang of embarrassment, he knew that they would be right. They had been foolish to leave the Heartlands at this time.
Yet at the same time, however, now that the terror had almost subsided and they were trotting slowly into the open, down the last of the foothills and through the clear night sky and a wonderfully comforting cool breeze, he felt the familiar and entirely intoxicating sensation of warm exhilaration pounding through his chest and around his body, stronger by far than even the various liquors Url had accumulated on his travels. He turned to the others…
It took them a little longer to regain their composure, but after a few minutes, as they entered a small wooded hollow – on the other side of which lay their hastily-constructed campsite – Crick saw a nervous smile break across Natt’s face.
‘You happy now?’ Natt asked. Crick smiled back.
‘What in the world was that thing?’ asked Leyon.
‘No idea,’ said Crick. ‘Did you see the way it moved? It was like it was two different beasts at once! I’ve never seen anything like it!’
‘Doubt anyone has,’ said Natt with typical but good-natured self-importance. ‘At least, no-one who’s lived to tell of it.’
‘Well, this is unquestionably another addition to the long and hard-earned list of incidents which my parents do not need to hear of…’ said Crick as they rounded a bend lined thick and high with brambles on either side.
‘Indeed…’ came a low voice suddenly from beside him; a sharp pain shooting through the side of his head. He reeled back, disorientated; Natt’s horse rearing up again while Leyon nearly jumped from his saddle in fright.
‘Who’s there?’ Crick shouted into the bushes, clutching his head and glancing at the branch above him, which seemed to have reached out and struck him of its own accord. ‘Show yourse–’
‘You can stay out for nights on end,’ came the man’s voice again; something moving through the brambles towards them, ‘you can go off on your absurd adventures, and worry your Mother and I silly, but –’ the brambles untangled and parted softly, allowing his Father to emerge onto the track, ‘– you will not give me orders like that. Understood?’
Crick opened his mouth but found no words whatsoever. Fortunately, Leyon was quick to find some for him:
‘Mr Orlando, sir! Umm, hello! Erm… what are you doing he–’
‘I’ve come to collect my son,’ said Crick’s Father, not taking his eyes off Crick. ‘I would ask where you’ve been, but I fear I can guess without your help.’ Natt and Leyon glanced at each other uncomfortably, unsure what to say. Crick remembered now how different and intimidating his father’s stare could be, when he wished it to be so.
‘And from the looks on your faces,’ Orlando continued, ‘you’ve had quite an evening!’
‘We –’ Crick began, but his Father cut him off again:
‘It can wait.’ He turned to the others. ‘You two ride on to camp, get your things, and get home. You…’ he looked to Crick, ‘will walk with me.’
Natt and Leyon needed no further encouragement: With a brief murmur of goodbye to Crick and a clumsy attempt at a more courteous one to his Father, they sped off hastily along the track. Crick dismounted and walked silently beside his Father.
‘Url’s found something again,’ was all he would say at first to Crick’s look of confusion. But as the others disappeared from view amongst the brambles his gaze softened, and he released a long breath; the tension easing from his shoulders and thickly-stubbled jaw.
‘So…’ he said, looking sideways at Crick. ‘Tell me everything.’
Crick smiled, and did.
Waterfaery
If there was one type of day which Aliya could have chosen amongst all others, this would almost certainly be it. The warm sun was high amongst small scatterings of wispy cloud, the breeze was soft and cool, and she was alone, undisturbed in her own thoughts; the only other noises coming from the wildlife around her. And, above all, she was enjoying all of this from the western shore of Lake Iris, her favourite place in the world; gazing out over the still, blue scene broken only occasionally by the joyful plop and ripples of a jumping fish, or the landing of a bird. There was little else Aliya enjoyed more than resting amongst the creatures which called these places home, which is why she was rarely found anywhere very far from them.
She had been sitting here all morning; Nightwind like a great shadow behind her, quiet and calm as ever save for an occasional nicker or gentle flick of his glossy black tail as he grazed on the waves of thick grass and flowers which covered the gently-sloping bank, tumbling lazily down to the lake. The far side of the water could just be made out in the distance, from where came the occasional tiny glints of light reflected from the casting of a fishing rod; though the figure of whoever it was who was doing the casting was too small to recognize. It was probably Jacob or Merien… They alone enjoyed and appreciated the lake almost as much as Aliya, fishing or swimming amongst its northern banks, occasionally shouting a greeting across the forever peaceful water; the closest thing to neighbours Aliya had in this quiet, forgotten corner of the Heartlands. Not that that was a bad thing.
Aliya stood, stretching her rested legs, and made her way down to the small boulders that lined this part of the shore, between which the water swirled and swelled in gentle, constant rhythm, or else lay flat and still in dozens of small, oddly-shaped pools. She hopped onto the first, skipping to another, examining the rock-pools briefly as she danced amongst them.
Several blue-eye frogs were basking by the water’s edge, asleep despite their large, ever-watchful eyes which followed Aliya as she passed above them. Had she been anyone or anything else, they might have jumped. But they recognised Aliya. Like everything here, they knew they had nothing to fear from her. Tiny skaters skipped lightly over the water’s surface, and for a few, charmingly pointless seconds a flock of goldcrests emerged from the woodland further north along this side of the lake, circling and singing merrily above the water before plunging, swift and straight, back into the treetops.
After a few minutes Aliya glimpsed the silvery scales of a baby spriggleback, its long, thin nose poking warily out from the shadows. She halted on one leg, crouching down so that her long, dark hair skimmed the surface, placing her hand slowly into the pool without even the tiniest of ripples. As her fingers felt the coolness of the water a wave of quiet, peaceful energy coursed up her arm, and she sensed the fish hovering inches away from her. For a moment she stayed there, unmoving, reaching out to her new aquatic friend as its curiosity prompted it forwards to drift lightly through her fingers. She wiggled them in greeting, stroking its smooth sides…
In a sudden blue flash something flew out across the surface of the pool from beneath the rock she was standing on, jumping up onto another on the opposite side. She toppled back but regained her balance in time, and as she looked across the pool she saw it hovering nimbly above the rock: A waterfaery.
The shimmering blue tangle of light turned to face Aliya, and as it did so several others shot out from below her to join it. For a second the other side of the pool was alive in a bright blue glow, and then as one the spirits fell back away from her into the lake. Aliya hopped quickly across to where they had been, and in the water a few feet away she saw a dull light gliding softly but swiftly into the depths of the lake. It travelled for a while longer, until the light was almost gone… and then with an explosion of blue mist a dozen bright blue sparks burst magnificently through the surface, spreading quickly out across the water. There they fluttered merrily about, over and around each other, skipping lightly across the water or diving briefly under it, emerging a few feet away in brief showers of tiny droplets.
Aliya had seen waterfaeries before, of course, but this didn’t dampen her delight at seeing them again. Of all the creatures of the water, they were possibly the most mysterious, and certainly the most charming. It was rare to be this close to them, though. Even with her affinity for such things, she had rarely seen them like this. She longed to join them in their watery games, but knew that if she tried to get any closer they would be off faster than she could blink. So instead she sat carefully on the rock, and watched, dangling her hand loose in the water in front of her.
A while later, her neck beginning to feel hot and sticky beneath her hair and the sun high above it, Aliya felt a soft swell of brightness brush lightly against her hand. For some reason she looked not down, but up and slightly to the left, and as she did so she saw a tiny waterfaery hovering, away from its friends, staring at her. At least, staring as much as a waterfaery could stare, not having any recognisable eyes to speak of. As Aliya looked back at it she felt the touch again, knowing somehow that it was coming from the motionless creature. She smiled uncertainly, delighted at what she was seeing and feeling. She felt it again; this time following the swell as it turned and meandered back to the faery. It was looking at her… It seemed almost to be pulling at her, inviting her towards it. She wanted desperately to join it. She thought she could feel the others looking at her too, but she dared not take her eyes off this one…
And then as if it had heard her wish, it started to float calmly across the water towards her. She could see its features clearly now: bright fragments of twinkling dust shaped into form by tiny limbs which resembled thin, blue twigs. It was barely more than an arm’s length away from her; all the others seeming suddenly to have moved closer as well… And that was when she glanced around her, and realised: The faeries themselves had not moved at all… The water was moving her.
Looking down she watched, awestruck as the soft, rolling currents passed in smooth drifts beside and beneath her, carrying her closer still to the faeries. She was right amongst them. They hovered for a moment, just above the water, and then as though deciding suddenly and unanimously that they approved of her they continued their skipping and playing just as they had been before; Aliya merely a new frame to be climbed upon or swum around. Their tiny paws pressed light and quick upon her skin, fainter than those of any newborn creature; one of them flying briskly up her arm and the side of her neck, diving elegantly from her head to land without breaking the surface of the water ten feet away. She had no idea what she should do. Or perhaps she should say something…? Gingerly, still trying not to think too hard about how or why she was floating above the water, she reached out a hand to the faery which had first looked at her, which was paddling contentedly down by her right knee. It flicked a mischievous splash of water up at her, and then jumped up towards her hand –
‘Aliya!’
Instantly Aliya felt herself fall with a loud, clumsy splash into the cold water. She reached down with her feet and found the bottom; the water coming up to her shoulders as she stood on the tips of her toes. Frantically she wiped the water from her eyes, looking around her… but they were gone. All of them had vanished into the lake, leaving no trace whatsoever of their presence.
‘Aliya?’ Yori called again, now standing on the rocks and looking out at her with utmost bewilderment.
‘What?’ she snapped back irritably; trying, wholly unsuccessfully, to regain some form of poise as she half-swam, half-waded back onto the shore.
‘You’ve… still got all your clothes on…’
‘I know I have! It was… Didn’t you see them?’
Yori raised an eyebrow amidst his scowl of confusion.
‘The waterfaeries!’ Aliya persevered. ‘They were all around me! I was sitting over there and… I don’t know, they just sort of lifted me over to them. I was floating! They were playing all around me like I was one of them! And then you –’ she splashed him hard as she passed him, dragging herself and her sodden clothes out of the water, ‘– you came and ruined it!’
‘Sorry,’ said Yori simply. Aliya knew without doubt that he mean it, probably more than he deserved. ‘I was told to come and get you,’ he added, looking at her apologetically.
Aliya halted in her attempt to shake the water from her trousers and held up her dripping arms; her shoulders and cheeks covered in a heavy tangle of hair. For Yori’s benefit, and to his evident relief, she managed a laugh.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said, flicking another sleeveful of water at him. ‘I –’
‘What do you mean you were floating?’ Yori interrupted.
‘Why were you told to come get me?’ Aliya asked.
‘Url’s found something again. I think we’re all going to go have a look.’
Aliya was able to turn the curse in her mind to a gentle sigh before it left her lips. Whenever Url found something it meant entirely too much digging, climbing, or usually anything else that would keep her away from the water for a long time.
‘I think it might actually be something this time…’ said Yori. But Aliya wasn’t really listening. She was staring out at the spot where the waterfaeries had been, wondering if she would find them again – or if they would find her – and whether or not she would ever be able to repeat what she had just done. She would have given anything to be allowed to linger by the lake a while longer.
‘You’re not listening, are you?’ said Yori.
‘Oh – umm, no. Sorry.’
‘Come on, let’s go. I’ll tell you again. And you can tell me all about how you’ve…’ he gave her another inquisitive glance, ‘…learnt to fly…?’
The Humouring of an Old Man
The first breaths of a familiarly rich, pleasant smell were already working their way gently out through the back window of the family’s cottage as dawn broke over the eastern fields. Inside, despite being the one person who did not in fact call this his own home, it was Url alone who was already sitting at the thick, round, cracked wooden table; waiting with an impatience to rival that of a newborn child.
In front of the paned window, still somehow bright despite its accumulation of many years of spattered grease and other various foods, through which the rolling fields of green and brown appeared overrun by a great but not unfriendly swarm of dark splodges, Siu was expertly balancing a large frying pan full of sausages, another with newly-cracked eggs, while somehow managing also to find a third hand to keep guard over a tall pot of boiling soup which sat precariously atop the cooker. With a deft flick of one hand she flipped the sausages onto their uncooked sides, and with the other she seemed to be stirring the soup and dividing the whites of the eggs at the same time. Not that Url noticed any of this, so lost in the depths of his thoughts was he, as usual. Nor did he notice when she asked him to get the water and cups and cutlery for the table. She sighed, not bothering to ask again.
With a creak of old, tired hinges Orlando appeared through the front door, carrying an exhausted scowl and the smooth, newly-finished saddle he had been attempting to fit to the strongest and oldest of the family’s two workhorses: Oden, a mottled, dark brown gelding with patches of black across his mane and ears, who was growing weary and grumpy with his age. Sire to Nightwind and Railer, he was becoming less like the one and more like the other with each passing day, much to Orlando’s mounting frustration.
‘Still not right,’ he grumbled, dropping the tangled mass of sweet-smelling leather in a heap beside him. ‘Not that that damned animal is helping.’
‘He’s served us well,’ said Siu absently, still working the pots, pans and other various utensils swiftly in front of her.
‘In all his years I’ve never had trouble fitting him. If he’d just keep still for a –’ but he paused, seeing the look on Siu’s face. ‘Url!’ he called sharply, gesturing to the sizzling and simmering food, snapping the old man from his daydream. ‘Help my good wife with the table!’
‘Oh! Right, yes – sorry, my dear,’ said Url. He offered Siu a repentant smile as he jumped to his feet and began digging through various draws behind him for a clumsy handful of cutlery. ‘I just have… rather a lot on my mind, you see. Would rather like to get started, um, as soon as possible…?’
‘And we will,’ said Siu, returning his smile with one of her own. ‘But not until we’ve eaten. Could you call them?’ she added to Orlando.
But as Orlando moved to the door and reached out to it the handle turned slowly by itself; the door inched gradually away from him to reveal the yawning figure of Crick, still rubbing thick clumps of sleep from his eyes.
‘Sausages…?’ he asked through another cavernous yawn.
‘Get some water for the table and sit down,’ said Siu. ‘It’s almost ready.’
Crick obeyed sleepily, resting his head in both of his hands, his eyes barely open once he was sat at his place beside Url.
‘What time did you two get back last night then?’ asked Url.
‘Not until the early hours,’ said Orlando. ‘My wonderful old ride out there decided to try and throw me a few miles out. Snapped half the buckles on his saddle clean away.’
‘I’d told you to replace that thing months ago,’ said Siu, ‘It’s been –’
‘So…’ Url whispered to Crick, having succeeded in occupying the others in their own conversation; his smile just about subtle enough to avoid Siu’s detection. ‘Been out searching for monsters again, have we?’ Crick’s eyes widened in surprise, but he managed to keep his head pointing firmly down to the table, forcing another attempt at a yawn. He looked carefully up to his Mother, then sideways to Url…
‘Finding them,’ he murmured.
‘What’s that?’ asked Siu before Url could give voice to his look of excitement; giving Orlando enough time to reach the doorway, from where he called hurriedly up to Yori and Aliya.
‘Nothing,’ Crick answered, forcing a yawn and sniffing the air a little too enthusiastically. ‘What is it?’
‘Potato and onion,’ said his Mother flatly, fixing him with an accusatory glare.
‘Smells nice…’ Crick mumbled, trying to smile.
‘Yes, you said,’ said Siu, withdrawing the ladle from the pot and resting it above the cooker, upon which it dripped a thick, dark yellow soup. Pumpkin. Crick grimaced at his mistake, though he tried not to let it show. ‘You hate onion, remember?’
‘Aliya!’ Crick called happily, hearing her emerge into the room behind him.
‘What?’ said Aliya, stopping suspiciously.
‘Just... saying good morning,’ said Crick.
‘I see…’ said Aliya, looking questioningly to her Mother.
‘Ignore him, dear; he’s trying to hide one of his adventures from me again. Come and sit down – I think it’s all ready to serve…?’ She looked back to the foods, checking and giving a satisfied nod to each in turn.