‘Ah, but wait,’ she interrupted. ‘When Xantia was old enough to grasp that she had relinquished freedom she objected and she has not stopped objecting since. Of all our acolytes, Xantia is the one most fiercely opposed to this life of sacrifice. She could make a fine Elder, but sadly never will. She is
very intelligent and has an amazing grasp of the Dark Arts. Not that we use them,’ she added quickly, ‘but she has a fine understanding of how people fall prey to that darker side.’
‘Is this what Xantia studies?’ Tor was intrigued.
‘Oh, yes. She knows all the ancient incantations—spells and enchantments long vanished from common use. She is forbidden to use them; our job is simply to record history. Xantia’s work in this area will be priceless to Tallinor in centuries to come.’
‘I see,’ he said, sipping at the warm lemon tea they were sharing in one of the many beautiful rooms at the Academie. He pressed on. ‘The Academie is breathtaking, Elder Iris. I am genuinely keen to see more of it but I realise I cannot wander its gracious halls alone…that I must have a guide.’
Her voice hardened once more. ‘Physic Gynt, I will permit Xantia to act as your guide for I see you are determined to have her company. I cannot blame you. I can imagine that the thought of one of us ancient Elders accompanying you may feel more like a chore—’ She held up her hand to prevent his protestations.
‘It will be good for her too. You have three days to spend with us before the festivities begin and I like the thought that you might give them over to learning more about Caremboche. But allow me to remind you of the law which governs us here.’
Tor leapt in this time. ‘Elder Iris, forgive my interruption. Physic Merkhud went to great pains to impress upon me all that the Academie stands for and
the rules surrounding its privileged and protected members.’ He sat forward, an earnest expression stealing over his face. ‘I have come here to learn. I have absolutely no intention of so much as bending your rules let alone breaking them. I do understand your caution. Trust me, Elder, I have nothing but education on my mind.’
She nodded sagely. ‘Then I will instruct Xantia. She may well benefit from the experience and I hope you will use this opportunity to speak with all the Elders. You will find this a fascinating place, Physic Gynt.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, elated. ‘I shall take back marvellous stories to tell at the Palace.’
‘You must visit our archives too. In there you will find the most amazing stories of all. Be sure Xantia introduces you to our archivist.’ Elder Iris smiled sadly. ‘She won’t suggest it herself, I might add. They are rivals for the position of Elder which we will appoint shortly and I’m disappointed to say that a great friendship between these girls has soured as a result.’
Tor felt dismissed but was glad to escape the crusty old girl’s sharp scrutiny. Xantia met him not long after in the main courtyard.
‘Good morning, Physic Gynt.’
Tor could not help but admit this was a woman to turn heads. She wore her shiny dark hair artfully braided today which revealed her striking features set in an oval face. He noticed in the sunlight how the olive tone of her skin made her perfect teeth and bright eyes all the more brilliant.
He realised she was looking at him now with a bemused expression.
‘Pardon?’
She laughed. ‘I said, how did you manage it?’
‘The Sisters Grim fell for my charms,’ he offered.
‘I don’t think so somehow. The Elders would not recognise a man’s charm even if it came up and bit them on the—’
‘Ah, Elder May. Xantia was just explaining that your work in the herbals is exceptional.’ Tor addressed the older woman who was crossing the courtyard behind them.
She replied that he was most welcome to visit her rooms and he graciously accepted, throwing a look towards his companion warning her to be more careful.
The morning passed too quickly for Xantia. Tor, as he had suggested she call him, was fine company, witty and intelligent. She enjoyed strolling through the halls of the Academie with him and felt proud that he was impressed by her knowledge.
When the dinner bell sounded she resented its intrusion.
‘Will you join us? I’d love to show you off to the other acolytes.’ Her laugh was seductive.
‘It’s very tempting and Elder Iris has insisted I meet the archive specialist. I believe she has some fascinating stories to tell?’ He saw the smile leave Xantia’s face. ‘I assure you I have every intention of meeting her but I won’t come to the dining hall today, Xantia, thank you. I have some letters to get away to
Tal. I imagine life will get fairly busy for all of us shortly and these should not wait.’
Tor figured that if Elder Iris was eating in the dining room this afternoon she might be impressed if he distanced himself from socialising too keenly with Xantia.
‘I’ll look forward to seeing you this afternoon,’ he finished and left.
As Tor walked back to his room Cloot landed lightly on his shoulder.
And how many sacred rules have you broken this morning?
the falcon asked.
None.
Well, it’s early days,
the bird said, ruffling his feathers.
There was a small fire going in Tor’s room, which he attributed to another quiet deed from Saxon, and a tray of food. A note on the tray was from Elder Iris who hoped he had enjoyed his morning’s tour and wished him a quiet dinner. Tor smiled to himself knowing he had made a sound decision to eat alone.
Sorrel was quick to inform Merkhud of Tor’s arrival. The old man was surprised at the speed with which his Under Physic had crossed the Kingdom. He went so far as to ask whether she was quite sure.
Sorrel snapped with irritation.
Of course it’s him. His name is Torkyn Gynt, is it not?
Yes, yes. I don’t understand though. It should have taken him at least seven or eight days at the earliest to cross so many counties and traverse the mountain passes.
Well, all I can say is he’s here and I imagine your carefully planned meeting will occur tomorrow.
Who is with him?
No one is with him,
she replied tartly.
No bird, no soldier?
Merkhud, I think you need a rest. No bird? No, of course there’s no bird with him. There is no one else with him.
Strange…
His voice trailed off and so did the link.
A
lyssa could not sleep. Since her formal welcome into the Academie she had been treated like all other acolytes and moved into a room which she shared with Xantia and two others. She could hear them all now, breathing slowly and deeply; she envied them their rest.
Something was bothering her.
She could not stop her mind flitting between thoughts of the secret books and that odd sensation of a link trying to open in her mind today. And now, in the stillness of night, she was plagued by thoughts of Tor. Irritated by her restlessness and the contented sleep sounds of her companions, she threw back her blankets and felt the frosty air. Slipping into a robe, she grabbed her boots and tiptoed from the room.
Alyssa loved silence and the dark did not disturb her as she hurried through the warren of corridors which led her towards the crypt. Her thoughts were firmly on tackling the second book but when she scurried across an open hallway spanning one of the courtyards the flickering glow of candlelight from the window of the small building near the stables distracted her.
She paused to consider who could be in there; Saxon slept in the hay loft. Then Alyssa remembered the royal visitor from Tal. How could she have forgotten after Xantia’s mind-numbing description of how handsome he was, how beautiful his voice, how blue his eyes, and his charming manner and wicked wit. The narrative had claimed most of the dinner hour and Alyssa had been relieved to escape the babbling.
She hugged her robe around her more tightly as she stared at the glow from the room. She felt a small shock as a shadow passed briefly across the window before the candle was extinguished. The tall stranger’s profile could have belonged to Torkyn Gynt, she thought. Or was her mind playing tricks? She continued to stare at the dark square where the light had been. It was not him, of course. She was thinking too much on Tor these days.
‘Get a hold of yourself, Alyssa,’ she whispered as she stepped lightly down the curving staircase which led into the archives.
This area was dimly lit by infrequently placed sconces which the Elders kept burning permanently.
She was glad of this practice now as she progressed deeper into the building where it was cooler still and smelled faintly and pleasantly of the earth.
Alyssa lit two candles and carried them to a chair she favoured in a nook which was well secreted between tall bookshelves and a cupboard. She was happy to see she had left a rug there and, after fetching the books, she curled herself into the chair and tucked the rug around her. She yawned. Now she felt sleepy. Well, too late!
She opened the second book but did not read. Instead she began to wonder why anyone would hide the books in the first place. If the story of Orlac was pure fancy, a tale to scare the little ones around the fireside at night, then why had it been so carefully scribed in what she now knew was ancient script? But if what she had read so far about this stolen god was true, then there certainly was good reason to protect these books.
Alyssa believed that the events described were indeed a narrative of the day. Her guess was that some dedicated member of the ancient Seat of Learning had recorded for generations to come the horrific events which had unfolded centuries previous. This disturbed her. So did the unsettling coincidence that a man called Merkhud was named as the mortal father of the boy god, Orlac.
It was a far-fetched notion but somehow she could not help bringing into focus the other man called Merkhud: Royal Physic, beloved healer and revered sage. The same man who had stolen Tor from her.
The name Merkhud was uncommon; nay, it was rare indeed. She had been studying these books for years and such a name had never appeared in any context other than as father to Orlac.
Surely it was too much of a coincidence that a Merkhud had tracked down a young man whose sentient powers had gone undetected by the Inquisitors?
Many years had passed before Alyssa learned that the old man she had feared at Minstead Green on that fateful day of the Floral Dance was the famous Royal Physic. She had never understood why the old man had sought out Tor and why the sight of him had created such fear in Tor that day. But how could he be the same man? The Merkhud mentioned in the old books would have to be centuries old to be alive today. Impossible! But then her agile mind slipped around the idea.
Why not? If she and Tor were able to hide their powers from those devoted to tracing magical ability, then why could a man not possess such magic as to make himself live for centuries?
Alyssa finally allowed Merkhud to slot neatly into the jigsaw in her mind. He was Orlac’s father. So why was he still alive and what was his interest in Tor? It had to be Tor’s powers; even she knew they were vast.
She steadied her mind now and thought about what she had learned so far from these strange but marvellous writings. She had discovered that the scribe’s name was Nanak. Alyssa felt sure he was not just a scribe though. The elegant hand, the
intelligence in his words, the precision of his narrative, suggested he was far more than a simple writer. She could be wrong but she wanted to believe he was one of the Masters himself.
Nanak told how a vastly talented lad had been brought to Goldstone by his parents. It was only much later that the father, Merkhud, was actually named. Orlac and his powers were more potent than any who had lived previously. He was a stunning discovery and Nanak had recorded how excited the Masters were to have such an accomplished wielder in their midst. They had such high hopes for him.
Orlac was described as ‘beautiful’ which Alyssa found curious, but the more she learned of him the more she could believe it. It took only a couple of summers, she read, before the young man realised his potential. Nanak explained in his careful words that Orlac was an angry person; he was filled with resentment and bitterness for no apparent reason.
Alyssa recalled how briefly Nanak had summarised the events which led to Orlac’s downfall. How he had shocked Goldstone by challenging the Masters, then learned of the cunning plan to Quell him. Great sadness came through Nanak’s words as he described the fall of the great Seat of Learning as Orlac, gifted with extraordinary powers, had razed the glittering, mighty city to rubble. How he had murdered more than two thousand people in his wrath before fleeing to the catacombs beneath the city. There he had hidden for days.
The few Masters remaining had summoned the young man’s parents and learned that Orlac was not their true child but adopted. A child who had been sold to them by Scavengers. And this was where Merkhud was first mentioned, Alyssa remembered, although the mother’s name was not given. Nanak had described how the Masters had sent Merkhud to track down the truth of his son’s birth. There the first book ended.
Alyssa rubbed her eyes. She was tired and still had not read a word from the open second book.
A mere horror tale did not take this long in the telling nor would it require the services of a professional scribe, perhaps a Master of the Power Arts, to write it down. It would be told simply and passed from family to family. No, Alyssa was convinced that this was no piece of folklore. This was truth. She was reading about real events which had taken place centuries previously when the Academie had indeed been the Great Seat of Learning in a thriving city. She presumed that the author, Nanak himself, must have hidden his writings. Why? What was he afraid of? It had to be Orlac that frightened him.
And old man Merkhud must have plans for the great power he had found in Tor. But why? What did he want? His own son had been as empowered and yet all of that had gone terribly wrong. Orlac had been imprisoned and Merkhud was still wandering the land several centuries on.
Perhaps Merkhud wanted to use Tor’s power to release Orlac. Alyssa snuggled deeper into her chair
as she turned these thoughts over and over in her mind. And gradually, without realising it, she drifted into the heaviest of sleeps in which she dreamed of a silver wolf welcoming her into a forest.
Apologies, my love, for the late hour.
Sorrel heard a tightness in Merkhud’s voice.
Are you well, Merkhud?
Tired.
She felt her former snappiness towards him dissipate at his fatigued tone.
Are we near the end, dear one?
You know, I feel we are drawing close. Tor and Alyssa will meet soon. I am unsure what will happen next but, however this unfolds, you must stay close to Alyssa and follow their path.
And what of you, my love?
she whispered across the link.
Oh, I shall wait. You will be my eyes and I shall wait for your news.
He sounded terrible.
Merkhud, it’s been so long now. Will I see you again…ever?
I’m not sure, Sorrel, but I love you dearly. I hope I shall see your lovely smile again.
There was no conviction in his voice.
The Festival is in two days,
she said, changing the subject.
Sorrel, Goth may be at Caremboche.
What?
Her alarm pulsed across the link.
Fear not. You are warned. Take the necessary precautions,
he said firmly.
Show no fright to the girl. She must be allowed to make her decision without the threat of Goth skewing her choice. I have no idea where this is headed. We must trust them now to take the right course.
But Merkhud, they don’t know anything. They don’t know who we think he is and even we have no idea how Alyssa fits into this.
That’s right, we do not. All the more reason to trust them and the forces guiding them. We have to, Sorrel. There is nothing else. I have no more plans, no more schemes. It is up to Tor now. He must show us who he is and what he is capable of. Why he was sent here.
What if he isn’t the One?
He is,
came the short reply.
Remember my warning.
Merkhud shut the link.
The following morning Xantia woke early and dressed carefully. She was irritated to see that Alyssa had obviously been up for ages; her tousled bed sheets were cold and unslept in. There was no sign of her at breakfast either but that was not unusual and by then Xantia was too consumed with seeing Torkyn Gynt again. Today she would have to introduce them; Elder Iris had insisted. Xantia decided she could turn it into something amusing by flaunting this man she was smitten by in front of Alyssa.
She left the dining hall with the other chattering acolytes but, as usual, held herself apart from their conversation. This time she was happy with the arrangement as her thoughts were elsewhere. How she could leave the Academie and travel with Torkyn Gynt was already a well-chewed idea. Would he accept her? She doubted it because of the archalyt and what it signified. Her Untouchable status made even his revered status look lowly. But Xantia was way past needing Tor to love her back. All she could think about was being with him.
She spotted Elder Iris but would have pretended not to have noticed her if the older woman had not beckoned.
‘Good morning, Xantia.’
‘Elder Iris, I hope you slept well,’ she said, bowing with the respect accorded all Elders of the Academie.
‘Like a log. And you?’
‘Peacefully, thank you,’ Xantia said, ignoring the Elder’s slightly lifted eyebrow.
‘I hear you gave our esteemed visitor a most engaging tour of the study halls yesterday. What do you have planned for today, child?’
The emphasis on the word ‘child’ was not lost on Xantia. Her blood boiled but her countenance remained composed; her voice humble.
‘With your permission, Elder Iris, I thought I might take Physic Gynt to the archives.’
‘An excellent idea, Xantia. I’m sure you and Alyssa will keep him enthralled.’
There it was again; irony lacing her polite words. Xantia ignored it and continued. ‘And later I hoped you might give me permission to take one of the wagons to show Physic Gynt around Ildagarth.’
‘I’ll give that some consideration but you might check whether Saxon is free this afternoon to take our guest into town.’
‘I’ll do that now,’ Xantia said sweetly, hoping she kept the sneer from her expression.
Xantia found Saxon loading logs into baskets on either side of Kythay. It was certainly cold enough now to be lighting the fires in the Academie. She repeated her request and refused to leave until she was sure the man’s dumb nod meant he understood and he would make himself available. The silly old fool had done the journey so many times now, as had his equally dumb donkey, that both could make the trip blind.
‘Good,’ she said, feeling that perhaps everything might fall into place.
Xantia was confident that Elder Iris would give her the permission she so desperately needed to leave the Academie and spend some hours with Tor away from the scrutiny of the Elders. She found him speaking with several of the youngest acolytes in the arched reception lobby. They were giggling as silly young girls do and a pang of jealousy tingled through her. She saw Tor flash his broad smile and then whisper something to them, making them all squeal with laughter this time before accepting his magnanimous bow as he excused himself. He had
sensed Xantia’s arrival but pretended to notice her only at that instant.
Xantia forced a smile to her lips. ‘I see you are already a success with our youngsters.’
‘They are delightful girls. A credit to the Academie,’ he said disarmingly.
‘Quite.’ She suppressed her jealousy, shocked by her longing to touch this man. She could not stand anyone—not even ten year olds, sharing him even for a moment. She balanced herself and banished her desires for the time being. Brightening her expression, she migrated to safe ground and asked him how he had slept.
‘Incredibly soundly, thank you,’ he replied.
She blushed furiously at the thought of him lying naked in his sheets and changed the subject again.
‘Do you know one of the Elders mentioned during breakfast that she saw the most glorious peregrine falcon this morning circling above the Academie?’