Silvermay (10 page)

‘Only if we can find a way across the ravine,' said Nerigold, showing that her mind was still agile even if her body was spent.

‘It's the river we have to cross and, further down, the ground might slope down to its banks,' I replied.

‘So there's hope,' she said wearily.

I knew why she'd used such a tone. It didn't seem right to sound hopeful when Tamlyn had been dead for only a few hours.

‘Hope, yes, but we have nothing to eat and it might be days before we can get across. With nothing for yourself, you won't be able to feed Lucien.'

Mention of Coyle had stirred the questions that had been dancing around us both since the death of the fingerless rogue.

‘Is it true?' I dared ask. ‘What you said about my little Smiler? I don't understand.'

There was still enough of the day's light for her tears to be reflected in her eyes. And those eyes stayed on her son. He was all she cared about, as she'd shown me so many times, beginning with the moment I'd first heard her speak outside Nettlefield's inn. She rested her hand gently on the blanket that kept him warm, the gift from my mother.

‘Early last year,' she began, ‘some women came to our village looking for servants and scullery maids to work in Vonne. My father thought it was a good opportunity and sent me with them, along with other girls I'd grown up with. I was assigned to the home of a powerful lord. It was a rather solemn place to work but I was happy among the other servants. Then the master of the house noticed me one evening while I was serving dinner. He called me to him and spoke to me. I don't understand how, but almost immediately I felt strong affection for him, even though a voice at the back of my mind said he wasn't the man for me, he was too old, too cold. It was Coyle Strongbow.'

‘He used enchantments on you,' I said. ‘A Wyrdborn tried to steal my friend Hespa in the same way. He would have done it, too, if Tamlyn hadn't distracted him somehow.'

‘There was no Tamlyn to save me, not then,' said Nerigold. ‘I lived in the house for half a year. I can't remember much of it; except that I was neither happy
nor sad. It was as though inside me there was … nothing.' She paused and I felt the horror of what she had just said. ‘After that, Coyle must have grown tired of me, or else he became fed up with his wife's constant demands to send me home.'

‘He had a wife!'

‘Yes, the Lady Ezeldi, a Wyrdborn just like him. One thing I do remember was her fairness towards me. She could have used her powers to make my life a constant hell, but instead she treated me as part servant, part adopted daughter; maybe because she had no girls of her own. Once I was set free, the daze lifted and I saw at last how magic had deceived me. I was ashamed and more miserable than I'd thought it possible to feel. Back in my father's house I did nothing but cry, day after day, a river of tears that almost sent him mad. It might have passed. They tell me other girls have survived …'

‘But you had a special problem,' I said. It was hardly difficult to guess.

‘Yes, I was expecting a baby.'

I could imagine what this had meant for her. It seemed her own family had rejected her. One cruelty had led to another, and on top of that she'd had to face the birth, too. I remembered what Tamlyn had told Birdie when they first arrived: if not for the midwife, Nerigold would have died giving birth to Lucien.

‘My father sent me to live with his brother, in a village where I wasn't known,' Nerigold explained. ‘I would have stayed there and died of one cause or another, if Tamlyn hadn't found me.'

Here was Tamlyn's name in her story at last. If this Coyle was Lucien's father, then Tamlyn wasn't — and, oh, how that doubled the anguish I felt every time I thought of him. Other things were beginning to make sense now, too. That lack of lovers' affection between them; the way Tamlyn had become so playful with me instead. There was more I desperately wanted to know, things that only Nerigold could tell me, but I couldn't possibly ask her, even though the silence was a kind of torture.

A full minute passed.

‘You've gone quiet, Silvermay,' said Nerigold. ‘Have you run out of questions?'

‘I'm tired.'

‘You're silent because the things you want to ask might hurt me.'

‘I'd never do anything to hurt you, Nerigold,' I said, putting my hand over hers where it lay on my Smiler's sleeping body.

It was a lie. I'd let Tamlyn show his budding affection for me and hadn't been strong enough to stop dreaming it could grow into love. Now the man was dead, yet still my heart refused to give him up.

‘You want to know how Tamlyn came to be my companion, don't you?' said Nerigold.

‘It's none of my business.'

‘Oh, I think it is, Silvermay,' she insisted, in the same slow, steady voice. ‘I saw the way you looked at him, right from the first day in your village. And after we left Haywode, you were nervous around him every minute, wanting to be close even as you made yourself keep a distance.'

‘No, it's not true,' I said, horrified. ‘That time he wiped the grease from my face, I … And in the woods, after we'd killed the rabbit, I had every right to be mad with him, the way he was teasing me, and … Oh, I'm sorry, Nerigold.'

I'd managed to deny her claims and apologise at the same time, which was a kind of admission, wasn't it? I should have said nothing.

Nerigold slipped her hand out from beneath mine, then let it fall into place again, hooking her fingers around my palm so I wouldn't pull away. Her touch was cold, so cold, but it was a warm gesture all the same.

‘Tamlyn was not in love with me, Silvermay. We pretended to be banished lovers so that people like Mr Nettlefield wouldn't guess the real reason we were on the run. Without Tamlyn, Coyle would have killed me and carried off my baby long ago.'

‘You mean Tamlyn wasn't going to marry you? He'd made no promises?' I dared ask.

‘No,' she answered simply and now it was my turn to read the silence.

‘You would have liked him to marry you, though.'

She squeezed my hand and said, ‘I think you and I have shared the same dreams, Silvermay.'

The light was gone now but I was certain her lips had curled into a wistful smile.

‘He didn't just turn up at your uncle's house and take you away,' I said. ‘What made him do it?'

‘An order from someone he serves, but also love, I think.'

‘But you said —'

She cut me off. ‘Not for me, no. For this one.' She released my hand and caressed Lucien's back. ‘Tamlyn and Lucien were brothers.'

‘Brothers! No, that's impossible.'

‘Not full brothers, no, but they shared the same father. Tamlyn was Coyle's son, too.'

N
o matter what calamity makes one day worse than all others, the sun doesn't care, and so it rose the next morning as it always does, bringing light to the meadow where we'd spent a night without food or a fire. This light was grey and soft as a pillow, thanks to the heavy mist that enveloped us in a silent shroud, making it impossible to see more than thirty paces in any direction. I've always liked misty mornings. On another day, the scene around us would have been a tranquil gift to be savoured. Not this day, though. I was stiff from another night on the ground, and cold where the dew had dampened my dress and hair. I was hungry, too, ravenously so.

‘Can we make a fire?' Nerigold asked, grunting as she sat up.

I shook my head. ‘Our flints were in the pack.'

There was no need to point out that the pack was on the horse and the horse was on the other side of the ravine.

Much as I would have liked a fire, too, what we needed most was something to eat; Nerigold even more than me. Once Lucien woke up, she would feed him all her frail body could offer and, as I'd seen so many times now, she would be utterly exhausted afterwards. Without food, she wouldn't be able to move five steps from where she lay and I wanted to get us away from here quickly, in case more of Coyle's men were following.

‘My father taught me how to stay alive in the open. I guess we're going to find out how well I learned his lessons,' I said, slipping the quiver of arrows over one shoulder and my father's precious bow over the other. ‘I'll be back as soon as I can,' I added, resisting other promises that I may not be able to keep. Still, I made one to myself: if I did find anything to eat, Nerigold would have as much as she needed before I took a bite.

I set off into the mist, counting the steps until I couldn't see her any longer. I didn't want to get lost and not be able to find her until the fog lifted. Who was to say it would lift at all if no breeze sprang up until tomorrow? Forty paces. Perhaps the fog was rising already. That would make it easier to find our way if we did make a start today. But where would we go?

‘One problem at a time, Silvermay,' I said, sharing my mother's wisdom with the nothingness all around. If only we could feast on grass like a pair of sheep …

After ten minutes of blundering across the meadow I won my first reward: a handful of mushrooms, which I stored inside the front of my dress. A blueberry bush wasn't as generous, its fruit long since harvested by birds. I cursed savagely, thinking about the culprits, roosting comfortably on their branches, warm inside their feathers and plump from gorging on
my
blueberries. Then I laughed at how foolish my thought would seem to anyone else.

The mushrooms warming against my chest were testing the silent promise I'd made to Nerigold, and I might have given into my hunger if the mist hadn't suddenly become thicker and a little warmer. That was a sign of water nearby, but the only water I knew of was the river at the bottom of the ravine. How close had I come to the edge? I could see no more than ten paces around me now, but it was still enough to be sure I didn't walk blindly into the abyss. When more walking brought me to the lip of the ravine, as I'd suspected, it was the memory of yesterday that made me shudder more than fear of falling myself.

The depths below were choked with fog rising languidly towards me. A whispering breeze scooped some of the cloudy nothingness up and over the edge,
where it swirled around me like a ghost then spilled into the meadow behind. I was glad the fog allowed no view of the wide gap between the cliffs where I had last seen Tamlyn, my father's sword in his hand. The shock of losing him hadn't settled into my blood yet as a hard and undeniable truth. If I gave way to it now, I would sink to the ground and stay there until hunger and cold carried me off to join him in death.

‘Get a hold of yourself,' a voice told me. It sounded awfully like Birdie's but it was mine all right. I knew because I had spoken the words aloud.
What use would his death have been then?
the voice went on, inside my head this time. I couldn't give way to such misery, not while two other lives depended so totally on me.

The scolding didn't make it easier to turn away from the ravine, but if I hadn't lingered so long, I would have missed the faint sound of stones falling free from the rock below. I leaned as far forward as I dared and picked out the slightest movement. This wasn't a wisp of creamy cloud but something more solid and, when the breeze wafted gently once more, I saw it again. This time I was sure. It was a man's arm clad in a dirty shirt sleeve. I heard him grunt with effort as he slowly climbed towards me, finding handholds in the sheer rock face.

The mist swirled again and I lost sight of him, but my mind was full of yesterday's horror when the man
with missing fingers had attacked Nerigold. It seemed too much that one of his companions had survived in the same way, but the evidence was right there below.

The bow was already in my left hand while my right reached for an arrow. In moments I was ready. Aiming downwards, just beyond my own toes, was awkward. Father had never made me practise like this. There was nothing to aim at for now, but I kept the string drawn back to my cheek, waiting for the mist to part. I would have only the briefest moment to sight on my target and must take the chance when it came.

The strain in my arms and shoulders grew steadily.
Come on, just a breath of wind
, I begged silently. Much longer and I would have to rest my aching muscles or I'd find myself shaking too much to aim properly. Then, just as I couldn't bear to hold the string back any longer, the air shifted, the pillows of fog below drifted apart, and there was the arm again, gripping a tuft of grass on a narrow ledge. If he scrambled onto the ledge, he was almost at the top. I had to stop him now, while he didn't even know I was there.

The arrow shot from my bow. There was a shout of surprise, but not the agony I'd steeled myself to hear and, looking down into the mist, I saw that the arrow had simply pinned the sleeve of his shirt to the ledge. I'd given myself away, and he would come after me now,
desperate to save himself. I would have to try again, judging as best I could where his body was in the mist, for now he had disappeared altogether.

As I reached for a second arrow, the breeze strengthened.
Good
, I thought,
it will blow the fog from around his body and I will get a clear shot
. There could be no miss this time. I pulled back the string, felt the feathers brush against my cheek and sighted along the shaft of the arrow until the dark shape of a man's body came into view below me. The string was tight against my fingers; I focused on the ribs, where I'd hit one rogue already with deadly effect.

‘Three bullseyes out of five, was it, Silvermay? I'm lucky you missed then,' a voice called from below.

It was a voice I knew; a voice I'd never expected to hear again.

Still with the arrow poised for release, I searched for the man's face and discovered, to my horror, that I was only a heartbeat away from killing Tamlyn.

Except that's impossible
, my mind shouted madly inside my skull.
Tamlyn is already dead, a broken and battered corpse floating like driftwood in the river below
. He couldn't be here, in my sights, about to die a second time.

‘I'd feel safer if you aimed away from me,' he said. ‘Or, better still, take that arrow off the string and help me up.'

As I did what he asked, barely aware that my arms were moving, he used his free hand to pluck the arrow from his sleeve. Moments later, he'd dragged the rest of his body onto the ledge and, finding holds in the rock that my own eyes couldn't see, began clambering the last ten feet until he could reach my hand to help him with the last lunge to safety.

I felt his warm skin in mine. He wasn't a ghost conjured by my hope. ‘Here,' he said, handing me the wayward arrow.

‘You're alive,' I said and I launched myself against him, wrapping my arms around him to be sure, absolutely sure. His shirt and britches were damp, proof that he had been in the river. Not that I cared about that now. It wasn't infatuation that had thrown me into his arms. It was relief; gratitude to whatever power had spared him; my desperate need for his touch to chase away the misery and fear of yesterday.

His arms slipped around me and he pressed my head tenderly against his chest, holding me safely inside his embrace. Yes, I felt safe and so much more. All I wanted at that moment was the warmth of his body.

‘Where are Nerigold and Lucien?' he asked. That simple question brought me to my senses. Tamlyn was alive, he'd come back to me, but he wasn't mine alone.
His first loyalty would always be to Nerigold and his brother; perhaps his first thought, too.

‘They're safe. We slept last night in a field beside the ravine. There was nowhere else to go.'

How pathetic I sounded. This was no time for sadness.

‘Come on,' I urged, grabbing him by the hand. ‘Nerigold has to know you're alive as well.'

 

Nerigold didn't take as long to recognise Tamlyn as I had done.

‘Tamlyn!' she cried and ran with arms outstretched to greet him. Like I had, she threw herself against him so hard he took a step back to absorb the impact of her body, then stood holding her, just as he'd held me.

This is how it should be
, I told myself. It was her turn to welcome him back from the dead. I had turned away, eager to check on my little Smiler, when Nerigold called, ‘No, Silvermay, come here.'

She broke her embrace with Tamlyn, but didn't let him go. ‘Here,' she said again, signalling to me with a wave of her hand and a smile that seemed to open the clouds around us and let in the sun.

We stood locked together, each hugging the other two. I loved them both. I had never felt so bound to anyone before in my life.

We stayed that way until Tamlyn glanced over my shoulder and spoke Lucien's name. Nerigold and I turned to see that the little rascal had taught himself to roll and was getting himself thoroughly wet with dew. We broke apart then and, perhaps because he hadn't been part of the little circle, moved quickly to warm him with our hugs.

Through all of this, I was still convincing myself that Tamlyn was with us again. ‘How can you still be alive?' I asked. ‘It's so far down to the river, and the tree tumbled into the water with you.'

Tamlyn looked away. ‘I'm not even sure myself. Luck, I suppose. It happened so quickly when the tree snapped in two. The trunk, er … one half cut into the water beneath me, breaking my fall. That's how I survived.'

‘Luck?' I gasped. ‘The gods must have singled you out — to fall at just the right place, the right moment.'

‘Luck or the gods, all I know is the cold of the water kept my head clear and I somehow floated to the surface. It was a struggle to reach the bank when the current was sweeping me downriver, but I made it all the same and waited there overnight to get my strength back before the climb.'

He swam ashore? That didn't make sense. I'd stood at the ravine's edge, even followed it a little way, desperately looking for him alive and floating, even
though common sense had told me he must be dead, like the corpses I had seen.

‘Why didn't I see you?' I muttered, to myself as much as him. ‘You landed in the water along with the tree. The man I saw was broken and mangled where its weight had rolled on him. But there's not a scratch on you, not a single bruise. You're not telling us the truth.'

His eyes searched out Nerigold, who was avoiding my suspicious gaze just as carefully as he was. I thought of what she had told me last night. Tamlyn was the son of Coyle Strongbow, a Wyrdborn. Yesterday he had brought down a massive pine with two blows of his sword. I'd imagined the tree was weakened at its base somehow, by rot or white ants, but then I remembered they'd made me look away. Later, over the ravine, he'd chopped the tree in half with just one strike. I'd seen it with my own eyes. Even his climb up the sheer walls of the ravine seemed impossible now that I thought about it; at least, impossible for an ordinary man.

I stared at him, unable to spit out the bitter words. But if my mouth stayed silent, the rest of my face spoke of what I knew.

He saw as much and immediately his own face grew solemn. ‘What has Nerigold told you?'

‘That you're not Lucien's father. That his real father is a Wyrdborn and you are the same man's son.' That
was the easy part. The rest would tear my heart out of my chest. ‘You're a Wyrdborn, aren't you, Tamlyn? Like the two who came to our village when the religo stole our harvest.'

He didn't deny it. He turned away, though not before I'd seen the pain in his eyes and the thin clinch of his lips.

I looked at Nerigold. She showed no surprise. She'd known from the beginning.

I thought back to what my father had told me. Many children were born of a Wyrdborn father but a commonfolk mother. Some inherited their father's powers, others didn't, but if the mother was Wyrdborn …

‘Your mother is a Wyrdborn, too,' I said more confidently. ‘Isn't that the way it works? Two Wyrdborn parents always produce a child like themselves?'

Tamlyn nodded. ‘Her name is Ezeldi. She is Coyle's wife, his second wife. He murdered the first when she schemed against him. As for my fall yesterday, my Wyrdborn strength helped me. To me, it was no different from diving only a few feet into the water. I was able to push the tree trunk away and prevent it crushing me to a pulp.' He looked down at his hands as though they didn't belong to him. ‘All Wyrdborn possess such powers, whether we want them or not.'

‘You talk like they're a curse.'

‘Oh, they are, Silvermay,' he said.

A curse that served them well, though. According to my father, Wyrdborn were almost impossible to kill, even in battle.