Son of a Dark Wizard (11 page)

“I’m sure it is,” Sage said.

The young woman turned to him. “I will fill a
shell for you now.”

“No, no, no!” Sage quickly waved a hand. “I’m
full. I ate too much for lunch.”

“Try it,” Maewyn said, elbowing Sorren’s arm.
“It will help you heal.”

Sorren grasped the spoon in his
flesh-and-blood hand and swirled the concoction around, his stomach
churning at the sight. He collected a hearty chunky spoonful and
let it drip for a moment. He wanted these people to trust him. To
like
him, if possible. He wasn’t Sorren tonight. He was
Shadowvin here. He stuffed the spoon in his mouth.

Don’t vomit
, he told himself.
Do.
Not. Vomit.
He began chewing. The syrup was thick and slippery,
like an egg’s yolk. Most of the chunky ingredients were soft and
chewy, but every now and then something crunched and brushed
against his tongue like sand. It all had a strange tangy taste,
sweet and bitter at the same time.

Still, Sorren managed to keep from grimacing.
He ate as if he were hungry and fascinated by the new tastes. He
couldn’t bring himself to smile, but he tried not to hesitate
between spoonfuls.

As he ate quietly, the crowd seemed to lose
interest in him, and they turned back to their songs and
conversations. Children ran around behind the logs, playing tag or
something like it. Now and then, Sorren could feel the children’s
eyes on him, watching him cautiously or staring at his arm. He
almost wanted to cast some sort of spell to surprise them and make
them laugh. He could probably lift one of the smaller ones a few
feet into the air. But it would probably only terrify them.
Besides, he didn’t want to reveal that he was a wizard. Or the son
of the Wizard King who destroyed their families and livelihoods,
for that matter.

The man dressed in wolf skin approached with
a wide wooden chalice. “Our finest tumbleberry juice,” he said,
offering the cup to Sorren.

Sorren took the cup and drank a sip. It was
heavenly compared to the soup. He let it wash over his tongue.

“Do you have tools?” Sage asked.

“Tools?” the man said. “What sort of
tools?”

“Building tools, fixing tools,” Sage said. “I
need to fix my airship.”

“We can help you with that,” the man said.
“But not until next week. We need our tools for the hunt. We set a
lot of traps.”

“The hunt?” Sage asked.

“That’s what we’re celebrating tonight,” the
man said, waving a hand at the small crowd around the fire. “It’s
the night before our final hunt. Atlorus will be crowned king soon,
and we intend to finally return north. Perhaps into the castle
itself! We’ll help you with your airship after the hunt.”

Sage thanked him, and the man left. Then he
turned to Sorren. “I guess we’ll have to wait here for a week.”

“You told us you were delivering something to
Atlorus before your airship fell,” Maewyn said. “Did you talk to
him? Is he well?”

Sage said nothing. Sorren made no response as
he finished chewing a mouthful of soup.

“We’ve been so afraid for him,” Maewyn said.
“I think, deep in our hearts, some of us doubted him. Some of us
truly thought he’d be killed. We only found out he succeeded two
days ago, when he flew the royal airship overhead.”

Sorren finished chewing and swallowed. “Did
you
doubt him?” he asked.

Maewyn placed her hands together on her lap
and looked forward into the fire. “It wasn’t that I doubted him.
It’s the prophecy that troubles me. Prophecies are not always what
they seem.”

“Ah,” Sage said. “You
are
Maewyn the
Prophecy Keeper, aren’t you? I thought it was you.”

“Yes,” Maewyn said. “That is, I was a
prophecy keeper for a time.”

“I know your work well,” Sage said.

“Only a small portion of my work was ever
published,” Maewyn said. “Prophecies are like stories. You cannot
write them down and be done with them. They are living things. They
speak to those who can hear their secrets. They persuade people to
take certain paths.” She took in a deep breath. “I did not reveal
all my research in my books. Some things are too dangerous to
reveal. And some things cannot be revealed with words.” She turned
away from the fire. “But I knew Atlorus would not die at Vonlock’s
hand. Did you see him? Did you talk to him? I imagine he would be
fascinated to see your silver arm.”

“We saw him,” Sorren said, scraping the
bottom of bowl, thankful his stomach was not convulsing. “We didn’t
say anything. We only acknowledged each other.” He swallowed his
last spoonful and washed it down with the rest of the tumbleberry
juice. “I am curious about something as well. Do you know
how
he killed the Wizard King?”

“Is that the question the kingdom is
wondering?” Maewyn shivered and adjusted the furs hanging around
her shoulder. “It is a secret, I’m afraid. I cannot speak of
it.”

Sorren let a few moments of silence pass. He
didn’t want to seem
too
curious. “Why is it a secret?”

“Some things are safer as secrets,” Maewyn
said matter-of-factly. She tilted her head. “What were you
delivering, exactly?” She asked it tenderly, as though she knew it
was a lie.

“Uh,” Sage answered quickly, “it was,
um . . . only some, uh . . . it was
only . . . um . . . boxes
of . . .”

“We were delivering a message,” Sorren
said.

“A message?” Maewyn said. “What message?”

Sorren pretended to hesitate. “I’d rather not
say. As you said, some things are safer as secrets.”

Maewyn stared at him, not saying a word.
Sorren held her gaze, studying the shades of her blue moonlight
eyes. When she spoke, she spoke in a quiet voice, as if her words
were for Sorren only. “I think I know what sort of message you had.
These people think they’ll leave the forest soon. But I don’t think
it’ll be soon.” A warm slow breeze ruffled her hair. “There is
still a darkness that must pass. A shadow drifts over the kingdom.
I think you can feel it too, can’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
Somehow, her stare grew deeper, as if she were looking into his
mind. “I think you are like me. I think you know things no one else
can see.” Her head turned slightly toward the flames, her skin
glowing purple in the burning light. Her voice was a slow and
careful whisper now. “Are you here because your airship crashed? Or
are you hiding?” She glanced up into the night sky. “Be careful
while you’re here. The owls know who you are.”

They sat in silence for some time, watching
the fire.

The night grew quiet. The chattering stopped.
The children tired of running and shouting. Everyone seemed to grow
still. Only one whistle played on. A woman sitting by herself on
the other side of the fire, her eyes seemingly lost in a spell as
she played a low melody on a long mammoth bone whistle, her fingers
gentle and graceful. The tune was slow and melancholy. For a
moment, it turned Sorren back into a small child in a warm castle.
He had been ill one stormy night, and his father kept him close to
the fire, wrapped in blankets, and told him stories. He had looked
out through a window and had been frightened by the lightning, but
his father had told him he had more power flowing through his blood
than the winds of a winter storm. Then he had pointed to the
kingdom below, stretching far into the distance, and reminded him
that someday he’d be the king, and more powerful than the rage of a
thousand storms.

When the song ended, the only sound was the
flames of the bluish-green fire licking the empty air. Some sat
still, lost in their thoughts. Children had fallen asleep in their
parents’ arms. Slowly, they began to rise, stretching, collecting
their empty bowls and cups. Everyone spoke in hushed voices, as if
there were something still floating in the air that had to remain
undisturbed.

“A lullaby for her son,” Maewyn said quietly.
“Atovin plays it every night.”

“What happened to her son?”

Maewyn did not answer immediately. She let
the question linger in the air like the end of the song. Then she
answered slowly, “He was taken from her, for a time. He was born to
endure darkness, to suffer trials, to see death.” She took a slow
breath. “Perhaps you feel it too, in the coolness of the winds.
That the prophecy is not yet fulfilled. That his journey is not yet
over.”

Sorren stared at the woman on the other side
of the fire, and realized he had already known. “Her son is
Atlorus.”

“Her son is Atlorus.”

Later that night, Sorren followed Sage along
the winding forest pathways to the small hut Thale had been placed
in. The pine trees overhead rustled in the wind and owls hooted
from somewhere in the shadows above.

Sage pointed ahead. “It’s that one there.
Don’t wake him.” Sage had made a small fuss about leading Sorren to
Thale’s hut when he’d asked, complaining that Maewyn and the
healers of Owl’s Grave did not want the boy disturbed while he was
healing. But it was Sorren’s fault he and Thale were injured and
stranded in this forest. He had to at least see the boy.

Sorren began limping toward the small hut,
but paused before entering. “We should be able to fix the airship
tomorrow evening. You’ll have to decide whether you want to leave
with me or stay here with Thale.”

“What?” Sage said. “We won’t have the tools
for a week. And
I
will fix the airship, not you. You rely
too much on your spells. Makes for lazy, sloppy work.”

“We’ll have the tools tomorrow,” Sorren said.
He wasn’t about to spend a week in Owl’s Grave.

“But they said the hunt will last—”

“I will get the tools,” Sorren said.

“You’re just going to steal them?” Sage
asked. “I don’t even know where they keep them.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go get some
sleep.”

“Be careful,” Sage said. “I have a feeling
you don’t want to anger these people.”

“They can’t hurt me,” Sorren said.

“I just don’t want them angry with
me
,” Sage said as he turned and began to leave. “I don’t
want to have to depend on
you
for protection.”

“But you do,” Sorren said.

Sage put his arms out, waving at the forest
surrounding them. “And look where it brought me.” Then he
disappeared between the trees.

Sorren pushed open the door to Thale’s hut.
It was dim inside. The only light came from a small lantern with a
bluish-green flame inside, the same sort of color the bonfire had
been. Thale lay on a bed against the back wall, wrapped in thick
gray and white furs. His tovocular eye sat on the top of a barrel
beside the bed—his empty eye socket was a dark shadow. His face was
covered in cuts and scratches, most likely from the airship’s
shattered windows, but none looked very deep. Sorren could hardly
judge the severity of his other injuries with so many blankets
piled over him, but he wasn’t about to disturb them.

Sorren knew he’d have to leave Thale in Owl’s
Grave for some time to heal. This was probably the safest place for
him. There were no mirrors in Owl’s Grave for Sorren to enchant, so
it would be some time before he’d be able to use a portal to get
Thale back to the caverns.

“Sorren?” Thale asked, his real eye squinting
open.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Thought I heard voices. Can you hand me my
eye?” He pulled an arm out from under the blankets and held out his
hand.

Sorren handed him his tovocular eye. “How do
you feel?”

“Fine,” Thale said, “only tired.”

“They have strong medicines.”

“Kovola will be so angry with me,” Thale
said, pushing his eye into his socket. It began whirling around,
pointed at Sorren. “I’m a terrible student.”

“Kovola won’t be angry with you,” Sorren
said, studying the rest of the room. Like Sorren’s hut, it was
mostly empty, only some small plants, some incense, and some
lanterns.

“He said to me . . .” Thale
said. “He warned me not to, he told me not to . . .
Well . . .”

“He’ll be angry with
me
,” Sorren said,
flicking some lanterns on and off with the Nyrish power. “I brought
you here. He can hardly blame you for this. I’m selfish, arrogant,
reckless . . .”

“I can’t understand any of the readings he
assigns,” Thale said. “It’s all like a foreign language
anymore.”

“His oath to my family is the only reason he
stays with me,” Sorren said. “He’d be dead if he broke it—the
Nyrish power has him bound. Don’t worry about Kovola.”

“It’s only that . . . I
don’t . . .” Thale’s mouth made shapes, but it
seemed he couldn’t find the words. After a moment, he gave up, and
lay there listless. Then he took a deep breath. “I don’t think I
really care about tove making. Not anymore.”

Sorren made no reply.

“But,” Thale shook his head, “I can’t do
anything else! And Kovola
wants
to teach me. And he saved my
life and he made me my eye.” He pulled out his tovocular eye and
turned it around in his hand. “I think I owe him.”

Sorren flicked all the lanterns off, save for
the one that had been lit when he entered. “We can solve this
later. Don’t let it worry you. For now, rest.”

Thale sighed, placing his golden tovocular
eye back on top of the barrel. “I’m having strange dreams with
these medicines.” He closed his eye and pulled his arm back under
the blankets. “Or maybe it’s being in a bed that isn’t mine.”

“If you never leave home, you’ll never be
homesick,” Sorren said. He clutched his walking stick and limped
out of the hut, carefully closing the door behind him.

There were more owls hooting in the shadows
now. Sorren couldn’t see any of them, but he knew they were there,
watching.

At dawn, Sage lightly knocked on the door to
Sorren’s hut. “Sorren?” He slowly pushed the door open. “Awake yet,
Sorren?”