The Wizard's Curse (Book 2) (54 page)

Chapter
43

The wind high on the mountain whistled through the crags, swept across the sparse vegetation and found its way in through any slight gaps in clothing to chill the people within. Over two hundred mountainfolk were gathered on the bleak mountain slope, from every firesite in the foothills. Word had gone out and even the trappers, usually a solitary breed, had joined them, all wanting to make sure that, if they were at all related to Hail, they would be cleansed of the curse. The black sky above them was littered with stars but few had any thought to admire them. They were used to such sights and their attention was dominated by two figures seated a little apart, who were staring at each other and gesticulating, but making no sound. One was their acknowledged liege lord, long black hair falling down over his wolfskin cloak, intense amber eyes glowing in the reflected firelight as he concentrated on forming images to explain difficult concepts. The other was the small boy they had reviled, who now held their future in his hands.

Tarkyn broke off and looked around, “Where’s Hail?”

Midnight’s mother disengaged herself from her conversation and walked around the fire to stand before Tarkyn. She glanced at Midnight before turning her attention to the prince.

“Hail, I need your help and I’m afraid this may not be too comfortable for you. You did say you wanted to help yourself and your people. So, could you please give me an image of Midnight’s father? It’s too hard trying to do this with a shadowy unclear figure. It’s hard enough anyway.” Seeing Hail’s face tighten, he added, “I would ask String or Bean but sorcerers can’t transmit images. You are the only person who can show me what he looked like.”

Her eyes narrowed and suddenly Tarkyn was assailed with a feeling of terror enmeshed in an image of a harsh, tormented face, bright blue eyes wild with rage, inches from him. He reeled back, his heart thumping, before closing off the image with a snap and righting himself. He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair before realising that there was an anxious hand tapping on his knee.

He patted it reassuringly before saying dryly to Hail, “That is exactly why you are not ready to look after Midnight. How could you imagine I would want him to see that?”

“That is his father,” she said flatly.

“Yes, it is and I am sorry for what he has done to you. I am not denying that, but it is not all that his father was…. or am I mistaken?”

Hail reluctantly shook her head.

“I know you are angry and hate this man but for the sake of your people, can you cast your mind back to better days so I can show Midnight his father? When he is older, we can explain to him what happened but he is too young to bear such a burden now and he wouldn’t understand it anyway.” As she still hesitated, Tarkyn continued, “A child does not need to know everything about their parents. Would you want me to show him an image of you throwing the knife into his father’s chest? I don’t think so. Hail, I will have to show Midnight an image of his father becoming angry and hurting your people so he understands what he needs to do. I can’t whitewash his father completely even if I wanted to but I can save the worst of it for when Midnight is older.”

For several moments, Hail just stared at him. Then she heaved a sigh, sat down and projected images of slowly waking to find herself inside a sorcerer’s hut and being cared for as she recovered, of conversations that became less wary and more friendly over time and even of small kindnesses such as sprigs of wildflowers placed in a chipped old cup beside her bed. The man in these images was gruff and shy, a bit rough around the edges and awkward, lacking the casual social grace of either the woodfolk or the other trappers but he was concerned and caring in his own limited way. When the images faded, Tarkyn saw that Hail’s face was wet with tears.

“Thank you,” said Tarkyn quietly. He reached out to put his hand on her knee but even in that split second, found his way barred by a knife. He looked up to see Hail’s face closed off and angry once more. “Hail, knowing how much he meant to you makes what happened later so much worse. But until you mourn for him, you will never be free of him and the damage he’s done to you.” He withdrew his hand. “Knowing your way of life, I can’t imagine that you would want to mourn in public but just remember; there are many people, woodfolk and sorcerer alike, who are here to turn to when you need us.”

In answer, Hail threw him a look of pure loathing before standing up and stomping off into the night. Tarkyn drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned when he heard a low chuckle emerging from the shadows on his right.

“I don’t think she’s ready to thank you yet, for making her face her nightmares,” came a creaky voice out of the darkness.

“And what are you doing here, Ancient Oak?” demanded Tarkyn, frowning.

Ancient Oak came forward out of the gloom to sit himself on the ground closer to Tarkyn and Midnight to make up the third point of a triangle. “Hi, Midnight.” He waved at Midnight who responded in kind. “Hi, little brother. I’m just here keeping an eye on the proceedings.” He gave a gentle smile, “Waterstone is busy with Sparrow. So I’m  here instead.”

Tarkyn put his head on one side as he considered his adopted brother, “Now I think about it, it is often you who is the closest lookout, isn’t it? You just quietly get on with it in the background usually, don’t you?”

Ancient Oak looked a little embarrassed and shrugged.

A warm smile dawned on Tarkyn’s face, “Thanks Ancient Oak. I’m glad you’re here. Now, I’ll just get on with trying to explain all of this to Midnight. If I include you in the images, you might have some ideas.”

Tarkyn began by showing images of Thunder Storm and Creaking Bough with their children and then showed Midnight between Hail and Pipeless, followed by some of the happy images Hail had given him of her time with Pipeless. Midnight’s eyes widened with excitement and he looked around the firesite, searching for the wizard in the image. Tarkyn grimaced, shook his head and projected an image of Pipeless lying down, very white with his eyes closed. Midnight’s face fell and he looked close to tears.

Tarkyn threw up his hands, “Oh, this is hopeless. Come here little one. You need a hug already,” said Tarkyn, matching gestures to words. Midnight clambered onto his lap and, with Tarkyn’s arms around him, sniffed and let his tears of disappointment fall. The sorcerer looked over Midnight’s head at the woodman. “I can’t rush this. I will overwhelm him entirely if I do. He’s just gained and lost a father all in a few minutes as it is.”

Ancinet Oak leaned forward and gave Midnight a couple of strokes on the back, “Do you think he’d like a cup of milk or tea?”

Once Tarkyn had checked and nodded, Ancient Oak went out of focus to relay the request. While they drank their cups of tea, Tarkyn sat Midnight on the ground in front of him again so that he could use gestures as well as images.

He showed Midnight that Pipeless had been a trapper like String and Bean. Inevitably, Midnight wanted to know how he had died. Using gestures, Tarkyn made it clear that he would tell him a little bit about it but not all. Then he showed Pipeless becoming angry and striking out and being struck down in return. He did not show Hail or any part of the rape or stabbing. When Midnight wanted to know what had started the fight, Tarkyn showed Midnight getting older and being told when he was bigger. The little boy huffed and eyed Tarkyn belligerently for a few moments but then accepted the inevitable.

After a few minutes’ thought, Tarkyn showed Pipeless standing next to a group of sorcerers. Then he showed Pipeless next to Rainstorm and Waterstone and shook his head. Midnight frowned ferociously until he figured out what Tarkyn meant and then his brow cleared and waving his arm, he produced a soft, deep green haze around himself.

Tarkyn raised his eyebrows in amazement. “Well done, little one. No instruction at all.”

Midnight grinned, pointed at Tarkyn and waved his hand.

“He learnt it from watching you,” said Ancient Oak. “I suppose he didn’t think of trying it before.”

Midnight gestured for Ancient Oak to come at him and, when Ancient Oak good-naturedly complied, laughed uproariously when the woodman couldn’t penetrate the barrier. Then he waved his hand suddenly, causing Ancient Oak to land in a heap in his lap as the barrier dissolved. The usually reserved woodman grabbed him and tickled him until Midnight was gasping for breath with laughter.

“Well, that seems to have cheered him up.  I can see hours of torment and fun coming up from our fledgling sorcerer,” said Tarkyn, smiling at them.

When they had recovered, Ancient Oak once more sat quietly to one side. Tarkyn showed the unhappiness caused by Pipeless’ anger at the mountainfolk as a precursor for saying that Pipeless should now be kind to them. This plan fell at the first hurdle as Midnight nodded firm approval of his sire’s malevolent attitude and re-iterated his satisfaction at the deaths of the mountainfolk who had attacked Tarkyn.

After some careful thought and a good deal of imagination, Tarkyn projected an image of Pipeless sending forth a stream of red magic that turned Rainstorm and Lapping Water into angry, nasty woodfolk. He didn’t know what colour Pipeless’ magic was but decided on red because it was an angry colour. Then he gestured around all of the assembled mountainfolk and repeated the image with a large group of mountainfolk being transformed from friendly to unkind.

Midnight looked sceptical. In return, he showed Tarkyn image after image of being shouted at and chased away, of creeping up close and having things thrown at him as he dived back into the bushes. He showed himself cold and hungry watching from beyond the firesite as mountainfolk sat around in warmth, enjoying their dinners, and occasionally throwing the odd scrap up into the darkness. He showed himself huddled into the scant shelter of scratchy bushes, curled up against the icy wind as the mountainfolk retired for the night into their well-constructed, draughtless shelters. He showed children playing who would turn and sneer at him if he came close or chase after him to scare him away. At the end of this, he sat with his arms crossed, his mouth tight, anger and resentment in every line of his body.

“Oh for pity’s sake!” breathed Tarkyn, “How can we ask this child to help these people after all they have done to him?” He wiped his hand across his brow. “I think they deserve everything that’s coming to them.”

Ancient Oak leaned forward and put his hand on Tarkyn’s arm. “You don’t really. You know it’s the curse that has done this. Remember how your faith in them changed them. Show Midnight some of that… Not what they were fighting about, obviously, but the effect of your belief in them.”

Tarkyn sighed, “Okay, I will in a minute. I’m glad I don’t have to summon that belief up right now. I would be struggling, I can tell you.”

He wanted nothing more than to pick Midnight up and hold him close but the strength it had taken Midnight not to despair was holding him together now as he relived the horrors of his past life, making himself inviolate for the time being.

So Tarkyn took a deep breath and showed Pipeless sending forth his red magic followed by the mountainfolk becoming more and more angry. Then he showed Midnight the scene from a few days before, from his point of view, angled so that it did not show the little boy tied to the tree, but did include the waves of belief emanating forth from the prince and the gradual change in the mountainfolk.

Midnight stared at him, his eyes glittering with hurt and anger. He pointed to Tarkyn’s head and then at the mountainfolk, then again to Tarkyn’s head then at himself and shook his head. In a woodfolk flick, he was gone.

“Oh no! He thinks that if I believe in them then I don’t believe in him.” Tarkyn turned to ask Ancient Oak for help but found that he too had gone. Moments later, he received an image from Ancient Oak of him holding a struggling young Midnight off in the darkness nearby. He leapt to his feet and moved as quickly as he could towards the imprint of Midnight’s mind. In a short time the sounds of scuffling reached him and directed his feet for the last few yards. He waved his hand and intoned,
“
Lumay
a
”, creating a gentle corona of light to float in the air beside him. Seeing that Midnight was on the verge of breaking away again, the sorcerer glanced apologetically at Ancient Oak who was actually too fully occupied to notice, waved his hand quickly and murmured,
“
Shturru
m
.”  He extricated the now quiescent Midnight from Ancient Oak’s still arms and when he was sure he had the little boy firmly in his grasp, waved the spell away.

Immediately he had his arms full of squirming, vengeful anger. Midnight seemed to have grown extra arms and legs, all of which were flailing at Tarkyn. Tarkyn held him tight but when there was no sign that the little boy was either going to relent or tire, the prince sent him a peremptory demand to stop. Midnight did indeed stop, shocked at the strength of the message, but then he threw look of pure venom at Tarkyn, before twisting in one final all-out attempt to escape. Ancient Oak stepped in and grabbed him just as he twisted out of Tarkyn’s arms. This time, Tarkyn sent a full blown command laced with anger, hauteur and power. Midnight went still and waited until Ancient Oak had lowered him carefully to the ground, standing ready to grab him if he tried to escape again. Then Midnight faced Tarkyn, his face shuttered and rigid with fury, and stood stiffly, hand on heart.

The prince inclined his head in a courtly response. “Ooh dear,” he breathed to Ancient Oak, not taking his eyes off Midnight, “It’s a long way back from here. At least even in the extremes of his rage, he has kept to his oath even if he hates me for it. It’s more than I can say for some of the mountainfolk.” He glanced at his brother, “What am I going to do now? Any suggestions?”