Forest Mage

Halfway around the room, I encountered my father talking to Carsina’s father. Lord Grenalter was laughing at something my father had just said. They both seemed very jovial and convivial. I’d intended to slip past them unacknowledged. But as Grenalter drew breath from laughing, our eyes met. Courtesy forced me to greet him. I stopped, bowed to him, and then as I advanced, he said, quite loudly, ‘Good god’s breath, Burvelle! Is that Nevare?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ my father said levelly. His look told me I was a fool for having called attention to myself. He forced a grin to his face. ‘I think the Academy doctor went too far in putting flesh back on him after the plague. He’ll soon have it off, if I have anything to say about it.’

And what could I do, save grin shamefacedly and agree? ‘Very soon, sir,’ I assured him. And then, lying through my teeth, I added, ‘The doctor told me that a temporary weight gain like this is not unknown among plague survivors. He told me that I should be grateful to have gone this way, rather than lost flesh and stamina.’

‘Well … I’m sure the doctor would know what he is talking about. Still. It is a startling change, Nevare, as I’m sure you know.’ Lord Grenalter seemed determined to make me admit that the transformation was horrifying.

‘Yes, sir, it is that. Thankfully, as I’ve said, it is temporary.’

‘Well. I suppose we should thank the good god for your health, and never mind the rest for now.’

‘Yes, sir. I do that every morning when I awaken alive. It’s not a thing a man takes for granted, once he has experienced the plague.’

‘Was it very bad, then, in the city?’

And I was pathetically grateful to horrify the poor man with a lurid telling of just how bad it had been. When I spoke of the dead stacked like cord wood on the snowy grounds, I realized that even my father was listening to me. So I deliberately told, with genuine sorrow, of my fellows whose health had broken so badly that they would never soldier at all, let alone continue a career at the Academy. I finished with, ‘And so, of course, ungainly as I find myself at present, you can understand why I am grateful to have come through the experience with my future intact. And with Colonel Rebin in charge of the Academy once more, I anticipate continuing my studies with more pleasure than ever.’

‘A remarkable tale! And did they ever find what wayward son of a dog brought plague to Old Thares?’ Carsina’s father was completely in thrall to my tale now.

I shook my head. ‘It is suspected that it came to the city with some Specks who were being displayed at a Dark Evening carnival.’

‘What?’ Horrified, he turned to my father. ‘Had you heard of Specks being allowed to travel to the west?’

‘It was inevitable that someone would try to smuggle some to the city eventually,’ my father said with great resignation. ‘The greatest folly was that one of them was a female. From correspondence I’ve had with authorities at the Academy, she was the likely source of the plague.’

‘No!’ Carsina’s father was aghast. He turned to me, and suddenly a new light kindled in his eyes, as if he had suddenly worked an equation and was appalled at the answer. His eyes appraised me warily. How had I contracted the dread disease? The question was in his gaze if not on his lips and I answered it directly.

‘There are other ways of transmission besides sexual contact,’ I hastily insisted. ‘I’ve been working with Dr Amicas at the Academy, simply because of the unique aspects of my case. Some of my fellows, I will admit, fell to the plague after having congress with a Speck whore. I, sir, was not one of them. Nor, for example, was the young son of the former Academy commander. And of course, my own girl-cousin Epiny was also a victim of the plague.’

‘And did she die?’ I suddenly realized that the circle of my audience had grown. This query came from another listener, a middle-aged woman unwisely dressed in a virulent pink gown.

‘No, ma’am, I’m happy to say she did not. Her case was very mild and she recovered with no side-effects. Unfortunately, that was not true for the young new noble cadet she married. Cadet Kester was forced to withdraw from the Academy. He is determined that he will recover his health sufficiently to return, but many feel that his military career is over.’

Several of my listeners now spoke at once.

‘I served with Kester! It must be his son. That’s a damnable shame! Who else fell to the plague, from the new noble ranks?’

‘What saved your cousin from the plague? What herbs did she take? My Dorota is with her husband at Gettys. She and her two little ones. They haven’t had it in the household yet, but she fears it’s just a matter of time!’ There was great worry in that matron’s voice as she pushed closer to me.

But the voice I heard most clearly was that of Carsina’s father. Grenalter said slowly to my father, ‘Epiny Burvelle – that would be your brother’s elder daughter. She married a new noble soldier son who’ll have no career? Surely you told me that your brother planned to marry her to an old noble heir son?’

My father attempted a tolerant laugh. That was when I knew I’d said too much. ‘Well, you know young people today, Grenalter, especially the city-bred ones. They have small respect for the plans of their parents. And in a time of plague, permissions are given that ordinarily would be refused. Just as soldiers facing battle will sometimes commit acts that they would otherwise recognize as foolhardy.’

‘Foolhardy. Indeed. I’ve witnessed a few acts like that,’ Grenalter conceded heavily. I could tell he was distracted, and I could almost see him totting up and subtracting the advantages and disadvantages of his marital agreement with our family as if he were an accountant. Suddenly Epiny’s words about being sold as a bride to the highest bidder didn’t seem so melodramatic. Obviously, my weight gain was a debit to the transaction, but an even larger one was that the branch of the Burvelle family in Old Thares had not sold off their daughter to an old nobility family. Did connections and marriages actually carry that much political and social weight, I wondered, and then instantly knew that they did.

‘Well?’ demanded the woman anxiously, and my mind leapt back to her question.

‘Lots of water and rest were the chief treatment, I’m afraid. I wish I could tell you something more specific. Dr Amicas is making the prevention of the plague his specific area of study. He’s a very dedicated man. If anyone can come up with solid recommendations to protect families from transmission, it will be him.’

‘And which other new nobles perished?’ the other man demanded. I recognized him but could not call up his name. He was not a new noble, but was a very successful ranker who had followed Grenalter into retirement much as my father’s men had congregated around him. I suddenly realized that men like him would be pinning their hopes on the rise of the new noble class. Old nobles and heir sons would have little respect for a ranker like him. The new nobles who had directly commanded him recognized his worth. And if they came to power, that recognition might extend to his own soldier sons.

So I recited reluctantly the names of those new noble sons who had died from the plague, and those whose health had been badly compromised. When I mentioned that Trist Wissom had lost his health, I was surprised at the collective sigh of sympathy. And I was shocked when I recounted the names of those who had recovered well, and people exchanged glad glances when they heard that Rory and Gord were unscathed. They did not know my fellow cadets, but they knew or had known of their fathers. There was a sense of connection there. The old nobles were right to fear our rise to influence. The real power lay not in the new nobles and their sons who would follow wherever the King led, but in the ranks of the military that felt loyalty and alliance to the new nobles.

‘Damn shame what’s happened to our Academy. Damn shame!’ This from the ever-excitable Lord Blair, a little bald man who always bounced on his toes when he spoke. ‘We needed those young officers, what with the rumours of trouble on the border near Rely. Looks like we might start up with Landsing all over again! You’d be sorry to miss out on that, wouldn’t you, Cadet? Fast promotions wherever the fighting’s thick, as I’m sure you know.’

I was at a loss. I hadn’t heard we were skirmishing with Landsing again.

‘Gettys is where the real opportunity is!’ This from a man I didn’t recognize. ‘The King’s Road has been at a standstill for damn near two years. Farleyton went out there to replace Brede’s regiment, but from what I hear, they’ve not done well. Same problems Brede had. Disease, desertion and dereliction of duty! The King won’t stand for it any more. I hear he’s sending Cayton’s Horse and Doril’s Foot to reinforce them. I feel sorry for Farleyton. They were a top-notch regiment, not too many years ago. Some say that Gettys will just do that to a regiment. Disease breaks down the morale and destroys the chain of command. Haren’s got the command now. A good enough man for a second, but I’m not sure he’s up to ramrodding an operation like the King’s Road.’

‘Colonel Haren’s a good officer!’ someone else broke in sharply. ‘Careful what you say about him, man. I served beside him at the Battle of Dell.’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen! Now is not the time for war stories.’ My father quickly broke in on the lively conversation. ‘Nevare, I am sure we are all grateful for the information you have shared with us, but let us not forget that we are here to celebrate a wedding! Surely some of you would rather be on the dance floor than listening to tales of disease and death? Or is there so little hardship in our life that we are drawn to such stories?’

He gained a general laugh with that gently bitter question. It was, indeed, part of our common lot that life was harder here on the edges of civilization.

‘Let us celebrate life while we can!’ one of the men suggested. ‘Death and disease will always be waiting for us.’ And with that dark toast, my audience began to fragment. Some moved towards the musicians and dancing, others towards the tables of food. Grenalter himself left rather hastily. I surreptitiously tracked his flight and saw him join his wife and Carsina at a refreshment table. I saw him send Carsina off to join a group of other young women, and then take his wife’s arm and escort her to a quieter corner. I suspected I knew the topic of conversation. Without intending it, I sought for Kase Remwar, and found him dancing with my sister. She looked blissful. Remwar, an heir son, had been the Grenalters’ first choice as a match for Carsina. Had I just gossiped away my marriage arrangement? And if I had, had I dashed Yaril’s dreams as well? I felt queasy.

My father was not consoling. ‘You should talk less and listen more, Nevare. I will say no more on that topic now, but suggest that for the rest of the day, you become a very good nodder and listener. Keep your tongue from wagging. Why you saw fit to share here such information that you had not previously divulged to me, I shall never know. For the rest of this day, if you must speak, speak only of your brother’s happiness and good fortune. If you must speak of gloom, deplore the dry weather we’ve had!’

With that admonition, he left my side, striding away as if I’d insulted him. Perhaps by his lights, I had. He never liked to be second to know anything. I seethed. It was his own fault. If he had given me a chance to talk to him since my return, he would have known all my news and could have advised me what not to repeat. He had treated me unjustly, but worse, I had foolishly blathered out my tidings without considering if it was wise to do so. I already regretted my lie about what Dr Amicas had said. I felt sure it was true, but I wished I had not quoted the doctor to give greater authority to my belief. The lie shamed me.

That bleakness of spirit suddenly quenched my hunger. I abruptly felt that selecting the food and taking it to a table and making small talk with my fellow guests would require more energy than I could summon. I glanced back at the dance floor. The musicians still played and Carsina was dancing with a young man I didn’t recognize. He was short, freckled and he didn’t dance well, but he wasn’t fat. I stood rooted, watching them and trying not to watch them. I saw her laugh at something he said. A perverse part of me dared me to stay in the room and ask her for the next dance. Her certain refusal would end my hope and put me out of my misery.

I loitered there, at the edge of the crowd, building my courage, denouncing it as foolhardy, rebuilding it, deciding that she was promised to me and it was my right to speak to her, losing my courage again … never had a dance lasted so long, it seemed. When it ended and her partner bowed over her hand and then stepped away from her, it was all I could do to make myself walk in her direction.

She saw me coming. She fled.

And, fool that I was, I hastened after her, cutting through the crowd to close off her retreat. When she realized she could not escape me, she slowed. I closed the remaining distance between us. ‘Carsina. I’ve been hoping to have a dance with you. And a chance to speak to you, and explain what has befallen me.’

It was my misfortune that the musicians suddenly struck up a lively tune rather than the stately waltz I had hoped for. Carsina saved herself and me by saying stiffly, ‘I am weary of dancing at present. Perhaps later.’

‘But perhaps we could talk now. Shall we walk in the garden?’

‘I fear it would not be proper, for we should be unchaperoned.’

My smile at her comment was bitter. ‘That did not stop us, the last time.’

She looked away from me and gave a vexed sigh. ‘That was last time, Nevare. Obviously, much has changed.’

Stung, I replied, ‘What has not changed is that we are promised to one another. Surely you owe me at least the opportunity to tell you what I’ve been through—’

‘I owe you nothing, sir!’ she flared at me. Her companion from the last dance suddenly reappeared, carrying two glasses of wine. His eyes widened with disapproval that I had forced a lady to give me such a stern response.

I warned him off with a glare. ‘The lady and I are having a conversation.’

He was a head shorter than me, but probably thought my weight made me soft. ‘It did not sound like a conversation to me. It sounded as if she wished you to leave her alone.’

‘We are promised to one another. I have the right to—’

‘Not formally!’ Carsina cut in quickly. ‘And I do wish you to leave me alone.’

‘You see, sir, the lady has wearied of your company. Be a gentleman, and allow her to withdraw.’ He stepped bravely between us. He was all long neck and freckled nose. I could have snapped him like a twig. I looked over his head at Carsina.

‘Perhaps she should be a lady and do me the courtesy of hearing me out,’ I said levelly.

‘Do you insinuate I am not a lady?’ Carsina flared at me. ‘Nevare Burvelle, you insult me. I shall tell my father of this!’

Anger sang in my blood and rang in my ears. I seethed with fury. Words burst from me, coming from whence I knew not. ‘And you have ignored me, fled from me and thus insulted me thrice today, and this shall be the last time. There will come a time before you die, Carsina, when you will crawl on your knees and beg pardon for how you have treated me this day.’

Her mouth fell open at my harsh words. She looked, in her astonishment, both childish and common. All the prettiness fled from her face as anger flooded it. I’d said too much, spoken too rashly. I could not have done a more awkward, awful thing at my brother’s wedding.

Carsina’s face went scarlet. In horror, I saw tears flood her eyes. Her freckled dance partner glared up at me. ‘Now, see here, sir, I insist—’

‘Insist to yourself, then,’ I said to him, and strode away. But a fat man is hard pressed to stride with dignity. I tried in vain to compose my face as I departed the scene. Not that many people, I told myself, had noticed our spat. Neither of us had shouted. I glanced back, but Carsina was gone. I felt a moment of relief, until I saw her hurrying up the stairs, both hands lifted to cover her face. Several women turned to watch her go. My own sister was following her. I cursed myself and wondered where that blaze of temper and my ugly words had come from.

I should have chosen to keep my misery and my pathetic hope, I told myself savagely. I left the ballroom for the terrace, and from there descended stone steps to the garden. It was hotter there, not cooler. Many of the flowering bushes had gone yellow with drought; the young trees were spindly and offered no shade. My collar choked me and my jacket was too warm. How could I have been so stupid? Why had I forced such a confrontation? I should have let her snub me. The next time I saw her, I’d be a thinner man, and there would have been no harm done. She’d have rebuked herself for avoiding me. Now what I had said to her must always stand between us. Uneasily, I wondered if she had fled to her mother. She was already with my sister. I wondered which would be worse for me.

A thick hedge and the sound of a fountain beyond it promised me a shadier retreat. The garden was poorly planned, for I had to walk some distance and follow a turning in the hedge before I found a very small gate. It was closed but not locked. I entered the second garden.

Here, no expense had been spared. I wondered that guests were not thronging it. A paved walkway led me in a meandering spiral towards the heart of the garden. The beds of flowers were lush, despite the heat and dryness of the last week. Bees hummed amongst the fairie rose bushes and battled the tall lavender for nectar. The fragrance of flowers and the aromas of herbs were heavy in the still air. I passed an ornamental fishpond. Spatterdock opened the fat petals of its yellow blossoms there, and fish transformed from shadow to gleams as they moved in and out of their shelter. Beyond was a dovecote, styled as a quaint little cottage, full of the preening, cooing creatures. The birds were sunning themselves in the fly-pen attached to their shelter. I stood there for some time, letting the restful sound soothe me. Then I followed the winding footpath towards the decorative fountain at the centre of the garden and the musical splashing of its waters.

I never reached the fountain. A sudden reek hit my nostrils, a stench so bad that I nearly gagged. I turned my head at the same time I lifted my hand to cover my nose and mouth. I could not believe what met my eyes. The altar was white marble, but the top of it was spattered with gore and bird droppings. A brass pole arched over the altar. Suspended from the arch was something that might have been a lovely chandelier, save that the arms of it ended in hooks, not lamps, and a dead dove was impaled on each hook. In the centre of the altar, a bird had been split open and its entrails spread for reading. Bloody fingerprints smeared the white feathers. A black-and-white croaker bird was perched on top of the brass arch, a streamer of dove gut hanging from his beak. Flies and wasps buzzed heavily around the dead birds. They were grotesque. One white dove was more red than white now, its entrails hanging from its pecked anus. As I stared, dumbfounded, a slow drip of blood dropped to spatter on the altar.

This had been done today.

That chilling thought was followed by another. The altar and the hook chandelier were permanent fixtures. Poronte and his family worshipped the old gods on a regular basis. This was a marriage offering. In all likelihood, my brother’s bride and her mother and sisters had sacrificed these birds to celebrate Cecile’s wedding day.

I had not thought my horror could deepen. But as I stared, transfixed, the unthinkable happened. One bird abruptly twitched on its hook. Its wings shuddered spasmodically, causing the carousel of dead birds to turn slightly. It unlidded a dull eye at me while its small beak opened and closed soundlessly.

I could not stand it.

I had to stand on tiptoe to reach him, and my stretch strained the shoulders of my jacket perilously. I made a grab at him, caught him by the wing, and pulled the gruesome merry-go-round towards me. When I could get both hands on him, I lifted his body from the hook. I’d intended to end his misery by wringing his neck. Before I could, his body gave a final shudder and was still. I stepped back from the altar and looked at my pathetic trophy. The anger I had felt at Carsina suddenly transmuted to fury at the unfairness of it all. Why had this little creature had to die as sacrifice to celebrate a wedding day? Why was his tiny life so insignificant to them? It was the only life he could ever know. ‘You should not have died.’ My blood pounded through me, thick with rage. ‘They were wicked to kill you! What sort of a family has my brother joined to us?’

The bird’s eyes opened. I was so shocked I nearly dropped it. It gave its head a shake, and then opened its wings. I did drop it then, releasing it to a fall that it changed into a frantic launch. One of its wings brushed my face as it took flight. In an instant, it was gone. Small downy neck-feathers clung to my fingertips. I shook my hands and they ghosted away to float eerily in the still air. I was not sure what had happened. I looked again at the gory carousel of dead birds and at the smear of blood on my hand. Repulsed, I wiped my hand clean on my dark trousers. How had the bird survived?

I stared too long. In the branches of a nearby bush, a croaker bird suddenly cawed loudly. It lifted its black and white wings and opened its red beak wide at me. It had orange wattles on its bare neck; they were fleshy and wobbled cancerously at me as it cawed.

I retreated a step, but he still challenged me with three loud caws. The cries were immediately echoed by a couple of his fellows perched in nearby trees. As they raised the alarm, I turned and hastily walked away. My thoughts were in turmoil. It was one thing to hear tales of what the worship of the old gods had demanded; it was another thing to see a carrion tree set up for their delight.

Did Rosse know of his wife’s beliefs?

Did my father? My mother?

I breathed through my mouth as I walked swiftly away from that place. When I reached the lavender beds and the drowsing bumblebees mining them, I stopped. I took deep calming breaths of their fragrance. I was sweating. I’d glimpsed something dark and it filled me with a sudden foreboding.

‘Sir. This is a private garden for the family’s meditation and repose. The wedding festivities do not extend to this area.’

The woman was dressed as a gardener, in rough brown tunic and pantaloons and sandals. A broad-brimmed straw hat shaded her face. She carried a little basket on one arm with a trowel in it.

I wondered if she was in charge of burying the birds. No. From what I knew of those rites, they had to remain as an offering until the elements and the scavengers had reduced them to bones. I met her direct look and tried to read her eyes. She smiled at me politely.

‘I’ve lost my way, I’m afraid.’

She pointed. ‘Follow the pathway to the gate. Please latch it behind you, sir.’

She knew. She knew I wasn’t lost and she knew about the sacrifice and she guessed that I had seen it. Her eyes moved over me. Her gaze disdained me.

‘Thank you. I’ll be glad to find my way back.’

‘You’re welcome, sir.’

We were so polite. She made my skin crawl. I walked away from her, trying not to hurry. When I reached the gate, I glanced back. She had quietly followed me down the path to make sure that I left. I lifted my hand and flapped it at her foolishly, as if waving goodbye. She hastily turned away from me. I left the garden, closing the gate firmly behind me.

My first childish impulse was to run to my father and tell him all I’d seen. If Rosse and Cecile had not already said their vows, I might have done so. But they were already joined, and my mother and father had given oaths equally binding to Cecile’s parents. It was too late to stop them from joining our good name with the heathen Poronte family. I made my slow way back through the first garden and to the terrace. As I went, I decided that I would wait until I could privately pass my knowledge to my father. As the head of our family, he would decide what to do about it. Would it be sufficient grounds for him to contact the High Temple in Old Thares and have the marriage voided? Cecile and the other Poronte family members had called the good god to witness their pledges. Did the sacrifice in the garden mean they did not feel bound by their oaths before the good god? Had they smiled at my parents and mouthed words empty of intent?