Bronze Magic (Book 1) Page 24

  In answer Tarkyn muttered, “Liefka!” and a beam of bronze light shot up to hold the weight of the bough. If the wizard deplored such familiarity, he refrained from saying so. He was gazing intently at the branch that was being revealed beneath Waterstone’s hands. As the binding was removed, both wizard and woodman stared in wonder at the smooth, unscarred branch that appeared before them. Tarkyn was too busy concentrating to realise what was happening, as Waterstone asked, “Can you reduce your support gradually?”

  Tarkyn thought about it and grimaced, “I don’t think so. It’s all or nothing. Perhaps you can hold it for a moment and let go gradually yourself. Then I’ll take the weight again when you’re ready.”

  The woodman nodded and placed his arms around the place where the join had been. “Right. Let go.” Waterstone gingerly reduced his support of the bough. Nothing happened. The branch stayed in place and was able to take its own weight. “Can you two come up here?”

  “I’m getting too old for this,” grumbled Stormaway. Nevertheless, wizard and sorcerer rose from the ground and hung in midair to inspect the branch.

  Tarkyn stared at the unbroken bark of the healed bough. “These trees have healed quickly, haven’t they, Waterstone? I would have thought they would take a lot longer than this to heal.”

  The woodman nodded slowly. “They should take much longer than this. Several weeks at least….and even then, they would always bear a scar of some sort.”

  “Hmm,” said the wizard thoughtfully, “Interesting. - Waterstone, would you mind if we looked at another mended branch?” he asked politely. The woodman flicked a suspicious glance at Tarkyn who blinked but otherwise remained deadpan.

  It was the same with every branch they inspected. Beneath the wrappings, there was no sign of damage at all. When they were all back standing on the ground, Stormaway asked, “Have any other strange things been happening?”

  Waterstone scratched his head. “Obviously, the wolves are strange. It is unusual to have even one coming this far to the east of the forest, but first two arrived more or less together then today, two days later, another fourteen attacked us. If it hadn’t been for Tarkyn’s warning….” The woodman looked decidedly embarrassed, the prince was pleased to note.

  Stormaway shook his head, clearly perturbed. “I don’t like the sound of all this. Something is wrong.” A thought struck him. “I am shocked that the woodfolk allowed you into a position, Your Highness, where you were the first to see the wolves. They cannot be protecting you properly. It is not funny.” He added in response to a ripple of dry amusement that pushed against him.

  Tarkyn smiled at him. “Stormaway, I am pleased you are looking after my interests but I was not in the first line of fire. In fact, I had more than the woodfolk looking after me. In the latest incident, I was assisted by an eagle. The time before, I believe it was an owl,” said Tarkyn casually, grinning hugely by this time at the stunned look of amazement on the wizard’s face. He exchanged grins with Waterstone while the poor wizard struggled to get his head around it all.

  “Explain to me,” demanded Stormaway. “What do you mean; you were assisted by an owl?”

  As Tarkyn explained, Stormaway’s eyes widened, then a deeply satisfied smile spread across his face. “Marvellous!” he exclaimed. “That I should live to see this in my own lifetime. I saw the portents all those years ago but until now, I didn’t really believe they could be true.”

  Tarkyn stared at the wizard as though he had gone mad, but Waterstone reacted quite differently. The woodman became very still and then, as the wizard watched, pieces fell into place and realisation dawned. Waterstone turned to regard Tarkyn with a strange mixture of suspicion and wonder on his face that the prince found very unnerving.

  “What? What are you looking at?” demanded Tarkyn.

  Ignoring him completely, the wizard kept his eyes on Waterstone. “You know it’s true, don’t you?”

  The woodman gave his head a little shake. “But Stormaway, can’t all sorcerers do this type of mind linking?”

  “No. None that I am aware of…and I did train many sorcerers, the king among them. That’s why they’re such a pushover for mind control” He raised his eyebrows at the woodman. “You are aware, I presume, that our young sorcerer here was able to withstand Tree Wind’s attempt at mind control?”

  “Yes. She wasn’t pleased, was she?” Waterstone smiled reminiscently. “I don’t think any of us was too pleased about it at the time, to be honest,” he added with a wry smile at Tarkyn.

  “Oh good. So you’ve remembered I exist then,” responded Tarkyn sarcastically. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why were you looking at me in that strange way? You know something I don’t and I would appreciate being included.”

  Waterstone gave him a cheeky grin that went a long way towards making the prince’s blood boil. “At least you know we’re not mind talking. Stormaway’s mind is a closed book.”

  As a sharp wave of annoyance hit him, Waterstone added quickly, “Sorry. It’s a bit like that owl you didn’t tell me about. I’m struggling to believe what Stormaway is proposing and I don’t want to say anything until I’m sure.”

  The prince’s eyes flashed. “I am quite happy to hear theories. Stormaway, I insist you tell me what this is about.” A jab of anger hit the wizard’s mind.

  “For heavens’ sake, Tarkyn,” he said, rubbing his forehead, “I will tell you. Exercise some control.”

  “I am.” answered the prince flatly.

  “Sire,” The wizard wandered over to a nearby log. “I suggest we sit down. This could take some time.” He waited until Tarkyn was seated before sitting down himself. Then he began. “For you to understand, I will have to tell you one of the old tales of woodfolk lore.” He paused as he gathered his thoughts. “There is a legend that has passed down through generations of woodfolk of a mystical being who appears among the woodfolk in times of great need. This being, sometimes male, sometimes female, possesses powers far beyond those of any woodfolk and is given the name of…”

  “Guardian of the forest” said the prince slowly, glancing at the woodman. “You see? I remember some of what you told me.”

  “So you know this story?” asked the wizard.

  Tarkyn shrugged apologetically, “Actually I only have a vague recollection of it. Waterstone did tell me but I only remember that there was a wondrous being with mystical powers that emerges, what? every four or five hundred years.”

  “Yes,” replied the wizard, “There is no set time but that seems to be roughly how often one will appear. Not every generation of woodfolk has seen a guardian but the legend is passed down for safekeeping in the lore of the woodfolk so that when he or she appears among them, they will recognise and remember. The appearance of a guardian of the forest is greeted with both fear and rejoicing; fear because his or her coming is a portent of great strife; rejoicing, because the forest guardian has come to stand beside them in their time of need.”

  “I do remember most of this.” The prince absent-mindedly picked off another green shoot that had started to grow on his staff. “So are you seeing signs that this marvellous being may be coming among the woodfolk again?” He thought about it for a moment. “The wolves? The trees growing back more quickly….What else?”

  “Tarkyn, look at me.” The wizard’s voice grew tense with suppressed excitement. “Among the powers possessed by a guardian of the forest are the ability to commune with the creatures of the woodlands and the ability to heal and foster growth.”

  Tarkyn stared at him as the significance of his words hit him, and then turned to stare at Waterstone. “Oh, Stars Above! You two have completely lost the plot,” he said, revolted by the whole concept. “I am not some marvellous, mystical being. I am simply a sorcerer – perhaps more powerful than most, but still just a sorcerer.”

  Tarkyn stood up and started pacing up and down in agitation. “And I have not just appeared miraculously among you. I have been forced upon you by the oa
th. Not only that, I walked for five days to get here from Tormadell then walked into the forest in plain view of everyone, in the company of this devious, delusional hedge-dweller here.” He smiled faintly. “Although I did appear above you when I translocated with the acorn.”

  He stopped to look down on them, hands on hips, his eyebrows raised in derision. “And I may have been met with fear, but certainly not with any rejoicing that I’ve noticed.” He scowled at them, “Is that enough for you? Can you stop looking at me as though I’m some kind of freak now?”

  The woodman and the wizard exchanged glances and shook their heads. Waterstone smiled fondly up at him. “Tarkyn,” he said quietly. “I think you have to give a legend a bit of poetic licence. Over the years, the logistics of how the guardians appeared would have become irrelevant. The tale has blurred each arrival into one description. And anyway, it doesn’t say ‘miraculously’. It just says ‘appeared.’

  Tarkyn looked askance at him then bent down to pick up his staff. He started to pick a green shoot off it then, realising what he was doing, threw it down in disgust.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake. Can’t you see? I’m not mystical,” Tarkyn raised his hands and twinkled his fingers to demonstrate what he was not. “And I don’t have mystical powers. I’ve just been trying to mind talk like the woodfolk and it has gone a bit awry.”

  The wizard shook his head. “No, it hasn’t gone awry. You have unearthed unique powers within yourself. No other sorcerer has them. No one else on Eskuzor, wizard, sorcerer or woodfolk, has them.”

  A hint of panic flickered at the back of the sorcerer’s eyes. He looked wildly around, like a cornered animal. “I can’t handle all this,” he said imploringly. “I’m only just coming to terms with being exiled, trapped in a forest, hated by an entire nation of people…. actually two nations of people, if you count the sorcerers as well.” He ran his hand through his hair in distress. “Finally, I start to find a basis for living with the woodfolk with some degree of acceptance and now you’re trying to tell me I’m some kind of mystical being from one of their legends.” He sank down onto a log, closed his eyes and hid his face in his hands.

  No one spoke. After a while, a feeling of warm reassurance pushed at the edges of Tarkyn’s mind. He felt something nudging against his knee. Being used to having dogs, he put his hand down unthinkingly to pat it. Then, as he remembered where he was, his hand stopped in mid-pat and he looked down to see the broad, striped face of a badger looking calmly up at him. As his eyebrows snapped together, the badger shied away from him. Tarkyn sighed and sent a wave of contrition to the badger who eyed him uncertainly for a moment before returning within the sorcerer’s reach. He stroked the badger gently for a few minutes, focusing on the feel of her coarse hair under his fingers as he grappled with his confusion.

  He had an idea. “Maybe it’s the oath. You woodfolk did swear it on behalf of the woodland creatures, didn’t you? Maybe they’re protecting me because of that.”

  Surprisingly, it was the wizard who replied. He shook his head firmly and said, “No, Your Highness. Woodfolk have no authority to speak for the forest creatures. Those words simply meant that by obeying the oath, the woodfolk would be acting to protect the forests and the creatures within them. Besides, it doesn’t explain the regeneration of the trees and the staff.”

  The sorcerer ran his hands through his long hair. “This is crazy. Anyway, call me what you will, it won’t change who I am.”

  “Now there is a fraught statement, if ever I heard one,” commented Waterstone. “Would you still be the same if you were no longer called Prince of Eskuzor?”

  Tarkyn stared at him for several seconds. “To be honest,” he said at last, “I am struggling to imagine what that would be like. I don’t know. It is not just a title. It is a role that comes with huge expectations of myself and everyone around me; expectations which, I might add, are shifting like quicksand beneath my feet at the moment.” The prince felt the badger nudge him again. “Sorry,” he said distractedly and began to pat her again.

  Waterstone watched him quizzically.

  Tarkyn sighed. “Don’t tell me. I can see where this is going already.” He saw them both watching him expectantly and tried a last ditch stand. “I can’t be a guardian of the forest.I am sure a guardian would have to be old and wise with grey hair and long flowing beard. I am just an untried, callow youth. You said so yourself,” he added with a tinge of resentment, glancing at Waterstone.

  Stormaway looked profoundly shocked, but the woodman laughed. “I didn’t quite say that, but you are certainly inexperienced in the ways of the woodlands.” Waterstone gave another chortle as he echoed the prince’s own words, “You may not be the best at everything and you may not shine in all situations…. and you are certainly not old and grey,” suddenly he became serious, “but against all the odds, you are wise.”

  The wizard and the sorcerer both stared at the woodman. Tarkyn’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. Despite all the flattery he had received over the years, he did not know how to respond to such a profound compliment.

  “And,” continued Waterstone quietly, sliding in under his guard, “amazingly, you are a guardian of the forest.”

  After a few moments, Tarkyn picked up his staff and watched as small green shoots pushed their way out of the wood. As an experiment, he focused his will on the staff and found that he could accelerate the speed of growth. He gave a small private smile and looked up to find the other two watching him. He shrugged self-consciously, “Just seeing what I can do.”

  Wizard and woodman were staring at him appraisingly. Neither spoke. Lacking a response from them, Tarkyn ignored them and, hunting around for a sharp dry stick, used it to dig a narrow hole in the ground. When he was satisfied, he jabbed one end of his staff down into it and pushed the soil back into place around it. He grasped the rod with both hands, closed his eyes and focused his being into it. The tiny green shoots expanded and grew into the beginnings of small branches even as they watched. Within minutes, a healthy young sapling was growing in the ground. Tarkyn opened his eyes and stood back to admire his handiwork.

  After a moment, he smiled apologetically at Waterstone, “I still need a staff. Do you think you could make me one from a dead branch this time? Then I won’t have the embarrassment of green shoots bursting forth all the time.”

  Waterstone, who was staring in bemusement at the new sapling, nodded distractedly.

  Tarkyn tried again. “Waterstone?” His voice became sharper, “Waterstone!” Once the woodman had dragged his eyes away from the resurrected sapling to look at him, Tarkyn said, “Hello? It’s still me. You’re the ones who told me I could do it. So don’t act so surprised when I do what you’re expecting me to do.”

  Waterstone gave his head a shake and blinked, “Sorry Tarkyn. It’s going to take a bit of getting used to – living with a legend.”

  The sorcerer rolled his eyes. “Oh for heavens sake, Waterstone! Pull yourself together. I’m still the same person I was an hour ago.”

  Waterstone smiled ruefully. “You haven’t grown up listening to the legends as I have. It’s truly amazing.”

  Tarkyn looked to the wizard for support but found him, too, gazing at the resurrected sapling. “Not you too,” said Tarkyn in disgust.

  Stormaway shook his head in wonder, “Marvellous. Just marvellous.”

  “Well, that settles it,” exploded the prince, “I’ll be experimenting in private next time. If you two, who know me, behave like besotted fools, what will everyone else do?”

  Consternation showed in the woodman’s face. “The others. We must tell the others. There must be danger coming.”

  “No,” said the prince flatly. “I forbid it.”

  “But Your Highness…” began the wizard.

  Tarkyn put up a hand. “No. Not yet. The woodfolk and I must work out our terms of engagement as we are. That’s hard enough to sort out as it is. I have to consolidate where I am before everything starts to sh
ift again.”

  Stormaway came in firmly. “You can’t have long. The threat to the woodfolk, whatever it is, must be discovered and prepared for.”

  “I have sworn to protect the woodfolk and I will not forget.” Tarkyn frowned at him. “You seem remarkably concerned for the woodfolk all of a sudden. And yet you were party to creating the oath.”

  Stormaway considered carefully before answering, aware of the prince’s reservations. “Yes and no. Yes, I constructed and delivered it but I did so under orders from the king.”

  “I thought you were his advisor. Could you not have dissuaded him from it?”

  The wizard shrugged. “You saw in Tree Wind’s memory what type of man he was. Sometimes I had very little influence. Other times, I had more. Sometimes I had to be, hmm, what shall we say?… creative… to protect people’s interests.”

  Tarkyn glanced at Waterstone but the woodman was watching quietly, keeping well out of the conversation. The prince turned back to the wizard. “So, if you created it, can you also destroy the sorcery in the oath?”

  Stormaway looked squarely at him.“I could but I would not. I know how to destroy it but I promised your father that I would not.” Seeing Tarkyn about to protest, he too glanced at Waterstone. “I would suggest that we continue this discussion at another time.”

  Waterstone stood up. “I can leave if you would like.”

  “Yes. That would be helpful, I think,” said the wizard at the same time as the prince said, “No, stay. This concerns you and the woodfolk every bit as much as it concerns me.”

  The woodman waited irresolute while the balance of power wavered. After a fraught moment, Tarkyn said quietly to the wizard, “Despite your misgivings and for reasons I am not prepared to go into, I have complete faith in Waterstone. I would appreciate it if you felt able to continue the discussion now. However, if it involves something about you personally that you don’t want to reveal, then of course we will wait for another time.”