21
Heading North
Figgis and Themesius talked into the early morning, learning each other’s colourful stories of how they came to be where they were. When Gidyon finally stirred, they suggested he take some water. They then risked raising him to his feet but once upright he promptly returned the recent drink. They dragged him outside the tent in case there was more to come, which proved a wise decision as Themesius was soon holding him over the bushes, the two men feeling sorry for their young charge.
‘Your tale is impressive for a short man,’ the giant said over Gidyon’s noise. Figgis was about to make some sharp comment back when they felt the shift within themselves. Even Gidyon, in his state, stood up.
‘What’s happened?’ he croaked.
It has taken place, said Figgis.
We are returned. The Paladin is complete again. Themesius uttered this reverently.
Gidyon looked at both of them. ‘What does it mean?’
Figgis tapped him gently on the back. He knew how wretched the lad must be feeling from the previous night’s liquor. It means, boy, that the last of us has linked with their bonded one. Now the real battle begins.
The two Paladin looked thoughtfully at one another, speaking across their own private Link. Let’s allow him some peace whilst he can still enjoy it.
Figgis nodded.
‘So, with that thought in mind, how about breakfast?’ Themesius offered and could not help but grin at the nauseous look on Gidyon’s face.
His joviality was lost in the same instant as all three heard the voice of Torkyn Gynt across the Paladin Link.
Gidyon, son. Where are you?
Gidyon ignored his aching head. Father! I am with Figgis and a giant of a man called Themesius, my second. We’re in a town and headed for Brittelbury.
He heard his father make a sound of approval at hearing that they were safe. Lauryn? he said next. They could all hear the worry in his question.
I’m here. Everyone heard her voice catch.
This is Juno. The seer spoke to save them hearing Lauryn weep. She is safe for the moment. But we have to get her away from here.
Juno, this is Lauryn’s mother. What does he mean to do with her? Alyssa’s alarm was evident and it was Lauryn who answered, keen to make sure she was not seen as cowardly, despite her fright. It’s a trap. He’s using me to lure you to Cipres. Neither of you must come.
Her father cut in. Does he know who you are?
That I’m your daughter, yes.
But does he know what you are? Tor persisted.
If you mean, does he know that I am one of three children and the Trinity…no, I don’t think so. The Trinity has not been mentioned.
Good girl. Be brave now. Tell him nothing. He won’t harm you. It’s me he wants, child.
Tor hated the lie he told his own daughter. He believed Orlac would have no scruples over whom he harmed so long as he could wreak his vengeance on the person who represented the target of his hate. Alyssa knew it too. She turned away from him.
Lauryn, she said. We are coming for you. She spoke over her daughter’s objections. You keep her safe, Juno.
Wait! Lauryn cried, desperate to tell them of the relationship between Tor and Orlac. But the seer closed the Link and hushed her. ‘Be still, child. We cannot risk these conversations.’
Juno continued to pour warm water gently over her bonded one to soothe her fright. She knew better than all of them. She knew Orlac wanted this girl—had wanted her from the very first moment she had described the woman from the dream. The less Lauryn heard the better right now. She would need a clear mind and strong heart. Any talk over the Link at present would only undermine her resolve.
Gidyon had regained his wits sufficiently to realise that Lauryn must be in trouble.
Where is Lauryn? he demanded of his father.
There was no point in not telling him the truth. Orlac has her.
Figgis, Themesius and Gidyon felt the same spike of shock the others had experienced earlier. How?
It would take too long to explain. The fact is, she’s trapped in Cipres. I need time to think on this. I’m sorry, Themesius, that your welcome is so brief but it is nonetheless heartfelt and offered with the greatest of sincerity by Alyssa and myself.
The giant’s great voice rumbled gently. I am privileged to be Paladin to your son.
What do you wish us to do? It was the familiar voice of Figgis.
Tor was firm. Get the stone back quickly.
We are on foot—four days perhaps from Brittelbury, Figgis estimated.
Has Gidyon still got that purse I gave him? Alyssa asked.
Hardly touched, he answered.
Buy horses, Saxon suggested. Which town are you in?
They looked at Themesius for an answer. It’s called Warbyn, in the northwest, the giant said.
Saxon nodded. I know it. There is a large stable complex in the town.
But no horse big enough for me, Saxon, old friend. There was great affection in Themesius’s voice.
A cart, then. Two horses. You should cut that journey by more than half. It cannot exceed a full day’s journey from Warbyn, surely, if you get them up to a gallop for the most part?
Tell us when you have the stone, Tor said, and hurry!
Where will you both be? Gidyon asked, referring to his mother and father.
Dealing with someone who has long outstayed his welcome in this world.
The Link was cut.
Themesius scratched his beard, not understanding and realising his companions were just as puzzled by Tor’s last response. Well, they had their task set and he felt it was best to put one foot in front of the other immediately and make a start.
‘I guess we may have to pass on breakfast then, Gidyon.’
He watched the boy turn back towards the tree and could not help but enjoy the scathing look from Figgis.
Tor considered the row of people before him, all wearing expectant expressions. Their numbers had certainly swelled. His blue gaze came to rest on Rubyn, who, predictably, was seated between Cyrus and Solyana. It was right that he was but Tor felt a pang on behalf of Alyssa who, he could tell, just wanted to hold her boy tight and keep him safe.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell them you are found, he said for Rubyn’s hearing only.
When the time is right, his son replied, his expression unreadable.
Tor felt a different sort of pang this time. He realised that whereas Gidyon was self-sufficient and Lauryn was perhaps more dependent, the two of them were already close to him and both quite sociable in their approach to people. Rubyn was different. It was true that he had not shared any time together with this son, yet he already sensed the lad was very independent and self-possessed. Tor noticed how Rubyn sat neatly; his movements were precise and economical; and he seemed to waste no words nor show much emotion. Tor tried to pinpoint the quality he was sensing.
It was as though Cloot could read his thoughts. Very contained isn’t he?
That was it. Contained. Rubyn had shared no one’s life except Cyrus’s and he stuck close to the former prime. Will he be all right do you think? Tor shared his fears with his friend.
Let’s give him some space. He has not had the luxury of the private time in the Heartwood with you that Gidyon and Lauryn enjoyed. You three had that serene period to get to know one another. This poor child has been thrown to the dragons, so to speak.
I hate it when you’re always so right, Cloot.
Yes, I know. It can be a burden for me too.
In happier times they would have shared a laugh over such a line. Cloot did so love to sing his own praises. But neither could today.
Goth, the falcon said. One word. It spoke droves.
Yes.
Did you think over what Sallementro said?
I did.
And?
You know your way around those mountains don’t you?
I am a Brocken at heart. I haven’t forgotten any of the passes. And with my falcon’s view, it will not be difficult to find this place.
I think it’s swifter and easier to stab him in the throat here and now but more appropriate to make the journey.
At that moment, Cyrus opened a Link to Tor and Cloot.
If I was a gambling man, I reckon I could win a lot of money if I wagered all I had on guessing what you two are discussing right now— Goth.
You’d be right, Cloot said.
May I throw in my thoughts, for what they’re worth? the former prime asked.
We would welcome them, Tor said. You’re the soldier and strategist amongst us.
Thank you. Cyrus smiled, enjoying the reminder of his glory days. Sallementro’s suggestion is laborious and possibly dangerous but I also believe it is the just thing to do. Goth does not deserve life. He was guilty of terrible sins even in my time and I daren’t allow my imagination to even wonder what he’s been up to in recent times. My recommendation is this. You and Alyssa should take Goth to this place the musician speaks of and deal with unfinished business once and for all. I will go after your daughter.
But Orlac expects me, Tor cautioned.
Well, of course he does. His intention is to lure you by dangling the bait he knows you will bite. So don’t. It is not cowardly of you not to go. It is wise. I will not fail. I will bring her back to her parents.
Tor considered it.
Cloot spoke first. We must protect you at all costs, Tor.
We know this, Cyrus said gently. But we must not play into Orlac’s hands. By keeping you away, it means he must come to you. The Trinity—I truly believe—must be in the Heartwood to prevail. And you are the One. It is you we all protect. As much as our dedication is to our bonded, it is Torkyn Gynt we must save.
How do you know this?
I don’t. Call it soldier’s instinct.
I agree with Cyrus, the falcon said. We should follow our original plan of making you the lure that brings Orlac to us.
Tor knew they should all hear what was being discussed. Saxon, Alyssa.
They both answered and he told them what Cyrus had suggested.
What about Rubyn? Alyssa asked, frowning.
He answered for himself. I would go with Cyrus. I can help.
Alyssa baulked. No! Orlac would then have you in his grip as well. I won’t permit it.
She looked desperately at Tor, imploring him to agree with her. He could not. Whichever way he looked at it, Cyrus’s reasoning was sound, and to force the lad away from his guardian and his Paladin now would be madness. Each of them needed their protectors.
Rubyn should stay close to Cyrus; we cannot separate him from both his Paladin.
He saw the despair cross her face and forced himself to ignore it. ‘Here is my plan,’ he declared and everyone gave him their full attention, including Goth who had finally regained consciousness but found himself immobilised against a tree by vines, of all things! The more he struggled, the more pain drove through his body and the tighter the vines seemed to cling.
He listened to Tor.
‘Cyrus and Rubyn will travel to Cipres. I’m hopeful they will link up with the King and Herek’s Company of men.’ He turned to the Cipreans who had sat very quietly through all these hours. ‘Hela, may I press upon you to accompany them? You know the city and, more importantly, you know your way around the palace. Your help will be invaluable.’
She nodded. ‘Of course. But what of Sarel?’
‘I’d like to return to Cipres,’ the Queen said, fiercely.
‘Not yet, Sarel,’ Tor counselled. ‘Let us make your throne safe first. We cannot risk you yet.’
‘There is no risk,’ she said, with grace, yet firmly. ‘If the usurper follows the trail back to the Heartwood, he will forget about Cipres. It is nothing more than a dispensable tool for him. But it is my realm. Those are my people. I will return and claim my throne. He will be gone and I’m very sure you will see to it that he does not ever return to Cipres. It has been foretold in the dreams that you will protect my throne. I trust you, Torkyn Gynt, and I will no longer shirk my duty and cringe in another kingdom.’
It was the voice of a true Queen. Tor’s eyes narrowed as he considered her emphatic speech. Meanwhile Alyssa noticed how Rubyn increasingly stole long glances at Sarel. She was relieved. The wheel of life and its loves and torments continued to turn no matter what was happening in the world, she thought. Here sat her son, surrounded by talk of battle, death and struggles, and yet he seemed concerned at this moment only with how his heart beat a little faster at the sight of a young woman. She looked at the Queen now, noting the determined set of her jaw and the imperious way in which she carried herself. And still so young. She shook her head and returned her attention to Tor.
‘All right, Sarel. It is your choice and may the Light guide you safely back to your throne.’ He saw triumph on the Queen’s face. Sarel was right to stand up for what was her duty. Every bit her mother and more still, Sarel was destined to be a powerful ruler with a conscience and dedication to her people. He hoped she would forge strong ties with Tallinor now. Two young monarchs. If anyone could turn history around, it was them.
‘Rubyn, we shall look to you then, to protect our Queen of Cipres on the journey ahead.’ He said this deliberately, having also noticed the keen interest his son was showing in Sarel. Tor believed Rubyn must be given a mission or they risked his feeling even more isolated.
Rubyn betrayed little on his face at his father’s instructions but chose careful words in reply. ‘I shall consider it an honour,’ he said and dipped his head towards the Queen.
She noticed him for the first time…or perhaps not, Alyssa thought with a sudden insight, as she caught the coy grin, promising something, which Sarel threw his way.
Light! She’s a vixen in a child’s body, she whispered to Tor privately.
She’s young, I’ll admit, but no child any more, my love. And she’s trying to fill enormous shoes with no experience. I think she’s wonderful. She’ll be good for Rubyn, he answered and shot her a brief smile knowing how much of what he had just said would irritate Alyssa.
And what about Locky? Did you not notice his final glance back at her?
I cannot dwell on this now, my love. We have to ensure they all hold on to their lives and must allow them to sort out their hearts.
It was gently said, and Alyssa kept her peace as Tor turned to Arabella.
‘Solyana and I will remain, as always—perhaps, Sallementro, you might care to stay with us and entertain us whilst we wait nervously for our precious ones to return?’ Arabella suggested.
The musician looked to Alyssa. She shrugged, but not unkindly— it told him that this was his decision. He felt cornered. To remain might be seen as cowardly but to go seemed madness. What could he do? Sing them all to sleep in the evening?
It was Saxon who rescued him. ‘Sal, stay. You are no fighter. And we surely need some of us to remain in the Heartwood in case preparations need to be made,’ Saxon said, grinning and getting to his feet. ‘I’m off to gather a few things. I presume we’re headed somewhere too?’
Tor switched to the Link because he did not want to share any of this with Goth, whom he could finally see paying attention.
Sallementro is right. We should allow the persecuted to decide Goth’s fate. Alyssa and myself, accompanied by Saxon and Cloot, will take Goth to this place in the mountains and he will be dealt with. We will return to the Heartwood as quickly as possible. I need everyone to be back here as soon as you can, he said. They all nodded. Cyrus, we have to think about how to get you there swiftly, Tor added.
That’s easy, the soldier replied. Rubyn has this curious habit of travelling amongst the trees. It’s hard to explain, it’s best to demonstrate.
Oh? Tor said, remembering the incredible enchantment when the trees of the Heartwood had flung him between themselves on his journey towards Caradoon. How far can you get?
As far as the Forest extends. We can take its northwestern finger which reaches almost to Caremboche. Then perhaps we can buy horses for the remainder of the journey to Caradoon, then on to Cipres by boat.
Sallementro announced that he had brought money. They should use that.
Alyssa voiced something which had been nagging at her since Tor had suggested the journey to Cipres to rescue Lauryn. It’s just occurred to me to mention the possibility that Cyrus will be recognised by Orlac. He is Paladin, after all, which means the god has already seen him, fought against him.
Tor had not even considered this. Would this jeopardise their plans?
Cyrus rubbed at his short beard. I don’t think so. The Dreamspeaker, Lys, visited me only once in the time that Rubyn and I were away from Tallinor. During that visit she told me about my role as Paladin and how I had already fought and lost one battle against Orlac. I do recall that she said I am very different in appearance now and that I was even known by a different name. The reason I tell you this is that I believe I can go to Orlac as a stranger.
You are different, Cloot admitted. That’s why I did not recognise you the first time we met at Hatten.
Cyrus nodded. Lys said I was known as Jerome Cyrus to Orlac. That was my great-great-great-grandfather’s name, which, I’m presuming, was bastardised through generations, he said thoughtfully. She’s clever, protecting me in this manner. Anyway, Orlac will not know me from the next man.
They said their farewells, Alyssa clinging hard to Rubyn, he permitting it, sensing her despair at losing him again so soon. Tor said little, but a single glance at Cyrus provoked a private response.
I shall bring your daughter…and your son back to the Heartwood. Or I shall die trying. Cyrus said this to Tor alone and saw him nod in acknowledgement.
Now they had all gathered by the great oak, intrigued, to witness the unique way in which Rubyn could apparently travel.
‘Are you sure we are all welcome to travel in the same way?’ Hela asked, doubt written all over her face.
Rubyn grinned. ‘The trees will protect all of us.’
‘Does it hurt?’ Sarel shared Hela’s reluctance.
‘No. But here, hold my hand. We shall travel together,’ Rubyn offered.
Alyssa glared at Tor, purse-lipped.
I can see this shall be an interesting journey, Cyrus said to the two of them as he kissed Alyssa’s hand.
Bring them back to me, Cyrus, she warned.
If only in order to kiss you again, madam, he replied and pretended to wince at the sharp glance from Tor.
Rubyn held Sarel’s hand and already she seemed very comfortable in his company. ‘We’ll go first. Cyrus, you know the drill.’ He saw his Paladin nod. He glanced towards Solyana but whatever they said to each other was kept private. ‘Take a deep breath, Sarel. It makes your tummy feel odd to begin with.’
He smiled self-consciously at the others and put his arms around her.
Tor watched with fascination as Rubyn leaned back against the vast trunk of the oak and whispered something in an exotic language he did not understand. Immediately, they could all feel the pull of the magic and were amazed to witness branches bend down from the oak and embrace the couple. As this happened, Rubyn and Sarel seemed to blur and in the next instant were gone, absorbed into the oak itself.
There was a collective ‘Ah’ before a hush. They all looked towards the former prime.
‘Our turn, I think, Hela,’ he said, offering his hand graciously, which she took.
‘Light guide you, Cyrus,’ Tor said before watching the same process occur.
And then they were gone.
‘Incredible!’ Saxon muttered.
Indeed, Cloot agreed.
They made their way back to where Goth was strapped even more tightly against the tree. He had seen none of the first group’s disappearance.
‘A drink, perhaps?’ he croaked.
‘Die of thirst for all we care,’ Alyssa said. ‘When do we leave?’
‘Now,’ Tor replied. ‘Sallementro, you came with a cart, did you not?’
The musician nodded. ‘I don’t know where it is, though.’
I do, Solyana replied. There’s Sallementro’s horse and two others which have kindly wandered into the Forest…probably belonging to Goth’s men.
‘That’s all we need,’ Saxon said. ‘Let’s get our prisoner organised.’
‘Keep him tied, wrists and ankles for the journey. I’ll sit in the back with him,’ Tor said.
‘I don’t want him anywhere near me,’ Alyssa admitted, looking at the man who had previously struck dread into her. ‘But I do want to see him die,’ she said, surprising herself by the conviction in her voice.
More farewells and then the Forest opened paths and guided Saxon, who was driving, into a northeasterly direction towards the Rork’yel mountain range.
They had made steady progress, keeping to the Forest which would lead them right into the mountains. The Heartwood itself was now far behind and all of them, bar Goth, felt the loss keenly. Alyssa was grateful when Saxon finally called a halt to make camp for the night. Cloot returned when a small fire was burning and the smell of cooking drifted into the early evening air. He had already fed and set about cleaning himself as he listened to their soft talk. The falcon had ranged high constantly during the ride and had seen nothing ahead. They were lone travellers on a track rarely used. Few people had reason to head into the complex mountain wilderness and even fewer felt comfortable within the Great Forest. He noticed Goth had settled into a sulky silence, refusing food. So be it. Cloot hoped he could live off his reserves just long enough to meet his fate at the hands of the sentient ones.
‘Did it never occur to you to wonder where those people were sent?’ Saxon asked, as Tor handed him a chunk of the roasted hare.
‘Here’s some bread,’ Alyssa said, twisting off a piece from the loaf which they had found on the cart. All had learned not to question the mysterious ways of the Heartwood.
Tor tentatively chewed a piece of the hot meat. ‘Ignorantly, I suppose, I thought they all died.’
‘So did everyone, I think,’ Alyssa agreed.
Saxon turned and not so much nudged as kicked Goth. His action made the former chief inquisitor wince from the pain. ‘How about you, Goth?’
Goth grunted.
‘Did you know they were taken somewhere?’
‘Yes,’ he replied but did not elaborate.
‘At whose orders…surely not yours?’ Tor blinked with disbelief at the idea of Goth giving a second’s further thought to the lives of the people he had tortured.
Goth remained silent but groaned again when Saxon encouraged him to talk with the toe of his boot.
‘King’s orders,’ he said through the pain.
Alyssa shook her head. ‘Knowing Lorys as I do I don’t believe he would ever have sanctioned the torture. I think we can safely presume it was an invention and privilege of Goth. As for the bridling of people I’d have to say yes, he condoned it, because he grew up believing sentient people were so dangerous. I know this is hard to understand but I feel if he was aware of the torture, then he taught himself to turn a blind eye. It’s true it’s at odds with how he behaved towards his people otherwise, but fear is a complex master.’
Cloot had listened with interest so far. He now chose to involve himself in the discussion. I think Alyssa’s right. Lorys lived with an ancient fear. He had been schooled to behave like this—it had probably been drummed into him as an infant that all sentients were evil —but the mere fact that he gave those orders to have people sent to what I presume is a haven in Rork’yel, is an indication of the difficulty he perhaps had in condoning their persecution.
‘Exactly! Thank you, Cloot,’ Alyssa said, chewing absently on a piece of bread. ‘And I’ve been thinking about something the King said. Tor, do you remember that curious message I told you he sent before he died, which made little sense to me at the time?’
Tor shrugged.
‘I do,’ Saxon said, wiping his mouth of the meat juices. ‘Something about giving freedom to your people.’
‘That’s right,’ she said as her mind roamed. ‘It’s bothered me ever since that I didn’t comprehend what was obviously such a private and deliberate instruction. Of all the things he could have said he chose these words: Forgive me, my love, for leaving you. Find your own people. Free them. Save Tallinor. Herek told me that Lorys knew he was doomed somehow, which might explain him asking for forgiveness at leaving me but the rest left me baffled.’
Tor wiped his hands. He had no idea where this conversation was leading. He looked at Goth whose sharp eyes returned the hate as his face twitched in its incessant way.
Alyssa continued. ‘I now believe that Lorys was telling me to find these sentient people. When he referred to my own people, he meant those who are empowered like us.’
Tor nodded. ‘Well, it does make sense now that we know those who survived Goth’s brutal attentions are alive and together in the mountains.’
Alyssa felt a small triumph. ‘I wish Lorys had told me more.’
I think it was a confession of sorts, Cloot mused. They looked at him perched on his branch; his beak and talons now cleaned from the wood pigeon he had caught expertly on the wing. You know, a man who foresees his death often feels compelled to rid himself of his secrets…his sins.
Alyssa nodded. ‘Your falcon is very wise,’ she said to Tor, as she made a comfortable pillow for herself from a cloak.
They slept; Goth fitfully from pain. Only Alyssa dreamed. It was the first time she had heard the voice of Lys.
I presume you have been expecting me?
Not really. She felt relief but also anger that her time had finally come. It was a curious combination of emotions.
Why?
Why would I? For many years you have talked to all except me. I presume nothing regarding you.
Are you glad I have come?
Yes.
Will you tell me why?
In order that I can tell you how much I despise you and your manipulations of the people I love.
There was a silence. Alyssa refused to break it. She would make Lys pay—even in this small way—for her control over those she cared for. The silence lengthened and Alyssa believed the Dreamspeaker had disappeared. Still she chose not to make a sound. Just waited, listening.
I believe I do deserve that, Lys said finally.
And plenty more. People have died at your design.
Lys felt this was unfair but decided not to argue this. She knew Alyssa would have her say. It was necessary. However, I would never choose it to be so.
Lies! Go away, Lys. Spin your tales for Tor and those who follow you.
Your children are in grave danger.
Not because of me. But because of you and what you make them do.
Will you not help them?
I will help them the only way I can. You will help only your cause. If they live or if they should die, it matters not to you.
That is a strong accusation.
You have earned it. I hate you.
May I show you something?
It was a change of tone and topic Alyssa had not expected. No. I wish you to leave me. Invade Saxon’s dreams…or Cloot’s. Better still, give Goth the nightmare he deserves.
I want to show you why your children matter to me.
Well, I want nothing to do with you. Let me be. Let them alone. You will get no absolution here, Lys.
I don’t seek absolution. I seek to show you who you are.
That caught her attention. I know who I am.
Do you?
Alyssa faltered, Lys could hear it in her shaky response. I…yes.
Come, child. This is more important than your hate.
Where?
Follow me. And Alyssa did. She permitted herself to be swept up and along with Lys—whom she could not see. They travelled in her mind and Alyssa found herself watching the birth of a child. It was a boy. He was given to the flaxen-haired beauty, his mother, but only briefly. She wept bitterly when the baby was gently taken from her by an immensely tall, dark, wavy-haired man with brilliant blue eyes. He was instantly familiar and then that thought was gone—she could no longer see him, only his arms handing the child to a woman. The woman’s face was shrouded by a gauzy hooded cloak.
‘Take him,’ Alyssa heard the man say.
‘Are we sure this is right?’ the woman asked over the bitter weeping of the mother.
‘Go now,’ he said and she did.
The vision became hazy.
Where is she taking him? Alyssa asked of Lys, helplessly intrigued.
Watch.
The vision cleared and Alyssa was watching the shrouded figure of the woman walking along a dusty road. She was approaching a small hamlet. There was a familiar scene ahead and she began to feel a chill creeping across her.
Flat Meadows, she whispered.
Lys said nothing.
Alyssa watched as the woman, carrying the infant, entered Flat Meadows, walking towards the inn as she turned off the main road to Tal. She did not want to believe this scene.
I don’t want to see this.
You must.
Alyssa held her breath as the woman walked up to that well-known doorway and entered. Now she found herself inside with the woman at a table, sipping on water, poking at a meal. She could almost smell its delicious aroma because she knew whose cooking this was. Sure enough, the cook appeared and she heard their conversation.
‘Come on now, I won’t have anyone pick at my food,’ said the familiar voice. ‘Here we are, then. Give me that babe and you eat my beef and leave none, mind. You’re scrawny enough.’
On cue, the infant began to wail. The cook did not wait for it to be handed over. Instead she reached and took the child from the woman’s arm and disappeared with it. When she returned some time later, the woman had finished her meal and the child was brought in from the back rooms. It was sleeping and content. Alyssa heard the cook explain that one of the lasses in the village had a new baby and more than enough milk for an extra mouth. She noticed that the infant was not yet handed back to the woman, who had removed the hood but her back was to Alyssa. And then in amazement she listened to this woman tell a tall tale about how she had come by the child. The cook, that dear plump lady, listened with increasing woe, her eyes getting wider as the story unravelled. She began to weep at the child’s abandonment and the woman’s story that the parents had died in a fire and no one from his village would take him.
Stop this! Alyssa screamed but Lys did not listen.
She tried to close her eyes but they would not obey. Instead she witnessed the cook lean forward and make an offer to the woman who accepted in an instant. Taking off her apron, one arm still cradling the precious boy, she led the woman out of the inn and now Alyssa wanted to look away but she could not. She did not want to see which dwelling the pair of women walked towards, talking in hushed tones. But there it was already…a familiar cottage at the end of the village sitting amongst pretty gardens. A happy enough home although it had never enjoyed the sound of a child’s laughter. It was the home of the travelling scribe who had done well for himself; had worked hard to provide a solid roof over his head and that of his wife.
Alyssa felt dizzy. She tried to talk to Lys but knew it was useless. Lys intended her to see this vision through to its conclusion, whatever that was, and so she fought her nausea and looked on as Jhon Gynt put his arms around his plump wife, Ailsa, and smiled at the baby she carried in her arms. He welcomed the stranger who was already in a hurry to depart, claiming she was on her way to Tal and the infant had so slowed her up that she had lost income. They smiled and made small talk and then finally the stranger dug into her pocket and lifted out a small pouch, knotted at one end.
She handed it to Jhon Gynt, telling him it was to be given to the boy when he was ‘of an age’. They enquired when that would be and she waved away their questions, rising to leave.
‘You will know the right time,’ she said. ‘Take special care of this precious child. His name is Torkyn.’
And with that she turned, her face uncovered, and Alyssa saw the woman’s face for the first time. She sucked in her breath with shock. She thought she may have begun to scream but she went unheard; she tried desperately to wake herself but she was still in her dream as she watched the first vision blur and disappear as another seemed to take shape.
Now Alyssa was staring at a village green. She caught her breath. It was Minstead. The spinsters were dancing and the men of the surrounding villages had gathered. She could see her father. Her whole body began to shake with the tears she wanted to cry at the sight of him. He was young and proud. Not a handsome man but broad, with a bright smile and a wit which kept the other young lads laughing constantly. His sandy hair was neatly tied in a thong and his face clean-shaven. And whilst he laughed with his friends his eyes never left a woman who was too far away for Alyssa to recognise. She could see honey golden hair, loose, with two small plaits tied at the back with flowers. The woman finally tossed her bouquet and Lam Qyn courageously fought off all those who coveted that same bunch of daisies.
Alyssa cried out again in the next scene as she saw her father standing outside the cottage which had been her home for fifteen summers —she could even see the old apple tree where Kythay had once been tethered by her friend, Sorrel.
Then she was inside the cottage. She saw the midwife imploring a woman who was presumably her own mother to push her child out. The woman’s thighs—all she could see—were sweaty and she made short, shallow breaths between contractions. The midwife was a tall, large woman blocking out her mother. Alyssa wished she could shove her out of the way but she could not. She could only wait and hope she would be permitted to see the mother she never had in life.
Alyssa thought she had begun to cry in her dream. She knew the ending of this tale. Her mother would die and she would live. She felt the old guilt grab her throat and twist as she wept, begging Lys to release her from this vision. Lys paid no heed.
You must watch this, child, she said. It sounded to Alyssa as though the Dreamspeaker’s voice caught as she spoke. Was she moved too?
Her mother had begun to scream and push hard now, and then in a gush of blood a tiny, perfect child was brought into the world. She began to scream immediately and the midwife wasted no time in severing the thick blue rope which connected Alyssa to her mother. As her blade sliced through the tube, Alyssa thought she heard Lys cry out too. She looked back and saw that her mother had begun to bleed profusely. The midwife called out and Lam Qyn came running in. There was no time for joy at the birth of his daughter, who was bundled roughly into a linen and thrust into his hands as he was given the news that his wife was haemorrhaging.
‘I doubt she’ll live through this,’ the midwife said matter-of-factly.
Were all midwives so callous, Alyssa wondered—so oblivious to the emotions of the people involved in the life and death struggle of birth? It seemed they were because not long after, a sheet was laid across her bleeding mother and the midwife told Lam Qyn she could do nothing more.
‘Your wife is dying. Give me the child…let it suckle at her breast for as long as she can before her weak heart stops,’ she said, wanting to snatch the child from her father who looked at the midwife with distaste and disbelief.
‘You’d better say your farewell,’ the midwife cautioned. ‘She’s not long for this world.’
How true, Lys thought, her cheeks wet with tears of pain and guilt as she watched her now-grown daughter live through the agony.
Alyssa heard a soft sigh and Lam Qyn call his wife’s name over and over again. He even shook her, grabbing the child just in time before she fell off her mother’s breast. He clutched the child in one arm and encircled his dead wife with the other and sobbed in the same way she herself had heard him sob over the years. These were the tears of an inconsolable man. They had been married only ten moons.
And now his wife’s spirit was gone. All that was left was her shell; cleansed and laid out by friends. She lay on her bed, flowers in her hair, dressed in a soft gown of palest cream.
People finally stepped out of the way and Alyssa could look upon her mother for the first time. She was beautiful with an ethereal quality— from her pale and flawless skin to the ghost of a smile on her dead lips.
She was the woman who had brought Torkyn Gynt to Flat Meadows.
The vision disappeared and there was silence again. Alyssa was breathing hard and her mind was racing…returning again and again to the same one place, to one woman, one single notion.
The woman who brought Tor to his parents was my mother?
The answer did not come immediately. The dreams do not lie, Lys finally said.
And this woman, then…she is you. There was no question in her voice. It was a statement, uttered in a flat voice of resignation.
Alyssa heard Lys sigh once again. It was heavy with regret. Yes, child. We are mother and daughter.
No. It can’t be true. If my mother is dead, how can you be the Dreamspeaker who talks to all of us?
Because your mother was never an ordinary woman, Alyssa. Lysandra was my grandmother’s name. I took it when I passed through the worlds to enter Tallinor.
Lys waited. This would be the most difficult of all moments for her daughter.
What do you mean, through the worlds? Who are you?
You know I am Lys. Now you know that I am your mother and you must accept the truth. I am also the Custodian of the Worlds.
A god! Alyssa shrieked it so loudly in her dream, it took Lys by surprise. My mother is a god?
Your father never knew.
Alyssa took several deep breaths to find some calm in her voice. Am I to understand that everything from marrying my father to dying in childbirth was a part of your plan?
I am sorry but this is so.
It was too much to bear, too much to begin to understand. Alyssa began to scream.
Lys tried to calm her but it was of no use.
Leave me! Get out of my head!
She awoke, trembling and perspiring into the chill of the early morning. She stood and deliberately shook herself free from the touch of Lys. She stomped off into the lightening of dawn, not trusting herself to be amongst others. She needed to think…alone.