Dark Blade Page 3

‘He’s been part of this farm for as long as I can remember.’ He waited for her to say something, then added: ‘Yes, he’s a good man. He’s my friend.’

  ‘Could a friend like that be trusted to run this place if you were not here?’

  ‘Why would I not be here?’

  ‘Because you are coming to live with me.’ The smell of lavender and sage filled his head again. ‘That is, if you would like to, of course.’

  Fleya ordered the men to put the boy’s things on to her wagon. When she told them that she was taking the boy away to live with her too, they mumbled something under their breaths, but nobody dared question the decision. Only Orlof summoned up the courage, though he still would not look the witch in the eye as he did so. In response, Fleya took the man to one side and spoke quietly with him, and when they came back, whatever it was she’d said seemed to have satisfied his fears.

  With everything on board, the witch set the ponies into a walk, taking Lann away from the Fetlanger farmstead for the last time.

  Faun Forest

  4

  Fleya proved to be precisely what Lannigon needed during the first months of his blindness. Kind when she needed to be, severe during the times when he began to wallow in self-pity and doubt, she made him understand that his new life without sight didn’t have to be as terrifying as he’d first believed it would. He found himself inspired by her enthusiasm, and threw himself into the things she suggested, learning to develop a greater sense of the world about him through smell and touch and sound.

  While Fleya was a positive presence in Lann’s life, it was the garden that was the saving of him. One day, Fleya asked him to help her plant some seeds at the start of the growing season. Reluctant and grumbling to start with, she noticed that he soon began to enjoy the task; feeling the earth beneath his fingers and putting the small grains into the soil sparked something in him, something she’d thought had almost been lost for good. Later the same day, when she suggested he take over the running of the plot of land, the enthusiasm he’d shown for the idea had filled both of them with hope.

  Over the next few days and weeks, he suggested plants they might cultivate, pressing her for information and greedy for the knowledge she possessed. She passed on as much of her considerable botanical expertise as she could, and what she didn’t know she looked up for him in one of the many books she had on the subject.

  They had a bumper crop of fruits and vegetables at the end of the growing year, not to mention the herbs and plants Fleya needed to make her medicines and treatments, a process which now fascinated Lann.

  One evening, after a busy day in the garden, the pair found themselves sitting across from each other at the table in the kitchen. More than nine months had passed since Lann had discovered his love of gardening.

  ‘I’m glad you have found something that interests you so much, Lann. It makes me happy to see you among your plants.’ She paused and reached over to collect his plate. ‘Tell me, what is it about the growing you like?’

  He sat, considering his response for a moment.

  ‘The plants and the cycles they go through,’ he said. ‘I guess … in a strange way, they remind me of myself.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  He hesitated, trying to put his feeling into words. ‘The seeds are taken from plants that have spent their lives in the light, stretching up to Mother Sun for her life-giving energy. Then we put them into the darkness of the earth where they sit until it’s time to become that thing in the daylight again. I was taken from a world of light and plunged into darkness too.’

  ‘You wish a similar rebirth for yourself.’

  ‘I do.’ He shrugged. ‘But if I cannot have it, I like the idea that I can give it to other things, even if they’re just plants.’

  She sat looking at him. He no longer appeared to be consumed by the sadness that had so blighted him during the first few months of his blindness, but she knew it would not take much to plunge him into unhappiness again. She tried to imagine what it must be like to have seen the world in all its splendour, only to have that ability taken away.

  ‘What … what will I do when you’re gone?’ he asked. The question took her a little by surprise.

  ‘Why do you ask that?’

  ‘Without you, I would not have made it through this difficult time. But …’ He paused, trying to find the right words. ‘You’re not going to be around forever, Fleya.’

  ‘And exactly how old do you think I am, Lannigon Fetlanger?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’ She gave a little snort of amusement and he relaxed, knowing that she was merely teasing him. ‘But you told me you were born during a time of terror, when the necromancer Yirgan was at the height of his powers as an agent of the dark god Lorgukk. Later that week, when you were teaching me history, you mentioned that Yirgan was killed by the gods over a hundred years ago.’ He paused, not quite knowing how to go on. ‘So, what I’m trying to say is … you’ve lived a long time.’ He could feel her gaze on him and he squirmed a little, wishing he’d never brought the question up.

  ‘Well, if that is indeed the case, and I’m not saying it is, how can you possibly know how much longer I might still be around for, hmm? Come on,’ she said, standing up and offering him a hand by resting it on his sleeve. ‘Time for bed. This old lady needs her rest.’

  Lann didn’t know it, but his speculations were pretty close and the witch had already lived for more than a hundred and twenty years, despite looking exactly as she did now for most of that time.

  5

  Their days followed a regular and easy pattern; they would rise early to feed the goat and chickens, and after his chores Lannigon would work the garden until Fleya called him in for dinner. Having cleaned the soil from his hands he would sit at the table and eat whatever she put before him, usually a hearty stew. At the end of the day they would sit by the fire, where Fleya would read to him from one of her many books. Growing up on the farm, Lann had never really been exposed to books, but Fleya was determined he know as much as she could impart about the world he lived in, and her schooling covered a whole host of subjects. She taught him the history of these lands and those beyond the Six Kingdoms, describing to him the places she’d seen, both in person and by using a form of majik that allowed her to leave her body and travel vast distances for a short period of time. He wondered at this, but whenever he pressed her on her use of majik she would change the subject.

  She taught him about the Volken people and other peoples that came before them, their beliefs and folklore – stories of the gods and the heroes that fought for and against them. And she taught him about the darker side of the world: how monstrous creatures had gained access to this world from their own, a place called the Void. These last lessons were always delivered in a low voice, as though she believed merely speaking of them might lead to these creatures appearing again. Whenever she did so, he would remember the man who had been transformed into a wolf on that fateful day when he’d lost his sight.

  The dull thump of the book being closed indicated the end of the lessons. It was usually the signal that they should also go to sleep; but one night Lann took the opportunity to ask Fleya about her own childhood. It was not the first time he had done so, but in the past the witch had always found some excuse not to answer, telling him she was tired or had too much to do to talk about such matters.

  Tonight, however, was different. ‘What would you have me tell you?’ she asked.

  ‘Anything.’

  She gave a small laugh. It was the laughter of a girl much younger than he guessed the witch’s age to be. Then she took a deep breath and began to tell him how her mother had encouraged both Fleya and her sister to take up majik under the tutelage of a local woman. She spoke haltingly at first, as though the memories were hard for her to recount. She told him how they had both had to leave home in order to do so, and how reluctant they’d been to leave their mother, despite knowing what a great honour had been bestowed on them both
by being chosen to learn the Art. ‘If we had known it was to be the last time we’d ever see our family or the village again, we would not have gone.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The place was attacked by raiders the very next day – the invaders destroyed the settlement.’

  Lann felt his chest grow tight with sadness when he realised Fleya had lost a family too. ‘If you had not gone, you and your sister would have died with the others.’

  ‘Yes. But at the time I found it hard to accept. We both did. Family is precious, and we should do everything we can to protect it. Even if that means making hard decisions sometimes.’

  He was aware of her eyes on him. Sitting up in his chair, he summoned the courage to ask the question he’d kept to himself since the day the witch had come to get him from the farm. A question that had been brewing inside of him since Gord Fetlanger had told him he was a foundling.

  He was nervous and excited at the same time, so much so that he stumbled over the words as he finally plucked up the courage to utter them.

  ‘Fleya, I … I need to know something, but I don’t know how to …’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Are you … are you my mother?’

  The silence that followed seemed to go on forever.

  ‘Why do you think that?’ she eventually responded. Her voice had a curious quality to it, as if she were struggling to control her emotions. ‘Lannigon, a witch cannot lie with a man. If she does, she will lose her majik. I have told you this.’

  The boy pressed on desperately. ‘But you know who my real parents are, don’t you?’

  The fire spat and Lann imagined the fiery ember landing on the stone hearth, glowing brightly for a second before finally going out.

  Finally the witch spoke, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘I know who your mother is, Lannigon. But not your father.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She was my sister. She is no longer with us.’

  The boy waited.

  When she spoke again, Fleya’s voice was full of emotion, the love she still felt for her sister clear to be heard in every word. ‘Your mother was beautiful. A woman who would have challenged the goddess Niaffar for her beauty. But like me, she was a witch, and was chaste.’

  Fleya continued, and Lann fancied he could hear the smile in her voice. ‘I adored her with all my heart, and we shared many special moments together as only sisters can. You know I have lived on this earth for a long time, and for most of it my sister was a constant presence. And then, about sixteen years ago, she … changed. She became secretive and I suspected she was in love. She denied it, but I could always tell when Lette was lying. I told myself it was none of my business, and that she was free to choose the path of her life. Even so, I was worried for her and what she might be considering.

  ‘When she told me she was pregnant I was devastated. Lette was so happy, but all I could think of at that time was what she had sacrificed. We argued – something we had never done before – and I said some things I had no right to say. I asked her over and over who the father was, but she refused to tell me. All she would say was that he was unlike any man she had ever met, and that losing her powers was a price she was willing to pay if it meant she could have his child.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘With the loss of her powers Lette also lost the ability to stay youthful. That day she told me she was carrying you inside her, she looked much the same age as I do now. By the end of the pregnancy she was an old woman. She fought with all her strength to give life to you, Lann. But once she had done so, there was nothing left.’

  Lann swallowed, trying to hold back the tears. His mind was a frenzied turmoil of conflicting thoughts and emotions. ‘You are my aunt,’ he said, forcing the words out.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We share the same blood.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Then why did you give me away to the Fetlangers? You did, didn’t you? Everything Gord told me was true. You left me there in that barn, to be discovered as a foundling. Why?’

  The witch paused before answering.

  ‘I am a witch, Lannigon. I use my powers to help the people of this community and the kingdom in which it resides. I deliver babies, I do not bring them up. And for good reason. Being a witch carries certain dangers, dangers that it would not be right to expose a young child to. There are things in this world that would prey on such an innocent, and I would not have the son of my sister imperilled by such dark creatures.’ She paused, and he heard her give a little sigh. ‘And if I am being honest, I think I was … resentful of you, and that deep down I somehow blamed you for what happened to Lette. That was wrong of me. I hope that someday you will forgive me for harbouring those feelings. I knew Lae Fetlanger had failed to conceive on a number of occasions, and I also knew she was a good woman. I knew she would care for you.’

  ‘So you gave me away.’

  ‘I put you in a safe place.’

  ‘You gave me away!’

  Fleya laid a hand on his arm but he pulled away. She didn’t try to follow when he struggled to his feet and felt his way to his room at the back of the cabin.

  Sitting alone by the embers of the dying fire, she thought about what she had done to protect him – and what she must continue to do.

  6

  Lann and Fleya barely spoke to one another in the three weeks following the revelations about his past. Lann spent all his time in the garden, only replying in the briefest terms whenever his aunt spoke to him.

  Fleya knew better than to push the matter. Even so, the boy’s hostility stung her in a way she found surprising.

  For his part, Lann couldn’t shake his sense of betrayal. He felt strongly that Fleya was still not telling him all she knew about his birth, and this fuelled the anger and sense of frustration he felt towards her. Yet at the same time he missed their fireside chats and the mealtimes that they’d always shared. He could sense how much his behaviour, walking away whenever she tried to speak to him, bothered her, but he couldn’t help himself. He was hurting and confused, and he saw no reason why she should not be feeling the same way.

  It was a cool morning in March and he’d just placed a young snowtear seedling in the ground, gently covering the fragile stem with a fine soil, when he became aware of his aunt standing at his side. Despite his acute hearing, she could still creep up on him like this at times, and he felt his annoyance rise at this unheralded interruption.

  ‘I have to go into the village of Bjoven to help a sick girl,’ Fleya told him. ‘If the child is as sick as I fear, I doubt I will be back until the morning. I might even be gone until this time tomorrow.’ She paused, waiting for a response that never came. ‘There is fresh bread, and I have left some cheese and butter next to it. Slide the bolt across when I have gone and wait for my return. I don’t need to tell you not to open up for anyone else.’ She sighed, but when she spoke again her voice was softer. ‘I want us to be friends again, Lann. I care a great deal for you. I know you may not believe that right now, but it is the truth.’ There was another pause and he heard her give another little sigh before she turned and walked away.

  When the sound of the wagon had faded away, Lann got up and groped his way over to the cabin. Inside, he leaned his weight against the door and slid the heavy bolt across. Fleya often left him to go off to help the people in the lands surrounding Faun Forest, and she always made a fuss about him being left alone. But right now, he welcomed the solitude.

  After supper, he sat beside the fire that he’d fed from the pile of logs his aunt had left for him. The words she said before she left – about how much she cared for him and wanted to be friends again – came back to him. In truth, his anger had subsided over the last week, and he realised it was his stubbornness that was stopping him from making up with her. He resolved to fix that when she returned: they would talk and try to get back to the way things were before. Half snoozing in the chair, he listened to the fire’s music as it popped and sigh
ed and crackled until, eventually, feeling himself drifting off, he took himself to bed.

  His sleep was haunted by a strange dream in which he was not himself but a dark-haired boy a few years older in age. He was standing before a great shimmering wall of blackness, a darkness so complete it was unsettling to look at. He was chanting in a language that was harsh and alien. There was something in each of his hands, and when he looked down at the thing he was holding in his left, he was amazed to see it was burning. The black flames flickered up towards him, but there was no heat. The thing pulsated between his fingers, the unmistakeable rhythm telling him it could only be a heart he held. In his other hand was a staff, and he slowly raised both items up in the direction of the inky void, his voice increasing in volume as he did so. There were ornate carvings on the wooden staff; strange symbols that, although completely unfamiliar, managed to convey a sense of fear and abhorrence. He also noted the tattoo on the top of his left hand: a star design with an eye at the centre. The heart’s metronomic contractions increased in intensity, as did the flames licking up from the thing, and he struggled to hold on to it. At the same time he saw something stirring in the blackness: something ancient and evil that was being drawn into this world from another …

  Lann sat up in his bed with a start. When he opened his eyes, he could only think he was still dreaming because he could see. He cried out as happiness flooded every cell of his body. He could see again!

  And the first thing he saw – there, sitting at the end of his bed – was a man.

  His heart hammered away inside him, reminding him of the flaming black thing of his nightmare. He knew he must still be asleep, but everything – the cold of the room, the feel of the rough blanket between his tightly clenched fingers, the noise of the trees rustling beyond the window – felt real.

  The man was staring out of the window at the shadowy woods beyond. He was surrounded by a dim aura of light, and Lann could see that his hair was shoulder length and of an extraordinary golden colour. As if becoming aware he was being observed for the first time, the man turned to face him. As he did so, Lann’s breath caught in his throat. The man’s eyes were of the same bright gold as his hair.