Caledonia Destiny Page 19

  Roi frowned. “Hence a sorcerer would hide his nature from those of yer ilk. I have made a few charms for healing but naught else. Alas, with learnèdness one could master such a feat if they dabbled in dubious arts. Such a charm would be difficult but not impossible. But be wary of those who wear such amulets, for they most certes would have the darkest of intentions.”

  Bear chuffed in agreement.

  Not ready to speak of Cináed, Ewen brought Roi back to his own questing. “You think I be warded?” If Roi minded being moved from the talk of buildsears, he spoke not of it.

  Roi tapped Ewen’s chest nigh the marking. “Whence did ye come by this? Who be the craftsman?”

  Ewen ran his hand over the swirling lines of the knot. Within, Bear began to pace, as if the conversation was of great import to him.

  “When Granda declared me unable to control Bear, he took me to a man who made these markings. Master Yingjie be unlike any I have ever met. He be a grown man but no taller than I were at ten twelvemonths. He wore richly appointed garments, and had straight black hair so long it touched the back of his knees. His eyes were almost as clear as yours.” Ewen glanced at Roi who listened intently. “It be he who drew these markings upon my skin, fashioned after something Granda gave him. He hummed whilst he worked, and smelled of charred wood and fire.”

  “Lizards of the east,” Bear said. Ewen did not repeat his words to Roi for he knew not what Bear meant.

  Roi frowned. His finger traced the skin around the knot, touching not the dark lines, for which Ewen was glad. The last time he had, the resulting sting had smarted more than a little.

  “And the others?” He pointed to the one upon Ewen’s forearm above his wrist.

  “Granda had the star added. Then, whilst Granda travelled, Master Yingjie added the wyrm.”

  Roi’s brow furrowed. “Ewen…” His countenance heavy with hesitancy foretold the controversy of what he would say next. “Have ye considered the reason ye cannot shift mayn’t be of Bear’s choosing? These adornments,” he ran the tip of his fingers along the edge of the star, again not touching the marking, “they be enchanted somehow. If these were placed upon ye as a youth, there should be gaps, the lines broken, the figures misshapen with yer growth.”

  Ewen held his forearm up, looking at the star anew. They were always there, and never had he given them a second thought.

  “For truth?”

  “Enchantment be the only explanation I have to give; no other comes to mind. Ewen, be ye sure yer granda did not bind Bear? Cage him apurpose within ye?” Roi held Ewen’s gaze, his visage grave.

  Ewen’s reply burst from him without thought, overly loud. “Nay.”

  “Aye,” Bear countered. “Deceiver.”

  XVIII

  AS SOON AS THE WORDS left his lips, Roi wished to call them back. Though Ewen now accepted him, he yet struggled to understand what it meant for Roi to be a seer. How then could he explain what he beheld of Ewen’s tattoos? That the knot upon Ewen’s chest was a binding anchored to him by the star. Nay, Ewen would not mean to disbelieve, but his mind would shy from the implications natheless. Ewen was but a man living upon the lies of his forefather, this Roi beheld plainly. Wrong though he hoped to be, the more Roi come to know of Ewen’s people, the firmer his conviction became.

  But he would not retract his question. If Ewen did not already suspect, he needed to be nudged, albeit gently, towards questioning the foundation he stood upon.

  In response to his query, Ewen’s skin blanched a milky colour and Bear prowled, his eyes bleeding to a golden brown. Without a word, Ewen rose, dressed, and left the tent.

  Roi fell back onto the pallet in misery. A single day with Ewen as his own, and he chased the man from his bed with his continued prodding. Would Ewen understand? Roi would not push unless the issue was of the greatest import.

  Rising from their bedding, Roi too dressed. Mayhap they had time, and Roi could wait afore broaching other concerns. Was he the only one to touch the bindings, or the only one to cause them to harm Ewen? Yet he had touched the fiery creature upon Ewen’s shoulder and arm with no ill effect. Clearly discernible to Roi’s eye was the fact that all Ewen’s markings were enchanted. Why, then, did the wyrm not react to his touch? And Roi had forgotten to mention the man he espied walking from the tree. This, too, would have to wait.

  The dark of the night swept over Roi as he stepped out of the tent, leaving him partially blind as he awaited for his eyes to adjust to the eve. He spied naught of Ewen’s kin. Mayhap they had followed him, their king, as well they should.

  His feet followed the trail back to the yew easily enough. Unlike the forest that hindered Roi’s every step, this place of power guided him over smooth ground with no tricks to trip his feet. No light shone through the shutters of the monastery. With luck, the inhabitants were bedded down for the night. He too should be yearning for sleep but instead he was wide awake, his eyelids not heavy, nor his mind fuzzy.

  Bathed in the light of the moon, the old tree glowed with abundant life. Studying with the priests in Cerridwen’s temple, he had heard the lore of the druids of old. Men and women who were one with the land and animals that lived thereupon, and yet had the battle prowess of mighty fighters as well and the gentle hands of healers. Their wisdom was greatly sought after and their counsel heeded. They were said to be the mouths of the old gods. The elders had claimed the druids carried ancient staffs of power fashioned from boughs of yew trees that had never touched the ground, staffs that were handed down from master to apprentice over many years, embedded with the knowledge of those who had gone afore.

  The yew shivered under Roi’s hesitant touch. The wind picked up, carrying a low whisper that came from nowhere and everywhere. He harkened, hoping to catch a word or two, wishing he had the learnèdness to understand not only the wisdom floating in the air that night, but to comprehend all the secrets hidden within the glen.

  Roi had not realized he had closed his eyes, or that he leaned into the trunk, forehead pressed against the rough bark. How long had he stood thus? Mayhap it be a trick of the light, but the boughs seemed to have bent about him, shielding him in their embrace.

  For the first time since watching Cerridwen’s temple desecrated and put to the torch, Roi felt like himself of old. It was a curious thought, because though he was secure in Ewen’s affections he had yet felt adrift. Ewen could have Roi’s heart and affection, but he would never be Roi’s purpose. It be not fair to place such a burden upon him. Ewen was not responsible for Roi’s happiness. Roi was.

  So even though holding Ewen within the circle of his arms gave him great joy, Roi needed to discover his new path. Though he vowed he would find a way to serve Ewen’s people, conviction was growing within him that his purpose was to help Ewen break the curse and free his kin. The legend Ewen had told to Roi said the sorcerer Eryl Drake was responsible for this task, yet he had done no such thing in all of the years gone by.

  “What am I supposed to do?” The wind captured Roi’s words and stole them away.

  The goddess, Roi’s goddess, had stepped in and saved Fordel’s body, tasking Eryl to break the curse after she stripped his sorcery, his birthright from him. If a man with no magick could break the curse then, Roi reasoned, any learnèd man or woman could.

  The markings upon Ewen’s body were the keys. He felt this truth deep in his gut. If he could find a way to unbind Ewen, the cage would be lifted and Bear freed. If what he suspected about himself was true…

  He needed more information, yet Roi afeard Ewen would have no more to bestow. The elders were gone, the wyrbears answered the call to the forest afore their time. The curse had shifted somehow, no other plausible explanation fit. An otherworldly sense, one long since refined, whispered that Ewen’s people would soon disappear into the forest, vanished and forgotten, if he did not unravel this puzzle soon.

  He had best return afore Ewen came seeking him again. And he would soothe Ewen, keeping his speculations to himself for n
ow. As Roi moved to push off the trunk, something caught upon his fingers. When he drew his hand away, a finely woven pouch larger than his fist dangled from his hand. Roi glanced at the boughs overhead, his thoughts alight with wonder. Clutching the gift to his chest, Roi moved away from the yew, the branches brushing familiarly against him as he went. He would inspect the contents of the pouch once he could do so in solitude.

  Afore Roi rounded the corner of the monastery, he glanced over his shoulder to behold the sacred tree once more afore he made his leave. Every branch was lifted high towards the star-riddled sky, the lowest branches so high above his head he would have needed to stretch onto his toes merely to graze the tips of his fingers upon the lowest branch.

  ~ : § : ~

  WHEN EWEN RETURNED to the tent from the brisk walk, Roi was not awaiting him. He thought of searching for Roi but harnessed his patience and disrobed afore crawling under the furs. Surely Roi knew Ewen held no ire against him. He was merely confounded because a man who had been with him less than a fortnight saw clearly what Ewen himself had shied from. Roi asked the questions Ewen had buried time and again in his fear of the truth. Yet Roi did not say anything Ewen had not already suspected. A person Ewen had trusted above all others had played him false, and he struggled to come to terms with the evidence. The sting of betrayal smarted.

  Roi’s questions caused him to recall a man he had not thought upon for many years. Unlike the men Granda had kept company with, Ewen held a great fondness for Master Yingjie. He was the strangest, most fascinating person Ewen had ever met. Ewen doubted he would ever meet Master Yingjie’s equal. Which brought to mind Ewen’s last meeting with the man.

  Two months afore Da summoned Ewen home, he had overheard Granda speaking to a messenger who relayed that another surge of younger wyrbears had been abruptly lost to the forest. Granda had left thereafter, leaving Ewen behind once again. His people were dying, and Ewen, their next king, sat in the castle of the Duke of Normandy, attending his knight as a squire and sitting through tutored lessons whilst his people suffered.

  Frustrated by his impotence, Ewen had left Chateau de Falaise and wandered down to the village proper, both fuming and despondent. It was there he espied a boy he had met at Master Yingjie’s home. Ewen had hailed him, delighted by the distraction.

  Some time had passed since he last spoke to Deshi. The boy had grown, but not as much as Ewen, making Deshi appear diminutive next to Ewen’s hulking bulk. His straight black hair, cut above the ear, fair skin, the tilt of his dark eyes, and the unusual cut of his servant’s garments clearly set him apart from the other villagers. That, and the top of his head barely reached Ewen’s shoulder.

  Deshi had greeted Ewen with a slight bow and a bright smile. “Prince Ewen, how fortunate to see you this day.”

  Even knowing he would garner sidelong looks, Ewen returned the bow. “Good to see you, Deshi. How be your master?”

  After exchanging pleasantries, Ewen walked with Deshi through the market.

  “What brings you beyond the castle walls?” Deshi had asked.

  Ewen’s frustration and need to confide, even if only a little with someone else, had caused him to speak more freely with the servant than was proper. Long agone Ewen had surmised the people in Master Yingjie’s service were not human. Not wyrbears like his kin, no, but other all the same, enabling him to be freer with his words than he otherwise would be. Ewen had confessed to Deshi he worried for his people who were sick, and how helpless he was to cure the ill that plagued them.

  Deshi had bestowed upon Ewen a sly look from the corner of his eye, similar to one Ewen had witnessed Master Yingjie give Granda upon many an occasion. “My master be a wise man, learnèd in the cures for many ills. Mayhap he shall assist you, if you can meet his price.”

  Though Master Yingjie traded in items of value such as coin and gemstones, Ewen had also seen him trade in favours. He had little coin to call his own, but mayhap he could offer up such a token. Favours were tricky things, though, as they tended, more oft than not, to be costlier than items of worth. The fate of his kin, however, for the breaking of the curse, Ewen would pay any price. He was tired of sitting upon his laurels, doing naught to move the wyrbears from the peril looming over them. The least he could do, he thought, was enquire. If Master Yingjie could not assist him, then mayhap he knew of another Ewen could approach instead.

  Thanking Deshi and slipping him a couple of coins for his help, Ewen had made his way to the outskirts of the village where Master Yingjie’s house sat squashed betwixt two dirty, sagging edifices. Knocking upon the warped wood of the front door, Ewen’s blood had thrummed with excitement. He held no doubts Master Yingjie would be able to help in some manner. Briefly, he had wondered if Granda had sought Master Yingjie’s assistance for the issue plaguing his kinsmen, but Ewen’s reflections stalled the moment the door opened upon quiet hinges and the servant within bowed.

  “Prince Ewen, my master be expecting you.” She had gestured for Ewen to enter, then pointed to a woven basket next to the door. “Please place your clothing there. They shall be laundered whilst you visit. Your bath has been prepared.”

  None had entered the house proper without a thorough cleansing. More than once Ewen had overheard Master Yingjie speak of the Normans as the ‘foul-smelling heathens of the west’. Many of those who sought an audience with him never went beyond the front room’s guarded double doors, as Master Yingjie only met with those who agreed to be cleansed. The rest were turned away.

  The front room had been plain, though not much changed since Ewen last called upon Master Yingjie. To one side sat an unadorned wood bench and a couple of stools. Upon the opposite wall stood a hand-painted silk screen that shielded a copper tub large enough for Ewen to sit within.

  Upon the occasions Granda or his men escorted him, they had sat here and awaited if they had no other errands to attend to. Never were they permitted beyond the set of double doors, and Master Yingjie’s ruthless reputation dissuaded most folk from pressing the issue. One of Granda’s men had been relieved of three of his fingers for raising a hand to one of the servants guarding the doors. The people of the master’s house all were small in stature, and those who thought lack of height made them weak quickly discovered differently, usually with no little pain involved.

  The servant had secured the door behind Ewen, who obediently disrobed. Bear had stirred. Thenadays his ire had been mixed with yearning, but visiting Master Yingjie had always piqued his curiosity. Once disrobed, Ewen had followed the servant behind the silk screen and slipped into the piping hot bath of scented water.

  Since his first visit to Master Yingjie’s home, Ewen had been captivated by the act of bathing. The Roman church decreed cleanliness be ungodly, and masses of unwashed bodies had dogged the streets. Instead of regular bathing, men and women used an overabundance of scented oils to mask the ripe odour their bodies acquired, something Bear detested. Ewen had taken to cleaning daily from a washbasin or bucket if he could not dunk his body. It was an unpopular practice, but few commented upon Ewen’s penchant for cleanliness, believing he would outgrow the ungodly habit.

  Attendants had come and helped Ewen scrub down, washed his hair, and relieved his body of undesired hair. As Ewen was fifteen, he had gained only a small amount of hair upon his chin and chest. His pride made him lament its passing beneath the straight edge.

  Deemed clean enough to meet with Master Yingjie, Ewen had been briskly dried and given an ornate silk robe in the colours of Ewen’s father’s house. Strangely, Master Yingjie ever had such in Ewen’s measurements. Once the wide sash had been wrapped about his waist and firmly secured, Ewen was led beyond the guarded doors, through several rooms, and down hallways to Master Yingjie’s private tea room.

  Ewen recalled his first visit and how enthralled he had been. Traversing Master Yingjie’s home had been like entering another country, another time. The riches displayed ever astounded him. It was evident Master Yingjie surpassed the nobles in wealt
h, yet he lived in an unassuming edifice.

  As Ewen grew older, he had come to understand, somewhat, why Master Yingjie was relegated to the lower class. Although Ewen heartily disagreed, at that point he had long agone learned the art of silence. Master Yingjie’s fierce reputation kept others from attempting to acquire that which did not belonged to them, but occasionally someone would try, and the body would appear upon the doorstep of whichever noble house had thought they were crafty with the subversive act. Each lamented story had given Ewen a small smile.

  Remembering Master Yingjie sitting cross legged at the low table, a delicate tea set afore him, made Ewen realize how much he missed talking to him. The servant having bowed and left them alone, Ewen had approached upon quiet feet and bowed respectfully, awaiting Master Yingjie’s invitation to have a seat on the cushion across the table from him.

  As Ewen sat and watched Master Yingjie pour the tea, he had wondered again if Granda had already spoken to Master Yingjie. Was Ewen overstepping his bounds? Would the elders chastise him for meddling in their affairs? But these were his people; did he not have a responsibility to them as well?

  “Have you taken an oath of silence, Prince Ewen?”

  “My apologies, Master Yingjie.” Ewen had glanced up from his tea cup. At one time, Master Yingjie and Ewen had been of the same height. Even though Ewen had changed over the intervening years, Master Yingjie appeared ageless. He had worn a silk robe of a deep red, his long black hair pulled back from his temple and secured with a queue. Master Yingjie’s eyes had narrowed, assessing Ewen with his sharp hawk’s gaze, reminding Ewen once again of how he felt like prey when Master Yingjie stared at him thusly.

  They had exchanged niceties, finishing their first cup of tea as Ewen dredged up his courage. “Master Yingjie, I…” What to say? he had wondered. Where to begin? “You know I am not human?” He had had no wish to assume Master Yingjie held such knowledge but, in order to request his assistance, Ewen had needed to divulge the secret of his people.